A Day In The Life

Wake up to Tilly chatting away, get up.
Change Tilly
Let Kransky out
Put the night nappy on to soak
Let Kransky back in
Take Tilly to the lounge to find the Twirlywoos
Make coffee
Do some jobs with Tilly.
Make and eat breakfast.
Boobs
Change Tilly
Dump night nappy water and fill up with fresh for second soak
Bundle Tilly in the car and drive to Belmont to pick something up
Back home give Tilly a snack
Let Kransky out again
Remember night nappy and drain it
Boobs
Do some jobs with Tilly
Get ready for swimming
Tilly has pooped. Leave poop nappy machine to deal with later
Go to swimming. Tilly cracks in half way through and demands to leave. Change up both and shove a biscuit in her hand.
Get home and make her a sandwich
Boob feed
Shower and wash my hair (the first time this week)
Fish Kransky's ball out of the bath (where he has put it)
Put Tilly down for her nap
Clean kitchen
make coffee and eat nuggets that Jesse has cooked for me.
Take rubbish out, chase Kransky down the street. He has run off barking at next doors dogs.
Drink coffee.
Tilly wakes up.
Client arrives. Hook client up.
Give Tilly some food.
Fish Kranksy's ball from under the TV unit
Boob feed
Do some jobs with Tilly.
Tilly has pooped again, right as client is finishing. Finish up with client.
Change Tilly. She is adamant that she doesn't need changing. Poo gets everywhere. Clean it up.
Take nappy to the laundry and remember previous poo nappy. Rinse both.
Boobs
Afternoon tea.
Do some jobs
Put chicken in the oven for dinner.
Tilly poos again. The same scenario happens. Clean it all up. Take nappy to the laundry to rinse. Tilly tips Kransky's water bowl all over herself. Clean her and the water up.
Fish Kranksy's ball from under the fridge
Take the bins down.
Put The Wiggles on for half and hours peace. It doesn't work.
New client phone call. Try to book them in as Tilly is trying to grab the phone from my hand.
Do some jobs.
Finish dinner and eat it. Tilly wants to wash the dishes. At least I don't have to do that when she is asleep.
Let Kransky out.
Have a bath. Wash hair because we were swimming. Brush teeth. Not that toothbrush, the other one.
Put the nappies on pre wash
Fish Kransky's ball from under the heater
Facetime Grandma.
Put night nappy and PJ's on.
Read 70 million books.
Boob to sleep.
Sneak out and put the nappies on main wash.
Finish cleaning the kitchen
Eat some cheese
Snap together the last nappy load. Get half way through and get summoned to the bedroom. Boob back to sleep.
Sneak out. Notice the water cooler is low as I'm passing through the kitchen, fill it up.
Eat some crisps
Finish the nappies
Let Kransky out.
Reset the lounge room. Find a place to stage the Twirlywoos ready for the morning
Put the nappies away
Pick outfit for tomorrow
Wrap presents
Start studying about 9pm.
Nappies finish washing about 10pm. Hang them out.
More study until I can't keep my eyes open and fall into bed about midnight.

What's For Dinner?

Something I've been really struggling with is food. Particularly dinner. I always have grand plans for dinner. I meal plan, I shop, and then the time comes and it all falls apart. Afternoons are hard. Tilly has never been a great day sleeper, and now its extremely rare that she will have an afternoon nap. She has anywhere from 30 - 90 minutes between 11 and 1pm. It's widely unpredictable. and usually by 4pm she is entering maximum grumple.

Things I can just throw in the oven one handed while holding her is about all I can manage. Which is ok, I can easily do roast meat and veg. But, variety is the spice of life. Or so they say.

I get really stressed out about it. Jesse says not to worry, he is happy to fend for himself. But, I feel bad about that. Who wants to get home at 1am after a long, hard hospitality shift and cook dinner? I wouldn't. Plus, it still doesn't fix the 'what are me and Tilly going to eat?' problem.

I've tried batch cooking. It didn't work. Me and Tilly ate them, and Jesse still ended up cooking his own food. I tried home delivery meals. Me and Tilly ate them, and Jesse still cooked his own food. These are expensive ways of living. A disconnect. I feel like we aren't a family unit, and aren't functioning as one when we do this.

Maybe I just have to let the idea of cooking go. Fill the fridge with easy to prepare one handed meals. Our favourite meal as a kid was 'fruit and salad and stuff' which was a plate of cut up fruit and vegetables, some cheese, some dips, some crackers, some cold meats. Maybe I have to be ok with us having roast meats and vegetables a lot.

Some of you are probably going 'ok, so what?' But see, food is a trigger for me. For so long it had so much control over my life. I have recovered from an eating disorder. And I refuse to go back there. I don't want food to cause me stress and anxiety any more. I just want to enjoy it. And at the moment I don't. I feel a constant struggle to make sure that we are eating something other than take away. And, most importantly, I don't want Tilly to ever have a bad relationship with food. I don't want it to control her life like it did mine.

I know that this is just a stage. That eventually it will get easier for me to be able to cook properly, maybe even have a little helper. I have to be ok with it being hard right now. I just have to make sure that our freezer always has bread it in, that we always have a can of baked beans in the cupboard, and that some nights we just have 'fruit and salad and stuff.' And that doesn't make me a bad mother or wife.

A Year Of Being Mum

I'm lying here, next to a sleeping Matilda. She is breathing softly and rhythmically, and I find myself completely overcome with emotion.

My daughter, the love of my life, is turning one tomorrow. In just a few short hours. I didn't expect these emotions around that. The old adage is true, the days are long, but there years are short. Where did that year go? My baby is morphing into a little girl before my eyes. And I am woefully unprepared.

We are having a birthday party  tomorrow, and I've come to realise that it is not only about celebrating Tilly, but it is about celebrating me. I made it an entire year being a Mum. I made it through the 100 days of darkness. Those first 3 or so months where you are chained to one spot with a baby attached to your boob. Where the days just bleed in to each other and you don't know if you are coming or going. Those incredibly lonely, hard days. I survived learning how to breastfeed (and we are still going strong) I survived lip and tongue tie release. I survived getting 6 teeth at once. I survived the falls. I survived the tantrums, the poonamis and the hatred of the car seat. I learnt that I absolutely did not know love until now. I mean, I thought I did, but having Tilly has swelled my heart to three times it's size. I learnt that a part of me had been missing, and I didn't even know it. I have learnt that I have a beautiful, smart, funny, loving daughter. I have learnt that material things don't matter. I have learnt to declutter. Seriously, I have gotten rid of some much stuff. I have learnt I care about waste, and I use as much reusable stuff as I can (cloth breastpads cloth nappies, cloth wipes, cloth menstrual pads, beeswax food wrap, unpaper towels) I have learnt a deeper compassion for people. A deeper appreciation for my parents. I learnt appreciation for every parent. You just don't get it until you live it. I get it now. Parenthood changes you. Motherhood changes you. I am forever changed. In a way I never expected. It's been the hardest year of my life, by far. It has tested me. Pushed me to my limits and beyond. I have cried harder, been sadder, been more lonely, and loved fiercer than I ever have in my life. And I would not change a single thing. The hardest thing for me is what I mentioned in my last post. How to be 'Me' and 'Mum'. How they fit together. And I'm still figuring it out. I'm getting better at it. Sure, I probably haven't showered in 4 days. I probably had chicken nuggets for dinner 2 nights in a row and I almost certainly have breastmilk on my shirt, but I'm kinda proud of that. In a weird way.

So, while Tilly won't remember her first birthday party, I will. Because it's a celebration of me as well. It's an anniversary for me to look back and remember that I made it through that really hard first year too. And that I'll make it through all the other hard times. And the easy ones.

I felt for a while there that I was complaining too much. That I was asking for too much help. Struggling too much. But I wasn't. I kept needing to be reminded that IT IS HARD. That it does take a village. I laid it all out for Jesse, that I was struggling. I needed help. I couldn't spend all day nurturing a tiny mind, feeding, loving, getting frustrated with, bathing, bedding, and everything that comes along in the day of a Mum. I couldn't do all that, AND be a good wife AND study full time AND run a business. I needed help. I needed his help. I know he works long hours. I know he works hard so that I can stay home and be a Mum. But I needed more from him. I felt bad asking for that. I felt like I should be able to do all those things. That it wasn't fair for me to ask. But it was. He didn't mind. He just didn't know I needed more because I didn't tell him. Now I have, he is giving it. So Mums, ask for what you need!! Sometimes, I need an afternoon on my own. I ask for it. My parents come and take her out. It's good for both of us.

Yeah, I've learnt a lot in my first year of being a Mum.

So here is to every other Mum out there. Thank you. You're doing a great job. You are enough. You love enough. You give enough. You are the entire world to someone. And that's a tough gig. Mum's are badass.

Being Mum

I read an article earlier today, and she said 'I didn't expect for my heart, who for so long desired to be a mother, to feel constantly divided into two pieces. One piece devoted to my children and the kind of mother I want to be; the other part constantly wanting to find that woman that I was before I became "mom".' this hit me like a punch to the gut. I have been struggling with this a lot this week. Those who know me well know that I am usually a pretty fierce 'give no fucks' kinda girl. Staunchly body positive, proud of being me. This week I have not felt this at all.

I've been hating on my post partum body. My boobs are larger, and more sagging. The shape of my belly is forever changed, and I am not used to its new shape yet. I feel frumpy. I haven't been able to wear 95% of my wardrobe because none of it accommodates breastfeeding. So, I've been living in clothing that isn't me. I don't feel like me. I'm used to feeling fierce and positive because I'm used to looking that way. Knowing that what I had on fit well, looked good, and was ME.

Also, my body isn't my own anymore. I spend at least 22 hours a day sharing it with my offspring. Even now as I write this she is curled into me, her whole tiny little body pressed tightly into mine, sweetly sleeping. I have never craved time on my own more. Which brings up a whole other range of guilty feelings.

So, after having a cry in the (rare) shower, I decided to consult my person. She reminded me that it takes a village. That it's ok to demand help from my village. That it's ok to get exasperated and feeling overwhelmed sometimes. That I am allowed to find this hard. Because babies are hard. They take absolutely everything. And parenting is hard. She reminded me that 'good' parenting isn't made up of one 'good' moment and that one 'bad' moment doesn't make me a 'bad' parent. That experiencing the bad moments will help me learn and grow and be a better mother.

Asking for help is not an admittance of failure. It is a sign of strength. It is strong to recognise you need help and strong to ask for it. It is hard to navigate this new role. I am still finding out how being 'me' and being 'mum' fit together. And thats ok. I've only been 'mum' for 10 months. So while I may feel a bit of 'me' is lost, being 'mum' filled in a space I didn't even know was empty. Swelled my heart to a size I didn't know existed.

Good Enough

I wrote a post with almost an identical title for The Icing On My Cupcake (you can read it here) but I keep having to remind myself lately.

I have been firmly in the 'Good Enough' camp for a long time. If you do a large variety of things well enough, you'll be fine. I don't strive for perfection. I don't think it exists. I aim to be firmly good enough. A good enough mother, wife, person. Some days you Slay it. Shit gets done. You feel like a badass. FUCK YES, CONSIDER THAT DAY OWNED!

But, other days it's 'WHEN WILL THIS PILE OF POO OF A DAY ENNNDDDDDDD.'

Lately, I've been having the latter. Tilly decided to get 4 teeth at once. And a cold. Kransky has decided to forget he is toilet trained. And my skeleton feels like it's trying to escape my body. I feel like I have been extra complainy. Extra needy. Not enough.

But then I remind myself that I have had a grand total of about 10 hours away from my baby in 10 months. That's not a lot. I'm allowed to feel burnt out by that. I have to remind myself that not only am I raising a child, I'm running a business and studying full time. That actually, what I am doing is exactly enough.

It's ok if it gets to dinner time and all you can manage to do it order a pizza online. It's ok if you zoned out for 10 minutes while your child was happily playing with her toys. It's ok if you just want to run away and enjoy a quite coffee on your own with no one touching you.

So I am writing this to remind myself that I am enough. What I do is enough. I am loved, I am happy, I am well, and that is enough.

How Do They Know?!?!

Matilda has this thing, she is super duper sound asleep right up until I make it to the doorway of the bedroom and have my hand on the door handle, preparing to inch it softly closed. Right at this very moment, her eyes fling open as if she was never asleep to begin with. HOW DARE YOU LEAVE ME MOTHER??!!??!?!!

HOW DOES SHE KNOW??! Like, I get it. Babies have super smell and super sense and can sense my heartbeat, and smell my smell, and my milk and all that, but, but but, she lets me leave the bed. Creep all the way to the door, in a carefully planned out route so as not to step on any squeaky floorboards, step through the door, place my hand on the handle then, BAM!

My mother tells me I used to do the exact same thing. It appears my mini me, really is a super little version of exactly me. FUCK YEAH!