Read My Lips

This week I was asked by a colleague if I took the opportunity to read many books while I was on maternity leave. And she was serious.

Of course it came from someone who was childless. And of course it took all of my most polite restraint not to laugh out loud and respond with a scathing reply laced heavily with sarcasm. That was, until my husband gently suggested I think back to BH (Before Harrison) and asked me what my pre-conceived notions of maternity leave involved.

I gulped. Abruptly I was back believing I was not only going to get all my weekly chores knocked over before the weekend, but as well I’d probably commence creating my own jewellery making empire and write that best selling novel that was laying dormant within me. Suddenly I didn’t feel like laughing so much anymore.

So where did these grand plans go wrong? I have heard of mythical mums out there who manage to juggle it all with such aplomb that I am sure they are managing to run successful stay-at-home enterprises while simultaneously breast-feeding and keeping up to date with the ironing. Yet, not me… For instance, it took me 10 months to find the time to start this blog, although its very notion was conceived of some 6 months before. I just couldn’t fathom concentrating on anything else besides the main responsibility of my life, Harrison.

Too terrified to let those juggling balls fall, any grand plans of partaking in leisure pursuits for my own personal gain were ignored at the expense of other necessities. Like sleep. I didn’t watch a movie on DVD for ten months, and I think I could count on one hand the amount of times I went to the cinema or out to dinner sans child. Yes, I was blessed with beautiful bub, but a catnapping bub at that. There was no such thing as a lovely long silken bolt of free time in which to diligently lose myself in a longed for hobby.

For the record, the book reading total was 4. All read when I was holidaying or visting the Grandparents and had help at hand with Harry. And each time I read that book like it was a drug, savouring the moment, in fear it would be some time before such escapism could be bestowed on me again.

And for those who think 4 books in one year seems quite substantial, let me paint this equal picture for you. It’s the same amount I have now read in the past 6 weeks since being back at work and having to time on the train to indulge in such an activity. Who said heading back to the workforce was all about financial gains??? I can now get back a sliver of me, the part that loves losing myself in a book.

BH times are now but a distant memory, and, like all good books, they have their place in history. Its the AH times (After Harrison, need you ask!), that we now long for the most - just like any tantalising new book waiting to be read.

In The Swim

Saturday marked yet another milestone in the life of my not so little man – the first swimming lesson! Thankfully Daddy was on hand to help ease him into the “swim” of things, as Mummy isn’t quite so sure how heroic she’d have been venturing into unchartered territory! The mere thought of swimming lessons as a child filled me with dread, so I’d have hated to have inadvertently emitted vibes of fear to my boy before he’d even taken his first plunge into the world of all things watery! Brave boy that he is, Harrison did not shed a single tear throughout his half hour introduction to taking a dip in the pool. Some of the other littlies howled the entire class, but not my boy, oh no. Sure at the start of the lesson he was clinging to his father like a koala bear might to a solitary eucalyptus tree in a barren paddock, but by lessons end, he’d seen fit to giggle, kick and splash with the enjoyment and ease of someone certainly more experienced.

The fun was doubled, with two of Harrison’s little buddies, Xavier and Antonio also in the class. I think this also made him more at ease too – or perhaps brought out the side in him, which knew that since he had a familiar audience on hand, it was no time to cry… Whatever the case, we were so proud and are sure he’ll be demanding we drive him to 4am swim club training in no time…

Eye of the Tiger

Today my son made his father extremely proud. No, he didn’t find a cure for cancer, manage to master the technique of toilet training nor even win some prestigious children’s modelling competition – no, he instead has made his first (unsteady) step in the direction of the great sporting arena of gentleman – golf. Yes, Harrison has put putter to ball and has likely set off on a golfing journey that will make him (and his mummy & daddy) millions. Being particularly proud parents who already boast about their son’s seemingly extraordinary sporting skills one cant help but get blinded by future dollars signs in our line of sight. He already has a helluva accurate throwing arm, has just started to kick “le ball” as he calls it, and now, is showing impressive amateur sporting prowess in the arena of golf, when he, from the minute he picked up the putter and connected it with the ball, seems like he was right in the swing (if you get my drift!) of it – an all at only 14 months of age. Impressive, yes? Being partial to a spot of overseas travel, I’m more than willing to volunteer my services to act as security, keep the fans at bay… Hell, I’d even be keen for a call up as his caddy – despite the fact I have a limited (ie ZERO) knowledge of the game of golf. There’s still some room for improvement, I’ll acknowledge that, biased as I am... Like all seasoned golfers, he too saw fit to throw a few teeny tantrums when things didn’t quite go to plan (read: his fledgling land legs which are still adjusting to being upright instead of nearer the floor, often gave way, much to his chagrin). But for his first attempt, I hope you’ll agree, the boy’s got some serious potential!

Could I have the next Tiger Woods on my hands? Time will tell… He was but a wee lad when he took his first tentative tee shot, like my Harrison. We wont have to necessarily change his name one supposes, but Cougar Webeck does have quite a ring to it, don’t you agree? Bit better than Cheetah Webeck – don’t think he’ll experience much success in the professional golfing arena sporting a name such as that…

Playing Favourites

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a child, in possession of two loving parents, should show equal affection to both it’s Mummy or Daddy. An unspoken rule that permeates all families – parents thou shalt not play favourites with their offspring and at all time remain impartial… Well, I am wondering if this undeclared law also applies to a child, when he views his Ma & Pa? I only raise the argument because it is I who appears to be on the unfavourable end of my child’s affections. Perhaps it’s that I have raised him to be so well adjusted when it comes to him Mummy, or perhaps Daddy truly is a more perfectly packaged parent than I? Whatever the case, I cant help but get the distinct feeling I am further down the popularity ladder than I’d like to think. Most working mothers will attest to tears at the time when they farewell their child on the way out the door. Not in my house. Oh no. Instead, Harrison sees fit to utter a rather blasé “buh-bye” just as I reach over the swoop my handbag on to my shoulder. Yet his father, upon doing anything that resembles making an approach towards the vicinity of the front door, unleashes a torrent of tears and inconsolable sobs, apparently utterly distraught at the thought of his Daddy departing for the day. He might merely be taking the rubbish out and be back in 5 minutes, but that does not appease my son, oh no. Letting loose with a sob that would crack the veneer of a heart of stone, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was the last time he was going see his father for a month! It then begs the question: have we been pigeonholed? Am I the authoritarian and Daddy the fun loving parent? Does he represent tickles, giggles, rowdy rumbles and crazy “chasies”? Do I simply symbolise strictness and suitably boring activities as, oh, I don’t know, eating, sleeping and being dragged to the shops in the pram? Or is it because I chose to go back to the (paid) working world? Perhaps this is my son’s way of punishing me for sending him to day-care???

I am convinced I need an image overhaul. As such, the husband has suggested I spend one of my days off as a specific “fun-day” – no chores to take my undivided attention away from my son. Perhaps that way I will once ore worm my way back into his good books!

Groove is in the Heart

Think you can cut cool move or two on the dance floor? Well wait until you witness this, as I'm sure you have never seen something quite like my son’s hilarious “bum dancing”.

When it comes to these dynamite disco skills, the jury is still out to whether he takes after the husband or I; whichever the case, its for certain that groove has already wormed its way into a special place in his precious lil pop music heart! Like most performers, he has his preferred stage. Gripping the Lowline TV cabinet with both hands, for good leverage, he’ll then proceed to shake his groove thang like its nobody’s business! Throw in some zigzagging shoulder action and some head banging moves to boot, and he is burning up the dance floor baby! In his car seat, his high chair, even in his cot – if he hears the beat it travels right to his feet and he commences his jig, often accompanied by an enthusiastic “YAY” to acknowledge the excitement of it all.

It would make even the crankiest person crack a smile, watching him move to the groove. Now I’ll just have to be on the look out for some superior singing skills and who knows, perhaps we’ll have the next Robbie Williams in our presence!

House Hunting Ground

Have you ever attempted house hunting with a toddler in tow? And not just any toddler but a TEETHING one? Throw in a bout of utterly inclement weather conditions into the miserable mix and, oh yes, as you can imagine, it’s a recipe for pure pleasantness all around…. The joys of buying a house have rapidly being tempered by the deed of actually looking for one. And, with our location so far away from where we currently live, a fair amount of travel is involved in getting to and from our happy house-hunting-ground. Now that’s doable for the husband and I, but factor the infant into the equation, and we suddenly have ourselves a little storm front on the horizon. I mean, getting in and out of a car 15 odd times in one day isn’t fun for anyone, but when you consider you are also subjecting a 13 month old to the same, dragging him to and from his car seat, sometimes within 10 minute intervals, you can see why he eventually went into meltdown mode. I too had reached my limit by the day’s end, after traipsing in and out of five homes, and, mostly, not liking what we saw. Plus there is the killing time between each open house, trying to feed your child (who is still on his self imposed diet) and attempting someway, somewhere to get him to get some - ANY - sleep! And that is after he has failed to sleep soundly the night before, making us all tired before the first house has even been viewed… A formula for a meltdown if ever there was one! Thankfully there was some sanity in the shape of “Pappy” being on board for the hunt for our new home. He did everything in his power to prevent Harrison from launching into tantrum mode, alleviating all our stresses a great degree. And I am sure, had it been humanly possible, he’d have taken on Harrison’s teething too, just to ease all our discomfort.

So here is hoping we resolve this search for our new home quite soon, for the sake of everyone's sanity! Watch this space...

Judgement Day

Judgement hangs thick in the air, seeping into my skin like the dust storm of last week - and making me feel just as gritty and irritated too! Why is it that people feel free to push their (unwanted) views on you these days? Honestly, from the moment I fell pregnant, I have borne the brunt of countless opinions – often from complete strangers – on all things baby. And oh, woe is me, haven’t the unasked for points of view burgeoned to epic proportions now that I am a bone fide member of the Parenthood club? The worst of it is I am still unsure how to best handle these so-called know-it-alls who loftily proclaim their missives are the wisdom I which the world gets by on. Ok, so it worked for you – that does not grant you a golden ticket to push your parenting theories on to me. Please! I’ll be the first person to put my hand in the air when I need help, or beg for some advice. But I’ll do the asking, if it’s all the same to you…. Judgement day is a juggernaut that just never appears to have an end. I feel there is a constant delicate dance to be done between letting someone voice their opinion and me staying sane. Yes, you have had a baby, but it does not give you the right to enforce your beliefs on to me. Yes, you may have had a perfect child but just because yours took to breastfeeding with ease and slept soundly but that does not mean everyone is blessed with the same. Yes, I have chosen to go back to work, do not tar me with the brush of a bad mother by electing to do so. And yes, some of us don’t slip effortlessly into the role of being a mum, some of us need help to adjust to this massive life event of cataclysmic proportions, so don’t judge us if we appear not to have it all under control so soon. I (wouldn’t dare) speak for anyone else but know if I did not have the wholehearted support of my husband, sister and both sets of our parents on hand for the first 4 weeks of Harrison’s life, I shudder to think what shape I’d have been in (not to mention my home!). Being human, ergo, blessed with the ability to make errors, I am aware I’ve been guilty of espousing unwanted opinions in the past. Knowing now though how delicate a subject parenthood is (and being completely unwilling to hop on my high horse) the only unwanted advice I can advocate now is a diplomatic: “Whatever works for you”.

And truly, what does it matter if we all do things differently? As long as, at the heart of the subject, its all being done with the best of intentions and with love in mind, cant it all just be as simple as “to each his own”?

Thank God for Grandparents - part 2!

The Grandparents have graced us with their blessed presence this past week, arriving on a mercy mission, at the ready with a steady helping hand, aiming to ensure the husband and I had a rare little break from our active lives. Oh, and not to forget Harrison – lavishing loads of loving attention on him! We’ve truly been on a roller coaster of healthy highs and ailing lows these past two months and, not having the luxury to recuperate from any afflictions like others with the gift of “Grandparents on Tap”, we’ve ridden the roughs waves as well we could. As well, with our 4 year wedding anniversary falling during the same visiting period, we were actually able to go out and celebrate like any other normal couple might do – who had access to baby-sitters of course! Unlike last year, when Harrison was only 6 weeks old and I was far too bleary eyed to contemplate the effort involved in anything other than my 8pm bedtime, and besides, who’d have wanted to look after a child who only liked to catnap and cry? Its now back to we three and the whirlwind continues, but we feel invigorated and refreshed thanks to a healthy dose of help from the Grandparents. Heartbroken Harrison has had to come to terms with saying buh-bye once more but he may not see his Grandma & Grandpa every day, week or month, yet each time the arrive back in his life, he welcomes them with such sincere openness its as if he’s as familiar with them as they are him. There are no awkward exchanges or sidling behind the safety of mummy’s shoulder. He simply adores them and engulfs them with all the adoration and devotion of a grandchild who sees them every day.

So spare a thought for us, those who do not live conveniently close by to your parents or in-laws. You who can call in at anytime and claim a babysitter on hand at short notice… As what we lack in quantity, we make up for in quality. We cherish and make the most of our limited time together; aware it’s a precious commodity not to be taken for granted.

Parlez-vous le français ?

Here’s yet another experience to be filed in the kooky folder of “it can only happen to me”. Yes, along with being accosted by a little old Greek lady demanding I hand over her bus fare, or the toothless man sporting the small dog in his baby carrier strapped to his chest, who informed me he knew me from a street corner in the city (don’t fret dear readers, apparently I used to get the 9 – 5 magazine from him. About 5 times. At least 18 months ago. Yes I am that memorable it seems). I now have another encounter to add to this burgeoning directory of eccentric experiences. Sitting in the Dr’s waiting room this morning, an elderly man approached me and proceeded to unfurl himself into the chair next to mine. Now, this was of course not the oddity (although there was a plentiful amount of spare seats littering the small room), more so it was when he pulled out a book which proclaimed parents can make their child a genius in their first year of life, that started to concern me. So for the next painful 10 minutes I had to feign interest in his ideologies, from which, according to his lore, was the only way my son would get along in the world. I was to read it and employ its many doctrines to enable my son to be assured of future success. Some pearls of wisdom it included were; one shouldn’t teach your child to count these days. And make sure you send your child to school with fluent readings skills as teachers don’t have time to perform such a feat anymore. He blames multiculturalism… I swear if he had pulled out a white mask and burning cross next, I would not have been surprised!

The kicker is, that once Harrison turns 6, that is it, game over people. No more meaningful education can take root in their now barren brains. Interested in learning anther language later in life Harrison? No dice sorry, according to this man and his fancy pants book. BUT, if I take the time to teach him before this age, he has the capabilities to pick up 5 new languages. Silly me, here I have been concentrating on teaching him just the one, English… Perhaps we should master it before I start peppering his vocabulary with French and Italian nouns? Oui?