Tag Archives: babies

Jul 29 2016
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Life

My Year of Saying “Yes”

As the girls creep closer to turning one (6 weeks, OMG!!), I’ve started to reflect on what impact our new party of five has had on me. How I’ve changed. What I’ve learned, unlearned, let go of, and lost. Not only have I grown two beautiful little girls and helped shape a seriously funny little man this year, but I’ve also done a hell of a lot of growing myself.

One of the things I have always found difficult is asking for and accepting help. I suck at it at work (and am often reminded to delegate tasks) and I suck pretty badly at home too. Aside from organising a cleaner to come fortnightly after we had Toby, I just prefer to get on with things myself because I know they’ll be done the way I like it. I’m a control freak and I make life harder for myself because of it.

As soon as I found out I was pregnant with the girls I was overwhelmed with advice to get some help for when the babies came home. Every time my in-laws Skyped they would ask if we’d started looking for a nanny yet. I had absolutely no issues outsourcing the toilets and mopping, but when it came to getting help with the kids on non-daycare days I was hit with a massive case of mummy guilt.

“I should be able to look after my own kids!”

“Loads of other people do it themselves… some of them have more than three kids.”

“I’ve managed multiple major projects at work, I can do this.”

Of course I tried. I failed. I tried again.I had some success in the morning, but then the wheels fell off after lunch and I’d start message-bombing my husband to see how early he could be home to rescue me. My three little people literally sucked the life out of me. I’d like to say there was a defining moment or epiphany, but there wasn’t. It was just a big fat reality check and acceptance that I either accepted the help offered, or I ran myself into the ground.

Learning to say “yes” to help turned out to be one of the most empowering and humbling things I’ve ever done.

I’m not the most outgoing person in the world, so I find the attention that twins bring hard to deal with at times.  But I still need groceries, or to aimlessly wander a shopping mall once in a while a week.  I’ve had wonderful strangers offer to carry my pile of nappies to the Aldi checkout and said, gratefully, “yes”. I’ve accepted offers from people to feed my girls while I eat my lunch. I’ve had some amazing conversations with strangers with grown twins, a gorgeous older Chinese lady who was utterly fascinated by the girls and just wanted to talk and play with them, and an older couple in the supermarket who loaded my trolley contents onto the belt while sharing the story of how they found out they were expecting twins while in labour (!!!)

We got a nanny. She is awesome and the kids adore her.  It definitely took a few months to let go of my control hangups, but I”m now completely comfortable surrendering motherhood to her for a few hours while I run errands or meet a friend for lunch. The Threenager adores her and every week she teaches the girls a new trick. This week, they learned cuddles on demand. I melted as she said, “cuddles” and the girls took turns snuggling into her chest.

Having help on non-daycare days saves me from feeling like I’m always “angry mum”, or mum who always says no. It gives me the opportunity to spend some quality one-on-one time with the Threenager at the movies, Pokemon-hunting at the park, or having a cosy cafe lunch.  And the Threenager gets to go on exciting adventures to new parks, the beach or the zoo, that carting three kids to would otherwise put it in the “too hard” basket.

My multi-tasking skills have reached Ninja Master level.  I now boast the ability to negotiate daycare pickup while carrying two babies, a Threenager’s hand and his school bag. But recognising the logistical limitations of this, I also have no hesitation in parking up in the carpark and calling the daycare teachers to bring him out to the car if the afternoon has been curly. Or if I just can’t be bothered getting both babes out of the car.

I’ve started going to our local baby rhyme time on Tuesdays, and big kids rhyme time on Thursdays. Religiously. It’s a bit chaotic and we’re always late, but it’s a regular outing we all look forward to. I’ve met some great local mums, and the girls get lots of extra cuddles and play time.

Having a baby can be isolating. And it’s one of the few aspects of parenting where I feel that isolation is doubled at times because there are two babies. It’s incredibly easy to spend the day at home because the faff involved with organising and getting two babies (or all three) is overwhelming. Even pulling the gigantor pram out of the car to go for a walk can seem too much some days. That one is obviously not helped by a neighbourhood with no footpaths, and 30+kg of pram and baby to push around…

But my year of saying “yes” is getting me out the door. It’s forging new friendships. It’s led to conversations with strangers that have filled me with warmth and happiness and will stay with me for a long time. And it’s helping rebuild some of the bond that was lost with the Threenager when the girls came along and I was too busy to give him everything he needed.

Now I just need to learn to put away the washing people have kindly folded for me, instead of refolding half of it so it’s the way I like it!

 

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Jun 28 2016
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Life

Dear Darren – A Letter to the Douche Who Crashed into my Car

An open letter to the douche who crashed into our car… because calling up and abusing you isn’t a smart thing to do (even though it would make me feel better).

Dear Darren

You probably remember me as the woman who made you late for your next courier delivery, after my car magically appeared out of thin air when you failed to Give Way at the roundabout. Your Mercedes Sprinter van with its huge bullbar had only minor scratches but you didn’t think it was driveable. And let’s not forget your broken reflector. A tragedy. My car, with its caved in passenger side didn’t “look that bad”…

Your concern for my twin babies in the car after I found I couldn’t open the passenger doors to check them was touching. “Oh God, I need my van for work!” you said.  “Yes, the babies and I are fine. Thanks for asking.”

Car damage

My bunged up baby

(By the way: I know your van was fine, Darren. I’ve Face-stalked you).

“It was all my fault… I just didn’t look”, you kept saying. No shit Sherlock. If only you’d stuck to the truth when we started the claims process; I’d have saved myself a week of constant phone calls and emails with the insurance and hire car companies laying out my side of the story.

I’m so very grateful that it wasn’t worse. Just another 30cm and Sophie’s door and car seat would have taken the brunt of the impact. It’s for this very reason we got the kid’s carseats professionally installed. It’s just so, so important to have a solid install “just in case”.

But back to you Darren – I’m soooo not finished my rant at you yet. Did you know that losing use of the car has been one of my biggest anxieties? With three kids under 4, and a home in an area not well serviced by public transport, that car is my best friend. Not to mention the fact it was brandfuckingnew and now it’s going to be patchedupafteranaccident.

And the inconvenience… let me tell you all of the hoops I’ve had to jump through since your lack of attention at that roundabout…

  • Van damage

    “Damage”

    No car for a week, resulting in cancelled plans and appointments.

  • Organising a hire car that arrived with no baby car seats. The ones in our car have been written off, so my husband had to drive an hour away to get some from the hire car depot after they didn’t have anyone available to deliver.
  • Getting an invoice from the baby hire company for the written off baby capsules – that $1000 invoice is on its way, Darren!
  • Only having room for 2 carseats in the hire car, so having to drive 2 cars everywhere if we want to go out as a family.
  • That time I public transported to the city and Live Tweeted the “adventure”. Soph’s face pretty much up how shit it was.
  • Having to walk to do daycare pickup – 15 minutes on hilly grass verges with 30kg of pram and babies and a tired three-year-old who now asks why “Douche Darren” broke our car.
  • The 10 minutes walk to the bus stop, to catch a bus to Lindfield that goes HOURLY and two out of three trips hasn’t been wheelchair/pram accessible even though the timetable said it was.
  • A week of phone calls to organise a replacement hire car that we could fit three car seats into. After an hour of install attempts we found we needed extensions for the car seat straps. YAY! Another shopping trip on public transport. This particular day is wet and 13 degrees. Thanks, Darren. (P.S. Another $60 invoice on its way for those, pal!)

Three weeks later, we finally have a car that fits the whole family (go the Kia Carnival!) The Threenager is loving his seat “in the boot” and I’ve worked out how to get the girls’ pram in the back too. We even have an ETA for getting our car back!

Unbelievably, the insurance companies are STILL haggling over liability. They’ve got to justify their extortionate premiums somehow I guess.

So next time you approach a roundabout Darren, just remember – look both ways as you approach, and always give way to traffic coming from your right.

Regards,

Kate

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Jun 09 2016
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Life

Note to Self: Where Are You?

Yesterday I blogged about owning your Supermum. Today is a post that’s been sitting in drafts for a while, and is a little more raw…

When I found out I was pregnant with the twins I got a lot of advice. Advice from people with singletons, twins, and 3+ children. The overwhelming consensus was to accept the chaos and mess for a year and just concentrate on getting through each day with some semblance of sanity intact.

But here I am, 8 months later, with what feels like more tidying and “things in their place” hangups than I did before kids. Stupid stuff like the kitchen table chairs needing to be pushed in and even; beds made; breakfast stuff put away, feeding the bunny… all of this before I’ve even had a shower or eaten my own breakfast. Those precious 30-90 minutes of morning sleep are the very time I should be prioritising myself over housework.

When did I become less important than tidying? Why does mess come before me?

I don’t know if it’s because I’m home all the time and want a bit of control in the chaos. Is my husband messier? Am I just suddenly noticing what was always there?

I resent the morning cleanup – even more so if I’m cleaning up from the night before. Recycling bottles, table mess from the Threenager’s dinner, dishes that haven’t made it to the dishwasher, random splashes and mess on the bathroom vanity. AN UNFLUSHED TOILET.

fun, friends

Smiles and laughs with amazing friends.

I don’t even feel like I can begin to change things. To prioritise myself. When almost my entire being is devoted to my children’s needs.

Part of me is tempted to return to work early, just to get back some of those simple things that so many people take for granted. Time to eat your lunch when you want to, not at 4pm when you’re ravenous but still have children crying to be picked up as you try in vain to reach for your sandwich on the table which is just…out…of…reach. Thirty quiet, uninterrupted minutes on the train to read a book. I can’t remember the last time I read something other than a supermarket catalogue…. and I love reading. Time spent doing something stimulating that doesn’t involve Lego or playing shops underneath a pile of sofa cushions.

We worked so hard to become parents – the infertility, IVF, miscarriages – and now I just want a break. Something longer than the four hours every 8 weeks I get to have my hair done. I fantasise about an entire day to myself but have no idea what I would do. I still feel utterly bound to the twins despite the fact they take a bottle and the husband says he handle all three for the day if I want to do something.

Why should I feel guilt about wanting some time to myself? It’s a cruel roundabout we sometimes put ourselves on.

So where do I start? Any advice?

 

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Mar 07 2016
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Life

How Life Has Changed

I started making myself a coffee  at 9 o’clock this morning. It’s now 1pm and I STILL haven’t had it. Shit, the only thing I have done is turn on the machine to warm up (yep, definitely warm) and grind the beans. #kids right?

image

Five and a half months into adulting for three under three and any and all assumptions I made about how life would be have been smashed to pieces. I thought with one alive, relatively well-adjusted child under my belt, that wrangling twins wouldn’t be THAT much more of a stretch. Certainly not double. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the uncanny knack those two cute-but-torturous kids have to throw their “routine” (ha!) out the window by first nap.

How  has life changed with two babies and a toddler?

  • The meeting time on my coffee dates change at least twice because the babies are pulling an unusually long nap … or we get there 30 minutes early because they didn’t nap at all.
  • Some days the girls get so out of whack with their sleep that I need to take notes on when they woke, fed and went back down. Then I lose track and have no idea who is meant to be up, and who asleep. Usually the babies will let me know by screaming hysterically or falling asleep on the floor.
  • Sleep deprivation is part of the baby package. But being so tired, you’re overtired is the pits. Suddenly you get why your baby just won’t go to sleep when they’ve been up all day (or night, or both). Brain – GTFTS.
  • Mummy Guilt ALL THE FREAKING TIME. Are all the kids getting the same amount of attention/hugs/kisses? I know I’m yelling at the 3-year-old more than I should. I shouldn’t need a nanny to help on non-daycare days. Should I be taking the twins to more activities? If only mummy guilt was guilt at the time you’re NOT spending taking care of yourself… like ever.
  • Yes, I have lost all my baby weight. No, I haven’t been doing any exercise. My exercise is feeding two babies with my own body, jiggling said babies to sleep and pushing 15kg of megapram and 12kg of baby around on grassy verges because the local council has something against footpaths in our area.
  • I get way too excited when I find something that will put food on the table with a minimum of fuss or effort. My current faves are:
    • Cutting up veges when we get them and bagging them up. Dinner is as easy as a few handfuls in a salad or frying pan.
    • A 10-minute recipe that actually takes 10 minutes – even with fussy babies. Banana Bread by Aldi Home Cook is my current fave.
    • Serving up leftovers from the meals I’ve prepped for Toby. Which is usually the ENTIRE bloody thing because he refuses to eat anything other than fish fingers and plain spaghetti these days.
    • Something made by the husband while I nap on the sofa
  • I make constant apologies to friends who haven’t received a reply to a voicemail or text a week (or more). By the time I get a spare minute it’s 9 o’clock and the only thing I’m capable of is the zombie walk to bed.
  • Twins aren’t that unusual, but people will still stop and stare or comment (Double Trouble!) when you are near. Maximum patience is also tested when bailed up by old people asking 101 questions including how you birthed them.
  • Watching the toddler interact with the babies sometimes makes me feel like I”m going to implode. My heart is so full and my eyes brim. Every day at daycare pickup he greets them by cupping their faces one at a time and saying, “How are you my beautiful, sweet girl? I missed you today.”
  • Despite regular reminders, sometimes the babies both lose their shit at the same time. I was at a park with my new Mother’s Group and both babies started up.  Everyone literally stopped and stared to see what I would do. After unsuccessfully trying to settle them for a few minutes, someone offered a  hand. And what did stupid me say, “no thanks!” Because you should be able to settle your own babies right? Fucking mummy guilt.
  • I literally lose hours of my day smushing and snuggling the kiddos. Seriously. Hide and seek snuggles or playing trains with the toddler. Big smiles and chats with the girls. I can go a whole day and not go outside once.
  • I spent 30 minutes getting ready for our one big night out of the month – the childcare disco. The irony being I see most of these parents every day (sometimes non-shower days!) in my activewear, no makeup, glistening and probably a bit fragrant from the 10 minute trek to school with the megapram. The only difference today being the teacher is leaping around to “Everything is Awesome” with crazy yellow sunnies on and his hair in pigtails.
  • I’m getting too comfortable with feeling like I have no brain left at all – because I’m so spent by the end of the dinner/bath/bed routine that my brain is as literally as useful as a head full of spaghetti. I can’t work out how to get off the sofa I collapsed onto, let alone come up with ideas for bloody dinner. Toast anyone?
  • Touching. Lots. All day. Two babies hanging off your chest. Toddler lying across your legs or playing with your toes. Pity the poor husband needing his own cuddle time with the touched-out wife.
  • I’ve learned not to feel bad about skipping the healthy salad or wrap for lunch in favour of biscuits. Because everyone knows the 5 minutes you save by pulling biscuits out of a tin, means five more minutes you can spend on the sofa watching Mac and the team on CSI New York.
  • I swear the only washing produced in this house are little boy undies and socks, and onesies. I have no idea if the husband and I are actually changing our clothes regularly or we just forget and rewear the same stuff. Either that or there is a large unwashed pile of t-shirts, boxers and underwear that I’m yet to discover…
  • I had a good belly laugh at the hairdresser when she suggested I “forget the boring mum bun/pony” and try a style that shows off my cut. That would involve clean hair that has been dried with something fancy like a hairdryer, rather than a hasty towel or (gasp!) air dry. Currently my showers fall under one of three categories:
    1. Non-existent: By the time I get a break long enough it’s too late and I’m too bloody tired. Yes, I’m dirty and I don’t care.
    2. Interrupted – one or both babies inexplicably wake hysterical 20 minutes into their nap and I’m forced to wade out dripping wet after a hasty rinse of the shampoo coating my hair, never to return to complete the job.
    3. Blink and you’ll miss it – literally in and out in a minute. If we didn’t do so much washing (or bathe three kids) our water bill would be tiny.

And don’t even get me started on the realities of “sleeping when the baby sleeps” or “never waking a sleeping baby”.

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