Home, Sweet Homebirth Story

In a month and a half Small Girl will be one year old. It will be the first anniversary of something amazing, and I got so busy before and after that I never ended up blogging about it. Well, you're here now, so you may as well read about it - glad you clicked the link? This is a dolled up version of a story I posted in a forum last year, soon after the event - it's much more polished now!

Sometime in 2008 I had a moment of clarity, where I realised I could ask my body to let me know when I was ovulating, as I hadn't ovulated since 2005, when Oscar was conceived, I guess. I had been breastfeeding overnight and during the day and also co-sleeping from the day Boy-child was born, and this worked well with my body's rhythm for my fertility cycle. I had spoken with a couple of wise and intuitive friends about this and they concurred that this had been the case for them, with 3 kids each to help make their case.
I decided that my body's plan was in line with my own plan for a 3 plus-year age gap between my kids. Knowing I was to return to study, volunteer firefighting and horse-riding, I also knew that kids too close together would be unfair on everyone involved, as I'm not very zen under stress. I knew that for me it would be ideal to wait until our first had gone through that intense period of rapid development before having another little person whose needs would need close attention from mummy. I wanted to be as present as possible for the second baby and my body came to the party with my conscious mind by being 'infertile' naturally while I enjoyed Boy-child's first years.
In December 2008 I intuited a strong and compelling signal from within that ovulation had occurred, two and a half years since the boy's birth. I had been using a Mooncup, which is a menstrual cup made from silicone that not only saves the environment, but took me to a place of comfort with my own body and rhythm I had never enjoyed before and recommend to all women. Once I knew what had happened I then asked for my body to let me know when implantation had occurred.Tom had been wanting a sibling for the boy for some time...in vain, because my body and lactation were plugging along, of their own accord and duly ignoring his preference. Later, in January of 2009 I had one day where my pelvis just gave out and by the end of the day I couldn't walk without holding onto walls - something that hadn't happened since I was pregnant with Boy when I was dealing with excruciating Symphisis Pubis Dysfunction, or SPD. It was too much of a coincidence and the next day I was scheduled to ride my horse all morning at a riding club rally. I did that and came home and it was as if nothing had gone on the day before. So, I knew. That was my 'sign'.
I told Tom what I knew and he believed me (with not a semblance of 'yeah, yeah, that womany, airy fairiness crap'!), and we kept it to ourselves. For nearly 5 months. It was quite delicious, actually, to just know, the two of us, and not have to talk about it with anyone but our private midwife, and a bit later on, Katerina, who agreed to be part of our birthing team. I didn't really show until closer to 6 months in, so it was easy to pretend I'd been eating a bit healthier since the fires. I had been feeling untethered since the fires and my appetite took a hit - whether it was a combination of the fires or just early months of pregnancy I can't tell you - and my acquired nervous disposition saw me lose some weight during pregnancy, such that I appeared to be quite un-pregnant for some time. It was a great surprise when we announced the pregnancy to close family only, some time near the 18 week mark. If I'd had my way I would have just waited for our close family to notice my belly once it had popped out, but Tom was keen to avoid noses being put out of joint, so I relented and allowed the news to be told! It wasn't so much for secrecy that I wanted to keep it quiet, it was more in keeping with the kind of pregnancy and birth I wanted to have - private, quiet and intimate.
We decided before falling pregnant that the next pregnancy would not be scanned by ultrasound or prenatal testing, as the reading I had done, and meditation combined, were not in favour of 'routine' scans and testing. We would let this one do what it would do and roll with any punches coming our way. No testing for me meant that we couldn't then fall into the medical model of pregnancy and have doctors put the hard word on me based on their training and what they consider routine. So much has changed in birth and not all of it for the better - with so much evidence suggesting that medicalising birth is interfering with normal birth processes. Not for us, this medical intervention caper.
The pregnancy was eventful, and only in terms of what I did during that time - strike team duty during our bushfires in Victoria,
getting through uni semester before taking another intermission, going to three cities I'd never been to within 3 months (Brisbane for a quick escape in mid-June, Newcastle to visit Paul and Dan in early August and Canberra for the Birth Rights rally on September 7th) and starting up my singing gigs with Brett, with gigs in late May, end of June and late September (in our duo, Black Pepper) after a 3 year absence from the acoustic stage.
Anyhoo, I had spent a lot of my pregnancy pretending I wasn't pregnant and then, come mid-September there was nothing planned, nothing in my diary...it was great! I nested in a way I didn't do with Boy-child and just thought about the ambience for the homebirth I was wanting, gathering materials, music and information to make it what I wanted. I made up birthing oils for massage and spray mists and some post-natal concoctions for relaxation and nurturing. Under no illusions that Tom would utilise his massage experience on me, I massaged myself...a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Oh, and I DID pay for some pregnancy massage from a local practitioner, as well - I'm not silly!
We were working off LMP (Last Menstrual Period) for due date...which came and went with no sign of labour, though in September I had felt myself dilate and also felt Braxton Hicks contractions that I didn't feel with my first pregnancy. I told Tom that if the baby didn't come early, it would be late, and not be born near the LMP due date.
All of the first week in October yielded nothing and Tom was keen not to get up for work each morning, hoping to call in for his 3 weeks leave. The night before the estimated due date we did our second belly cast (the first was a dismal failure) and thought "Right, it can happen now". On the Friday we took a last minute opportunity for a family pregnancy session with an ABA (Australian Breastfeeding Association) photographer, Susan D'Arcy, and thought, "Right, it can happen now".
Here is a sample of the simple and beautiful photos Susan took of us:

On Saturday I completed the first painting I had attempted in about 2 years and thought, "Right, it can happen now". Tom was forlorn to have to front up to work again on Monday, the 12th.
I had an appointment at home with my midwife, Helen Brown of Midwives Naturally, and told her about my intuiting the implantation date, so she did a calculation from that and said my due date would then have been the 11th...so not so 'overdue', after all. I wasn't fretful or anxious...just bored. EVERYTHING was in place; trial run of the birth pool had been done, I had my drinks and supplements all ready to go, music playlist prepared, batteries charged for torches and cameras etc.
Through Tuesday night I had some more Braxton Hicks contractions and when I woke to pee at about 3.50am they were stronger and regular. The remained regular at 6-10 minutes for the next 3 and a half hours. At 3 hours I contacted Helen and Katerina who would be attending to support us as well as Oscar. We all remained hopeful. I lit my candles, put on my mantra music, put the rose water in my fuchsia glass water bottle and rubbed some birthing oil into my body, before wrapping around my body pillow on the couch to wait. Alas, by daybreak the whole thing had backed off, as I extinguished unneeded candles, one by one. I was SO disappointed, because I had been working through my Sleep Breathing and Deep Breathing (HypnoBirthing tools I learned with the first pregnancy) and visualising outcomes. Katerina came round, anyway (lucky she wasn't working that day), after Tom had already called work to start his leave (boy, did I feel bad) and we decided, after mentioning that I had been tossing up what movie to see at the cinema, to watch Mao's Last Dancer in the afternoon (it was Boy-child's creche day and I had been meaning to catch a film for months). I felt flat and rejected by my baby! But I also intuited that my baby wanted to come at night...maybe it was all those Buffy episodes I'd been watching on DVD of a late evening?
Resting after a false start
Thursday morning and Tom asked if anything was happening...well, donchya think I would say something if it were? We decided to bite the bullet and go to Baby Bunting to get this car seat for Boy because he was, by now, unmistakeably too tall for his seat at the time (well, I borrowed my mum's and converted 'his' back to a baby seat) and then to Fountain Gate shopping centre to do shopping for the pantry (woefully empty). It was so hideous - I thought Knox was bad enough (where I stick to the 'new' atriums when I go with Boy, because I'd had to get things in recent times and I had been averaging maybe 3 trips a year prior to that), but Fountain Gate has some truly grotesque acoustics. We all got overloaded and cranky - our humours kept up only by a delicious serve of thickshake and icecream at the food court.
We got our shopping done, headed back to the car and I felt light cramping again. I had a couple of tightenings on the way home, got home, lurked on forums and Facebook for a while and Tom organised dinner (the good egg; he'd been ace taking over from me for about two weeks, since I couldn't stand up to complete a meal despite best intentions, due to the SPD). From 6pm I was timing the tightenings and breathing through them. For about 45 mins they were 10 mins apart and dinner was served. Tom and Boy were due to leave for a swimming lesson about 20 mins drive away from home, in Ringwood and Tom asked if he should go. They'd be back by about 8.45pm and I deemed it 'safe'. Tom called before hopping in the pool and I said they were about 8-10 mins apart. He said he'd get home and tidy up because I said the floor was crunchy again and in a state (not just fussy pregnancy nesting, the floor was awful because my pelvis wouldn't allow me to clean the house properly...next time I'll hire a cleaner). I couldn't wait and started sweeping the house (it wasn't very big, but collected dog hair and dust because we lived on an unmade road) with a vigour, because the broom became my 'dance partner' during tightenings. Finally, clean floor!
This was my 'altar', where my aromatherapy and light therapy was set up, alongside the birthing goddess (who was on loan to me to help guide me through the processes)

I lit candles, dispensed some aromatherapy and lathered in birthing oil again, to my music (and the new music I had been given the day before by my massage therapist) of hypnotic and soothing Mantra by Deva Premal, after fitting the Chinese red paper lantern to the light fitting of the lounge room. By the time the boy-types got home at 8.30 tightenings were 5 mins apart and sharp buggers. I tried to put Boy-child to bed and he was being a bit difficult, whiny and un-sleepy. I read to him and then he asked me to read him My Brother Jimi Jazz, about a homebirthed sibling. Once finished, I turned out the light, he had 'Babu' (his reference for breastfeeding and boobs) and was still fidgeting. I was getting a bit cranky because all I wanted to do was stand and rotate my hips. Half way through a sharp tightening and deep breath I felt a 'pop', and a slight trickle. I leapt out of bed (to the boy's dismay), went to the loo and told Tom. It was more show, the washable pad was wet, but not saturated and I told Boy to hop into our bed if he'd go to sleep. 5 min intervals were increasing to 3-5 mins. I had already called Helen and Katerina to let them know that things had started again, whilst Tom was at the pool. Boy-child would still not settle, which was unusual - he knew something was up because I was being so erratic...and all I wanted to do was go into my 'zone'. I told Tom to just leave him stay up and to call Katerina to come. At this point he also asked if he should call the midwives to come...I couldn't say 'yes' quickly enough, but then saying anything was becoming a secondary priority. I was hanging onto walls and furniture to swing my hips around to get through some thick and fast surges (Hypno speak for 'contractions'). I told Tom he had to get the birth pool going and, before I knew it, it was filling. Just as it was nearly ready, Katerina arrived and took over with teh boy - she was just so the right person to ask to perform this role.
She took him to his room and that's when I needed to get in the water...instant relief, Sweet Mother Of All That Is Good And Right In The World! The water helped deal with the surges incredibly well, because I was losing it (or thought I was) - I was getting teary thinking I had lost all my HypnoBirthing skills in the intervening years and wondering why it seemed more difficult this time (or so I thought, again).
The midwives arrived but I could barely look up to acknowledge them. Boy had hopped into the pool a couple of times before this and when he got too boisterous was plucked out, with much protest - sheesh, that was hard to deal with at the same time. But my committment to have him there remained. At one point I allowed myself some comic relief when he ducked under my arm and attached himself to my breast - scuba Babu! No-one else knew what he was doing until I said "he's attached"...even then I don't think they believed it (though his Daddy did).
Tom stayed kneeling in front of me with his arms around me and head on my shoulder as a counterbalance, every once in a while telling me I was doing well. The midwives said the same and prompted me to keep my bum down in the water. Boy-child was in and out like a freaking yo-yo and it was all I could do not to snap at him. Little blighter was trying to inspect my perineum to see what was happening!

I told everyone that I wanted to bail, and as soon as I said that I realised I may not have that much longer to go. I had no idea what time it was. I then remembered some reading I had done in those last few weeks about a midwife encouraging birthing women to feel inside the vagina for the progress of the baby and that feeling the baby's head had been motivation to press on peacefully and confidently. I felt inside with my middle finger and thought I felt nothing...but then, I felt something! The tip of my finger found a slimy surface that felt round! Two surges later I felt again and reported quietly to Tom that I felt it between my middle knuckle and the base of my finger. The next surge (by this time between 1-2 mins apart) brought it to my middle knuckle. Wanting to wait another couple of surges before checking again I decided against that and checked at the next...Bloody Nora, this baby was at my first knuckle!
From here on in my breathing sounds became moaning sounds (and upon watching teh replay via video Katerina took, most of the noise must have only been happening in my head) and I felt I was losing the plot again - the surges were unrelenting and I could barely keep up with the momentum. I religiously told myself that breathing was the answer, just keep breathing and I'd get through it, that it couldn't be much longer. Boy-child thought it would help to periodically force feed me nuts and dried fruit, so I obligingly opened my mouth, then gave the contents to Tom when Boy turned away (just wasn't in the mood, but couldn't reject his gestures!). He also tipped water down my throat and both my hands were holding me up, so stopping him was a problem - until Tom gently sorted him out.
There was a head at the opening of my vagina (or birth canal, depending on how delicate you are about these things) and it stayed there...I wanted to bear down and breathe it out like I had with Boy...but the bugger wasn't moving at the rate I preferred - it just hung around at the opening, surge after surge. It must have been about 4 or 5 surges (though Tom reckons it was less) and the midwives guided me to hold the head and go slow - the right words at just the right time; I got straight back into my Birth Breathing, creating a 'J' shape with my spine to my tailbone, and a midwife pushing my bum back into the water to help me. There were photos being taken, mirrors and torches being held and things explained to Boy-child. I was back in my zone and determined to just breathe the kid out. At one point I heard Tom tell me "it's a girl" and wondered how on earth he could know that from the face being out (turns out he said "that's the girl" to encourage me, I realised later). So, in my head, 'it' had become 'she'.
Once the head was out I felt better, but still dealing with fast and furious surges. Eventually I said I just wanted her out and the midwives got me to turn around, facing up, and guided her out - she was kicking like a dolphin and I was just 'over' the whole sensation.
Then, there she was, on my chest - my living, breathing new baby, not making much noise and me breathing on her face, under instructions. We all sighed at the sight of her as we gathered around to see what I had made.
Boy was mesmerised and we were all relieved. The midwives informed me that it had taken 2 hours and 15 mins from established labour to birth...huh? No wonder it was ouchy! It was 11.20pm and it was still the day after the 'false alarm'.
More surges came for the placenta - I was not overly joyed about this and complained that I hadn't had to go through that last time (postpartum hemorrhage meant I'd had a managed third stage that was a bit of a blur). Again, I was guided in how to bring the placenta out. Again, sweet relief!
Boy hopped into the water and was swimming around in it again, meeting his little sister and showing off his fishness. Yes, he was swimming with vernix, but he didn't care. Our little white dog, Coco, had been sitting faithfully by the birth pool for much of the labouring time, and I appreciated her mammalian presence.
We were helped from the pool to my couch, where we just took each other in for ages. By the time I was helped to bed it was 1am and I was doped up on some pain killers for the after-pains.
It was me, my new baby girl with no confirmed name, and my fella, with Boy asleep in the next room crashed out from the experience. The midwives said everything I did had been ideal. I was centred, and serene and keeping noise low and constructive; every once in a while humming to the mantra melody, as I had been listening to mantra for months. There was no tearing, not even grazing this time - just some bruising, which healed within days from using a herbal recipe I dipped overnight pads into and froze (much nicer than frozen water in condoms!).
Well, the story wasn't supposed to be very long because the labour wasn't very long...but the birth was part of a journey that needed telling, too. We chose the right people to be with us and we had learned so much about birth during the first pregnancy and resolved so much by the second that we were prepared for what homebirthing would do for our lives. I knew it was my destiny, as I would muse about my grandmother birthing all nine of her children in a tiny house in a small Honduran village, aided by local and experienced birth attendants. All live births, and only one of her children passed away (in 1992) before she did in 2003, but that's another story. I only knew my grandmother for 6 weeks in 2002/2003, and she would never know, by the time she passed, in our winter of 2003, that she inspired me to birth in an uninterrupted way, with faith in my body and my baby's intelligence to birth herself.
I achieved my goal - to birth at home, in water, avoiding the need to get into a car during established labour, with my vivacious son witnessing the entrance of his much-wanted sibling and his daddy, who wanted the sibling more than any of us! I felt pretty peachy and 'zen' about it in the following weeks and months...hell, I still do. And 'zen' was the ultimate aim - even though it was fast and hard, I remained true to my aims and a peaceful beginning was experienced by Girl Face; my second water baby and first homebirth.

Something Fishy

Today I was woken by a boy calling out to me, saying him and Benny were having a bath.
Having gone to bed the previous night at midnight with the fuzziest head, after a weekend of small girl with a high temperature over two nights and having nursed a cold all week myself, I stayed on in bed when I heard Boy-child stir. We had no appointments or engagements, so why not?
This is why not: Benny is a fish.
Benny was flipping around in the shallow bath water after he had been plucked out of his small tank, which sits on the window ledge outside the laundry.
This fish was plucked out of my parents' dam at their small acreage in East Gippsland, so the poor fish is already a displaced citizen and missing its school of fish, never mind having to deal with being boy-handled for the purposes of having a BATH.
He's recovering now and his scales look like they're in shock still. He may not make it. Assuming he's a he and not a she. If s/he does, it looks like we'll be transporting him back from whence he came. For his own safety and longevity. I don't think s/he'll mind!
PS. does anyone know what kind of fish it is? It was teeny when he was plucked from the dam and almost translucent, we have no idea what breed it is!

Some Mothers Do 'Ave 'Em

I had mine today. A real tester of a day. In the end I 'ran away' from Boy-child.
This morning I almost put him in the car naked because he gave me the runaround about getting dressed (and it was to be dressed into something of his own choosing - he wears a superhero outfit for KinderBallet, among other circumstances) and we were late to the class (never mind that I'm getting myself ready to leave earlier and earlier each week to circumvent this same situation...). Not to worry, he'd assured me all week that he'd participate and listen to Miss Cynthia's instructions, because we agree that Miss Cynthia knows stuff about ballet that he wants to learn and she really wants to teach him. At the conclusion off the lesson, Miss Cynthia told me that Oscar was climbing instead of dancing. So, I asked him, "do you want to do ballet?", to an enthusiastically affirmative response. I find me a brick wall for a chat.
I have made a friend of one of the ballet mummies and we have fallen into a pattern of staying on at the community centre's cafe for a chat while her girl and my boy play, and my girl empties her Louis Vuitton bag (I tells ya, she knows her stuff, we just can't afford what we want, her and me!) and her smaller girl charms the pants offa me (her husband is Chinese and together they make gorgeous children). Our 'conversation' is punctuated by my asking Boy to bring Girl back from the foyer and he responds by way of picking her up and running out the door with her to the carpark. That was just the first time. Both times I had to recall my athletics running days (yes, it's as painful for me to remember as it is for you to imagine) to save them from the (albeit geriatric or community disability van) traffic.
Not one to rest on his laurels (don't make me even think about what that means, it just seems appropriate to insert at this juncture), he proceeds to wind open the windows of the cafe, lift himself up and climb out. Because I asked him not to open the door to the cold. Creative. Highly unauthorised. I threaten to eat his bacon sandwich. Temporary fix proves effective.
His friend comes crying to her mummy a few times reporting various ways Boy has flung himself about and created collateral damage. He spreads water all over the tables and draws in it with a straw (probably as retribution for not allowing a lemonade this week - I wanted to see if he'd be calmer, so I guess we answered that question today...give over with the lemonade embargo next week is my mental note to self) and, for good measure runs Girl out onto the asphalt of the carpark and I do my horse growl at him to get back inside (that growl is the evil one I employ when my horse is being dangerously touchy about me being around him and I don't want to hit him, cos I don't do hitting - thankfully, that hasn't happened since he was a young thing and is the least of my worries nowadays).
Deciding that any further attempt to fraternise (and geez, those conversations take unexpectedly refreshing turns) is becoming dangerous to the wider (and geriatric or disabled) community, we call it a day, we pack her bag (one Milky Way, one tissue packet, one pair of sunglasses, one unused condom, one set of keys...I decide I'm going to organise an op-shop bag with op-shop trinkets in it for Girl to play with when we're out, cos one day someone will get embarrassed...) and pack our respective children into our respective vehicles.
Well, my delightful little Gemini reclined in his booster as I drove away and offered, "Mum, I love your heart", from the bottom of his own. There's only one response to that, and it's not the sequence of choice adjectives running through my mind at the time. "I love you, my darling, and I really need you to listen to me". This week has worn me down and that's all I had at that given moment. Mind you, we stopped at 4 different places on the way home and he was my fun-child again.
He insisted on having his harness on (that I bought in Dubai in 2008 and hadn't really used much since), so to all and sundry it appeared that I prefer to have my four year old tethered to me while I shop, but every time I let it go to look at something I was pleaded with to take back my hold of the 'leash'. Just in case anyone cared for my excuse, I responded with a "yes, Puppy Boy". He's not out to get me, he just wants to have fun, and it's not my job to quell that instinct. It's just not always the safe way or the contextually appropriate way that he chooses to express his orientation to fun. We enjoyed one another's company for a section of the day today. That's not unusual, he's a really loving kid, mostly.
Then we got home. I prepared some crackers and cheese with him. And he began to unravel. Or I did. Or we both did. Him into an increasing momentum towards reckless abandon and me to, well, somewhere very dark. I heard banging, went into the room he was in with Girl on my hip (don't tell my osteo!), whereupon I had the agility to dodge a shoe that was aimed at me. I paused a moment, took a breath and...shut the door. The round handle of which is positioned about 1.5 metres off the ground so that he can't reach it. I knew that. And I waited in the kitchen. I strapped the Ergo around my waist, put on my jacket, clicked Girl in and called out to him that I was going for a walk. He cried out for mercy and I replied that he was to stay at home with Dee, whom he hadn't even greeted when she arrived because he was too busy throwing things at the wall. I let him out of the room when I was ready and got my bag.
It was difficult for me to leave him in his growing anguish and, finally, he was writhing in Dee's strong arms while I explained briefly why I was walking away from him. I left him shrieking for me and as much as it hurt us both, I knew I needed to. It was going to do me more good than he, and he wasn't going to be harmed by it. Staying meant yelling and I had resolved not to go there.
So, I walked the short distance to the shops. And bought chocolate. Yes, the packaged, commercial, on special, likely unethical variety. Then I crossed the road again to get a yoghurt frog from the health food shop - Boy LOVES yoghurt frogs from there. Then I went into Voski Von Mueller, my favourite boutique and local retailer. I chatted and bought a gift for a friend and felt infinitely better. And then I walked home.
Who should greet me at the gate, but a rather hoarse Boy calling out "Mum! Want to come for a walk to the oval with us?", as his dad, his Dee and the dogs were all dressed for a late afternoon stroll. And you know what? I did. And he still loves me. He told me so about 5 times on that walk, in the rain and wind. I also got a "kiss and snuggle" as I left the house with small girl for our Baby Swim lesson.
Some may say he needs a smack. I don't abuse my position as parent to inflict shame. Some may say he needs a Time Out. He'd lose the 'lesson' in 2 seconds flat; instead, when I left he had a soft place to land, in Dee. I don't revoke things he likes because that's punitive and doesn't address what's causing the conflict, and makes it about him, instead of about 'us' and everyone involved. I'm not saying that I executed the perfect response or that I effected a resolution. I'm just saying that I kept us all safe because I was sufficiently eroded to know that my decision-making skills for avenues of resolution were compromised. So I walked away. I didn't feel better. And I didn't feel worse. To me, that's a small win; whether he knows it now or not.
So, with today worked through to a peaceable conclusion, I now turn my attentions to an assignment that's due tomorrow morning. I'll see how I go and if I'm losing me head from lack of sleep, I'll pack it in and speak to a uni counsellor next week to organise extended time. Yes, I feel I deserve it, given that most of the students in my course aren't also taking a simultaneous course in Boy-child, or 4 year olds, or 4 years olds plus their completely dependent little sisters. If you think I'm working the system, you're pretty much on the money. That's what the system's for! And that, my friends, is how I limp through my Grad Dip Psych.
Tonight I opened an email from Carol Fox, from Life Performance and this time she espoused being honest with difficulties, instead of pretending to be superhuman or perfect. She says,

We all eat and shower and go to the toilet, and we all have fears, and vulnerabilities and days where things look, sound or feel not so good. So let go of the pressure of needing to be perfect all the time! Let go of the illusion of being superhuman. Just be real. You might even discover you establish even more rapport with your team, and inspire them more than you ever thought possible.

Well, I don't know if I've inspired anyone with my tale of woe-is-me, or even established any rapport with anyone, and dammit, I DO feel better for admitting that I can't always keep it together for my boy or with my boy. I don't mind him seeing me lose my cool and to see me struggle with something and to see me work through a problem. How else is he going to learn that it's ok to make mistakes, it's ok to work towards a better 'next time' if you're lucky enough to get one, that it's ok to be challenged?
Another quote I came across today, whilst looking for a saying to help someone through a rough patch, was in another Carol Fox email (she sends these out weekly, as a kind of 'pep-talk' to a mailing list to which I subscribe...good thing, too!) was this,

Between stimulus and response, there is space.
In that space lies our freedom and power to choose our response.
In our response lies our growth and freedom

Victor Frankl (1905-1997) Psychiatrist, Author and Holocaust Survivor.

For me, today, I chose not to yell (ok, so I growled my 'horse growl', there's room for improvement), and I choose to be free from the yelling response. Aim small, win big. Just Do It. (sorry, it's a pervasive pop-culture reference to which I adhere, as it happens...)
Find your space.

Dear Reader

Arrrrrrrrgh...time for an update, I reckon.
So, I've lost count of what week it is at uni. Suffice to say that I'm somewhere behind that mark, still. I'd have lost my identity if I told you I were anywhere else, though...this is how I do 'student', it would appear. It's how I've been doing student since I started uni in 1994 - I've taken time off from uni in 1998 (when I was forcibly removed from enrolment by the Exclusions Board, only to return and finish my BA with Honours - that'll learn 'em), with a 2 year break to have a 'real job' (only to realise that stuff is for fools, and full time work and I just don't have a friendly accord) and 6 months 'off' between handing in my Honours thesis and embarking on my Grad Dip Psych in 2005. Then falling pregnant (as loosely planned, mind you, so my decision-making there occurred on parallel universes before they rudely converged in that October) meant that my Grad Dip would take an age and three quarters to complete. As if that wasn't complicated enough, I fell pregnant again, for the prestige you get when you add a degree of difficulty to elements of life that really didn't require complication, and were already interesting enough.
Here I am, two units away from graduation, and I'm enjoying this unit. Which is a bit perverse, because, apparently, this is the hardest unit of the course. I'm not refuting it's level of complexity - it's way complex - just sayin' I'm getting a lot out of it, the relevance is high and my project is something I'm genuinely interested in (positive psychology interventions - all that happy, happy, motivation, 'what makes you tick' stuff). Still, life seriously intrudes on my best academic intentions. Again. Hard to concentrate when there's a cute girl on the floor wanting to be held and snuggled and breastfed. Call me undisciplined, but there you go - my dedication to study dissolves with a pretty face.
Which leads me to what I really wanted to update the blog for. The girl. She's a treat, my little walker. On the 15th of August she was 10 months old, and her 'taking steps' turned into what could be more reliably described as 'walking'. Within the last week and a half since turning 10 months she has been waddling around the house and delighting all of us with her ambulatory efforts. There's a lot of plopping down on her bum, before she resolutely collects herself for the next effort. Like her mother, she likes to throw in 'degree of difficulty', by either attempting to clap whilst walking, or to wave, or sing and wave, or talk and clap. Or all of the above in one contained, more often unsuccessful, attempt. She's waving goodbye, too - whether you're saying bye in English or Spanish, she'll start flicking her hand up and down. She's a social girly.
Sturdy, too. This is a valuable trait when you're the sister of Captain Chaos. I think she has better coping skills than I do, currently. I could learn from her, I'm not too proud to admit that.
She says 'Mama', or "Mamamamama', just to be convincing - and I am pretty smug that I'm the first in her vocabulary list. Boy struck a lovely compromise for us in the 'Mummy/Daddy' wars - he said 'puppy' first, and all was well. This time round, I'm smug and triumphant. And why not?
As for that brother of hers, he's challenging all my inner resources. I thought I had it down pat with him and then all that 'boyness' kicked in to give me what for. Sheesh! I got left behind, spun around blindfolded and whizzed inside a Gravitron with that testosterone surge (Come ON, you Gen X Melbournites, you KNOW what a Gravitron does to your head). He likes ballet. I've got him in a ballet class and he's the only boy. I ought to have photographed him the moment he opened the bag containing his ballet shoes - he was just so pleased with himself! We watched some ballet on TV and he wants to lift 'his' girls when he's bigger - that conversation was a melting moment, for sure. Write him off as a feral at your own risk.
It's not just the dancing to which he likes to turn his physical prowess. This week I took him to see my horse again (weather lately has been formidable for taking small girl out in) and I relented to let him have a ride. Normally, he'll sit on Dante's back while I lead him back up from the paddock, and from time to time I have sat him on Dante whilst I lunge him in the arena, with the dual benefit of giving Dante a bit of a workout (with the best intentions of following up with more regular lungeing and riding...still hasn't happened) and also giving Boy something else to wrap his brain around. I've posted the photos before and he's comfy up there. This week I popped Dante into a canter, which I've never done with Boy up there on his own (I have done it when he has been sitting in front of me on Dante, and that's fun) and he was actually pretty good - sticky and balanced. I was so proud of him and thinking of his future in a forthcoming Olympics when the farrier, who was present at the equestrian centre on this day, pointed out the significant horse height to boy size ratio, and his observations of child hospital emergencies and injuries in similar ratio scenarios. Fair point. Point taken. Point not resented. Point tricky, though, cos Tom doesn't like to come with me to the horse property and sunny days don't seem to hang around till Boy's creche day lately, so if he comes he rides. And if it were up to me he'd already have a pony of his own to ride. Thing is, it IS up to me and I can't afford the headspace and time right now to look for his pony. My bind is that right now, going to see Dante will invariably involve taking Boy with me and making that call each time he gets on, or taking my rare opportunities to go without him when that coincides with nice weather (for the girl's sake). Anyway, he loves it and he's got a knack. We had a chat about it and I'll work out a way to keep him riding and Dante in light work. I'm probably not going to keep myself off the "Tut-tut" conversation list, but I probably never will, for one reason or another and I can't control that. One thing that made me laugh, though, was said farrier trying to illustrate his point in a way that only someone who didn't know Boy could. He asked me how I'd feel if Boy climbed a ladder the height of Dante. Ummm, he's climbed higher. And if he fell off that ladder? He's fallen further. Not a good example! Boy sleeps on a loft bed and swings himself off at will and in one piece all the time. He climbs playground equipment the 'wrong' way and ends up sitting on TOP of the structures while other kids point at him and say he's 'naughty' (well, extraordinarily agile is probably more accurate and meaningful) to their parents, who glance, alarmed, from me to Boy, from Boy to the ground, from the ground back to me. And probably shake their heads in disbelief at my composure before gasping as he leaps off said structure to land safely on two feet on the tambarked surface, ready for the next misadventure. That's my boy. If he can get himself up, he can probably get himself down. And I DO note that falling off a static object is not falling off a moving, possibly frightened or agitated horse (depending on the reason horse is dislodging boy) in the kettles of fish-type difference in scenario. But still.
Not to be pigeon-holed into 'feral kid' status, this kid also partakes of a weekly creative drama class. He LOVES it. And I don't know why, exactly, because it's a class I drop him off to and do my own thing for an hour. Letting go is kinda nice. So is a quiet hour with the small girl mid-week!
My tip of the week is: watch Boy. It's a film I got to see last week with Katerina and it's being released tomorrow in cinemas. It will make you laugh, chuckle, wheeze, wince (if you were a child in the 80s, that is - if you are a child of the 90s and you are currently reviving the 80s via your wardrobe you will probably not find it nearly as comical) and perhaps just a little teary in parts. It's well worth the trip to the movies, and I just love, love, love Kiwi cinema. This film exemplifies why. So, umm, if you don't like it, you may not find yourself as enthusiastic about the film-making cred of our cousins across the ditch...but I think you will.
Well, it's past midnight, the girl has finally resigned to a sleep-state and as much as I'd like to continue with my imminently-due assignment, this panadol I've taken will only take me so far. Wisdom says sleep is the course I should follow, and who am I to argue with her?

Full head

OK, it's Semester Two. It's week 4 of Semester Two. I'm behind. Quite behind!
So, I am playing serious catch ups at uni, and as a result, have been spending time while driving, falling asleep, showering, on what to write next in my blog...of course!
I'll be back with some ramblings of varying themes.
Hope your week is being good to you :)