Natural Infant Hygiene (Elimination Communication)

This is a photograph of an element of a key parenting tool we have been utilising since Small Girl was 2 weeks of age. It's a chamber pot, to confirm your worst suspicions. A vintage, enamelled child's chamber pot. It's green. It's a bit chipped. It was a bargain at a local recycler.
I found out about such a thing as Natural Infant Hygiene, or Elimination Communication, not too long after Boy-child was born. I thought of it as a wonderful thing to try, just not something for us. But the concept nagged at me. And nagged some more. So I borrowed a book about it from the library, by Ingrid Bauer. It changed my view on a few things, and I decided that I would implement EC into Boy-child's night continence learning. He was out of nappies during the day by 2 years of age and I didn't like the idea of withholding liquids from him overnight, just to keep him dry; believing it was just dehydrating him, rather than learning continence.
The book backed up my thoughts and Bauer's explanations of the human elimination system and cultural conditioning opened up a new world for me. It explained night-wakings to me and I recognised various moments in Boy-child's life when I could have implemented EC. It was time to begin on night times, at almost two and a half years of age.
It took only a couple of weeks of sleeping in the boy's bed with him to wait for his body to stir so that I could prompt him for the potty. There was initial resistance to this new thing - moving from deep sleep to light sleep and then having pants pulled down and taken to the potty was a big adjustment. Soon enough, he knew what was happening and that it was much nicer to just get rid of the wee into the potty, and, eventually, to head to the loo (right near his then-bedroom) and stumble back to bed. I resolved then that the only major change to how I would parent the next child would be to start EC'ing much, much sooner. True night continence meant that Boy-child could still have his breastfeed or two overnight and also at bedtime without fear of having a wet bed, apart from the odd occasion of a missed trip to the loo.
So, in the lead up to our girl being born I bought a chamber pot. Dr Sarah Buckley writes about EC'ing her babies and that was enough inspiration for me to give it a red hot go. It took two weeks, however, for me to move from my comfort-zone into a new reality. The hardest part, it proved, was starting!
It was the week we decided to sell the house, and the day that we had the newborn photos done by Susan D'Arcy. I had been making my observations of Small Girl's body language and took the plunge.
The first time I caught a wee, and I was so excited that it 'worked'! I kept 'catching' wees so that it was no longer 'fluke' and it was a combination of timing and using cues (a 'pssss' sound to encourage letting go of the bladder function). I started catching poos, too, mainly in the mornings, but also through the days in the early weeks.
Soon enough, pooey nappies were becoming a rarity and more a reflection of the time I was spending attached to my baby via sling than luck or coincidence. I was really in tune with this baby and it was really enhancing this newborn caring that I had been resistant to whilst pregnant with her. 'Success' was also reflected in the significantly reduced washing of nappies required each week. Except that I was having to change my pants a couple of times a day when I missed moments during nappy-free times...ah, well!
The way I implemented EC was just one way to do it, and it has so many variations depending on lifestyle and budget. We have been predominantly full-time nappied, part-time EC'ing, sometimes full-time EC'ing and part time nappied, and sometimes full-time EC'ing and nappy-free, sometimes part time both. I have found that when I have to spend more time studying I rely on nappies more, because my attention simply cannot be on both my studies and on being in tune with my girl. I get sad about this, and it's just the way it has to be for a little while longer.
When we're out, we're able to hold Small Girl over a bush or garden bed. She's still mostly breastfed, so she's pretty organic! She hardly ever needs to poo when we're out, because we catch poos in the morning, as most human babies do, and most human adults will if given the chance. I don't carry around receptacles any more, because I've decided that most places we go have loo facilities I can duck off to with her, and if they don't, then there will be some plantlife that will appreciate a drenching.
When Small Girl was about 8 weeks of age we did our first long drive. 3 hours to East Gippsland. She slept until we got to Stratford, did a wee on the grass and then slept till Bairnsdale, wee'd on arrival and voila! Dry car trip! This has been the way travel has been conducted ever since. If she wakes while we're on a drive, we pull over and let her wee and then we have a happy camper thereafter.
EC'ing works best with babywearing and breastfeeding, but these aren't essential ingredients. EC'ing is another way to have a relationship with your child. For me, it makes sense. For us it enhances the way we relate to our children and is the best thing to happen to my parenting toolbox. It imparts empathy and responsiveness that I previously thought only breastfeeding and/or sling-wearing could do. It also connects me to my grandmother and the wisdom she practiced to raise my mum, aunts and uncles. There was no money for nappies (and I'm talking cloth nappies), no polluting water ways with the washing of soiled baby nappies. I love that when my mum first learned of my intentions to EC she thought it was brave and odd. As I continued and normalised to her what I was doing, her own mum's practices became more apparent to her and memories began to surface for her. We both felt more connected to my grandmother.
I'll split this blog post up and write next about how we've gone about EC'ing at night, EC'ing 'on the hop' and the progression towards continence in Small Girl's first year.
I'll leave it on this note. Yesterday, Small Girl was wandering around nappy-free and I lost track of her. I encountered her in the laundry, sitting on the potty:

And in it, was a respectable, definite, self-initiated wee.
Last night she breastfed about twice overnight and I didn't offer her the chamber-pot once until the morning. She remained dry. And I might mention that she was also nappy-free.
Whaddya reckon? Weird? Time consuming? Effective? I reckon it's a lost art that is slowly coming to the consciousness of more and more parents in our society. And it's truly liberating, for all involved!

Head down, bum up

While I wait for a lecture to download I'll pop in a blog entry...
I was about to quit uni this week. After speaking about the logistics, ramifications, implications and risks involved with pulling out with intention to return to the course much later down the track with the postgraduate coordinator, I have decided to soldier on.
This will require doing something I have hitherto avoided - dragging friends into the fray. Expect a phone call, some of you! The next month will be insane. My kids may become temporarily alienated. I may not see much of the farm. I may not see much of humanity outside of Boy-child's activities during the week. I HAVE to do this unit. Then I'll have next semester free before launching right back into it for a final unit...the fun unit of Abnormal Psychology.
Ok, back to it. One day, this being a student caper is gonna get real old. Meanwhile, my lecture is ready to listen to and there is a blanket ban on kids or me getting sick until some time in 2012. OK? OK. I'm going in...

My fella

My fella brings me flowers and gifts, unexpectedly.
He says he loves me throughout the day.
My fella gives me unsolicited hugs and kisses that make me tingle, make me feel luckier than most.
He believes in me, more than I do and wouldn't swap me for another in a heartbeat.
He loves my giving body, unconditionally, and can't wait till I have another baby in my belly.
My fella's face lights up when he comes home from a long day, and he shares with me what he's done.
He asks me how my day was and helps me with my bags.
He hates to see me sad and he knows when something is wrong.
My fella apologises when he upsets me and brings me breakfast in bed.
He loves me in a dress and calls me a princess, believing no others can compare.
He is guilty of ignoring my needs and I often allow him to believe I exist to serve him.
My fella would buy me my dream horse, and ride alongside me.
He likes to photograph me and we laugh at each other's jokes, even the silly ones.
He can be a slob and doesn't always lift the toilet seat, and aren't most fellas?
He forgets my birthdays and can't recall the date we met. Typical fella.
In his eyes I see myself, and after a hard day I am his soft place to fall, and he feels safe falling apart.
Nothing makes me and my fella happier than waking up entwined in arms and legs.
He's a lover, not a hater and charms with his witty, articulate conversation.
I support him in everything he seeks to achieve, encouraging him to trust his instincts.
He brings out the best and the worst in me and he forgives my moods.
I hope I go before he does; life without him would burn my heart to ashes.
Sometimes I am defined by my relationship with my fella, and that's a great honour.
I'm so proud to be my fella's mama.
I held him in arms and slings until he wanted no more.
He watched his sister being born, feeding me water and nuts while I meditated her into water.
He takes from my breast to start his day and will until it's no longer important to him.
We shared sleep for so long and still do from time to time.
My fella and I have a magical understanding, he knows me better than all others.

I love you, boy-child.

Was good...REAL good

Hark ye your minds back to a previous post I made about signing up for eight Zumba classes (via Jump On It). Well, tonight I bit the bullet, told the household I wouldn't be sitting down to dinner with them, for I had need to be elsewhere for an evening of group exercise at Fernwood.
First of all, I have to mention to you how beautiful Fernwood is. What a lovely environment to enter for one's fitness needs! No smell of man sweat, no know-it-all-about-weight-machines people hanging around specifically to have you feeling decidedly inadequate and way out of your league, and if I decide to do the Friday morning class, I could have a shower AND breakfast. I just wish there were a Fernwood in South Gippsland I could join...ach, well, the local gym offering Zumba will have to suffice.
So, back on topic. Zumba is a nice workout, indeed. It felt like the old clubbing days on my body, and like a collection of women assembling for a fun way to maintain general health and wellbeing in my head. It started out with some basic moves for the beginners in the class (hand up!) and progressed into more wiggly moves. I'm up for wiggly moves...it's the wiggling and then the moving sideways in a preordained fashion that I struggle with, and that also spelled the very quick end to my aerobics life, way back when I used to hold gym memberships (and actually used them, too). However, the latin grooves playing provided that little bit of inspiration to get my act together and give the coordination caper a red hot go. And I did. Give it a red hot go, that is. The coordination I will have to report back on, as sometimes I had it, and other times I lost it. Smiling all the way, though. I had to be careful with my foot and leg placement, as a few times I felt the familiar twinge in my pelvis, from my Symphisis Pubis Disfunction, and I had to modify my steps.
Zumba is FUN. Yes, I've only had one class, and if the first one has me feeling fantastic and wanting to find another 45 minutes in an already packed week to get to the Friday class, then it's gotta be a good thing, yeah? Yeah. That's what I thought :)

Babywearing

I love babywearing, and knew I would do it well before Boy-child was born. I don't know just where I got the inspiration from, but I knew babywearing was for me. I had seen pictures of Maya women and children carrying babies on their backs in Guatemalan cloths and wanted that closeness for myself.
Whilst studying Developmental Psychology I happened upon a book by Sharon Heller called 'The Vital Touch', that I found in my local library, and it gave a scientific account of the value of babywearing, of co-sleeping and of touch/massage to babies, and the way it builds vestibular sense as well as neural pathways in the brain that are only stimulated by close holding and touch. Prams put babies outside of normal conversation and human interaction and a heavy reliance on them robs babies of a chance to develop their balance and spatial awareness and, thus, co-ordination. The way a baby sees when in a sling is very multidimensional and they are IN their world, not just spectating it. That really spoke to me and the fact that in a sling, a baby can decide when there's been enough stimulation and visual input by tucking in, turning away and having a kip on mummy's chest. Instinct backed up by evidence, and it was done.
I would ask babywearing parents about their slings. I quickly discounted the more commercial carriers and new that I would be looking outside of major retailers for my carrier, particularly for ease of breastfeeding and also because I didn't like the way babies' spines sat in those. Then I started seeing people wearing Hug-A-Bub carriers and a beautiful friend offered to lend me hers. What a wonderful gift that loan was! I was hooked once I started carrying my firstborn and began investigating the next sling for when he got too big for the soft carrier. A few friends from Booby Club (my local Australian Breastfeeding Association) group were using a carrier called The ErgoBaby Carrier and I decided that its versatility was going to be of great benefit to me. I needed a sturdy carrier that was also soft on my boy's spine, that I could easily breastfeed in, that I could just chuck on in a hurry and safely take him with me to my horse. He was big enough for it at 4.5 months of age without an insert because his head control was pretty well established and he was already crawling - the HAB had reached its end of use. Tom wasn't overly pleased that I'd spent about $140 on a sling, and that's considering that I used my 'first time member' discount voucher at Mothers Direct, the ABA shop...but he got over that soon enough when he realised that he LOVED that Ergo! He could use it easily (he had also been using the HAB, but at that stage we weren't brave enough to try it with a back carry) and carry our boy on his back to get things done. AND, the boy settled so beautifully in it that it quickly became a parenting essential. Forget toys, forget cots, bouncers and all those mummy replacers...the sling was all that would do for our velcro baby, as he eschewed all other measures.
We carried him in New Zealand, we carried him at fire brigade, I carried him in paddocks, I carried him on trains, and, finally, we carried him in Ireland. At about 20 months of age he was well and truly not wanting to be carried anymore. He started walking at 10 months, so we did well to keep him carried for so long. I washed my Ergo, patched it up and put it away...till the next time.
For the next time, our Girl Face, I had made for me a woven cotton sling in lovely stripes. It is a wrap that is firmer for back carries and because it is woven it is a bit cooler in summer. I was given another HAB from a beautiful and kind friend who didn't need hers anymore, so I could interchange my wraps as needed in those first few months.
By the time the Girl was about 3.5 months she was also ready for the Ergo and the other slings went into slow and gradual retirement. By about 4 months, once again, we had an incipient crawler, only this one didn't mind being left to her own devices on the floor...no velcro baby! She's nearly one year old now and spends time in a sling when we're walking to the local shops, at the farm walking up the hills, or near cattle, when I'm with my horse, or unwell. I wear her so much less than I did her brother when we're at home. But babywearing is still an integral part of my parenting and she gets worn by her dad and her grandmother...even her brother has had a go, bless!
Today, Girl Face is fighting a fever and feeling under the weather, so as I type, she is asleep in the beautiful Organic ErgoBaby carrier in seagreen. I have lost track of how much she weighs, but it doesn't matter with the Ergo, because it places her in a way that is evenly distributed and EASY.
Next week is Babywearing Week, where parents and carers everywhere celebrate the merits, the joys and ease of wearing their babies. October 6 - 12 are the dates, so when you wear your baby next week, know that you are part of an ancient and contemporary practice that benefits you and your babies in so many ways, not just the convenience of being handsfree!

Brigade Life

Something about fire brigades. Volunteer ones, I guess I'm writing about. Warning: this could get sentimental.
I've been in one for over eight and a half years. I guess if I didn't love it I wouldn't be there anymore. Sometimes it's a challenge and sometimes I start to believe the little voices that tell me it's too hard to have two little kids, be studying and be a firefighter at the same time. Then I tell those voices to shut the hell up and that I can make it work with a bit of creativity, and buckets of flexibility in attitude from my fellow firefighters.
Anyway, days like today I especially appreciate being in my volunteer fire brigade. Not because sometimes you lose people, but because when you do lose someone you realise what you've got in who's left, and it's the departed member who has left that gift, among other mementos of their time with us on earth.
Some say a funeral is an unfortunate time to reconnect with old mates and I tend to disagree. I tend to think it's a great thing to come away from a funeral and feel glad that, at least, of all that's happened, you were able to press 'pause' in normal activity and get together to celebrate someone's life. Life does just get in the way of catching up with people. And sometimes death has to intervene to trip the circuit. (I don't think I'll mind, when my time comes, if people get together for a great chinwag and reconnect. That would mean that at least two people would have been there to see me off - woo hoo!). Today it was great to catch up with people that, without brigade, I would never have made a connection with and that, because of brigade, my life is richer for having known.
The thing with the vol brigade is that you get who you get and you just have to deal with that menagerie of personalities, skills, talents and experiences. You don't get selected the way you do for paid jobs - if you're healthy, of a clean police record, and willing then there's a place for you if you want it. After that, you see how you fit in. And most people do, in my experience. I've met vols from all over the state and none of them are of the same mould. All we have in common is that we want to put back into our communities.
As a vol, you see the same people, at least once a week, week in and week out for years. You see this side of them that they bring from home or from work whilst leaving a lot of themselves at home or at work. You get to know a few people so well that you become part of their private lives. Sometimes you might even stop being part of their private lives, for various reasons, and find that you can still work and joke together just knowing that there is that connection you have from the jobs you've attended together, the training you've done together, the skills and knowledge that's been shared. That can't be changed by a partner who doesn't get along with you, because that partner isn't a vol and doesn't know what you two know; how the other person would withstand physical pressure beyond their own expectations just to make sure you both exit a smoking building safely, how the other person has taught you to tie knots, how the other person has taken time to show you how a pump works or how to thread those damn laces on turnout boots. I would hope that most vols feel the way I do, in that no matter what the interaction of our private lives, that they seek to bring out the best in their fellow brigade members. Yeah, it's optimistic, and that's what I tend towards.
Often, I'll find myself telling someone about a friend, only to realise that I don't know that much about the person beyond brigade life, and wonder to what extent I can actually use the term 'friend'. And then I'll use it, anyway, because whilst I may not know children's names very well (something I intend to work on), or what music they like, because when you spend at least a couple of hours with someone every week, then see them at all sorts of hours in an emergency environment and debrief with that person, or spend extra hours on fundraising with your brigade peeps, then that counts, too, and is yet another way to know someone and have them be important in your life.
Today we attended a funeral of a fellow vol, and as well as being really sad that he left us so suddenly, I was glad for the opportunity he gave us to bring together former members we hadn't seen for a while, and to be together to appreciate the massive contribution of his life he did make to our brigade in his time served. I didn't know him as well as many of the others did, and I liked him a lot. He was non-confrontational even when he was having a confrontation and he offered whatever he could to the brigade, even when work kept him away from training and callouts. I knew he really wanted to get back into brigade life, like old times, so when I was told of his sudden illness it felt like a sideswipe. I think a lot of us were still processing it today, to make sure it was real. I guess it was, because we watched the casket being lowered into the earth after forming a guard of honour for him.
I wasn't sure, when I first joined, what that action would lead to, in terms of all these new people I had to get to know and work with. I had heard of firefighters refer to one another as family, brothers and the like. Somehow, these people enter your consciousness, then your subconscious and strangers form a very odd 'family' indeed, and a very welcome one. My mum used to complain that I had more time for strangers than I did for my own family, when I'd go to training on Wednesdays and Sundays, then fundraising, and callouts. When I first joined they were strangers. In a very short space of time the term 'stranger' couldn't be further from the truth, even if I didn't know what music they'd like played at their funerals. Those same people didn't know my mum, my sister, my favourite colour, and they accepted me for what I was willing to give and what I could dig deep to find in order to give.
In the foreseeable future we'll be moving to a new area and joining a new brigade and the process will begin again, perhaps with some more theorising and musing on my part. I dread to think that I'll feel about people I don't yet know the way I do about our current bunch of fiends (oops, did I forget the 'r'?), because it doesn't seem possible. Yet I hope that does happen, because I don't want to lose that sense of belonging to something way bigger than myself in the process of moving town. I'm ambivalent about my own situation where my childbearing has meant I have spent more time away from brigade than I thought I would have to, but babysitting for two young children on a Wednesday night is hard to come by when you're asking favours of loved ones, and also trying to maximise study opportunities when uni work is due. I'm told that everyone understands, so it's probably time I ease up on beating myself up over that. And the move doesn't mean we can't retain bonds with our current brigade, it just means we're adding to our brigade experiences.
I think I'm in a lucky situation where I was a vol and then introduced Tom to vol life. He knows what I mean, so I don't live with someone who doesn't understand why I would drop everything for 'strangers', or who struggles with that committment. I'm also lucky that I have friends in a few of the partners, so even if they don't always 'get' it, we still get along, and can be part of one another's lives.
No answers, no great revelations, I just needed to get it out.
So, thank you Steve A, for helping me thresh out these thoughts and bringing to my attention how important you have been, and how important all our members are to our lives, both private and 'just brigade'. You gave what you could until there was nothing left to give.

The Palace Arriveth!

The Farm Project now has a dwelling! Ok, so it's a caravan, and to some this may not suit their sensibilities about how one ought to live with a family of two small children, but it's OURS and it's on OUR farm. We have somewhere to stay comfortably on weekends, and, when I have some clear headspace and time, I will fashion it into something liveable and cosy.
Already I've put in some touches to make it more inviting.