Dreaming of a bucolic life.

Typically, I would describe myself as a city girl. I have grown up in a city and it is where I have always thought I felt most at ease. In Australia, I have even become a little militant about arguing the benefits of growing up surrounded by concrete as a suitable alternative to grass, although I will admit I remain in a definite minority, even at home...

Lately though... something is changing and I find myself day dreaming about a life in the countryside. I see myself walking in some sort of field with 3 little boys running around me, walking ahead and behind, picking up leaves and pointing at trees. I then see us holding hands as we take our gumboots off and walk back inside. We might draw the leaves we have just picked up off the ground or have a hot chocolate in our light filled kitchen.

I also imagine Chris working away in his shed, with light streaming through a side window and wood shavings flying around him, dancing in the light and getting caught in his hair. I imagine light, space and silence. Just the sounds of nature around us and fields to run across.

I imagine that Chris and I work together, and that creativity - writing, design, photography, making - is at the heart of our life together. I imagine our children working away on some tiny projects alongside us. That they are not scared of using their brains or their hands, that they embrace their mistakes and keep going, towards their own self expression.

I don't exactly know what this means but Chris has just buried two grandparents in as many weeks and if there is one thing death is good for, it's to make us think about our own lives. Chris wrote a eulogy which he read at his grandfather's funeral and it reminded me of an exercise I had heard of to help people gain some perspective on their life. The exercise is in two parts. The first one is to write one's own eulogy based on one's current life. The second part is to write one's own ideal eulogy, based on the life one would actually want to be remembered for.

This vision isn't my eulogy and as lovely as it sounds, I don't think that this will be our life either but at the core is a strong desire to be there for our children, for Chris and me to work as a team in life and work and for creativity to be at the centre of it all. Beyond that, light, space and silence would be wonderful too! 

One step forward...

(Foreword: Allow me to preface this post with the expression of my utter admiration for all the mothers doing it alone. I have no idea how you do it or where you find the strength. I know I have been whining a lot of about sleep. My excuse is that it's my first baby and in my normal life, I like to be in control. It also helps me to put my thoughts into words to get them out of my system. If you're OK with that, then read on...)

... And two steps back. Some days, that's how having a baby feels like. 

A few nights ago, Hugo had one of his best nights yet. He didn't stir from 12 to 6:30 am and neither did we. I woke up to the sweet sound of silence and saw light streaming through the blinds. Elated,  I woke Chris up to share my excitement. We had done it, we had conquered the big bad monster that lurks under every cot! No more sleepless nights for us!

It's possible that my reaction wasn't quite as measured as it should have been. Of course I knew we hadn't arrived in Slumberland but I wasn't about to let realism get in the way of this small blissful victory. It had happened once and I figured it would happen again. I guess I was hoping it would happen again that very night and the ones after that...

Fast forward a few days, a blocked milk duct and a course of antibiotics later, Hugo has had one of his worst nights yet. It didn't help that Chris was away this week-end for his grand-father's funeral. I started the week-end full of Super Mummy resolve. Patience would be my middle name and I would totally rock it, giving Chris the space and independence to be a son and a grand-son, rather than a husband and a father. Come Monday morning, I was covered in curdled milk and desperate to be the one to be rocked and patted to sleep. 

I am not sure where things went wrong on Sunday night. The week-end had become a chance to experiment with a new napping system based on a baby's natural 90 minutes cycle. It was working out brilliantly with Hugo being a breeze to get to sleep throughout the day. I was actually congratulating myself on how in control and in tune with my baby I was. Ha! If I wasn't so sleepy as I write this, I might actually laugh at myself. 

I am aware of how deluded it sounds to suggest being in control of Hugo's sleep. To expect him to sleep like I would like him to is about as realistic as expecting him to cook me dinner. Even if I am ready, he isn't. So for the time being, I'll keep enjoying the easy days and easy nights and when things don't go according to plan, I'll just put one foot in front of the other until we do reach Slumberland. We'll get there, we just can't quite see it yet...

4 months: we tried everything and then he grew out of it, or did he?

4 months family portrait

The thing I am realising about babies is that they are constantly creating new patterns. Hugo gets into some sort of rhythm of naps, feeds, play, sleep etc... for a couple of days and then gets into a brand new one. Trying to keep up with him and constantly adapting to his new routines can be challenging and frustrating as I feel constantly off balance. It is when I let go of my expectations of what he should be doing when that I can relax and enjoy the ride.

Hugo still has some bouts of distressing crying once in a while and a large part of my energy, this month, was spent figuring out what and if something was wrong with him and, of course trying to fix it. I tried antacids, wind drops, more carrying, more burping, tilting his cot, pro-biotics, nasal saline solution, cutting dairy/coffee/chocolate out amongst other things. Some days, some things worked and some days, nothing worked. Of course, since I tried everything simultaneously, I came no closer to knowing what the problem might be, or if in fact there was a problem at all. Grown ups have good days and bad days. Babies should be entitled to having them as well!

At the same time, little things are happening which seem like he might simply be growing out of his discomfort, like falling asleep in his pram again or in our arms rather than only by feeding and the bouts of intense crying are becoming less frequent. Generally, he seems to be able to wind down a little easier, whether it is at home or out and about.

He has also become very interested in his surroundings, scanning everything around him, listening and observing. He is very reactive and greets us with the brightest smiles and eyes full of laughter. He sings and coos to himself when he wakes up after long naps. He plays with toys and grabs anything which comes near his busy little hands. He is growing beautifully (he basically skipped one size of clothing) and our amazement for him is as well. He is starting to wriggle, squirm, play and laugh.

Sometimes, I squeeze him tenderly and tell him, "you're my baby!" as much for his benefit as to remind myself that this perfect little being really is mine. Sometimes, I can hardly believe how much it is possible to love. At least, that's one thing he won't outgrow...

And now, for this month's photo recap...

Hugo met his A-Caz and got plenty of cuddles,

Managed to kick Chris out of bed to cuddle with his Maman,

Continues being the cutest baby in the world. Fact.

See what I mean?

Indulged in some guilty pleasures,

Just another ridiculously cute photo with one of his bunny rabbits.

Modelled the latest fashions in monochromatic tones of grey,

Consolidated some friendships, 

Graduated to a more upright position in the pram, ready to take in the big wide world,

Another giraffe bites the dust. 

Caught some precious zzzzz,

Spent some quality time with Daddy,

And last but not least, met his hilarious GrandPa Jean and his new friend, Jeannot Lapin.

I guess I could have had herbal tea.

I consumed my placenta (or was it Hugo's?). I didn't chop it up and turn it into a stir-fry or a pizza (which can be done by the way). No, instead, I had it encapsulated (which means turned into capsules) which is a lot less gross and also lasts much longer. In fact, almost 15 weeks after giving birth to it, I have just finished having it.

I knew that January Jones and Holly Madison (one of Hugh Hefner's girlfriends if you didn't know) had both had it done but hadn't given it much thought. However, sometime in the last week before my due date, I had discussed it with Chris, telling him what January Jones' experience had been like. At that point, I hadn't really thought about actually getting it done but the next day, by pure telepathic coincidence, my mum also mentioned it. I'm not sure why she did but she did and I was incepted Leonardo DiCaprio style.

I started looking into the process and the reasons people do it. Apparently, the placenta is full of good stuff: it is supposed to help with energy levels, iron levels, hormonal balance, milk production and blood loss amongst other things which all work together to keep the ghost of PND at bay. In fact, it is so good that all other mammals consume the placenta. Biology knows where it's at.

I quickly found a woman who offers this niche service locally. Three days before giving birth I contacted her and made arrangements for her to come and pick it up from the hospital. We were simply to bring a small esky to the hospital, place the placenta into the esky on ice and make sure the it didn't leave the room. She would then come and pick it up within a few hours to take it home, cook and dehydrate it before grinding it and encapsulating it. I would have it back, ready to ingest, within a few days.

When we arrived at the hospital, I told the midwife about our plans to have the placenta picked up. Incredulous, she asked why in the world would we do such a thing. Hiding the fact that I was surprised she had never heard of this, I listed the various benefits to which she replied matter-of-factly, "Can't you just have some herbal tea?" I guess I hadn't thought of that...

The transaction went perfectly smoothly and a few days later, Kristy (the encapsulator) dropped the capsules off at our house, along with the dried up umbilical cord (which now looks a lot like beef jerky) and a placenta print (done by placing the organ onto a sheet of paper for a few seconds). Eventhough I had the pills, Hugo can have the cord one day!

I'll never know with any certainty whether taking these pills made any difference to my wellbeing but they certainly didn't do any harm and if anything, they acted as a great placebo. A bit like a nicotine patch, they made me feel a little protected and ready to fight the hormonal swings, the sleepless nights and sleepy days that followed the birth of our son. If anything, it will make a great story to tell Hugo one day. I'm smiling already imagining what his reaction might be!