Gold Coast – Part 4: Use the lounge

I’m so glad I noticed the little ad for the Jetstar lounge on my e-ticket.  We were so tired from the events of the previous evening.  Not to mention Hannah woke up at 2am screaming for water.  I gave her a cup full of water which she ravenously gulped down in less than a minute (complete with slurping sounds).  We were not in the mood, nor did we have the energy to be chasing Hannah all around a crowded airport.   Plus, I didn’t want to have to carry her around everywhere as I had already carried her 1.2 kms (with one arm, while pushing the pram with the other) from McDonald’s to our accommodation because she was crying in the pram and I felt bad because she was sick.

Hannah in the kids area of the Jetstar lounge

Honestly, I don’t know why anyone wouldn’t want to go to the Jetstar lounge at the Coolangatta (Gold Coast) airport.  It’s not one that you need to be a member of, you don’t have to fly in business class to get in, they have a kids area, food is included in the price, there is wi-fi, showers if you want one, tv, etc.  And, it’s only $15 each (kids under 12 free).  When you compare that to buying a meal each from one of the airport fast food places, it doesn’t seem too bad.  You’d pay at least $10 for some crappy fast food meal, and you don’t get the nice lounges to sit on, nor can you go back for seconds, thirds, or even, if you’re particularly hungry, fourths.  There was sushi, pasta, wraps, bread rolls with fillings to put on if you want, desert, pancakes (made by a really cool machine at the touch of a button), coffee, tea, hot chocolate, beer and/or wine, crackers, and fruit.  What’s not to like??

Hannah asleep on the plane

Another angle of the uncomfortable airplane sleep

Asleep on the train

Poor Hannah was not herself that day.  She fell asleep on the plane with her bum on me, and her head held up by Aaron’s hand, body over the arm rest.  It looked so incredibly uncomfortable!!!

She fell asleep on me on the train, and then nearly fell asleep on the bus too.

That night, Hannah got a fever of 39.3 celsius. I freaked out a little and called the after hours doctor (the hospital said to come back if she started vomiting again, or if she got a fever), who came remarkably fast.  He checked her chest and ears and all of that, said she’d be fine, she had a virus, and told me to give her electrolyte pops the next day.

She was super clingy and lacked energy for a few days, but then she bounced back to her old happy, cheeky, rambunctious self.

Gold Coast – Part 3: Emergency Room

The morning went well enough.  I took Hannah for a walk to go get breakfast (mmm…McDonald’s breakfast is just so good! To all who are gasping in horror, please note, Hannah does not eat Macca’s breakfast.  She gets the healthier stuff).  Aaron, Hannah and I went to the beach and played in the sand.  We went out to lunch.  Hannah played at the park.

We packed the nappy bag and bundled Hannah into the car.  We timed the trip to Byron Bay (to visit Aaron’s Mum) to coincide with Hannah’s nap.  Otherwise, she’d be too bored for the ride.

Squeal, babble, bubble blowing, chattering.  She was full of beans.  Sleep was not yet coming.

Cough, cough.  I turned around in my seat.  The coughing sounded funny.

“You cheeky little monkey, you pulled your pigtails out!”  Hang on, where were the pony tail holders.  Oh, there was one, dripping in spit, hanging out of her mouth.  I quickly grabbed it.

But where was the other one?

Funny coughing continued.  Oh my goodness, was she choking on a pony tail holder????  I freaked out a little bit.  Ok, a lot.  Frantically, I searched her and her seat for the rogue hair tie.

Phew.  I found it.  Right at the bottom of her seat, between her fat little (adorable) baby thighs and the side of the seat.

“Maybe if you take your hand out of your mouth, you wouldn’t be coughing like that….”  She’s cheeky.  Maybe she wanted attention instead of going to sleep.  Well, it was working.

BLAAAA (how do you spell the noise for vomiting??)!!!  A bit of fluid came out of her mouth.  She reached her chubby little baby hand into her mouth and (with an awkward look on her face) and searched for something.  Her chubby little baby hand parted from her mouth, holding between her thumb and forefinger a chunk of pineapple.

She held her arm out to me, leaned forward as far as she could and gave me that “Here Mommy, I found something for you” look.  Gee thanks, just what I always wanted.  I took it from her.  What else could I do?  Ew.

She cried a bit and then went to sleep.

She wasn’t asleep for long when she woke suddenly, screaming.

The coughing started again.

Oh please don’t throw up….

BBBLLLLLAAAAATTTTT!!  Oh goodness, it was everywhere.  It kept coming and coming.  She kept retching and retching.  Where did she keep all of this vomit?  I don’t see how it could possibly fit into her stomach.  She was COVERED in vomit.  The baby seat was covered in vomit.  The floor was covered in vomit.

I freaked out a little.  Okay, a lot.  We all know how I feel about vomit.  Okay, maybe you don’t, so I’ll tell you:  Vomit freaks me out.  I have a phobia of vomit.  The only thing I was concerned about in regards to kids is the vomit.   I had been dreading this moment from the moment Hannah was born.  Even my own vomit freaks me out.  Lucky for me I don’t vomit very much (just saying vomit so much is making me shudder).  I hadn’t thrown up (maybe I’ll feel better if I use a different term) since 7th grade until a couple of years ago when I got food poisoning from day old Pad Thai.  I haven’t mustered up the courage to eat any Pad Thai since that fateful night.  I suppose throwing up so violently that noodles come out your nose has that affect.  Then I got food poisoning again from Chicken Man (I hate you Chicken Man) not so long ago and had to get a shot (did I mention I ALSO hate needles?) to stop the vomiting.  I HATE VOMIT.  I would rather lie completely still for a whole week, nothing to look at, nothing to do, then vomit just once.  Yuck.

Anyway, back to the story….

Freaking out, I told (probably yelled, I don’t know) Aaron to pull over.  Sure, we were on a Freeway going 110Km an hour, but Hannah had what seemed to be 3 days worth of food pouring out of her.

I’m pretty sure she was still going when pulled over.  I don’t know which one of us unbuckled the child seat.  I assume I did.  Maybe I blocked it out of my memory.  It was COVERED in vomit.  I quickly put her over my knees and patted her back.  I wanted to make sure she got it all out and wasn’t choking on anything.  She was screaming blue murder.  I don’t know what passing cars thought as they sailed by us, Me squatting by the side of the road, small child across my knees screaming while I patted her.  Maybe it didn’t look like patting.  Maybe they thought we were pulled over to spank a small child.  Oh goodness. I hope no one calls docs….

Great, now I was covered in vomit also.  I took the vomit drenched dress of the screaming child who held out her outstretched arms in my direction, wanting me to give her a comforting cuddle in spite of the fact the beneath the dress, she also was covered in vomit.  Oh dear, what do I do?  I wiped her off first.  Then I gave her a cuddle.  I’m terrible.

The car seat was soaked, but we were on the side of the freeway in the middle of…well, I’m not sure where we were.  Somewhere between Surfers Paradise and Byron Bay. We had to put her back in the seat.  We exhausted our supply of wipes, trying our darndest to excavate the mountain of vomit on the baby seat.  Shudder.  It was still soaking wet.  At least the chunks were gone.

Speaking of chunks, the incident produced some startling (and unwanted) observations:

1. Judging by the end result, Hannah doesn’t seem to chew.  At all.

2. Raisins/sultanas turn back into grapes after being in the stomach for a while.

3. There are whole corn kernels in the Heinz Lamb and Vegetable 10-15 month baby food.

5. Babies stomachs seem to hold more than most adults.  I wonder where they keep their other internal organs?

6. I handled the “my child is vomiting” situation much better than I ever expected.

We put Hannah back in the car seat and continued on our way, desperate to find a service (gas) station, that hopefully stocks baby wipes and some form of cloths.

Just down the road, we found one.  I went in, reeking of spew, a giant, chunky wet patch on the front of my dress.  Darn it, no baby wipes.  At least they had wet ones.  Humph, they were 6 bucks.  Ripped off….  I hope I was just being paranoid and no one could actually smell me, but I honestly think HOW COULD THEY NOT???!!  We cleaned up some more and continued on our way.

Cough, cough, cry.  Oh goodness, here we go again.  How could she possibly have ANYTHING else left in her tummy????  This time it was mostly water (I got her to drink some after losing that much fluid before), with more chunks.  Never in my life have I seen so much puke.  Ew.

Me in Trish's dress. Aaron thought it was hilarious

I don’t know how Hannah would possibly have any energy after all the puking, but she played rather happily (after we changed her into the only other thing we happened to have in the nappy bag, her swimmers) at YaYa’s.  Aaron and I, on the other hand, set about cleaning up the festy smelling rental car and baby seat.  Despite having a removable cover, then a foam layer, the actual plastic under all of that was full of vomit.  Luckily Trish had a hose.  And a washing machine.  And a dryer.  And a dress for me to borrow.

Hannah had one strawberry, and then the vomiting started.  Again.  All over YaYa’s (sorry, in case you’re wondering, Trish and YaYa are the same person.  Trish is Aaron’s Mum, but we get Hannah to call her YaYa as she already has a Grandma that she sees every day.  And Trish is half greek.) floor.  And her dress.  Booya for us putting her catch all bib on “just in case.”

Maybe I was being over protective, overly freaking out, overly worried, but after losing so much fluid, I was freaking out for her.  We decided to take her to the hospital.  A doctors office was not an option, it was 6 something PM on a Saturday night.

Zoe wasn't allowed in the hospital so she sooked outside

They took her weight, temperature, heart rate, listened to her chest, checked in her ears, etc.  They gave her an electrolyte iceblock.  At first she screwed up her cute little face at it’s random saltiness, but then she liked it.  She ate the whole half that they gave her, plus an actual whole one.  I quietly freaked out, expecting the spew to start again any second.  It didn’t.  Relief.  They told us to come back if she developed a fever, or starting vomiting again.  Fair enough, except that we were driving back to the Gold Coast straight away, then flying to Sydney the next day.

Hannah slept all the way back to the hotel in the nicely cleaned baby seat.  She woke up at 2am screaming her lungs out.  I gave her an entire tommy tippy straw cup of water, which she pretty much inhaled before going back to sleep.  We were quite worried that Hannah and I would not be able to fly back home the next day (Aaron would have to, he would have to go back to work).  What if she starts vomiting again?  We can’t go on the plane if she’s vomiting….

Gold Coast – part 2: Bring your own lunch

I looked around; babies, kids, parents, prams, as far as the eye could see.  I’d never seen so many families/kids in one place before.  Even on a Friday, Sesame Street Beach at SeaWorld was very, very, popular.  The Sesame Street show grandstands were absolutely full of children, delighted at seeing their favourite characters coming to life (I don’t know how the people inside the suits weren’t absolutely scorching.

"Why is everyone looking at me? I'm not at all odd looking."

It was a hot day, and those big furry suits couldn’t have been too cool inside).  Hannah, on the other side, couldn’t care less.  Maybe (ok, probably) because she’s never actually seen Sesame Street (she’s not allowed to watch tv).  Maybe because she’s a doer, not a watcher.  Either way, she was bored, so we made a hasty exit.

Next stop: rides of course!  Kiddie rides.  Hannah LOVED the airplane (Aaron maintains that they were actually submarines) ride.  She got to sit in the front of the plane (strapped in of course) all by herself, with Aaron right behind her in the back seat.  She got to control the plane with a lever that made it go up and down.  The ride was so popular that Aaron and Hannah had to wait about 25 minutes to get on (on a Friday.  Who knew?).

I know, I'm adorable....

As lunch time rolled around, we made our way to the food court.  I wouldn’t really call it that myself except that that is what the sign outside proclaimed.  In reality, the “food court” only had one lunch place and a coffee place.  Hmmm…not very many choices, but I went with the fish and chips (I always have the urge to say fush and chups.  Ok, honestly, I usually do say fush and chups.  For you americans reading this, that is fish and chips in a New Zealand accent).

sighs "just because you like statue molesting, Mommy, doesn't mean I do!"

Twenty minutes later, Aaron was finally back with the food, and Hannah was already finished with hers.  It seems the “fast” food isn’t so fast at Sea World.  The line wasn’t even that long at that stage.  Biting into my fush and chups, I noticed the absence of that wonderful just fried crunch of the batter.  No, I didn’t get that at all.  My batter was chewy.  Chewy.  How did that happen?  Ew….  The fish was fishy.  Yuck.  Oh well, we paid the ridiculous you-can’t-go-anywhere-else-for-lunch-you’re-stuck-here-so-we’ll-charge-you-an-arm-and-a-leg-because-we-can price of $12.95 for said icky fush and chups.  The chips weren’t so crash hot either.  We’ll know for next time – bring our own lunch.  Maybe stop in at Subway before arriving and bring that in.

Anyway, why ramble on about Hannah’s fun at Sea World when I can show you a video instead:

Gold Coast – Part 1: Buy a leash

Hannah and Mommy. See how useless the baby seat belt is? She can turn around in it....

Hannah and her dolly on the plane

Note to self: Do not check in for a flight and go through security with a toddler all by yourself.

Who knew it would be so hard?  Not me.  I thought Hannah would just sit in the pram, giggle at people, squeal at people, and of course, get every single person around hers attention.  But no, that was not to be.  She wouldn’t let me even put her in the pram.  Instead, she made like a wet, slippery, floppy, flailing wiggle worm, rendering my buckle her into the pram efforts useless.  Of course it wouldn’t be so easy.

Sometimes you see a child running wild and you just think “why doesn’t that parent do something?” or “that child needs a leash.”  Well, Hannah is that child, and I am that mom.  We can’t help it really.  She is full of energy, curious about everything, and super smart.  She isn’t content just sitting in the pram all day, looking at things.  She wants to be in the midst of everything.  She wants to run around and inspect everything, and I want to let her.  But not while in line to check in for a flight.  Our check in line went a bit like this: Hannah ducks under the rope and takes off.  I run after her, pick her up, and deposit her next to the pram.  She helps me move the pram forward in line.  Repeat process.  Add stares from everyone around us, probably with thoughts of “Oh my goodness, WHY doesn’t that silly mum just put her in the pram??” or “how embarrassing, I’m glad I’m not her.”

We had to check the pram in at the oversized luggage counter, complete with on the spot x-ray.  Hannah was very interested in the x-ray machine and cheekily ran to the other side and pushed the start button.  Then she ran off.  I know you’re not supposed to leave luggage unattended, but that’s kind of hard when you have a freakishly fast 1 year old who likes to run off on your hands.  Start folding pram.  Run after Hannah.  Continue folding pram.  Run after Hannah.  Put pram on x-ray conveyor belt, run after Hannah.  I didn’t know being at the airport was such a workout.

Getting through security was even harder.  Have you ever tried to put backpacks, bags, watches, etc. off and on while trying to keep a toddler from running away?  Put bag in plastic tub on conveyor belt.  Run after Hannah.  Dodge annoyed stares from everyone in the line behind you.  Put next item in tub.  Run after Hannah.  Dodge stares, don’t make eye contact.  Repeat.  Go through metal detector.  Repeat whole process but putting everything back on this time.

Try to hold a noodley, wiggley, child at the same time while you have a backpack on your back, a camera bag on one shoulder, a nappy bag on the other, a sippy cup in one hand, and Hannah’s purse in the other.  Oh no, which gate was I going to?  I went in search of the info board carrying noodley wiggle worm.  I found it.  Hannah wiggled free.  I knelt down, put my arm around her and looked at the board.  Hannah didn’t want to stay stationary, so she put herself face down on the floor and started crying.  Darn it.  Everyone was staring.  Why was there a child crying face down on the floor while her mother was kneeling down, loaded with bags, hand on child, looking at the info screen?  Ignore everyone, grab child, go straight to parents room, let her run free.  Let out sigh of relief.  Wait for Aaron (who was coming straight from work).

I was never sure about those child leashes, but now, I really think they have their place.  Like airports for example.  That would have solved a lot.

Dear Boobies: I miss you, please come back

“GO Crater!!!!!” my friends yelled from the grandstands.  I’m sure the judges thought they were nuts.  I tuned them out and kept jumping (well, my pony did the actual jumping).  I can’t remember how long I had that nickname, but it was a long time.  It didn’t really bother me, I thought it was funny.  After all, it was true.  Well, ok, I didn’t have craters instead of boobs.  I just didn’t have any boobs.

My friend gave me an “Itty Bitty Titty Club” card once.  I still remember the silly poem on the back:

Itty Bitty soft and pretty, little breasts make better chests.  I carried that little card around in my wallet for years.

But then I came to Australia.  I don’t know if there are steroids or growth hormones or something in the chicken here, but suddenly, I had boobs.  I left an A, came back a C.  Sure, I’d put on a bit of weight while here.  I suppose that’s what happens when you were so fussy that you lived off of cheese pizza, macaroni and cheese and turkey hot dogs. Then you pull the stick of out your bum and start trying new things and realise hey, it’s not too bad.  Plus, this country has Tim Tams.  And cheesy nuggets, and my host mum Linda’s chef class cooking.  I lost my Australia pudge, but lucky for me, my boobs stayed.  I still remember my very first C-cup bra.  White with polka dots and convertible straps.

When I got pregnant, my boobs got even bigger.  Or maybe they just got sore, I don’t know.  They definitely got even bigger when I started breastfeeding.  Especially if Hannah didn’t wake overnight and I woke up in a puddle of milk and they were rock hard.

But now, breastfeeding is over, I’m not pregnant, and the chicken just doesn’t seem to be doing it’s job.  I suppose I thought they’d just go back to their pre-pregnancy size.  That seemed logical.  But no, that was not to be.  Instead, when I wear my bra, no longer is it filled by my boobies.  Now, fabric hangs down below my boobs, with nothing to hold it up, nothing to keep it in place.  I move my arm and my bra pretty much goes up to my neck.  I hunch a little bit and the straps fall down to my elbows.

“What’s going on, your bra is way too big for you?”  Aaron said to me the other day.  That was the straw that broke the camels back.  I was kind of hoping my MIA boobies would suddenly run back to me, happy and excited from their vacation, ecstatic about being reunited with me.

“My boobies shrank,” I said with a sad look on my face.

“Why don’t you get some new bras?”  Hm…good idea.

So that’s what I did today.  I went bra shopping.  I didn’t trust myself to figure out my new, smaller, sadder size.  I went to Bras ‘n things and got fitted.  I am now (sigh, gasp, sad face) an 8B.  Or (because that is nearly impossible to find) I could also go for the 10A.  Ten A?????????!!!!!!!!!!??????  I thought maybe a 10B, only 1 size smaller, that wouldn’t be so bad, but TWO SIZES SMALLER??!  What happens when I have another baby?  Will I turn into an 8AAA?  And then what if I have 2 more babies, or twins?  Then I really will be Crater.

I didn’t mind not having boobs.  But then I got some, and I really liked them.  And now I would really like them back.  They didn’t even stick around for 10 years.  😦

Oh, and I tried on a 10A in the store, and it pains me to say this, but it was a little big. Not around, but in the cup.  That’s just sad.  At least an 8B sounds better (we’ll just pretend the the actual cup size isn’t actually smaller than a 10A.  I know, bra sizes are confusing.).  Before today, I didn’t even know they made size 8 bras.  Sigh….

The Stubborn Grandma

Grandma: “Look at this stinging nettle I got out of the back yard.”

Me: “That’s a thistle.”

Grandma (grumpily): “No, it’s a stinging nettle.  I’m just trying to help you so Hannah doesn’t get stung.”

Me: “Regardless of what it’s called, I know Hannah shouldn’t touch it.”

Grandma (getting increasingly annoyed): “It’s a stinging nettle. I’ve lived my whole life in the bush, I know what a stinging nettle is!”

Me: “Well growing up, my Mom told me that those were thistles.  Stinging nettles are the ones that don’t look like they’d hurt you, they don’t have spikes on them, but then  you touch them and they sting.”

Grandma: “They both sting.  Touch this.  Come on, touch it, I promise it will sting you.”

Me: “I know it would hurt if I touch it, it’s spiky! That doesn’t mean it’s a stinging nettle.  It’s a thistle.  Maybe I’m wrong, maybe my Mom was wrong, I’m just going on what my Mom told me.  Maybe you’re wrong.”

Grandma: “It’s a stinging nettle.”

Grandma went outside and then came back, bearing non prickly, leafy, harmless plant.

Grandma: “This is a thistle.”

Me: “That’s not a thistle.  I don’t know what that is, but it’s not a thistle.”

Grandma: “How do all the rabbits eat thistle then?”

Me: “They don’t.”  I don’t know if they do or not, but I can’t imagine that they’d want to eat something that would likely poke their eyes out while giving them a lip piercing.

Me: “I’m going to look it up.”

Grandma (thoroughly annoyed): “Fine, but this is a thistle”

A few hours later (I hadn’t told Grandma that I looked it up hours ago):

Grandma, bearing a large spiky plant: “Look at this big…we’ll just call it Thing…that I found in the side yard.”

Me: “It’s a thistle.  We looked it up.”

Grandma (stubbornly): “Whatever.”

Then there was silence.  I wonder if Grandma will ever speak of said plants to me ever again, if she will still call them stinging nettles, or if she will now call them thistles???????????  Only time will tell….

UPADATE: Over a year later and she still refuses to call them thistles. She gets all flustered and says “You know, those stinging things…” HA!

This is a stinging nettle

This is a thistle

Lollipops

Maybe I just have ADD or something, but I get bored when I stay home all time.  Not just me, Hannah does too.  She has so many toys, but always ends up terrorising the house, then wandering around, not sure of what to do next, bored of all her toys (and there are many, that’s what happens when you live with Grandma).  So, we try to get out every day (without spending too much money…).  We go grocery shopping one day, bible study another, shopping (to spend our spending on what ever we want money), and then I have to think of other things to fill in our time on those other days.  We would go to play group, but they are all on while she has her morning nap, and we all know that you don’t wake a sleeping baby (because as I’ve said before, it’s pretty much the end of the world).

With nothing to do yesterday, we (ok, I) decided to go to Lollipops (http://www.lollipopsplayland.com.au/).  I thought that children 2 and under were free, but I was wrong, it’s only 1 and under.  Humph.  Unfortunately for me, I have a cold and my voice has decided to do a bit of a walkabout, making me sound rather like a transvestite.  Or like I’ve been smoking 8 packs of cigarettes everyday since I was 5 (ew).  Still, I enquired about the fee, rather embarrassingly, inviting an odd stare or two my way.  Of course maybe the stares were because my sleeve is caked in Hannah snot.  What can I say, sometimes you’re out and you don’t have a tissue, and you can’t just leave your poor little baby’s nose running.  It’s not like they wipe their own noses, and eventually, the snot makes its way to their mouths and then they’re just sitting there, unwillingly eating their snot.  I would love to have a sign to plaster on my shirt that reads “I don’t always sound like this, I have a cold.”  Or maybe “I’m not a transvestite, I have a cold.”   Kinda like the time that I got sun and wind burned , resulting in oozing yet crusty blisters all over my face.  I would have loved a sign then too (“No, I’m not usually this gross, it’s only a sun/wind burn”).

Hannah had the best time running around, playing on the little cars, in the play kitchen, the ball pit, jumping castle, tube thing, slides, teacup ride (FYI, you know you’re getting old when the teacup ride makes you dizzy).  She was having a wonderful day.

And then I ruined it.

We went out to the car.  I put her in her car seat, gave her a pancake (wholemeal with wheat germ, a healthy pancake) and her favorite (ok, maybe it’s my favorite) sippy cup.  She smiled at me, still oozing happiness from her play time inside.

I put her left arm in the safety strap of the car seat and buckled it.  I put her right arm in.  Stupid buckle, it wouldn’t go in.  Something was in the way.  I couldn’t see anything.  I kept pushing.

“WWWWWWAAAAAAAAA!”  My heart sank.  How could I be so stupid?  I took her out of her seat and gave her a cuddle.

“I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry, Mommy didn’t mean to hurt you.  I love you so much!”  I held her for a while as she rested her sobbing little face on my shoulder.  I felt horrible.  I pulled up her shirt to assess the damage.  A bright red welt stared back at me, angry and hurt.  I kissed her little baby belly.

She started screaming when I put her back in the seat.  I’m sure she was afraid that the seat belt was going to bite her belly again.  Poor baby.  At least she doesn’t seem to think I did it, and I’m not going to correct her.  I’ll let her go on thinking that the mean seat bit her.  After all, I don’t want her to know that Mommy pinched her tummy in the seat belt buckle.

Sun, sand, and slacklining

In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have worn a skirt.

Slacklining looks hard. It's harder than it looks....

Slacklining requires you to step up to the rope with one foot and denim skirts don’t really let you do that (unless maybe you wear one of those “hi, here’s my ass” skirts that are so short that, well, you can pretty much see the bottom of the wearers butt cheeks).  Hitching up said skirt, I lifted my right leg and put my foot on the line.  Slacklining looks hard, but goodness, it’s way harder than it looks!  As soon as you stand up on the one leg, the line starts swaying this way and that while you’re up there trying to make your legs like jelly (jello) just to keep up with the line, all the while making sure your skirt doesn’t travel north past the bottom of your butt cheeks.  Maybe I should have put on my swimming suit before slacklining to avoid the whole lack of movement problem.  After several goes, I managed to take one whole step on the slack line before falling off.  Doesn’t seem like much, but try it, and you’ll be proud of one step too.

Between my turns on the slackline,  I had to amuse Hannah by taking her down to the sand.  Otherwise I found myself chasing after her chasing after a passing dog, kid, random stranger, person on a bike, anything really.  Or she would get dangerously close to the slackline (while someone was on it) trying to grab it.  She hadn’t been to the beach since the Christmas holiday to Byron Bay.  I carried her down to the sand, put her down, and immediately she started feeling it, picking it up, walking in it, tasting it (I don’t think she was impressed).  She even laid down

Well, I managed to get on at least

(on her belly) and made a sand angel.

Hannah gets buried

Hannah’s guide to being cheeky

1. Throw all of your food on the floor and then say DONE! and/or GONE! while giving Mommy a cheeky but innocent look.

2. After Mommy takes off your poopy nappy, flail your feet and bottom around and watch Mommy get increasingly frustrated as she dodges your pooey bottom and tries her hardest not to get poo all over herself.  Increase giggles as Mommy gets more frustrated.

3. Sip water out of your cup but instead of swallowing it, spit it back out, all over yourself, so Mommy has to change your clothes (she could just leave you all wet, but if she’s like my Mommy, she wouldn’t do that to you while it’s still cold out).

4. Bite Daddy’s nose.  Make sure you get the inside of Daddy’s nose.  Giggle, giggle, giggle.

5. While Mommy is folding laundry, innocently walk into her room, then quickly grab a stack of clothes and run off.

6. Open your closet/dresser, whatever you have, and throw all of your clothes around your room.

7. As soon as Mommy or Daddy puts your shoes on, run away, sit down somewhere, and then take them off.  If you’re feeling really mischievous, hide one or both shoes.

8. Unzip Mommy’s purse (I wonder why Daddy’s don’t have purses.  They seem so convenient.  Where do Daddy’s put all of their Daddy things?) and pull all of its contents out.  Make sure you open the wallet (I use my teeth, it’s far easier) and take out all of Mommy’s cards.  Just for a bit more fun, grab something that Mommy really needs from the purse and run off giggling.

9. Open the pantry and take out the tupperware of spaghetti.  Open the tupperware, dump out all of the spaghetti, then walk all over it so it breaks in little pieces.  Pick up some of the pieces and deposit them all around the kitchen.  Don’t try to eat them, they don’t taste very nice when they’re not cooked (I know from experience).

10. Point to Mommy’s chest and say “Booby.”  Hahaha.

11. Pull Mommy’s shirt up and try to steal the shiny sparkle-y thing that she keeps in her belly button.  I Haven’t been successful in the quest so far.  Maybe one day I’ll be able to get the shiny thing.

12.  Pull down Mommy’s shirt and try to take the spot off of her (she calls it a mole.  “Hannah, Mommy likes her mole there, don’t try to take it off…”).  I scratch, pinch, and sometimes use a combination of both.

13. Make sure Mommy or Daddy or Grandma is watching, and then go touch the garbage bin.  Keep touching it and give them a cheeky grin (because you know you’re not supposed to touch it, and they know that you know).

14. When you play outside, find a puddle, run straight into it, then jump up and down.  Make sure you get your shoes soaking wet, all the way through your socks, and preferably up your pant legs as well.  I also recommend sitting down in the puddle and slapping it with your hands.

15. When you are having a bath, stand up and run around so Mommy can’t get a hold of you to wash your face and hair (I hate having my face and hair washed!).  Laying on your belly and kicking your feet in the water, making lots of splashes is great too.

16. Say “Daddy!” and when Daddy looks at you, flick the straw of your cup so water hits Daddy in the face.  Laugh heartily when Daddy says “Hey, you got Daddy in the eye,” and then do it again.

17. Run into your room and then when Daddy tries to follow you, shut the door.  When he opens it, giggle, giggle, giggle, then close it on him again.  Repeat as desired.

18. Spill something on the floor (or find something that is already there).  Put your index finger in the  middle of the spill and then move it around.  Try to make the spill spot as big as possible.

Toothy-pegs

I don’t know how I missed it.  All the signs were there: bright red cheeks, crankiness, red bottom, not wanting to eat a lot of things, chewing on her fingers.  No, I lie, I do know how I missed it.  I was waiting for Hannah’s fourth bottom tooth to erupt.  She has 3 on the bottom but usually they come in pairs, within a few days of each other.  I kept checking that vacant little spot next to her other bottom teeth, wondering why it was taking so long when she was clearly teething.  After a while, I figured I must be misinterpreting her signs as no little tooth was breaking through.  The thought to actually check elsewhere never crossed my mind.

Hannah knows how to tell you what she wants.  She will get a jar of something, or a zipped bag, etc, bring it to me or Aaron, hand it over and wait.  Yesterday, she wanted peanut butter (yeah, she has good taste).  She grabbed the jar and brought it to Daddy.  Aaron opened it for her, but with no spoon in hand, he stuck his (just washed) finger in and let her eat it off.

“She’s got a tooth coming up!”  Aaron exclaimed.

“Yeah, I know, that one has been trying to come up for ages.”  I speculated.

“No, she has teeth further back!”

“What!”  I exclaimed, thinking he was just feeling some teeth below the gums.

I dipped my finger in the peanut butter and she happily opened her mouth.  There they were, 3 molars, all already out of the gums.  I was completely flabbergasted.  NO WONDER she has been so cranky and had the reddest cheeks she’s ever had.  I don’t even know when she started getting these molars.  Now my little baby (whose not so little, nor a baby anymore) has 10 teeth.  And all this time, I thought she only had 7.

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