To all you intuitive mothers out there (and mothers in the making/waiting)

Today, a book recommendation, something I don't do lightly.

This is an old post, dug up from my old blog - originally posted in March 2007 - when the LGBB was a mere 8 months old. Given that it is an age-old topic (new mother insecurity), I thought I'd repost here for any new mums out there, or those taking note for when their time comes. I do hope it reaches the screen of someone who needs to read this recommendation today. You're not on your own in this! x


Do you ever read something, like a book or an article, and think, "Hang on.... did I write this for myself and forget?" It's something so very inline with how you see things that it's as if your central nervous system has a spare body floating around that it uses to do things you could have done/said/written yourself. I do. Not often, but sometimes. Especially in written form, I get this quite a bit.

I have found the Mother *boom-tish* of all such books. I am only wishing I'd found it when the LGBB was about 7 weeks old and I was going through the motions with a fake smile plastered on my face. I was so worn down by sleep deprivation and had been hung upside down (or so it felt) for so long that to find my right way up seemed so impossible that I was quite happy to just hang there and wallow, thank you very much all the same, kind Sir.

I was so moved and my confidence in my own instincts so honoured as I read this book that I actually wrote and thanked the author. She's certainly taken the writer's claw out of my task - because I have been jotting things down as they come to me - it seems they're all here in this book. In plain English.

With a cherry on top.

It reminds me of one of my favourite, well-used Steve Martin lines (shit... was it Steve Martin? I can't remember! Noooooo! Damn you, baby braaaain! *shakes fist to heavens*): "That's just what I've been trying to tell these people", except in this case, "these people" is me. This book has somehow given me the confidence to trust what I already know. I am sure it would be the same for anyone who reads it. What a gift!

It's full of wisdom I've been trying to tell myself.

I have found Intuitive Mothering, for me personally, to be one of those nuggets that speaks to your core. That inner You whom you know, maybe very well but more often perhaps not so intimately - the authoress herself professes to not really know where the book came from and I find that fascinating as much as it is affirming that it comes from a divine and pure source, devoid of much of the ego you find in other books of its kind. I know exactly what she means because there have often been times where I will write something and go back and read it later, to find I feel like I'm reading it for the very first time. Ella's "Parallel Story" was written like that. In fact, both the stories about her that I wrote for her pages came from thin air (not to say they're not completely factual, it's just that I sat down, put my fingers to the keyboard, got up and went away and there they remain, unedited bar a few spelling errors, no reworking or the likes).

This book has given me the affirmation I really needed at a time I really needed it in order to stand taller and realise I don't need peripheral parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, friends, professionals... ANY outside source... to give me the proverbial pat on the back I thought I needed in order to make it the "right" or "correct" thing to do.

Mind you, the irony isn't lost on me that a book (in itself an "outside source") has led me to this conclusion!  Hmmm.....

I think the difference is that I feel far more empowered by seeing the book on the shelf (the slimmest paperback spine in amongst the other Parenting manuals, just leaping out and going "Pick ME! PICK MEEE!", having the follow-through to purchase it (I was on a "date" with Steve at the time and we'd just meandered in to a large bookstore and sauntered to our favourite sections - he Quantum something-or-other, me Parenting) and then realising what a pearler it actually is right from the first page.

It shines a truth. It speaks to my innermost mother instinct. Reminds me to trust what I feel is right, for me and the LGBB. It goes and sits and has a yarn with that real deep knowledge we all have that, without all the "assvice" and interference and uncertainty that builds up in you when you defer to others to tell you if you're heading in the right direction, you most certainly ARE doing exceptionally well for YOUR baby and everything is going right (despite what any general book or MCHN tries to tell you).

------------------

Just yesterday, I had a nightmare day: went for the LGBB's 8mth check. Was told I was sitting her too much and "that's why her legs are bent like a frog, if you keep doing it she'll have problems and need physio" and rah de rah de rah. It made sense, there were no "that doesn't sound right" alarms ringing in my head. I simply went "Ok" and began doing more tummy exercises with L from the time we got home. Don't think it's a coincidence that the poor kid had the most miserable afternoon - she cried and cried almost non-stop, big sorry-for-herself sobbing - and by the time she got to bed last night we were both exhausted. By the time I went to bed, I'd realised (again) that I'd allowed someone else to tell me what was best for my child. It resulted in an extremely uncomfortable day for both of us.

I always vow I'll never do it again, that I'll be more aware of it next time.... and I always slip! I'm not hard on myself for that, I am realistic about it and the fact that by my very nature, I aim to please/do right/do it well. But when I walk past that book on my end table, it snaps me back - the pendulum might get out of whack but if it swings back to centre, all is not lost.

I don't profess that the book has ALL the answers or that it is for everyone, merely it is a bloody useful tool now for me to dip into - full of reminders I could have written to myself, but so nice to see it in print, published, as if anything written in a book is fact and "right".... except this time, with this book, intuitively, I know that for me, it IS right. Because it speaks to my truth. The comforting thing about that is, if it has been written by someone else, and yet it is full of what my deeper wisdom would have written had I not buried her with fear, cynicism, loathing and the best of intentions, then surely it is going to also make someone else's soul squeal with delight.

So therefore, I feel it my duty to pass on to anyone who considers it might be something they'd like to have on their own shelf.

I give you...

Intuitive Mothering by Lyn MacPherson, published by newholland.com.au, ISBN 174110352-5, available in all good bookstores...


Some small favourite extracts:

"Things" are not important to your child, but you are. If you are happy and around and interacting with your child, that will mean more to them than anything you could ever buy them.


The better we look and the tidier our house is does not reflect how well we are coping. DING DING DING DING!!! This is the gold-star sentence for me. I was blinded by the lightbulb that went off in my head when I read it. I look around and see others' perfection. It's SO NOT perfection. It is the illusion of same. Key here for me is: don't waste energy on assuming what you're seeing (in others and how they cope) and then using those assumptions to fill in the rest of the picture. And don't be ashamed of your own dirty floors/toilet/shower! They won't always be dirty. They might be today, but what needs doing today (or tomorrow) might not be cleaning them! Do what you want to do, not what you think you should do (see the next paragraph!)

Confronting and releasing expectations: Make what we "should" do what we "want" to do.. or don't do it. Another barrier to tuning in to your child lies in expectations. They are everywhere, from mothers to friends to doctors - and especially the expectations you heap on yourself. The key to liberating yourself from expectations is to take the word "Should" out of your vocabulary. Every time you hear yourself thinking you "should" do something, ask "Is this really something I want to do? I it the right thing for me and my child?" If you are able to say "yes", that is great - it has now become your choice - not something done because it is expected. If your answer is "no", choose not to do it. (If I had remembered this yesterday, my Bullfrog-Legged baby and I would have had a much happier afternoon, wouldn't we! I didn't listen to my instincts until last night, and I couldn't wait until this morning to start a fresh new day with her when she got up for the day)


Be proud of your decisions and choices. If you feel the need to reassess one of your choices, do so for you, not for others. Avoid the bombardment of influences out there..... Throughout your journey with your child, just be who you are. Do not expect to feel anything, just let yourself feel. Let it all flow. Neither of you have ever done this before - it's a new relationship for you and your baby. Every woman is beautiful and unique. If we were all the same, life would be very boring. Every child is also beautiful and unique and every mother is beautifully equipped in her own unique way to understand, nurture and raise her children. See the beauty and the mystery of the discovery, and the true freedom brought about by feeling rather than thinking.


'Intuitive Mothering' is more than another baby care book. It is a warm and friendly tool for the new parent negotiating the maze of apparently conflicting, prescriptive advice about parenting styles and approaches - Dr Bronwyn Gould, Chair, National Assoc. for the Prevention of Child Abuse and Neglect.

The Meanest Coach

This is a post originally from April 2009, when the LGBB was an (even more) impressionable 2 year-old. Let's see what happens when subliminal messages filter through to play, shall we?....






I think Steve has been coaching the LGBB. Three of these (above) are my Barbies. Their matted, old hair proves they have been played with often. And come from the 80's. The pretty princess in her fancy shmancy ballerina get-up is Lolly's latest addition to the group, a present to her from her Grandparents for Christmas. I find her inferior, with her immovable arms, elbows and feet. But that's just me.


The LGBB loves them. She talks to them like they're respectable, decent, upstanding members of the household ... despite them, in this photo, wearing the sum total of all the clothes I have for them.


One day, recently, the LGBB was "loving" one of my Barbies so hard that she ripped the head clean off the neck. I don't mean popped it off so you could see that little bubble of plastic underneath and just stick it back on. I mean, full on tore the plastic. I was horrified! I let out a wail like I was still twelve years old. It cut almost as deeply as if one of my brothers had done the act maliciously. To top it off, Steve couldn't stop rolling about laughing (not sure if that was at my dismay or at my attempts to fix her).


And now, my most prized, my most lovely Barbie (whom I named Michelle, for I always thought that was such a soft, pretty, enviable name) has no neck. She's like a trucker. She may as well wear Stubbies and a pair of Blundies on her feet and let her gut out - Lord knows she's wanted to all these years. See her there on the right? See anything, oh I don't know...neckless about her?


The LGBB and I were playing with the Barbies yesterday. See them here in their "hot tub", or so Steve and I like to snicker and call it. During our little tea party in the hot tub, I asked the LGBB their names. And just as I was thinking how adorable (if not a tad strange) their names were, all of a sudden I had cause to believe that Steve has been coaching my daughter to get rid of the broken one. My Michelle. Despite his protests and assurances that he has not, I want your opinion. 


Take a look at these names. (From left to right) In the picture, according to the LGBB, we have:


Narmi
Winkle (??? WTF?)
Barbie, and....










Wait for it.....


















Toodabin.






So. Is it Toodabin? Or........ to the bin?




Hmmmmmmmmmm. I'm suspicious, let me tell you. Nasty piece of work, that Steve.

Up yours, Dad!

Here's what happens when you let a toddler choose a card for her father on his birthday.

I have had this card for almost a year, waiting for the day I could let the LGBB proudly hand it to Steve. See, she thinks this is him. Some artist's impression of her dear Dad. The hair colour, the manly hand and the work shirt collar has convinced her it is him.

In the shop last year, choosing a card for someone else, she grabbed this and would not put it away. Quite unlike her (and most unlike me, too, giving in to an impulse-buy demand of my child's) she insisted until she cried that it was Daddy's birthday card, despite the fact that his birthday was still nearly twelve months away. I had to buy it.

Steve was suitably tickled that Lolly thought him so suave, debonaire. And downright arrogant. Ah, the joy of birthdays.

Happy 39th Birthday, Lenny*!

* Lenny is Steve. Long story. Boring story. He's just Lenny, 'kay?

Windy, foggy Christmas Eve

I cannot believe she's grown so much since I filmed this! I thought she was the oldest she could possibly get. Mental note: may be something to do with not believing we'd ever have a child full stop. It still felt surreal back then in 2008.

But, anywho, here is our good thing LGBB in one of my faaaaavourite ever bits of footage of her - please excuse the lighting, there is no time for anything like that when you've got Toddler Comedy Gold going on (lest you interrupt the gorgeousness).

I could watch this over and over, honestly. And I have in the past! Here she is, aged just 2 1/2 singing that old classic, Rudolph the Red-Nose Ray Deer:


It Glows from Lolly Lovers on Vimeo.


And if I don't get back here, or around to yours before, please accept my warmest blessings for a gorgeous Christmas. I hope the days are pleasant, restful and fulfilling. NOT stressful, exhausting and crammed full of too much (unless that is what fulfils you!). Everyone who commented on this blog this year, I thank you sincerely for your humour, support and frankness.

You are all cherished. xo

Sprung bad

Steve jumped into a taxi today (inside our newly completed garage ohmygodIknowcanyoubelieveit'sfinally FINISHED??) and the driver asked him where he wanted her to take him.

"To the city, please," he replied.

The car didn't move. The driver didn't acknowledge she'd heard. A few moments later, I heard Steve say (for I was sweeping leaves nearby), "Umm, driver? Can we go to the city now?"

"Inna minute...." came the authoritative reply. "I'm just reading the paper."

"Oh. Ok." Steve sat glumly with hands folded in his lap, looking at me through the side window. I crumpled with silent laughter as the driver continued to fold over the pages of her imaginary newspaper in the front seat.

"Just checking my lipssssssstick....." she then said absent-mindedly, as if stalling but not exactly knowing what she was stalling for, checking her reflection in the visor mirror before busily flipping it back into its horizontal position.

The car then went through a series of gear crunches and there were copious amounts of corners being turned from what I could see.

I left them to it, coming inside to grab a cup of tea. And realised that now, my husband thinks I bundle our child in the car and torment her by strapping her in so I can gallavant about town, reading the paper idly and checking my lippy whilst airily dismissing her requests from the backseat.

Cruisin' for a bruisin' and other mundane stuff

1. The bruise is looking better, day 4. No really. It is! I'm not compressing it anymore, the swelling's gone down heaps. Still getting weird stabbing pains and changed nerve sensations (feels like someone tickling me with a piece of string) all down my leg, particularly in the ankle and backside of my knee.

2. Nobody told me that once they learn how to swing, a young independent child is not going to swing out there on their own. They're going to screech for you every 30 seconds to "watch me!", "watch how high I'm going!", "look at my skirt flying!", "I'm holding onnnn!"  Dear lord, have mercy. Please. It's almost 6 o'clock. Twelve hours IS my limit, we've discussed this.

3. Just when I was standing peeling macadamia choc chip cookies off the cookie sheet, thinking about those mothers of more than one child who would no doubt look at me and secretly want to stab me for being such a wet blanket on matters of "I can't DOOOO THISSSS anymore today", I heard Lolly singing heartily....

Mama Mia
Have a go again
My, my
I don't want a sister

Oh, yeah? Well, story of my life. We did have a go again (albeit by big scary accident) and look what happened. Again. Soooo... Sing your story walking, baby. Sing it walking. Or swinging. Whatever. Just get outside and give Mummy some space (and here take a handful of biscuits with you so I don't eat them all because I love you, my sweetest most preciousest angel-features babydoll sweetheart).


Annnnnnnd.....

out.

Lolly on love

Today, washing dishes together, our conversation was thus...

LGBB: "I love Daddy."
Me: "Oh! That's nice."
LGBB: "And I love you too."
Me: "Thanks! Why do you love Daddy?"
LGBB: "Because. He's funny."
Me: "He is funny. Why do you love Mummy?"
LGBB: "Because you do funny wiggle-dances [MUST do something about that extra tyre... obviously]. And you laugh at Daddy."

Waauuugh. It shows. We love each other and it shows. I was beginning to wonder.

Back when I was funny

Oh holy moly, this takes me back. I'm trying desperately to concentrate on writing. Truly, I am. In my (so far unfulfilling) search for what I am looking for, I found this old post (and I've reposted it below). Oh, how I remember the days....

If there is one word you must NEVER say around the LGBB, it is ....

Skips.

Skips are biscuits. Apparently (just ask her). I want her to get the word wrong for as long as possible, it's that adorable.

It is the most uttered word on a daily basis. So much so that a "skip ban" has been placed on her until the afternoons - mind you, "skips" are actually vegetable chips (the poor poppet, I am so nasty, she's never even been introduced to a milk arrowroot yet). Still, she woofs her artsy-fartsy pansy skips like they're triple-decker chocomochafudge-a-licious gold.

There was a moment a couple of weeks back where she knew she'd pushed it too far. I laid down the letter of the Skip Law. Since then, instead of directly asking, imploring, pleading and then begging (my leg), she has decided to take the bigger-person approach; she'll sit back, look around then casually enquire with hands in the shrug position, "Skips? Where skips gone?" Pause for an answer and for effect and then you hear, "I don' know where skips' gone." See? She's not asking or nagging for it is beneath her (yeah, right). She's simply calling her skips. "Oh, skiiiips? Where you gorn?" She's good. Going to definitely have to get up earlier and earlier as she gets older, just to collect my wits about me.

And when you look at her quizzically, after you can no longer avoid that steel-blue - rather, The Blue Steel?, as mastered by her dad inadvertently and evidenced in any existing photo of him to date - glare, you can be assured that she will square you up and repeat again.

"Skips."

If you then try and tilt your head on the side with a puzzled expression, she'll press on. Perhaps you're not understanding her. She'll say it slowww-er. And more clearly so you can fulfil her request.

"Bisskips."

Oh! Bisskips. How silly of me. I thought you said skips.

Why Having A Toddler Is Like Being At A Frat Party

Today's post is a repost from Brenna's brilliant blog post on this subject. Many of the 309 comments are just as hilarious as the original top ten list. Enjoy!


Why Having A Toddler Is Like Being At A Frat Party

10. There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.

9. There's always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.

8. It's best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.

7. You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone's going to start banging on the door.

6. Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.

5. You've got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.

4. There's definitely going to be a fight.

3. You're not sure whether anything you're doing is right, you just hope it won't get you arrested.

2. There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.

1. You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.

We regret to inform you...

After wrestling a jumper onto my daughter, who likes to think a summer outfit is perfectly FINE all year round, even in weather where we are having to crack the ice off the door jamb before we climb in the car, she did an animated dive onto her bed.

I turned as I closed her cupboard door, asking her in that thinly veiled disapproving-mother voice, "Lolly, you're not going to jump on your bed, are you?"

She looked at me, unable to keep the smile completely off her face. I could see it, twitching at the corners of her mouth, her demeanour mature, calm and deadpan as you like when she climbed to her feet (still on her bed) and broke it to me as gently as she could, "I am, Mum. I'm sorry."

We both gave each other the same face - a look that displayed equal measures of regret, love and 'uh oh' - and she slowly started to bounce, her smile widening as the pleasure hit her in ever-increasing waves.

I kept my 'face' on until I left her room, whereby I crumpled into fits of giggles. The cheek of the kid!

Literal Lolly.... strikes again

In another installment of Literal Lolly (there could have been plenty of others, but I keep forgetting to share them)...

Me: "We're going to Grandpa's on Sunday to help him move house."
LGBB: *very perturbed expression* "Won't it hurt our fingers when we put them under there? I think Grandpa needs to just find a new house. That would be better."

In the same vein as "Daddy's going to pick up his new car tomorrow" and her saying, genuinely concerned for her Dad's wellbeing, "Is it heavy?" - he answered that, yes, it was so she suggested he'd "better get Mummy to help you lift it."

I love that kid.

Steps to having a great day

Lolly's day yesterday, in pictures....

No one can ever tell you too much eye shadow - on your cheeks - is enough

Pose to look bewdiful, give simmering look to camera. Then...

When you've seen said picture and realised your lippy is *aherm* slightly outside the lines, run around and around and around the island bench in a cooped-up-inside stupor, which you may want to occasionally fuel by

pausing a moment to check your reflection in the oven door and checking over your facial artistry

and a dash to the bathroom to put a comb through your hair (through, mind, not "stuck in")

then scarper again, squealing at the same point in the kitchen like a trained monkey each time you pass it, cos that amps up the fun factor

round and round and round, remember

finish off with a cheeky giggle

and then grab the camera and take a photo of your Mummy looking like a crazy cat lady.

Job well done!

The one Steve likes to call...

... "Here's your forkin' tea"

*slamming imaginary cup of tea, with the fork in it, down on the table*

I was presented this morning with a cheese burger, a slice of pizza on toast (warmed in the toy microwave, of course, as is customary of correct reheating of - apparently - the world's favourite breakfast fare) and a cup of tea. With a fork in it.




My handmade gift from Lolly was the obligatory, gorgeous kindergarten teacher project. She proudly told me that her picture for me had "TWO photos on it" when apparently the other kids' only had one on theirs. Don't know why. Perhaps because they tried (and failed) twice to get her to actually look at the camera and stop grimacing? Cheeky minx. I love the bottom photo of her because it looks so much like the old grandmotherly type look of 'sufferance' that comes out in her when she tries to over-mother Steve and me. Look at her! Is that a shawl draped over her 3 year-old shoulders? I think it is....

I was also very spoiled by way of the LGBB's first ever self-chosen Mothers Day gift for me: a pretty pink candle. I have decided it will be the candle I light on Mothers Day, in honour of all the mums who have lost a child. Today, I remember one mum in particular who I know is doing it really tough - her first Mothers Day without her 9 year-old daughter, who was tragically killed in January - and it makes me choke up today, just remembering the staggering number of mothers trying to get through today and willing nightfall to come, mercifully, to take their pain away for the brief hours they are spared by sleep.

I remember my first one well. To be dealt the crushing double-whammy blow of coping with this oh-so-stigmatic, largely commercially driven day as well as it being the first one without our daughter here..... Well. I thought I would surely spontaneously combust. How would I get through it? How could we go anywhere on that day and NOT see countless cars full of (not necessarily happy-looking) family, driving alongside us, claiming more rightful positions in every single restaurant, at every single table. It was like the world's biggest middle finger salute in my face, every cotton-wool-haired granny's head visible in the rear of every Camry being driven around to the rhododendron gardens, all put in my way to taunt me about how old I would grow. Never to be driven around by that little pink bundle who slipped away, so painfully recently.

Today, I graciously accepted the waiter's well-trained wishes of a "Happy mother's day" to me, as we were seated at a table in a little restaurant nestled in a small township the bush, not too far from here. I smiled as I watched our second born little girl grimace about the "warm wind" - no, not her father, but the patio heater we were sitting under and to which she had taken a great offense - and I cradled in my heart all the mums inching their way through the unbearable, unthinkable, surely unsurvivable pain of this, their first Mothers Day to get through without their child, knowing that the sun would eventually peek through again for them sometime.

One day.

Squeezeland

As in... "This is Queensland."

We were both close to tears (mine of laughter) before I caved and said, "OKAY! ALRIGHT!"

I have just had a ten minute argument with our young daughter explaining that the Tourism Queensland commercial was saying "This. Is. Queensland." She spent equally long trying to get it through my thick head that the place is called "Squeeeeeeze. Lannnnnd." And what's more, apparently, she wants to visit there.

Who wouldn't?

Where else but Squeezeland?

As it was and as it always should be

I did it again tonight.

With the deft stroke of my fingers around her eyes, I lulled the LGBB into sleep. For the past fortnight, ever since I helped her relax one night when I realised she was far too wired/spooked by the wind to settle down and I really *needed* her to go to sleep and not play the 'Up and Down 10 Times For Umpteen Excuses' game, Lolly has requested I rub her eyes.

"Just a little bit," she negotiates.

For me, as a mother, this is delicious unheard-of territory. I can remember putting the LGBB down in her cot, when she was a wee 8 week-old. I joke not, the kid would look at me witheringly if I so much as lingered by her side, let alone try and stroke her forehead, pat her back, rub her chest.... Nope. None of that hands-on lovey-dovey stuff for Our Lolly. She would literally stare me down, a look of confused "Why are you still here? You are dismissed!" on her face, and I would wander out, rather dazed and confused myself, thinking, "But aren't I supposed to comfort her? Isn't she supposed to fuss so I can go back in and do the "shhhhhh, Mummy's here" rock back to sleep?"

Only rarely did this happen, usually in times of teething or illness. And don't get me wrong! I am not looking the gift-horse in the mouth that was my self-soothing child. She just came out that way, even though I tried to make her dependent on me (obviously), it didn't rub off on her. But I do admit to feeling a bit useless as a mum sometimes because of it. A tad... obsolete, as it were.

Now, for some reason, she asks for her nightly eye rub and I am happy to oblige and indulge. Most nights so far, she has not gone to sleep (I was concerned this would start to be the crutch that kept me in the room and I don't want to be encouraging that) and instead, grins at me when I am done, rolls over and hugs her dog and bunny and we don't hear another peep. But a couple of times, while I have been only part way through, her eyelids have just looked sooooo....darn....heavy..... that she nearly makes me nod off with her.

Tonight, the request was no different.

"Mummy... you rub my eyes a little bit?"

And so I began. I use a technique fashioned from something I picked up when I used to do Shiatsu yoga several years ago. Along the principles of the leylines of the body - the Chi? the meridians? depends who you talk to - and it uses little pressure points. Release points, where stored tension melts away. I'm rusty on the details, but do recall being ever so fascinated to find them on my own face that I have always remembered them.

If you move your finger around your eye socket, directly under your eye (inline with the pupil, I believe) you will feel a little tiny divet - a groove - in the bone. You can feel this on both sides of your face, left and right. Applying a little simple pressure (I slowly, almost imperceptibly, make circles when I do this on Lolly's face) for a few moments before moving on to the next points which are part way up the bridge of the nose, I'd say right where your cheekbone meets your ... nose bone? The next point is right in the inside corner of your eye socket, about the closest point your two fingers are going to be when tracing this path around the eyes. Moving up to the top centre of the eye sockets, you should be able to feel another of those ever so slight little grooves in the bone - if not, you're weird just go for that middle point again. The circle is made complete by pressing on the outermost edge of the eye socket.

From there, I find the two centremost points on her cheekbones (these too have a little groove in them - on my face, they are not very obvious but they are there) and give them a good slow-motion pulse as well. These points are great for stuffy noses and sinus troubles, it just eases the face a little from all the tension of sniffing/nose blowing/blocked sinus.

And then I do various other feather-light fingered traces over her forehead and a super trick to calm the toddler-beast: Make a V with your pointer and middle finger at the hairline, trace it down to a point at the third eye area of the nose between the eyes. I like to infuse my fingers with a little bit of energetic colour as well - usually Electric Blue. A few of those strokes should begin to see a noticeably calmer difference, colour or no colour application.

Whenever I do this, I find myself relaxing into it too. I know that it's no good rushing this and, given I have finally been bestowed with the honour of assisting M'Lady with her slumber routine, I'm not about to wish the time away. So I really get into it. Another 10-15 minutes out of my day, bringing peace and deep relaxation to her in this way, while she is willingly requesting it, is the least I feel I can do.

And then there are moments like tonight, ones that I cannot ever actually adequately put into words. When the moment of sleep overcomes my daughter and she suddenly looks so tiny again. And her face softens and her cheeks look somehow like those cherubic baby cheeks again. The pulls and tics at the corners of her delicate lips, denoting deeper and deeper travels into her subconscious. And the tugging down of the corners of her dear little mouth and her chin as it furrows like she's about to whimper. And sometimes she does, perhaps already dreaming.

I sat and I watched tonight. I smiled and I melted. And I yearned. For whenever I see the LGBB asleep like this, I see her sister in her. Most times, it is a fleeting moment of recognition. Something lovely and "just is as it is". Other times, like tonight, I have to really fight the urge to wake her back up. Animate her. Because that sleeping image of her big sister, whom she asks after more and not less as these months and years wear on, is the one thing that taunts me and chases me around in my daily life.

Lolly told me just yesterday a great big meandering story of events, one that she had put some thought into, obviously, and I felt my heart hurt about Ella for the first time in ages.

"Maybe... maybe you could... I know! Get a pram! And take it to the hostibool and... and... and get baby Ella and bring her back home in it. And then we could go for a walk. You, me, Daddy and Ella. In the pram."

Aeeeeeeeee. My heart. My achey breaky heart. I just don't think it understands.

My own fault, really

Because when my instructions aren't clear, this is the result:



I found myself in a compromising pozzy, on the loo, sans paper. WHY does that always happen to me? I mean, it's not like I use the darn stuff the most in this house *not looking at anyone in particular..... and the picture on the right is compleeeetely random.....* but apparently, I'm always in the wrong/right place at the wrong/right time and have to change the roll.

Except, on this day, I discovered that I hadn't even brought the spare rolls down to the cupboard in the bathroom. So I was stuck. Perched on my.... perch. And I had only a toddler to save me. Yes, it WAS that dire. There was nary a square to spare.

So I called the LGBB in. She raced up - how do they always make 5 or so metres sound like 100 really difficult ones?? sooo amazing - and stood at the doorway, eager to assist in that "Can-do" action manner that I love so much in kids her age. Hey... while they have it, you gotta love it, I say.

I tried to use as simple an instruction as I could.

"Mummy's run out of paper!"
"OH NO!" *cue horrified, desperate, suddenly serious look from child in the doorway*
"It's ok! But I need your help: Can you please get the toilet paper roll from the other toilet?"
"........OH....KAY!" She ran off.

Phew. It had computed. She had put the data in and it spat out....... the above piddly little scrap of frantically-torn paper. So desperate was she for me to be able to move from the throne and not be stuck there forever - for that is it for them, isn't it, I mean, now, this moment, is forever to them - that she didn't grab the whole roll. She tore off what she thought I would need.

I have to say, I do commend her for thinking my bottom is so dainty and delicate. I regret that I am going to shatter her illusions one day.


Er.... I finished this post and posted it, then realised two things:

1. Dear reader may believe that scrap of paper to be used, and
2. If not - for it is obviously unused - how did I dethrone?

Well. Let me just say, despite my apparent policy of full disclosure on this blog, that, dear reader, is one trick best left covered up. Like David Copperfield himself would say, a magician doesn't reveal his secrets. He'd just get a funny hairdo and make a ridiculous show about how marvellous said tricks are. And I'm not about to make a show about my bottom. kthxbai.

I think I am past it enough now to say I miss her!

I found this today while I was searching for some other photos on the timeline. And I remember there was an old blog post I had done about it (you can see the telltale post-tanty puffy eyes and cheeks in this shot on the LGBB, circa 2007). And I thought.....

Where did my baby go??

All the feelings I was feeling at that time of her life are long faded - the angst at her not moving, not crawling, the worry, concern and speculation (and that was just from my well-meaning but ultimately unhelpful mothers' group who, between them, had the earliest movers I've ever come across, just my luck), the bad case of tenosynivitis I'd been coping with but not wanting to make "a thing" of, yada yada yada.... It's all gone. And all that remains is the gorgeous, melting moments captured in the photos we have of her.

We are so blessed to have had our girls.

My little beanstalk

I measured the LGBB last in January on the 22nd. She was 106cm then.

After a rather harrowing week (and especially weekend) which was spent mostly in tears - I was too tired to cry any so they were all hers this time - I decided to measure Lolly again on Sunday just gone.

When will I learn that gnashing of teeth and days-full of tears and wretchedness are NOT the "new her"?

The kid has grown 4cm in two months! She now stands at 110cm. Gahhhhd. I feel like I'm never going to put two and two together when it's happening and only realise things that are happening for her physiologically in hindsight.

And just.... thank God I am saving for her wardrobe already.



Sorry: just had to edit this post to show you this post that came up in the widget. Remember? Oh my sides...

SOUP-er Mamaaa

I collect empty boxes. They are great for sticking bits of stuff to. And painting. No end of fun can be had with clagging some scraps of fabric to the side of a Nutri-Grain ("Daddy Cereal") box. Lolly enjoys pasting and painting them too..... Hey. How did you THINK I spent my day when I said I was working hard?

Henyway, so I collect all these empty boxes. Sometimes we use them here at home. But more often than not, I "donate" them to Lolly's kindy or occasional care centre. Painstakingly making sure I've removed hazards (like the serrated teeth on the cling wrap boxes and so forth). Ensuring I don't collect soy milk containers or egg cartons or anything else that may ignite an awful food allergy reaction.

Then I bundle them in the car, with the LGBB sitting amongst them like she's built a box city, and I take them with us to her occasional care day. The relief of getting them out of the house is quite surprising. I love getting rid of them, it feels good to both be useful and recycle them AND get my kitchen and cupboards clear once I've done a clean-out from the build-up. I feel like I've really achieved something! Two-fold! I'm a superhero of house cleaning! *hands on hips HO-HO!*

Then, when I go and pick the LGBB up, she always, always, ALWAYS tells me excitedly, "I did some painting!" or "I did some sticking!" or some other such crafty way with some sort of adhesive.

Annnnnnd.... you know what I'm going to say, don't you? I bundle her back in the car with, guaranteed, at least 50% if not all of those damn sky-scraper sized boxes back again at the end of the day, now adorned with half-dry paint and glue and bits of glitter n' shit falling off in my car so I have to carefully stack them and cart them all back home. And THEN display them around the house for days so we can all rejoice in their glory and splendour.

Ah, the joys. I have to laugh. *sob* And then do a resigned face like this:

(this one's for you, Sparkl-o-Matic)

How can there be more?!?

A little while ago, I posted about how fantastic I am as an attentive, on-the-ball mother when I realised my daughter's ear pain was probably teeth coming in. And then discovered I had no clue at ALL when they all pop through and fall out and whatnot. There are more changes in a kid's mouth than there are in Lady Gaga's wardrobe. Changes, that is. Not... teeth.

Hennywho.... as I was saying....

Now, they say here that we have 20 deciduous teeth (isn't that a cute way of saying baby teeth? Mind you, I said baby teeth the other night and was haughtily corrected by the Young Lady of the house who responded snippily by saying, "They're called milk teeth, Mum"... I kid you not. And my bottom jaw has not met my top one yet after that surprise exchange). And that you grow all 20 into your mouth by around 2 1/2 years of age. Okay. Super. I've got that.

Then, it says we have 32 permanent teeth, which come in between 6-12 years of age, after our milk teeth have dropped out.

So, why then is my rosy-cheeked little 3 1/2 year old now getting four more molars when she already has 20 teeth in there? I know! I counted 'em! The bottom ones are breaking through as we speak, dear reader(s)! This is going to make 24. But that link I mentioned earlier (oh, here it is again for the helluvit) doesn't say what happens between tooth #21 and #31. Are those last 10 permanent from the get-go? As in, do they not have little milkies saving a mouth pozzy for them like the first 20 do?

Oh, I don't understaaaand!

I am so terribly confused. About life, yes, it's a given.... but mainly about molars right now.