Oh, an award :)

I just checked my blog email (which I don’t do nearly enough…) and found an email from another blogger  (Crystal from sooobig.com) wanting to give me an award because she loves my blog.  Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not a real award, more like a chain letter, but whatever, it made me feel good!  I’ve seen these on other peoples blogs and thought ‘sigh, no one’s ever given me an award.’  So I was pretty stoked.  Anyway, here it is and here is what I have to do:

 

Here are the rules:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to them in your post.
2.  Tell us seven things about yourself that others may or may not know.
3.  Award fifteen recently discovered new bloggers. (note from me: We’ll just pretend I’m a new blogger…and recently discovered.  Maybe that means recently discovered by the person who sent the award to me?  New to her? Whatever, I’m still thrilled with it!).

7 things you may not know about me (now you’ll find out I’m a little strange…)

1. I HATE it when rough things touch my hands and when I have to touch rough things.  Ick.  Gives me the heeby-jeebies like when someone runs their nails down a black board.  I won’t even put lotion on my feet with my hands.  I still put lotion on them, but I rub it in with my feet.  Don’t get it?  I put a bunch of lotion on one foot and then rub my feet together.  Whatever, I’m weird.  I know that.

2. I ALWAYS wear mis-matched socks and have since about 7th grade (15 years ago for those who are curious about my age) when I couldn’t find a pair of socks one day. I don’t like boring plain socks either.  The quirkier and crazier the better.  Sometimes I even wear toe socks (like gloves for your feet) on one foot and a normal sock on the other.  Unfortunately, Australia doesn’t have the awesome supply of interesting socks that the U.S. has, so my interesting sock supply is dwindling.  Mom, please send me some socks for Christmas.

3. Pre-children, my belly button was just a slit. It seriously looked like this: | I got it pierced to cover the silly little slit.  I hated my belly button.  Now it’s normal.  Thanks kids for kicking the bollocks out of me in utero and stretching it out.  Oh, and I found out that it has a freckle inside it.  How did that get there?  I only found it when my belly button popped out.  Lucky for me it’s not a slit anymore because my belly piercing hole seems to have migrated half a centimeter up from my belly button during pregnancy.  Not such a good look.  Plus I think I’m getting too old for a belly button piercing.  I’m not sure.

4. When I was little, I sat on a big rusty nail.  Oops.  It really hurt.  Then I had to have a tetnus shot.  Ick.  I HATE needles.  Maybe that should have been a point as well?  Although now I’m getting used to them.  You need a lot of needles when pregnant.  Especially when you have a negative blood type.  Hmmm… that’s 2 extra points I could have used.  Darn it.

5. 25% of my left Tibia was actually a tumour, something I found out in high school when a slight knock to just the right (or wrong you could say) area broke my leg just below the knee.  No one believed me that my leg was broken, so I sat there with it like that for 2 hours AND played guitar in a talent show before anyone would take me to the hospital.  Then no one at the hospital would believe me either, since, as they told me, “no one breaks their leg there.”  I had to practically force them to give me an x-ray.  I heard it snap, I knew darn well it was broken.  I’ve since had a bone graft from my hip to fill in the tumour.  It wasn’t cancerous, FYI, just a pain in the ass.  Still is, it feels disgusting when anything touches the area.  Ick.  Oh, and all around it doesn’t get goosebumps.  Weird.

6. Ummm…this is hard.  What else can I say??? hmmmmm….  When I was young, I wanted to be a vet.  Then I discovered I’m squeamish around blood.  And I can’t look when there is cutting.  Or stabbing.  Or anything remotely surgical.  Or even when I’m getting a shot or blood drawn.  Shudder.  Kind of squashed my career prospects….  Once my sister in law was cutting a frozen english muffin in her hand (as you do…) when she cut a lot too far down and sliced her hand open.  It was pouring out blood.  She showed me and asked what to do.  She asked me?   Ha!  I flapped my arms, and freaked out.  “I can see your meat!!”  I screamed.

7. I’m a flapper.  I flap when I’m excited, when I’m watching something and it’s not going well (like the team I’m not going for is scoring), when I run, the list goes on.  I just flap my arms up and down like I’m trying to fly or something.  Only I don’t do it on purpose, it just kinda happens.  I didn’t even realise that I do it until someone told me.  Probably Aaron.  Or The Jess.  I seem to have passed this trait on to Hannah.  Whenever I’m drying her off after her bath, she flaps and flaps and giggles whilst stating with a huge smile “I’m FLAPPING!”  And then I realised that she also flaps when she runs.  Poor girl.  Why couldn’t she get Daddy’s running ability?  He is a good runner.  He runs all the time.  He runs in races even.  Not me, I just flap.  Awesome.

Thanks Crystal, I love my award, and It was kinda fun writing random facts about myself. Good times.  Now who shall I pass this award on to????????????????????????????????????

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You peed on what?

Last week and the week before, Aaron was off work to help out with Daniel (who is 2 weeks and 2 days old today!!) and Hannah.  It was great having him home.  Hannah didn’t want anything to do with Mommy anymore, she was all about Daddy.  I suppose that worked out well because Daniel was all about Mommy.  Well, Mommy’s boobies anyway.

Hannah was following Aaron around everywhere.  And by everywhere, I really mean everywhere.  She even tried to follow him into the bathroom.  Usually he was fast enough to shut the door before she got there.

But one day, he was too slow.  He didn’t think it would matter, the toilet is against the back wall and he could easily block her from getting around the side and seeing his junk.  She’s never seen his junk.  He never wants her to see his junk.  Sometimes they have baths together, but Aaron wears undies or boardies.

Hannah didn’t want to stay behind Daddy.  Hannah wanted to be next to Daddy.  She made a break for it, bee-lining for Daddy’s left side, squishing herself in between the toilet and the sink.  Aaron stuck his leg out, trying to desperately to block her cheeky efforts.  She tripped.  Aaron had to think fast.  Hannah was about to hit her face on the toilet bowl.

He grabbed her as fast as he could.  But he was still mid pee.  How do you grab a falling cheeky toddler mid pee?

“Boo?!?!”  Aaron called.

“Yeah?”  I came in the bathroom.

“I peed on Hannah’s head.”  Surely not.

“What?”

“She was going to fall, so I caught her, but I peed on her head.”

I cracked up.  I could see the line of pee on top of her head.  It wasn’t much, but it was there.  I couldn’t stop laughing.

“What do I do?”  Aaron asked me.

“Well, we’re on our way out the door, so just get a wipe and clean it off.  I’ll give her a bath later.”  I was laughing so hard I could barely get the words out of my mouth.

“You’re not gonna blog about this are you?”

“Of course I am, it’s hilarious!!!”

Sorry Boo, but I couldn’t help myself….

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Yes, I had a baby

right after giving birth

Hello Everyone!!  So as you’ve noticed, I’ve been absent for a little while.  I do have a good excuse, I promise!!!  Brace yourselves (because it’s not like you saw this coming or anything…)… I had a baby!!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, 8 August, I was trying to get some last minute things done (vacuuming, making some meals for Hannah to put in the freezer, etc.), when my water broke.  Now I’m not talking about just a little trickle.  No sir, this was like a flood.  I was standing there peeling an apple, and WHOOSH!!  Niagra Falls in my pants.  Without all the boats.

I ran to the bathroom, stripped my pants off and sat on the toilet.  It kept coming and coming.  Sigh.  My phone was in the kitchen.  Aaron had just taken Hannah to the park.  I grabbed a pad, held it to my nether regions and made a run for it, hoping and praying that none of the neighbours happened to be looking in the direction of my open window as I dashed around the house half-naked and leaking.

Back to the toilet.  I called Aaron.  No answer.  Crap.  I called again.  No answer.  Crap.  I called Grandma’s house.  She wasn’t home.  Crap.  I called her phone (that she wore around her neck vigilantly whilst awaiting this very call).  She was on the bus, but she answered.  She hopped off that bus, ran as fast as an 81-year old with a pinched nerve, arthritis, and shopping trolley full of stuff can, and got a cab straight here.

I finally got a hold of Aaron in the mean time and he came home too.  I still sat on the toilet, the liquid contents of my uterus leaking out.

The hospital wanted me to come in for a check.  Make sure no meconium (first baby poop) was in the fluid.  There wasn’t any, but they made me stay overnight anyway.  Baby Boy’s head had moved back up, and since my waters broke, the cord could prolapse.  I wasn’t even in labour by the way.  Just leaking and wearing 2 giant maternity pads in my underwear.  They were going to induce me in the morning, so I just had to go to the antenatal ward and sleep until then.

I woke at 12am to pee.  I went back to bed and started getting contractions.  I put my TENS machine on and went back to sleep.  Well, between contractions anyway.  I did manage to get some sleep on and off until 4, when I could no longer sit or lie in bed.  Contractions suck way more when laying or sitting.  I needed to walk.  Everyone else was asleep.  This was, after all, the antenatal ward.  No one else was actually in the process of having a baby.

I paced the halls, one hand on my sore belly (for some reason, the contractions were really painful on the bottom of my stomach, not my back as you’d expect in a posterior labour), the other holding my TENS machine for dear life, cranking it up during each contraction.  The staff asked me how I was doing, and were pleased when I told them I was in labour.  No induction needed, thank you.  I painfully paced the dark empty halls by myself for an entire hour, updating my facebook status between contractions (there was nothing else to do, and I had my phone with me).

At 5 I asked if I could call Aaron, the pain was getting quite severe and I wanted him there for moral support.  They said he could come at 6, but not before because everyone else was asleep.  Antenatal ward remember.  These ladies needed their sleep.  They tried to get me a delivery suite to pace around in instead (and so my husband could come), but none were free.  So I paced some more.

By 5:30, they felt sorry enough for me that they called one of the midwives and told me she’d be up soon so I wouldn’t be alone.

The midwife came up and decided to check me out.  There was now 1 delivery suite available and they wanted to keep it free for someone who may come in and urgently need it.

Ring ring.  Aaron wanted to know if he had time to stop and get some breakfast.  “Sure.” I told him.

The midwife manually checked my progress “call him back, no time for breakfast, you’re 8cms dilated.”

Oh my gosh!  I wasn’t expecting that!  We went straight down to delivery, shocking all the staff.  No one thought I was that far along. I hide it well.

I paced around my delivery suite for a little bit, Aaron arrived, then it was time to push.  I got on the bed with an exercise ball, leaned my torso over it, put my knees on the bed and waited for the next contraction.

Oh.  My.  Gosh.  Pushing is hard!  I Probably should have done my pelvic floor exercises after giving birth to Hannah.  I felt like my every ounce of effort was doing nothing.

I pressed on.  It seemed like hours passed.  Finally the head started coming.  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  It felt like a giant red-hot knife was going to town on my nether region.  But there was no turning back, I had to keep going.  Finally the head was free.  One more push and out came Baby Boy, 22 minutes after I started pushing, 7 hours after my first contraction and only 3 hours after established labour.

They passed him to me between my legs as I grabbed him and turned around to lie on the bed for a cuddle.  We named him Daniel.  Our precious little Daniel, 7lb, 3oz (3.2kg), 50cm long.

They stitched me up and then I had a shower. I was covered in blood and poo.  Yeah poo.  Daniel did a poo as he came out and until then I hadn’t noticed it was actually all over me.  Ew.

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There’s poo on it

Aaron took Hannah to an indoor play place the other day.  Hannah loves these play places, as you may remember from this post/video.

She was playing in the ball bit, happily climbing about, tossing balls around, when she came upon a dented ball.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

She pulled it out and held it up to Daddy, looking at him all serious-like.  “I need to go wash it.”  She told him.  She was, of course, talking about putting it in the pretend washing machine they had there. “It has poo on it.” She declared.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

And off she went, to put the ball in the washing machine.

(c) Sheri Thomson 2011

Note: the ball did not actually have poo on it.  Just so you know….

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How old is too old?

When Hannah was born, we lived 7 minutes from the Sydney CBD (that’s central business district for you fellow Americans).  We lived in a little apartment that had a nice big bathtub.  I found the easiest way to bathe Hannah was to actually get in there myself as well. That was much easier then leaning over the high bathtub side whilst holding a newborn with one hand and washing with the other, all the while making sure she didn’t drown. Luckily we never had any poo incidents.  I think I would have been traumatised if I was sharing a bath with poo.  Ick.  Good girl for not pooping in the bath.  Except that one time, but she was older then and I wasn’t in the bath with her.

Then we moved in with Grandma, and despite the big 4 bedroom house, the bathtub was small.  Like half a bathtub.  I’d never actually seen one like that before.  Not in a house anyway.  Maybe on a boat or something.  I couldn’t really fit in with her, but by that stage she was 9 months old and nearly walking (she walked at 10 months), so she didn’t really need me in there holding her upright to avoid death by drowning.  Not like when she was a baby.

But then we moved into our current apartment.  We have a big bathtub again.  “Oh, that’s a bbbiiiiiiigggggggg bath!”  Hannah said when she saw it.  Oh how I love to have a bath!  Not that I’ve had a proper bath in there yet, since pregnant women aren’t supposed to have a very hot bath and what’s the point of having a not very hot bath?  Hannah, on the other hand, had other ideas.  She seems to have the memory of an elephant.  She can somehow remember things from months and months ago even though she is only just on 2 and these things happened months and even a year ago.  Like the bath for example.  Hannah was really excited at the prospect of being able to have a bath with Mommy again.

I only fill the bath about 5 inches and not overly hot, since she is 2 and enjoys laying on her stomach and splashing whilst having her bath.  Sitting in 5 inches of not really hot water is certainly not my idea of an awesome bath, but you know, you do things like that for your kids.

I put the bubble bath in, put Hannah in, then undressed myself and got in with her.  She played and played and splashed and squealed and had a great time.

“Oh, Mommy’s boobies!”  She said as she reached forward and grabbed my nipple.

I was speechless.  What do you say to a 2 year old about such things?  I mean, I wash her when she’s in the bath.  I change her nappy and wipe her bottom.  Why wouldn’t she think it’s ok to grab my nipples?  Plus, maybe she even remembers drinking from them (oh gosh I hope not!). She did nurse until she was 1.

I told her that she can’t touch my boobies, they are my private parts.  But then she grabbed them again.  I don’t think she understands private parts.

Then she reached forward and said “Mommy’s ‘gina!”  I caught her little curious finger before it actually reached it’s target, but it was still rather horrifying.

“No sweetie, you can touch your vagina, but you can’t touch Mommy’s.  Mommy’s boobies and Mommy’s vagina are private parts.”

Then why is mommy allowed to wipe me when she changes my nappy, and wash me when I’m in the bath?  I imagine she was probably thinking at the time.  Seriously, how do you explain that to a 2 year old?

Now I’m wondering if it’s even ok that she sees me naked?  How old is too old to see Mommy naked?  To have a bath with Mommy?  Should I be wearing my swimsuit in the bath?  I brought up that prospect to Aaron, but Hannah heard me, got all excited, ran to her room, and retrieved her own swimming suit.  She thought it would be great fun to wear our swim suits in the bath tub.

P.S. 40 weeks and 2 days.  No baby yet, still waiting……………

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Come on baby, you can come out now!

I was going to do a proper post today, but you know what?  I can’t really be bothered.  I’m 40 weeks pregnant, extremely uncomfortable (probably because my posterior  baby has the giant back of his head pressing on all my insides instead of towards the outside world), tired, and want to spend my blogging time attempting to induce labour instead.

So, instead of doing my planned post, which would have been rather funny and included a drawing (that I haven’t done yet…), I’m going to sit on my couch, put the blinds down, and drink raspberry leaf tea whilst stimulating my nipples, and if I can find some in the fridge or cupboard, eat some pineapple as well.

We’ll see if it works!

 

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Almost Wordless Wednesday: Best family photo ever

Almost 1 year ago today, The Jess got married.  As a last minute thought, we decided to get a family portrait.  Hannah (who was the flower girl) was just over 1 at the time, hadn’t had a nap all day, and was pretty much over it.  But the result: Best. Family. Photo. Ever.  I think so anyway.  This baby is framed in my living room, and cracks me up every single time I look at it.

From left: Aaron, Grandma, YaYa, Me

Sitting down: The Jess

On The Jess: Hannah (who just wants to get the heck out of there)

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The smoking bathroom

We LOVE our new place.  Sure, we went from a 4 bedroom house with a yard to a 2 bedroom apartment.  But it’s ours.  Well, we don’t own it, but you know, only our little family lives in it.  It’s cozy.  I can prepare dinner on the large kitchen bench that overlooks the living/play/dining room while Hannah happily plays.  I got to organise everything in the kitchen just the way I like it.  If I have to pee in the middle of the night (who am I kidding, I’m 39 weeks pregnant, it’s more like when I have to pee in the middle of the night), I can roll out of bed and walk to the bathroom naked.  No clothes needed, I’m not going to run into anyone except for Aaron, and he likes it when I’m naked anyway (I’m sure he’s blushing as he reads this…).  There is a big bathtub and a modern spacious kitchen.  The list goes on and on.

Even Hannah loves it here.  Whenever we go elsewhere, she looks at me all serious-like and says “Hannah go home now to new house.”  Never in a million years did I think she’d take to a new place so well, especially since it meant leaving Grandma and YaYa behind.  I guess she thought it was too crowded too.  Plus now the big screen TV is in the same room she plays in, so she gets to watch Mickey and Dora on it; something she never got to do before.  She even said she wants to share her room with Baby Brother.

The move probably would have been a lot smoother if Hannah didn’t get sick soon after and end up in the hospital, but that’s a whole ‘nother story….

The only problem with the new place is the smoking.  We don’t smoke.  Yuck.  I’ve never even tried one.  Ick.  Just the thought makes me cringe!  But our neighbours all seem to smoke.  Except maybe the other new tenant across the way who also has a 2 year old girl.  And smoke travels.  There is no smoking allowed inside the building, so everyone goes just outside their doors and smokes there instead.  I can smell smoke like no ones business.  Sigh.  It comes under our door and assaults my nostrils.  Smoke that has been in someone else’s body comes in my door and enters my body.  Ew. Just because you want lung cancer doesn’t mean I do…. I think I need to buy a door snake.  Maybe that will help.

Fair enough, I can see why the smoke comes in under the front door.  That makes sense.  But a some of the time, there is a strong smell of cigarette smoke in the bathroom.  Yeah, the bathroom.  The bathroom that has a closed window, is on the second story of the apartment building (with the rest of our apartment of course), has no common walls with any other unit, and has a bunch of trees right out side it (so no one can stand under it smoking).  I can’t for the life of me, figure out why the bathroom smells like smoke.  How did the smell get there?  It’s not like Aaron or I am hiding out in the bathroom chain smoking.  It’s certainly not Hannah. Are all the vents connected and someone is cheekily smoking in their bathroom?  But then wouldn’t I see smoke coming out of them? Maybe it’s like Toy Story and our bathroom fixtures all get together and party while we’re out. Hmmm…..