Life - but not as we know it

Have you ever had one of those huge life experiences, an event or an epiphany that not only changes your path, but completely re-maps your entire personality?

I had one recently, and only with that beautiful thing called hindsight can I now see it was so desperately needed.

I’ll explain.

I was only content when I was busy. Setting a blowtorch to both ends of the candle of life was my happy place, thriving on flying frantically through life in a vain attempt to have it all, and always adding to my To Do list until I could paper my walls with the remnants.

Want the perfect house? Let’s renovate.

The perfect body?  Not likely, but I’ll squeeze in 4 brutal sessions a week at the gym anyway.

 Well rounded kids? Sure, activities, play dates and toddler soccer present and correct.

Full time career? Absolutely, 50 hours a week at the office dedicated to a life in publishing.

Social life? Sure, I’d love to come to brunch, and of course I can whip up a BBQ for 20 on a Sunday afternoon.

Still not fulfilled? No, so let’s start up a new venture to fulfill the dreams of independent business woman.

I’m a child of the eighties. I can have everything. Right?

Then I suffered a series of miscarriages and was forced to take a stern look at why my embryos were taking a leap off the ledge so determinedly at such an innocent age.

At this point I realised I had been racing through life faster than a rabbit on rollerskates. I would fly into a room breathless and wonder why everyone stared at me with slight trepidation. Sentences were spoken with such haste I never really finished them. Emails, phone calls and conversations were all exchanged like I was a 90’s raver on speed. Every part of my personality was set on overdrive and burning faster than a supernova.

The health boffins very wisely said enough was enough, and I was forced to stop, and choose. Not just slow down a little, but actually stop the whirlwind if I ever wanted another baby. Maybe the lifestyle had nothing to do with the losses, maybe it had everything to do with it. That fact I’ll never know.  But it wasn’t a risk worth taking anymore.  So after the realisation struck home, and with the squealing handbrake still resonating in my ears, I began the very hard process of completely re-wiring my personality to behave differently, to think differently, and to believe differently.

It’s an almost impossible thing to achieve straight away, a journey something akin to giving up smoking, something which I also achieved about 7 years ago. But already I’ve learned to talk slower, walk slower, breathe slower, and to gaze at the sky for no reason other than simply to look up. 

Will it last? Who knows, maybe eventually I’ll fall off the zen wagon and bolt for the nearest font of chaos I can find. Maybe you can’t completely give up the frantic addiction. But until that happens, I’ll keep breathing, counting to ten, and appreciating the boredom. 

But aside from the lifestyle change, the embracing of the new zen-me and the echo of whale music as I pass through my day, there was a bigger demon to slay. And that epiphany happened the moment I accepted to settle for less.

The renovations will not be finished anytime soon.

The body will always be wobbly, and likely to get wobblier.

The career is unlikely to advance anytime soon.  

And all that is perfectly OK, because what I have achieved is good enough.

And for any stubborn lingering remnants of over-achievement that insist on hanging around?

Well, they are very swiftly swept away on the tailwind of the long awaited news that baby #2 is safely on the way.

 It’s bloody hard to accept that you can’t have it all. But at the end of the day, did I really want it all anyway?

The second best thing about motherhood?

There are so many incredible, inspiring, life-changing things that happen when you transition into the new role of mother.

Yes, the first, primary and most obvious change is the arrival of a very small person in your world. Someone who will light up your life in ways that you never imagined possible, as well as frequently test your patience more than ever before!

But in my newborn baby world there was another surprisingly special occurrence. 

It was something that rarely gets the recognition it deserves, an institution that you hear rumours about, but never truly know what it’s about until a few weeks after the birth.

And that is the introduction of a whole new circle of people into your life, a local group of girls who you would otherwise never cross paths with - It’s the Mothers Group.

Ten random strangers, all at probably the most fragile juncture in their lives, are thrust into a room together with a packet of biscuits and a box of tissues and left to their own devices.

Now I know that not everyone has a nice experience in this circle, some have competitive members, some unreliable, some just don’t click and fizzle away.

I count my blessings that I was one of the lucky ones where I hit the jackpot on this occasion. We all clicked and bonded like no other friends could - over the tears, the exhaustion, the shared stories of ‘is this normal…?’ as well as celebrating the little milestones and achievements at every stage.

Even as our lives change and grow, we will all remain friends, as will our children.

So, I would like to say an eternal round of gratitude to whatever council member came up with the idea - because it is a bold one.

A recent visit to my local childhood centre really made me appreciate the randomness of it all. Picking my way past all the shining new prams in the hallway, I glanced through the door at a circle of shell-shocked women who don’t know each other from Adam, they just happened to give birth at the same time, in the same postcode.

And I stopped to marvel at whether it could be the start of yet another whole new set of friendships, a sisterhood that goes so much deeper because of the shared experience you all have. 

I had great reservations when I went to my first meeting. Not only was I seriously struggling with my newly acquired role, I’m also not the easiest person to bond with - I’ve been blessed with that self-effacing English sense of humour that can very quickly offend. But thankfully we all shared a passion for TimTams and champagne, and were all brutally honest in our parenting experiences, without any competition, pride or envy.

Many women, myself included, end up losing a key circle of friends when they have their first child. Those ‘Before Baby’ friends who only sms to catch up over drinks on Saturday night, or worse, stop calling at all because now you are accompanied by a minor, and even then are a little preoccupied with the current lack of sleep.

So to be provided with a new group of friends, all who share and understand everything that is monumental in your world at this time of great upheaval, needs much more heralding that it receives.

So, I raise a glass to the Mothers Group.

Enjoy your Thursday mornings in the park swapping stories. Make the most of those lunches chatting about sleep, routines and achievements that as a new mum you are so proud of, because these women are the ones that will truly understand how important these things are.

I, for one, still somewhat miss those sleep deprived morning coffees, the tears and the laughter at the baby’s escapades, and at the chaos of our newborn lives.

What was your experience in your mothers group?

Did it work out for you, or did you never go back?

Find me and all the comments, at birth.com.au

Baby ahoy…

I’ve got to be honest, I truly didn’t enjoy being pregnant. Yes I know the biology is incredible, I’m growing a tiny person and I should embrace the insanity hormones, but aside from the seemingly endless vomiting and exhaustion, I just remember feeling utterly hijacked by this tiny little pirate marauding around my insides, causing chaos everywhere he turned. Throughout the pregnancy I wished I felt differently, that I bonded and glowed and all the other things you hear that happen, but it sadly just never clicked for me and as the belly grew bigger, I liked myself less and less. After 8 months I was staunchly adamant that I would never – repeat never – go through it all again.*

This fact had been happily accepted and neatly filed away for a few years, along with my other never-to-do-again memories such as sky-diving and beer-bongs, but it has recently resurfaced because I am quite surprisingly about to embark on the whole baby shennanigans again**. And before I even get close to puking in a plant pot, I know as much as I’d love to have another child – I still have more than a little trepidation about going through pregnancy again.

Perhaps all my best intentions of being a calm and serene incubator this time around might somewhat alleviate these issues – taking up baby yoga and only eating vegetables planted by virgins being just a few, but I’m sure all these divine plans will be flung out the window the minute the first production deadline hits in favour of sobbing at the keyboard with a packet of timtams.

I have a very clear memory of being handed my newborn son, and amidst the chaos of an overly complicated emergency ceasar I simply thought ‘thank god he is out of me, someone please take him away. And this feeling didn’t change for almost a year.

Maybe the second time will be easier, the biggest upheaval of the transition into motherhood is already achieved and I’ve accepted the mummy tummy is for good. Or maybe it will be a million times harder with a 3 year old in tow?

Does this happen more now because our lives today don’t allow us the time to be pregnant? Morning sickness has to be snuck in around meetings and deadlines, fatigue managed by napping in the carpark for 20 minutes at lunchtime.

I do wonder how many women are delivering with their iphones to hand, and still feel like they’ve let someone down before they’ve begun? I know I am certainly guilty of all of the above, and mostly because I put that pressure on myself.

What I do know is the inbuilt human desire to reproduce must be so overwhelmingly strong, for it to cause such a deranged u-turn for someone such as myself!

I now love my first fiercely and unconditionally, yes even when he shoves a plastic dinosaur in my ear when I’m trying to grab a cheeky lie-in. So lets hope that the second goes the same way with an added dose of pre-natal tranquility to really start us off on the right foot...

Did you experience the pre-natal bond?

Did you enjoy being pregnant?

Or vice versa, did you struggle with pregnancy only to have a great experience second time around?

*and yes, I know now that it was a classic case of ante-natal depression, but that is a whole other post.

**cue a mountain of calls from family and friends who are now reading this realising they can serve me a big fat dose of ‘I told you so’.

***yes, don’t worry that feeling has gone now, only to resurface whenever I hear the ‘In The Night Garden’ theme tune.

Shh... it's a secret...

To tell or not to tell.

That is often the question on many women's minds when they find out they are pregnant.

On one hand you are excited, nervous, and desperate to share the catalogue of emotions that are bursting inside.

On the other, there is the age-old tradition to hide it away until you are clear of the uncertainty of the first 12 weeks (though how you truly achieve secrecy amidst all the morning sickness, fatigue and fainting of those early weeks I've never completely understood!)

And of course to confuse and overload you even more, as with everything pregnancy/parenting related, there is myriad articles and well meaning people who are too quick to tell you what the 'right' thing to do is.

Now I've been faced with that predicament several times now, sometimes ending in a beautiful bouncing baby, and sometimes not. And during those 'sometimes not' times I've questioned, as I'm sure many other women have done, whether the heartache would be any easier to endure if I wasn't doing it so completely alone?

Yes, colleagues and friends might initially put their foot in it with over-zealous pregnancy comments, but at least you'd then get the space and support so desperately needed at such a difficult time. However, would facing all the subsequent questions and awkward silences mean you are better off with nobody knowing?

Miscarriage is suffered by an estimated 50,000 women every year in Australia, often in almost complete silence. This intangible grief is processed with no acknowledgement from your day to day circle, leaving it all feeling somewhat trivialised. You carry on pretending to the world that nothing out of the ordinary has happened today, just return to your desk and field the suddenly meaningless daily demands, whilst your head is screaming 'my baby has gone, does nobody care?'

Of course they care, they just don't know.

Unfortunately even after seeing things from both sides, I still don't know the answer.

There were moments when I wanted to scream it from the rooftops, just to be given a moment to acknowledge my loss and behave in a way any grieving person has the right to.

To be able to broadcast it a step ahead of your every move, so to safely avoid situations such as a large 'tell everyone we are pregnant' dinner party on the day of a miscarriage (yep, that did happen, as did running out of the room in tears!)

Other moments I was so glad nobody knew, because any pregnancy related question would have torn me in two if I had to explain it was now a 'sometimes not'.

What are your thoughts?
Did you tell people early only to sadly miscarry?
Or did you purposely keep your pregnancy quiet until after 12 weeks?

Find me and all the comments, at birth.com.au

Are you out of your tree?

I’m not.

I’m currently very firmly in mine.

Literally.

I’ll explain...

I have a huge jacaranda tree in my garden. It’s a beautiful old tree – dappled shade provider for us, carefree tweeting sanctuary for the birds (though to be honest, the springtime downpour of little purple flowers really gives me the sh*ts). Many times it has flickered through my thoughts how perfect it is for a tyre swing for my son, or maybe a treehouse one day, or how fabulous it would be to climb...

Now I’m not so great at child’s play. I’m definitely a multi-tasking playmate - my favourite hide-and-seek spot is in the laundry so I can whip through a load of washing whilst being hunted by an excited two year old, and my pushalong car’s racing route always speeds via the scattered duplo for collection along the way. 

Yes, my inner child is seriously stifled by the efficiency fairy.

But after a particularly frantic triple-tasking game of toddler backyard cricket (involving repotting a yukka and planning out a retaining wall), my son threw his bat down and quite justifiably got immensely upset at my inability to play ‘properly’.

After I’d curbed the subsequent toddler tantrum, I was led to some serious parenting soul searching. We’ve all done it. Must listen more actively, must stop referring to Dora is the babysitter, constant bribery with smarties will not be effective in the long term... and I do not deserve a snake just because I ate all my peas… 

So I decided to see if I was actually capable of unequivocal play by taking myself back to my favourite thing as a kid. There was a day when the first thing I’d do when I saw a tree was climb it. Didn’t need a reason, didn’t need to think about it. Just saw a tree and the first and only response is  ‘great, climb it’. And everyone around the world would agree that this is perfectly acceptable rationale for a 9 year old.

Hence right now, I am sitting on a branch, 15 feet above my lawn, in a jacaranda tree.

And it’s a magnificant place to be. It’s truly amazing the alternative perspective on the world a simple 15 feet can provide. Maybe I will be able to play as devotedly as my son craves in the future (cue shining light and choral music).

But maybe not. Unfortunately the moral of the story is not typically about embracing your inner child and subsequently becoming a more enriched and nurturing parent… however delightfully Disney and predictable that would be. 

The real moral of the story is to always have your mobile in your pocket when you do something childish and stupid, as thankfully I did. Because then not only could I really use this time effectively by writing my blog from up in the tree, ... but also... erm... help… I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to get down...

What's Your Thing?*

 So, this weekend I’m doing something special, something that I rarely do nowadays and something I really cherish… I’m going out dancing. No, not hens-night 80's, or aussie rock tribute... I’m opting for the old-school, dance your pants off for 9 hours, reach-for-the-lasers kind of dancing.

Some people just roll their eyes at this sort of behaviour and move on.

But many others prefer to very quickly file me away in the (Dum Dum Dum) ‘Bad Parent Corner’ (it looks a lot like the naughty corner but it thankfully comes with a well stocked bar fridge).

Now, just for the record, I’m not strapping glowsticks to my toddler’s stroller and parking him in front of the sub-woofer. I am very sensibly leaving him at home with a grown adult to take care of him for the night.

My question is, when you become a mother, why do other mothers expect you to lose your identity and begin a strange competitive struggle of who is less perfect?

I unfortunately missed out on the hormone surge that provides women with the ability to cook a wholesome 4 course meal whilst crocheting a place mat. That hormone surge also didn’t wipe out every element of my personality and replace it with that of a Stepford Wife.

Most people have a Thing right? A Thing that is an integral part of your make-up, something that makes you feel complete and whole and makes you ‘You’.

For some people it might be building model airplanes, some riding a motorbike, some growing vegetables. What’s yours? (nothing illegal thank you)

Well mine is trance music. I make it, I collect it, I share it, I dance to it, I live by it, I love it.

This is a Thing that courses through your veins, it means the world to you, it connects you, it is part of you, and its meaning transcends almost everything else on this world for you (yes, yes yes, my child does come first!). Some people don’t get it, and that I totally understand, but every person should respect it, and nobody has the right to condemn it.

Women give up so much of themselves when they become mothers. The priority list often goes something like this: Children and family always come first. Work second. Cooking nutritious yet tasty meals third. Playdates, gymberoo, dance, junior soccer, all come in a close fourth. Housework next. Your own friends end up low. Hobbies are even lower, and time to look after yourself definitely last – I couldn’t count the times I’ve been forced to wear jeans in summer because I’ve had no time to attend to the scariness growing on my legs!

So come on people – be happy for anyone who has a Thing and has snuck a moment to enjoy it, something that makes them so utterly alive, complete, and ridiculously happy inside, whatever it may be. It’s what makes us all unique, and what makes you You, and me Me.

Parenting isn’t a competition, and having a passion such as this doesn’t make me love and care for my family any less. In fact, being a happier person gives me the ability to love a whole lot more.

*No children were harmed in the writing of this column.

** Just a joke people, even if it wasn’t very PC.

Find me and more, at Mamamia.com.au