Clamp my tubes please! Or why I got sterilized.

My daughter is about to turn 7. My son is 3.5. I love them.

Two weeks ago, I got sterilized. Tubes clamped. No more babies please! Or maybe I should say, No more flippin' babies, please. You get the idea. I wanted something definite. 

For E.V.E.R.

No more babies!

I was as sure as I'll ever be and had been since the moment my second child was born. A few months after his birth, as I was still convinced of this and terrorised of having sex (not great for the relationship with my husband), I visited the doctor at my local Family Planning Clinic and asked to be referred for sterilization. I ticked all the boxes and my referral was accepted. 

Now this bit is kind of hazy to me. Remember, I was in the depth of Post Natal Depression and my brain was more than foggy. I saw the gynaecologist, who somehow talked me out of it and I walked out my appointment with a Mirena IUD. I was in shock and I wasn't sure what had happened.

Time passed, and I was still scared (read terrified) of having sex. I just couldn't stop myself from worrying that maybe the IUD had moved, or come out without me knowing. All very irrational, I know. Moreover, I am convinced that what hormones are contained in the Mirena IUD were not helping me get rid of this bloody depression.

So when my son turned 3, I went back to see the doctor, ended up in a mess of tears and hysterics, begged for another referral, which was miraculously accepted.

I went to the appointment with the specialist like a warrior ready to do battle. I was pumped and fuming. I went in, told them in no uncertain terms why I was there, and was told rather nicely that they would grant my wish and sterilize me this time.

This time?, I asked. Apparently, the specialist I saw the first time had taken it upon himself to decide for me and had thought that I might change my mind and want another child later on. I could have got angry. I didn't. I just thought:

Yes! No more babies! Sex with no fear of getting pregnant!

30 minutes before the operation.
Relaxed and at peace.

Two weeks later I was lying on the operation table, then on my way home, drugged up and very sore from the keyhole surgery. Good thing I didn't know before hand how painful the recovery would be, or how slow (don't let any surgeons tell you that keyhole surgery is nothing. It IS something).

Lying in bed over the next few days, I had a lot of time to think. A lot of friends told me how brave I had been. How strong. I wasn't sure I understood why. Deciding to get sterilized was one of the easiest decisions of my life. I never, and I mean NEVER, want to put myself, my husband or my kids through the effects of Post Natal Depression and Anxiety again.

I am completely at peace about my decision. Entirely confident about what I've done. I'm so looking forward to having sex and feeling free to enjoy it fully. But I'm also sad because I have to...

... accept that child bearing is not good for me. And having two beautiful children already, I shall make sure I never bear a child again. For me, the strength does not lie in the decision to get sterilised but in the acceptance of my limitations and the discrepancy between my young woman dreams and my realities of motherhood.

I love this sculpture.
The mother looks totally at peace with her two children.

So why didn't my husband just get the snip, you might wonder. Well, I wondered too. For a while. But then we decided, together, that since I could get funding for my operation, we might as well save the snip money for a holiday or something nice. I don't really care who is sterilized, as long as one of us is.

This is my story, my perceptions, my decision. In no way do I want to influence, judge or criticize anyone else's journey. I just love to share with you and I hope that I can encourage you in one way or another.

Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Please leave me a comment. I love to hear from you :-).

Love is not Love

This morning started rather badly. As have most mornings in the past week. We entered this latest monster stage last Thursday.

Both kids have entered said monster stage.

Normally, it's just one at a time. But no. Not this time. I'm blaming the end of the school year. I always have to blame something.

Master J wakes up between 6.15am and 6.30am. He opens his bedroom door and starts pottering around rather noisily. I stumble out of bed (my dearly beloved blissfully asleep), put him back in his bed and silently curse his Momo Monkey clock, which stopped working a month ago. And then I swear silently because we can't afford to get him a new one because of the recent huge car bills, and because we need 2 new tyres, and because life is just flippin' expensive.

So I stumble back to bed wired up and thinking about how I could earn a few extra dollars ever week But then I start panicking because how on earth could I fit anything else in without losing the plot?

Then I usually hear Miss L get up and go to the bathroom, shortly followed by Master J who  never wants to miss out on any toilet fun unless he's the one having to go. The bickering starts.

I stumble out of bed again. Master J goes back to his room with the threat of going down the "ladder of consequences" if he gets up again.

Miss L goes back to bed. A few minutes later, one of two things could happen:

1) Master J goes to the bathroom and I jump out of bed and run to get there before he's taken his stinky poo-y (how does one even spell that?) nappy off and spreads the stuff everywhere.

2) Miss L comes into our room declaring that her brother has pooed  and that his nappy is about to overflow. So I stumble out of bed again, a little faster this time.

By this stage, dearly beloved has usually emitted a few grunts and has very occasionally got up himself.

Dirty nappy incident averted, I look at the time. Is it worth going back to bed? Usually the attraction of my hubby's warm body and strong arms is too strong and I snuggle up for a very few minutes of bliss and tenderness.

7.15am. Miss L's Momo Monkey clock opens his eyes. Both kids come running to be the first to jump on me and give me a cuddle. Kind of sweet, but mostly irritating as inevitably one comes second and starts whining and screaming.

The hubby and I get up. Miss L, who has been getting dressed by herself for months, now whines for help. My patience breaks down very quickly with whining. It winds me up at the speed of lightning. So despite my best efforts, my tone changes. Miss L picks up on it. She starts whining and telling me that I'm mean. I try to help her get dressed despite my mounting irritation. She finds every possible way to slow us down. But the time she's dressed, we are both close to tears.

In the meantime, Master J has been crying and shouting "me sad" for who knows what reason. Dearly beloved is nowhere to be seen. I usually manage to calm him down by putting a Spiderman clip on my phone. As soon as he is settled, Miss L starts whining because her hair isn't done, or because she wants to watch Spiderman too and her brother won't let her, or because her sock is on sideways. You get the idea.

My dear beloved starts making breakfast and asks the kids what they'd like. "Wice kwispies", says Master J. "Oats, blueberries, milk and glucose", says Miss L, "but I put the glucose myself after you've put the milk". If we get the order wrong, all hell breaks loose.

We give the children the 1 minute transition warning. Spiderman will have to go during breakfast. The minute passes. The mobile is turned off. The crying, whining and "me saaaaaaad" starts. And goes on. And on. And on.

It usually takes me 15 to 20 minutes to calm him down with bribery, threats, taking him on my knees, reading a story, cuddles, or whatever works, for goodness' sake! 

Finally, usually at about 8.25am, 2 hours after being first woken up, things settle down. They put their shoes on, get in the car, and we go to school and kindy (on a kindy day). 

Calm. Quiet. Sweet silence.

On the days when Master J and I hang out, we usually have a great time. He's fun and even tempered and generally helps me forget the hideous start by about 10am.

But I hit a wall this morning.

I told both kids that I was tired of being treated like a slave and being disrespected. I will now stubbornly ignore them if they are whining or if they are disrespectful. My life is going to be hell. I have no illusions. And I hope it doesn't take too long for them to change their attitudes.

It strikes me that God is probably often fed up with me just as I am with my kids. He must wonder why on earth I'm never happy with what I have and why I keep making the same mistakes over and over again. Why I ask him for things more than I thank him for what he's already given to me. Why I don't listen when he speaks to me. But just like I love my children with all of my being, he loves me. And he forgives. And he forgets.

This is my favourite Shakespear quote.
It means a lot to me.

Kia Kaha! Be strong!

My hubby can survive without me!

Yep. He can.

I doubted it. I doubted him.

I recently came back from a 9 day trip to Africa. On my own. Hubby and the two kids stayed at home. And while I jokingly asked our church family to pray for them and to pray that they would still be alive when I came back, deep down, I was not joking.

Would he feed them enough? Would he get them to bed not too late? Would he get them to school on time? Would he remember to give Mr. 3 a mid morning snack? Would he remember swimming, and soccer?

Would they be okay without me?

How incredibly judgemental and self-centred.

Sure, I am the glue and the tower of strength and organization in this family (no exaggeration!), but my husband is an amazing and capable man. Sure, when I'm around he has a tendency to lean on me and to depend on my capabilities a little too much. But, he is a very capable man.

So, when I left for the airport, I decided to leave behind all my anxieties and truly believe that they would be okay. What other choice did I have anyway? Worrying was only going to spoil my trip. And here was my chance to truly believe in my husband and to trust him entirely.

I believe that us Mums tend not to give our husbands and partners enough responsibilities and credibility. How demeaning is that! Men thrive on trust and when we're proud of them and their accomplishments. And yet, we deprive them of so much because we want to be "in control" - whatever that means. Or because we think we can do it better, or faster. Well, I do that anyway. I am so wrong!

I was so wrong.

When I came back, the kids were alive! My hubby was alive, albeit tired and relieved to have me home. The kids had been clothed, fed and at school mostly on time (and let's be real, they're often late with me!). Swimming was only forgotten once, the house was vaccumed and two loads of washing were done.

A photo hubby sent me while I was away

But most importantly, the kids were happy. And my hubby was proud.

The thing that astonished me the most however, was that my hubby had been very proactive about educational issues such as hitting. His new rule, which I am keeping to as much as I can, is "You hit your sister/brother, you go on the thinking step for 2 minutes". Straight away. No discussions. No second chances. That takes a lot of energy. And determination.

Unfortunately, he did not manage to get Mr. 3 to do poos on the toilet. Oh well. I'll just keep working on that one.

The thing is, I don't believe enough in my husband on the home front. And maybe that's why he isn't very engaged. I don't give him room to do things his way.

That is going to change. I know he can do it, and do it well. So I'm trying to give him space, and he's trying not to fall back into the habit of relying on me so much. He has seen what it takes to manage the home front and is much more appreciative of what I do. And I love it when he steps in and manages the kids' (mis)behaviour.

My husband is my hero and today I honour him for everything he does and has done for our family. He is one amazing man, husband and father. I am so blessed to be his wife.

With the love of my life

_________________________________________________________________________

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Today I am thankful!

I had a good day today. We all had a good day today.

I don't know why or how, but the planets and the stars aligned for me today.

I was relaxed. I was cool. Mr 3 played nicely by himself several times. We cruised. He almost didn't whine. He almost didn't cry. He said please and thank you. He got into his car seat when asked. 

At 3 o'clock, the dreaded school pick up time and "what am I going to do with them for 2 hours?" time, I was calm! I couldn't believe it.

Nothing beats sunshine and Vitamin D

The sun was shining so we went to the park and had ice cream. We hung out for one hour and I didn't get bored (I normally find playgrounds the most boring place on earth, please tell me I'm not the only one???). My kids' smiles and excited shouts were like warm waves of love washing over me.

Back home, they played nicely (?!) and my son helped me chop the vegetables for the fish pie.

All day, I just kept asking myself: why? how? I have no idea. Maybe it's the PND lifting a little more. Maybe it's the fact that I've been allergy free for almost a week thanks to the new meds, maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was all three. Maybe it was none of them. 

Today was a good day. It was a moment in eternity. A ray of sunshine in a sky which has been tainted by fogginess and greyness. A drop in an ocean of emotions, feelings, and anxieties.

Today, I am thankful. I want to encourage you who are going through harder times, that there will be days like this one. They are worth waiting for, and when they come along, savour every little second of the day. Engrave each moment into your heart and mind. And smile!

Kia kaha! Be strong!

So what if I have PND?

I've had PND (Post Natal Depression) for 6 years now. 

After both kids. And that's okay. I can live with that, because I'm lucky enough to have access to treatment and supportive friends. I've never felt inadequate or guilty or ashamed.

Quite the opposite really. I don't mind talking about my experience. I always hope it will encourage another Mum or make her feel less alone.

But I was thrown on Thursday last week. I went to see an allergy specialist for my never ending runny nose and eyes. A German doctor. He was loud. He sounded German. He did his job. He asked about my medical history and what medication I was on. I told him I took citalopram because I suffer from PND. When told my youngest was now 3 he raised his eyebrows very high and said:

"Is that still PND after 3 years?". I just stared at him, gob-smacked.

Then he asked a few questions about allergy medications I've tried over the years. After a few minutes he stopped and said:

"I can't believe how many people take anti-depressants in New Zealand. Doctors just give it out to everyone. Don't you think you could stop now?" Wow. Just wow. I spluttered. I stumbled on my words. And then I said:

"I ended up at the CATT (Crisis Assessment and Treatment Team) centre in Porirua when my baby was 4 weeks old. I wanted to kill myself. I..." He interrupted me and said, "Oh, you were suicidal. Please keep taking the pills then!".

We then proceeded with what I was there for: allergies and prick testing. He was highly efficient in that regard and I'm already doing much better on the new treatment. Thank you German Doctor.

I feel so lucky that I'm in a place now where I can hear such statements and not take them too seriously. He did make me doubt for a few seconds...

"Could I stop my anti-depressants now?", "Do I really need them?"

Was the German Doctor right?

But then sense took over. I mean, come on. It's ok to take anti-depressants if you're suicidal but not otherwise? Just come off the pills, you don't need them anyway? Imagine if he said that to a woman who was feeling very unwell mentally, or felt guilty, or lost, or angry about her PND? I left that office worried that a highly qualified doctor, who gets paid $375 per 45 minute consultation, feels he has the right to give a woman he doesn't know advice about her PND and her treatment. 

Would he have told my friend with diabetes to stop her injections? 
Would he have told my other friend with severe asthma to stop using her inhaler? 
Did he tell me to stop taking medication for my allergies?

There is obviously still a stigma attached to all forms of depression. Maybe more so in Europe than in New Zealand. My very talented Mum, who has suffered from depression her entire adult life and has come up against a lot of judgement and stereotypes, wrote a great little book called "Thank God for Anti-Depressants". I agree with her 100%. Thank God for all medication that saves life, be it diabetes, cholesterol, depression, asthma, infections, etc.

So what if I have PND? So what if I was suicidal? It's okay. It's called life. PND is still a part of my life. Mostly in the form of anxieties these days. But it's still there. I'm better and better as the years go by though and I find that exciting.

So what if you have PND or depression? It's okay. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You will get better, with or without the help of pills and/or other remedies. Life is a journey and it will throw things at you, but I've found that it's the way you accept and deal with life's lemons that transform you into a better and stronger person. I've gone through two very bare and lifeless winters, but spring is a pretty exciting place to be: summer is just around the corner!

I would never trade my journey for an easier one. It has made me who I am today. Your journey makes you who you are today.

You are amazingly and fearfully made. Kia Kaha! Be Strong!


I'd love to hear from you!


* If you are suffering from depression and you are worried about your safety or the safety of others, please don't suffer in silence. Contact your doctor, or call a friend. Ask for help.*

What the F(ish)?

I do my groceries once a week. Have done for years now (see why here). It saves money and time, and since I hate doing it, why do it more often?

So on Wednesday my little boy and I went off to our local supermarket for our weekly shop. He's 3. He likes helping. It's pretty sweet, but can also get kinda annoying, especially if I'm in a hurry. 

So I try not to be in a hurry.

He helps pick out the fruit and vegetables. He helps stick the labels on the plastic bags. He's beaming. I try to kiss him but he dodges my attempts with swift precision and practise.

He's not too interested in the meat. We go passed the fish. There's whole fish, there's fish heads, there's fish fillets and there's seafood. I keep going. We get to the dairy. He says "Stop Mamma". And points back to the fish. Okay, I get it. We go back. "Die?" he asks. "Yes, the fish are dead". He points to the fillets. "Ça non fish", he tells me in his cute Frenglish (aka mixture of French and English). He's adamant. So I explain that the fillets are the whole fish, but cut up and ready to eat. No answer.

We move on to the dairy. I put some butter and cheese in my trolley. "Stop Mamma", he says again. And points back to the fish. At this point, I physically feel the choice I have in front of me. I can either tell him that we need to move on now, that we've seen the fish, and "let's go and get some ham". Or, I can turn the trolley around and go back.

I go back. We do the same thing again. Say the same things again. Silence. We move on.

I add the Greek yoghurt and the milk to the trolley. "Stop Mamma". I look at him. At his gorgeous green-brown eyes looking at me so earnestly. I feel laughter bubbling up.

I go back. He points at the fish fillets. "Me mam-mam ça?" he asks. I smile and make sure I got his meaning, "Would you like Mummy to get you some fish for your lunch?". "Yep", he answers, very satisfied. So I get him a fillet of Tarakihi, our favourite New Zealand fish.

We finish our groceries and go home. For lunch, I pan-fry his fish fillet. He very quickly polishes it off.

He's happy. I'm happy.

I have to record these precious moments. They come and go so quickly. I fee like if I write them down then they won't be able to escape into the infinity of the past. Thanks for reading me today. Please tell me your stories!

Kia kaha! Be Strong!

Confessions of an Envious Mum

If you like school holidays, I envy you.

If you like school holidays, I don't understand you.

If you like school holidays, I'd gladly swap with you.

But alas, the latter isn't possible. So I better leave all my lack of understanding and wishful thinking aside, and get on with reality. Which is, I DON'T LIKE SCHOOL HOLIDAYS. There, I've said it. In fact, I don't like weekends either. Every Friday I hear my husband say, "yay! it's the weekend!". My heart just plummets and inside I think "shit, it's the weekend". I know it's very un-PC to be admitting this, but it's the truth. Weekends and school holidays, all our routines and little habits go out the window, and my introverted-people-loving-self (I know this may not make sense) is left with two kids under 6 who squabble squabble squabble, need me most of the time, and suck all energy out of me.

Please understand. I LOVE MY KIDS! I really do. I WANTED KIDS. I really did. But I just don't like being with them for more than a few hours at a time without a break. Yeah yeah, I know, one day I'll look back with nostalgia, bla bla bla. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll relish the "kids are older" stage a lot more than I can relish the "my kids are little and needy" stage. Who knows?

In the meantime, if you like the school holidays, I envy you. A lot. I don't know why, but despite having things organized, I found these winter holidays particularly hard. Into the first week, I asked some of you for some tips on a Mummy Facebook page and I got some good ideas:

Okay, so if you're like me, you look at the lists above and freak out thinking, "eeeeek, I can't do all that". Believe me, it's not about doing all that. It's about having ideas ready so that you can pick and choose depending on:

a) your mood

b) your kid(s)' mood(s)

c) everyone's energy levels

d) your budget.

Another great idea is to

So with all this information under my belt, I went about making lists and picking ideas from it. The kids still squabbled. They still needed attention. But at least I didn't feel like a blank page in desperate need of ideas. We did have some fun, and there were some quiet moments:

Fun in the snow (sides), and teaching my daughter how to make short crust pastry (centre)

Encouraging Daddy on the football field, drawing,
playing with Master J's new wooden parking, reading books

Also, for your own sanity, I strongly encourage you to take some time for yourself, even if it's just 15 minutes at a time! I had a few occasions to escape over the past two weeks, which were very precious moments and were made possible thanks to a few angels in my life:

A walk on my own in the sun, coffee and soup in a cafe, admiring nature

So there you have them, my lessons learned over the winter holidays 2015. Of course, if you are the kind of Mum who loves the school holidays, you probably don't need all these ideas. You come up with them naturally, or you don't need a plan. You just enjoy hanging out with your kids for two weeks. I am in awe of you. But I am also in awe of Mums like me, who find it hard, but who get through it.

Kia kaha! Be strong!

Bloggers love comments. So if you have any ideas to add to my lists, please do share them. The more the better for the next holidays! Thank you!

In this series, you can also read:

Confessions of an Anxious Mum

Confessions of a Sleep-Deprived Mum

And if you'd like to follow me on Facebook, please click here. Thank you!

Confessions of an Anxious Mum

I've just had a pretty crappy day. In my head. With the kids.

I can just feel it sometimes, before I even get out of bed. Today's going to be hard.

And then I stop myself in my tracks and berate myself for having those thoughts and tell myself I should be positive. And then I change my mind and think "No, it's okay. Accept your thoughts for what they are". Just thoughts. 

Thoughts are just thoughts until I act on them.

I can always dream, right?

More often than not, these morning intuitions are pretty accurate. Sure enough, this morning started bright and early with Master Joakim who couldn't find his car at 5.15am. Followed by Miss Letitia at about 5.45am whose duvet was all in a tangle and who was freezing. Then I lay in bed, unable to sleep. The more time passed, the more I debated actually just getting up and doing something fruitful that would get me ahead of the game today. But my tired body won and I finally went back to sleep mere minutes before the alarm went off.

As soon as the kids were up, they started bickering, and whining, and screaming like someone was torturing them when in fact their sock wouldn't fit just so. I finally got Miss L to school (on time!), and everything quietened down. It's funny how you take one number out of the equation, and everything changes. The balance shifts.

I breathed. 

My son and I did the groceries. We had a coffee and a fluffy to reward ourselves. That's our little Wednesday routine. We went home, put away the shopping. I was about to start making lunch when my son took my hand and pulled me towards his cars and the racing track,

I paused.

I had a choice. Either tell him once again that I was busy, or stop and play with my darling wee boy.

I stopped. 

We played for 15 beautiful minutes. I looked at my boy's smiles, I heard his giggles. My eyes wanted to eat him up and my ears were tingling with love. Waves of restoring love washed over me. All the hard moments are worth it.

After school pick up, the bickering, the fighting, and the shouting resumed. I ploughed on, that frown between my eyebrows, checking the clock every few minutes and wishing my husband would come home early. He did. Then he went for a run. My heart dived and sunk. I wanted to drop everything, take the car keys, and drive off. But then my heart came rushing back up for air. My head gave it a stern talking too. 

So much goes on between my heart and my head every day. This on-going and never-ending dialogue of feelings and thoughts, of should haves and did nots, of wanting to cry and wanting to laugh. But at the centre of it all is God, and He holds me together, always. He never lets me go.

When I put my son to bed, he held my head close to his, cheek against cheek, while I sung to him. Then I put my daughter to bed. She's started this thing where she tells me "I love you" over and over before she leaves for school or before bed, because she wants to be sure it's the last thing I hear from her before we're apart. I forgot the whining and the screaming, the bickering and the never-ending demands. 

Oh the pure sweet excruciating love bursting out of my chest in these moments. 

My first child is 6. My second child is 3 next week. I still suffer from Post-Natal Depression and Anxiety. Life goes on though. It's like a river, and where I'm at just now is pretty choppy and twisty, but hey, it's a lot better than the rapids and sharp bends I was struggling through a few years ago! And even though my sweet hubby may not see it every day, I know that I'm a better person today because of everything I've been through. I can love better, I can empathize better, I can understand better, and I can be there better.

I don't know where you're at in your parenting journey. But whatever you're experiencing, you're not alone. Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

Confessions of a Sleep-Deprived Mum

First, I'd just like to underline that this stuff applies to sleep-deprived Dads too. I don't want to appear discriminating in any way. But I'm a Mum, not a Dad ;-).

I thought I'd be writing this as a Mum of a newborn, but no, it's only now, with a 6 year old and a very almost 3 year old, that I sit down to write about sleep deprivation. If you'd told me this a few years ago (read pre-children era), I would have laughed at you and told you that my kids, once over the age of 1, would not be waking me up or keeping me awake at night. Ha! So much for that.

I'm finding it a lot harder to cope with the middle of the night and early morning wake ups now, because they're not supposed to be happening! Or are they?

My kids should be old enough to know by now that creating a sleep deprived Mummy-Monster is not a desirable thing to do. At all. That their life will be more miserable for it. That the Happy-Mummy who likes playing and doing crafts and baking is absolutely not going to emerge in those circumstances. Oh no. Mummy-Monster will curl out her ugly head despite all of Happy-Mummy's efforts to reign her in.

I guess kids don't really get the concept of "shooting oneself in the foot", do they? They don't get that a sleep-deprived Mummy-Monster is really not fun to have around, and so maybe they should keep back from waking Happy-Mummy up at 2am because “I can't find my car”, or “I'm thirsty”, or “I just had to poo in the middle of the night”, or “My foot is really itchy”. And then at 5am because “My hot water bottle is cold now”, or “I'm absolutely sure there's a spider in my room”.

Once they're back in bed and I'm desperately trying to go back to sleep, I try to remember if I did the same thing to my parents. And seriously, I don't think I did. I do however remember having bad nightmares and waking my Dad up in those circumstances. But nightmares are one exception that I don't mind getting up for. And REAL sickness. Seriously, I think I was a pretty angelic child as far as sleep was concerned, once I'd passed the 1 year old stage. But hey, my Mum, who reads my blog, can correct me on this. Watch the comments section below!

So anyway, I've put together a little list of “do nots” and “dos” of a sleep deprived Mummy-Monster. This list applies not only to my close family, but anyone else I may enter into any contact with on that given day (poor souls). I do realise that my list is far from the expected “Godly Mummy” I strive to be when not sleep-deprived, but there you are, such is the reality of a sleep-deprived Mum!

****

1) do not, under any circumstances, expect me to do anything until I've had a cup of coffee.

2) do not, under any circumstances, tell me that there are people worse off than me out there.

3) do not, unless you want me to disappear for the rest of the day, speak loudly or shout or scream.

4) do not, unless you like living with risk, ask me to do anything above and beyond my basic responsibilities, which are already way too many.

5) do not empty more than one toy box. Over the whole day.

6) do not complain about the food I put in front of you (this one goes for darling hubby as well).

7) do not expect me to utter more than 2, maybe 3 sentences in a row. Rather, do expect me to be very quiet, to nod and shake my head, and growl in your general direction.

8) do not ask me how long the kids have been watching TV today as you can be sure that I'm already feeling very guilty about it.

9) do not fight.

10) do not argue.

11) accept that no means no.

12) please, please, please, do not whine.

13) do take me out for a coffee.

14) do offer to take my child/ren away for an hour.

15) do offer me a glass of red wine any time from 4.30pm.

16) please, please, please, do let me sleep tonight if you want Happy-Mummy back tomorrow!

****

Now, I really really really want to hear from you if you've somehow managed to get it into your little ones' heads that it is not a good idea to wake Happy-Mummy up at night. How do you do it?

But if you're like me, and you haven't found the magical recipe either, I really really really want to hear from you too, because then I won't feel so alone!

Kia Kaha! Be Strong!

And do leave me a comment. I just love to hear from my readers.

The New Mum Breastfeeding Station

A woman I know is going to have her first baby in July. Friends and I are organizing a baby shower for her tomorrow. It's all pretty exciting. As I thought about a present to give her, I kept coming back to a gift a dear friend gave me when my second child was born. A "Mummy breastfeeding station box". It was so practical and contained things like muesli bars, tissues, a pen, a notebook, and I could also put my phone in it. I would just pick it up, and put it down next to where I was feeding. So I thought I would make one up for my new friend, and I do believe she hasn't come across my blog yet - phew:

New Mum Breastfeeding Station

I'm pretty happy with myself! There's some yummy Frooze Balls, a notebook and 2 pens for all those thoughts and things to do that go through your head just when you're stuck in a chair breastfeeding, a cup with a lid and a straw (no risks of spilling on baby), a lip balm for those post pregnancy dry lips, tissues and Milo (gosh, I don't know what I would have done without Milo when I was breastfeeding those first few weeks). The only thing missing are Hydrogel disks (I'm not getting paid to advertise these by the way. They are just plain brilliant!). Oh my goodness, those breast pads are the most life changing thing a friend gave me and they just about saved my nipples, if I may say so. And oh the bliss when you take them out of the fridge and apply them. Anyway, I haven't found any in time for tomorrow so I might get my friend some when the baby is born.

Another thing I thought about including, then thought it might be best not to as I don't want to frighten the poor woman, are the unmentionable disposable briefs. Yeah, I won't go into any details, but let me just say that you don't want to put your cutest underwear in your maternity bag. Oh no. They'll end up in the bin - believe me!

So, is there anything else you'd put in a New Mum Breastfeeding Station? I'd love to hear your ideas, on here or on Facebook.

Thank you for reading, and Kia Kaha, as always!

I'm in the trenches

Life as a stay at home parent can be so hard.

It's hard for me today. I'm sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door while my son finally plays happily in the bath. It's been one of those mornings that started at 6.15am with my son taking his dirty nappy off and putting No Twos all over himself. He then would not stay in bed, so I camped outside his door in a blanket so that every time he opened his door I could send him back to bed. Did I mention I had to take out his light bulb? 

Boy oh boy, life with an almost 3 year old is tough. I vaguely remember going through this phase with my daughter when she was a similar age. So it's kind of reassuring to know that I can only vaguely remember that time with her. 

There is hope!

But today, I just wanted to encourage all of us stay at home Mums and Dads. 

Well done us! Well done, Mama! Well done, Papa!

We deal with this, day in and day out, and we have to dig so deep for that extra dose of patience when all we really want to do is lock ourselves up in our room with a wine (even at 8am, yes yes!) and pretend that he / she didn't exist. Just for just a little while.

But hey, it will be okay. And you're not alone!

God created us with this ability to dig deep into the trenches of our willpower, whatever happens. I knew, even as I stood face to face with my husband this morning and begged him to stay home today, that actually, we were going to be all right. That my son and I would both get through the day.

And now he's happy in the bath. At 11am. Who cares? It's amazing how just a few minutes of peace and calm can get us out of our trenches and back into the sun.

Kia kaha! Be Strong!