Sleep tight

I, like many moms out there, was severely sleep deprived for over 8 months. Typing it out, it doesn’t seem so bad, but when you’re in the throws of waking up 4-6 times a night, you start to lose your sense of humour.

It, however, became my normal. I could cope, I could get through the day, an extra cup of coffee here and there, a nap in the afternoon – but all this was while I was still on maternity leave. Those precious four months you get to spend trying to figure out how to bring up a tiny person the best way you know how. It’s 80% instinct, 20% intervention.

But the real struggle hit home when I went back to work. Between the two parents we figured out a routine where we’d aim for one hour on, one hour off. This soon became one night on one night off. Then it became one week on, one week off, and when that didn’t work – we hired a night nurse for one night a week. And how I longed for that night to arrive!

But when she left, it was back to reality, and back to waking every two or so hours through the night. Even when it wasn’t my turn, I habitually and instinctively woke every time she whimpered, said eh, rolled over or cried.

After five months of no sleep, we attempted sleep training, our own version of course, and a no nonsense tough love approach. Boy did we fail. Parents, don’t try this at home without the help and guidance of an experienced someone who has a. done it themselves successfully or b. written a book about it.

She screamed blue murder for three nights, until we caved and went back to feeding her every two or so hours. Rewind: there is some history to this two hour feeding thing.

When Lex was born, she was four weeks early. I now realise I was completely unprepared (as are we all) and so out of my depth, that I listened to everything anyone told me, from mid-wives, to nurses, to other moms who have gone before me. Bad idea. The hospital told me to ‘top her up’ with formula. Which I did for the three days we were there. Then we returned home, and on advice form a sister at a clinic, I was told under no circumstances to top my child up as she must be purely breast fed.

Two problems here, there was no milk, and well, there was no milk. So for 36 hours I starved my child. She screamed for this entire duration, I panicked, she turned yellow, really yellow, and we landed up back at the hospital only 36 hours after leaving it. And Lex was admitted with severe jaundice and dehydration. I had starved my child! Try dealing with that blow four days after becoming a mom!

Anyway, she was admitted for a week, rehydrated, brought back to a Caucasian tone, and released back into my care. OH my oath – why would anyone entrust me with my own child when I had clearly starved her for her first few days of life??

And that’s when the paranoia set in. If Lexi cried, I’d feed her, if she whimpered, I’d feed her, she woke up, I fed her, she slept, I’d wake her to feed her. I was so beside myself with worry that I’d starve her again, that I got her into a routine of snacking every two hours. Naturally she couldn’t sustain herself through the night, which led to her waking every two hours. Sometimes more frequently. And each time she did, I’d feed her.

At seven months, we attempted sleep training again, and let her cry for a week – because this time, the books aid you have to leave them and they’ll eventually get the message. Not my Lex. It was heart breaking, and amidst all of this, I was constantly reminded by parents of children who don’t sleep, that children, well, don’t sleep. And I better get used to it. But I refused to accept this. So off we went to the Chiropractor, there must be something wrong with her back, neck, shoulder, who knows, but the Chiro could surely fix her. And 10 short minutes into the appointment, I was met with an answer I so desperately didn’t want to hear – “There’s nothing wrong with her!”.

It was also around this time that Spencer (husband) said to me one evening, “Stop trying to fix her, she’s not broken.” To which I replied through clenched jaws, “I know that, but I AM”.

And on went my pursuit to find one nights sleep. Just one. A friend recommended a programme, which is a gentle form of sleep training coupled with a correct routine and feeding schedule. I was hesitant, but was willing to try anything. Night one wasn’t great, but on night two, she slept through. My life changed that very morning.

But, and there is a but, I still hold onto those long days that followed those sleepless nights, and to this day, if Lexi moans, cries briefly, or is a little unsettled, I find myself panicking that she’s going to go back to not sleeping. And it really freaks me out! Last night was a bad night, she’s either got gastro or is teething, and she woke at 2am and didn’t fall asleep again until 4am. I am absolutely shattered, I nearly fell asleep while driving this afternoon, and I am just about to go to bed. It’s 9pm!

So to all you parents who are struggling with sleepless nights, please know that every child has the capacity to sleep, it’s up to you to help them get there. And when they do, you will be so grateful that you listened to yourself and persevered. I carry this statement that was said to me: Nicky, it takes 27 days to die from starvation, it takes 11 days to die from sleep deprivation – the choice is yours…

We all have to sleep, for how long at a time is the choice.

Keep it real :)

N

The things people say

I have a pregnant friend, we go for walks quite often and chat about this and that as we go. She’s 24 weeks now and is looking absolutely amazing, she has a 13 months old son as well – so for her second baby, she’s a model mom! We were puffing our way up a hill one chilly afternoon, when we got talking about the sex of her baby, and how exciting it has been to find out that it’s a boy again. The first time she didn’t find out – and she reckons knowing has a lot of positives.

Then she told me about the things people have been saying to her, when they ask her if she knows what she’s having this time. When she replies ‘a boy’ – various comments were passed.

“Ah shame, you’re not going to have a pigeon pair, you’ll just have to try again for your girl” or “Two boys, weren’t you hoping for a girl” or “Two boys are going to be such a handful, especially both being so young”. WOW, I mean WOW. Really people?

There are few things that I’m as passionate about as being a mother, having been pregnant, and struggling for almost two years to fall pregnant. So when people say things like that – I just want to slap them.

Firstly, falling pregnant so soon after having a baby is a flipping miracle in itself – the fact that it just happened so easily, so unplanned, is amazing, and not very common nowadays.

Secondly, the fact that she is growing another life is also a miracle – be it a boy or a girl – you cannot CHOOSE these things. You get what you get – and should feel blessed no matter what it is.

Thirdly, can you imagine if someone said those things to you – how hurt you’d probably be.

Whether you find out or don’t – it really doesn’t matter what sex child you have, he or she chose you, and knowing that you had absolutely no control over that process is the best gift you could ever ask for.

I didn’t find out what I was having, and when I saw she was a girl, I was absolutely over-joyed. Had she been a boy, it would have been the exact same response.

Many people are starting to ask me when we’re planning number two – if only these things could be planned. Little do they know we’ve been hoping for months now, and nothing. I have a long journey ahead of me again, so to all of you in the same boat, keep your head up, keep persevering, because becoming a mother is the best thing that has ever happened to me. To become a mom for a second time, is something I hope for every day.

Keep it real

N

Don’t sweat the small stuff

So many of us do it, so many of us choose to do it – working, running and raising a family (with dad’s help of course), socialising, seeing friends and family – we make it look easy, we take it in our stride. We call ourselves super-moms, or just moms – whatever your beat – we manage.

Or do we?

I chose to go back to work four months into my little person’s life. I hired a nanny, got my ducks in a row, and off I went. I thought it’d be easy, I made it look easy. But deep down inside, there was this sinking, lingering pressure – a pressure i couldn’t quite describe or pinpoint, but something I knew was there – all the time.

I structured my work-life balance so that there was time in the afternoon to spend with my baby, to watch her grow, thrive, learn, and reach all those amazing milestones. But this feeling grew, and every time I was 5 minutes late – or had to be somewhere which made me even later – this horrible angst continued to grow. So I started reading up about it - as you do – on Dr. Google. And low and behold, something you have probably all heard of before was revealed – a sneaky, unavoidable thing called ‘mother’s guilt’ was my problem. I had heard of it, and thought it’d never happen to me. But it did, and continues to creep up on me daily if I don’t spend the time with my daughter that she deserves.

I go away on holiday, or a business trip without her of course – and guess who accompanies me – mother’s guilt, I go for a girl’s lunch and spend an extra hour chatting and catching up, or having a glass of vino – and guess who’s right there beside me, yip, mother’s guilt. I hide it well, I pretend it doesn’t bother me, but it does, and I carry it wherever I go. This big fat red lobster that is attached to my (widened) hips.

I wonder if dad’s feel this – father’s guilt? please shed some light on this for me if you – as a dad, happen to read this and ever experience this kind of feeling ?

Every now and again, I secretly LOVE going out, getting away, spending an hour or two alone – and that makes me – normal! I know that now, and as long as I do take time for me, I am able to be the mother I am supposed to be.

So, in all my (rather limited) wisdom, I have realised that it’s ok to feel all of this, it’s ok to go away, and it’s ok to need me-time. Without these things, I think I’d go insane, and that would be far worse than the hour or day I spend away from my motherly duties – in fact - it probably makes me an even better mom!

Almost a year into my new role as a mom, I am still searching for that perfect definition of balance, a tempered definition of normal, and a way to describe the love I have for a tiny person who looks at me and smiles every time I walk through the door – on time or two hours late. We could all learn from this unconditional love that is inherent in every child, and realise, not to sweat the small stuff!

Keep it real!

N

xx

Going to the chapel–a multi-billion dollar empire

 

I’m no expert on being married, I’ve only been married for 3,5 years now – but I have been with Spen for over 12 years, so I’d like to think I know something about what it means to be in a committed, loving relationship.

There’s so much pressure that society places on us though once we have met our matches, to get on with things as dictated by how things have always been done. Things like getting engaged, getting married, changing your surname, buying a house, having a kid, having another kid, becoming successful, staying married, growing old together and so the story goes on.

The one thing that really gets to me though, is the pressure put on couples to have the perfect wedding day – whether it comes form themselves, or from society, it’s still there.

I also understand that a lot of brides want a fairy tale wedding, myself included, but at what expense? And I’m not just talking financially.

Planning a wedding is an incredibly stressful ordeal. There are so many people involved, all with their own ideas and agendas of how things should be. there’s traditions to uphold or break, there’s wallets to consider or not consider, there’s family to appease or defy, there’s friends to make happy or disappoint. 

I remember my own wedding, which in my opinion was a relatively low-budget wedding. I bought my dress on eBay for one, for which I paid $10.

My $10 ensemble

A family friend made my bridesmaids dresses, my mom made the cake and our bouquets, my mother-in-law did the table arrangements, we even went to the Cape wine lands to pick our own wine, which saved us a small amount on the day.

But even after all of the cost-cutting exercises we performed, my wedding still cost over R100,000 (including our budget honeymoon). That is a lot of money in my opinion to spend on one day – yet when I realise what people are spending on their weddings nowadays, it just feels like we have been forced into a world where it’s all about the wedding day, and not about the days thereafter.

I sound like a cynic, I’m really not. I just understand that not everyone can afford an elaborate wedding, gone are the days of one’s parents being expected to foot the bill, most couples pay for their own weddings, and even then, most probably land up going into masses of amounts of debt to cover the finest details.

So what am I saying? I am saying that it’s just one day in the rest of your lives together as a couple, and when the last glass of bubbly has been drunk, and the last song played – you still have the rest of your lives to get on with things. And I can guarantee you that in one, two or ten years time, no one will remember your vanilla sponge and caramel icing cake, unless a stripper jumped out of it, no one will remember what flowers you chose for your hair, no one will remember that your husband forgot his lucky underpants at home – except you. So don’t put so much pressure on yourself, a wedding is a day of celebration and fun, and my motto was – as long as everyone is full, and the music is cool, you’ll have nothing to worry about.

Here’s are some of my thoughts on being and staying married – I hope I remember them in 20 years time when I’m sitting on the couch, our kids away at varsity , watching season 30 of Desperate Housewives, holding Spen’s hand as we fall asleep together at 20:00 on the couch, on a Saturday night – actually I do that nowadays anyway

• Getting married is probably one of the biggest commitments you’ll ever make to someone – but just remember it’s not about the wedding day
• Getting married is the easy part, staying married is the hard part
• Being married is an amazing adventure, you will learn to love someone like you’ve never loved before
• You don’t always have to do things by the book – make up your own rules
• Love each other unconditionally
• Love yourself unconditionally
• Don’t have expectations – and if you do, remember to communicate them upfront
• Never, ever go to bed angry
• It’s ok to disagree, just remember to tolerate each other’s differences and accept them
• If you play together, you’ll stay together – always have fun
• Say “I Love You” as often as you can
• Kiss and hug each other as often as you can
• Cook together
• Don’t backseat drive
• Always have each other’s back - Never belittle each other in front of friends, family or strangers
• Take your time making changes – if you want to keep your surname, do that, if you want to change it, do that – again, make up your own rules
• Make a date night and stick to it
• Stay healthy for yourself and each other
• You don’t always have to be right
• Say sorry when you’re wrong
• Forgive quickly
• Hold hands in public
• Smile at each other across a crowded room
• Pinch each other’s asses and tell each other you’re gorgeous
• Trust each other
• Have no secrets

Keep it real!

xx

Sixteen

Clothes shopping since I had a baby has not been easy – in fact it’s been mortifying. I used to be comfy size 12 before I fell pregnant, but now… I’ll get to that part.

Not only did my clothes size change – but my body shape is completely different too. For one – I don’t really have a waist anymore, and my once (very long ago) washboard stomach now has a resident pouch. My bum has grown, a lot – and my thighs, yes they’re pretty different too.

I thought it would be easy to lose the weight, I really did. So many people told me, it’ll fall off if you breastfeed. I have read mags that all say – do this to get your pre-pregnancy shape back. Do that to look like you did at 18. Do this and your boobs will regain their shape. Do that and your bum will look like J-Lo’s. And the pressure was on. I remember one particular day very clearly, Lexi was 16 weeks old, and I was moaning about not losing weight fast enough at a girl’s breakfast. To which I received a resounding reply – IT’S ONLY BEEN FOUR MONTHS.

It suddenly felt ok that I was still 10kgs overweight. But then at eight months, I recall having a similar melt down, only to be met with – maybe you should join the gym, and here’s an eating plan. That’s when everything hit home. If I don’t do something about this weight very soon, it’s going to become a resident evil that I’ll have to carry around with me forever.

Back to clothes shopping – I have popped into Woolies, Jo Borkett, Forever New (large people don’t even bother going in there – seriously, the clothes are all so beautiful but they’re made for super skinny people – just a warning, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.) on the odd occasion, only to leave empty handed. I know there are clothes out there that will fit me, but I’m not quite prepared to accept that I’m a size 16!! – there I said it. That is one number I am so afraid of, I hide the labels on the hanger so people won’t see what size I’m trying on, I try and fold the waist in so it’s looks smaller when I hand them back to the fitting room room attended – all so that no one really knows what size I am.

How stupid is that – they don’t care what size I am. But I do. I really really do. And as long as I don’t accept it, I will be able to lose the weight.

I even find myself hiding from photos nowadays – because when I see myself I usually hit delete.

My biggest motivator is that I want to be fit and healthy, so that I can keep up with the antics of an almost one year old. I also want to lose this weight before i fall pregnant again, because I am not about to write another post down the line complaining that I now have 20kgs to lose!

Am I putting myself under unnecessary pressure? I don’t think so. I think we need to love our bodies, and protect them. We need to carry them for many many years – so it’s up to me to make sure that I do this for myself in the best way possible.

It has now been 10 months and I still have 10kgs to lose – but I am finally off the couch. I have set an intention to run the Knysna half-marathon in July. I have entered, hell I even bought the t-shirt.

And now, I’m off on a training run with Spen – he’s my coach, he ran 10kms yesterday, he’s never run 10kms in all the time I’ve known him, which is 12 years – so that makes him my hero. If he can do it, then so can I (that’s my competitive streak talking now).

I am also joining boot camp after the Easter hols – Spen reminded me that this was a much better option than joining a gym, because even though you’re competing against yourself, it’s the competition that motivates me. And the fact that I have an appointment, and that I’m not the only one suffering.

So I leave you with this: If you don’t love your body – then nobody else will!

Keep it real.

xxx

Baby travels–Part 2

It has taken me a while to write the follow up to Baby Travels – Part 1 because it was such a horrible experience that I really wouldn’t want anyone else to experience – ever.

I sound a bit dramatic, I know, but for me, it rates up there as an incredibly negative part of our holiday, but definitely something worth sharing.

We arrived at Heathrow in good time to fly home on Virgin Atlantic. Three and a half hours to be exact. Everything was going smoothly until the bag x-ray machine part. We had three backpacks – laden to the max and packed very carefully to ensure everything we would need on the plane would fit in, from formula, to baby food, to a flask with hot water to 17 changes of clothing for Lexi – not to mention my handbag and the stroller. Spen often refers to himself as packhorse James – he wasn’t kidding this time.

Four bags (and the stroller) had to go through the machine – and BAM – stop, stop, stop AND stop – all four bags were put aside for searching. So was I as I beeped when I walked through. One full body search later (cavities excluded) – I had to wait for a nice Indian man to go to the loo and wash his hands before he’d proceed to search every pocket of every bag of ours – there’s nothing you can do about it except wait patiently – and try not look guilty. This was after three of them argued for 15 minutes about who would have to do the search.

Once agreed, the process began. OMG – and for all you parents out there travelling with a baby – READ THIS PART – I had to taste EVERYTHING we had packed for Lexi. The water, the baby food in sealed containers, the baby food in unsealed containers, the formula, the rice cakes – you name it. Some guy standing next to us pipes us – "shame what if it’s poisoned", to which the searcher replied – "well at least she dies and not everyone on the plane"! I MEAN REALLY!

This went on for about 45 minutes – and the angst on Spen’s face as his duty free shopping time was slowly dwindling before his eyes was highly apparent. We finally passed the scan test - poison, chemical and bomb free – and hurried our way over to the shopping mecca that is Heathrow Duty free – only to be greeted by a wall of people. Thursday must clearly be the busiest night to travel at Heathrow, we couldn’t move and felt like sardines packed into a can. Shopping trip fail! But on the brighter side we saved money I guess.

Our boarding call arrived – and we were off – holding thumbs that this leg of the journey would be highly uneventful and we could make up for the horrible experience on the way over. Sigh - no such luck! Back in the bulk head seats, but this time a different plane. The two seats next to me were initially unoccupied – and i almost thought we’d be lucky enough to have them free again for the trip home. Again – no such luck. And who should arrive – but the largest, smelliest, woman and her 18 month old daughter – neither who had flown before! Save me now! I looked at Spen and he started laughing – this laughing bout ended very quickly. Here’s why.

Said child of hers started screaming,I’m not talking the kind when you can still hear yourself talking, I’m talking the kind where the air hostess had to ask if everything was ok – the doors to the plane hadn’t even closed yet.

Babies have to be strapped to a parent for take off, turbulence, and landing. This did not sit with with that kid – who clearly has never been disciplined or restrained for any amount of time – IN HER LIFE.

Screeching and wriggling ensued - this kid was doing everything in her power not to sit on her mom’s lap, while her mom was doing everything in her power to ignore the situation. She even tried lunging off her mother at one stage – who didn’t quite fit into the seat in the first place – and the now hostile air hostess was in panic mode as the plane hit the gas – but chose to ignore the situation.

Thank G-d the seat belt light eventually went off and the kid was free. She was like the bloody energizer bunny – and kept disappearing. Her mother did nothing about it. Initially we exchanged polite pleasantries, but after half an hour i too became somewhat hostile – made dagger stares at the kid every time it returned.

It’s at this point that I turned to see why the yelling had stopped, only to see her mother had whipped out the largest boob I have ever seen and proceeded to shove it in the kid's mouth – the kid was standing having dinner – well i thought that was dinner – and anything to shut her up right?

No such luck on the dinner thing – out popped a can of sour cream and onion Pringles! Yes everyone, Pringles, the chip kind! Oh – here’s the best part – and a bottle of Coke! Not diluted, the real deal! She was in heaven, I was quietly dying in anticipation of the aftermath of the coke and chip onslaught to an 18 month old child. To add insult to injury, her ‘mother’ then gave her a Pepsi as well – and waited for the adverse chemical reaction to take place. It was this point that I turned to the mother and said – i really don’t think Coke at 22:30 is a good idea – for anyone! There was no reply from the ‘mother’.

It didn’t take long for the effects of her highly nutritious meal to kick in – the screaming began, the bunny was revived and off she went. I’ve never seen anything like it. Parents – please please please don’t give your children Coke – ever! let alone in a confined aeroplane with 250 other people who have to endure the adverse reaction. This poor kid bounced off the walls for three hours – every time Spen, Lexi or I nodded off, she’d check in for a boob feed, a screaming fit or another slug of Coke and she was off screaming on the other end of the plane.

She finally passed out from sheer exhaustion at 2:45 am – it was excruciating, and made me realise that parenting, no matter where or who you are in the world, has certain ground rules and should follow some form of common sense – sure I have never been a parent before Lexi, but i sure as hell know what not to give a kid on a plane – or anywhere for that matter.

But, I leave you with this – don’t judge a person until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes – did I get to know this mother who I now think is the worst mother in the world? No, Did i bother to? No – should I have? Probably yes. Then, just maybe, I would be able to understand why she treats her child the way she does – and possibly even be able to give her someParenting101 advice  – not that I’m an expert, but at least I know the basics. At least I know for next time.

Keep it real!
N

Baby travels –Part 1

I’m sure many of you out there have travelled with a baby – and for all the warnings and suggestions I was given to make it easier – we found out the hard way! This is a long tale – and consists of two parts. it’s a detailed account of my travels with my baby.

Lexi is a dream kid – she really is – always smiling, very seldom unhappy – and if she is, it’s for good reason.
       

We were flying out to the UK on the evening of the 23rd March – two nights before we left, Lex developed a bad temperature. It hovered at around 38.5 through the night. With some Stopayne here and Ponstan there – her temp kept breaking but would come back as soon as the meds wore off. So we took her to our GP to get her checked out the next day – and he boldly stated – "She’s teething!" And prescribed more Ponstan, and some Flemex/Celestamine mix. The only thing that worked for a bit was the Ponstan but her temp kept coming back. At 5am on the morning we were leaving, we landed up at casualty with a very sick little person.

They confirmed she definitely wasn’t teething, and either had a virus or a bacterial infection. More Ponstan (a BIG dose, I’m talking adult size dose) – and her temp broke for a few more hours. We were also given an anti-biotic for secondary infection in case it was a virus (because we all know anti-biotics don’t kill 'em viruses).

I didn’t give it to her. And we packed our bags and headed to the airport. What I haven’t shared is that while at the pharmacy filling her prescription, I asked for something to knock her out on the flight – and was given Allergex, and an anti-histamine. I was assured it would work very quickly, no problems!

At the airport Lex started get very niggly, crying, moaning, hot again – so we decided to give her the antibiotic. Spen and I then had a very tough choice to make – should we go at all if Lex was this sick. She liked the antibiotic (taste-wise) – so I thought we’d chase it with the Allergex, as we were about to board.
1ml down and she started gagging, 1,5ml down and everything she had consumed over the past four hours came back up – all over her dad, and herself. I got off lucky. Shit – it was at this stage that I realised I had only packed one spare long sleeved outfit, and one shortie. So I changed her, cleaned her, gave her back to her dad, and voila, she was ok. OK until I smelled something, and looked down at Spen’s leg, which was now covered in poo, as was poor Lexi. So back to the bathroom I went to change her, and put her in the last of the two outfits. I’m usually really prepared for stuff like this, but somehow I dropped a few balls on this particular occasion.

I also sent Spen off to buy an extra outfit at the over-priced “Out of Africa” store – just in case we had another eruption. After I had cleaned her up for the second time – her temp was back up to 39. I had a suppository or bum-sweetie as coined by her dad – but couldn’t give it to her in the open walkway while waiting for Spen to come back from the shop. 25mins later, Spen appeared – with a bag of clothes. With gritted teeth I asked what took so long? To which he replied – “They were doing a stock take”. Unbeknown to him, and the world, I had stuck the poor kid with the bum sweetie right there, no dignity what-so-ever and an 'I-don’t-give-a-shit' expression on my face.

Me: Are we going to do this? she’s really not well?

Spen: I dont know, what do you think?

Me: Not sure, you?

See, this is our way of not making a decision in case something goes wrong, as neither of us wants to be to blame. So I said, "Let’s go, I’m sure there are doctors in the UK!" and off we went.

By now it was three hours past Lexi’s bed time, she has a horrible case of FOMO (fear of missing out) – and is refusing to sit restrained to her dad with a kid seat belt, let alone sleep.

Thank G_d it was an empty flight and we had two seats open next to us in the bulk head, the only problem with the bulk head is that the arm rests don’t lift up, and you’re in a bucket seat – VERY uncomfortable! We asked for a sky cot – which is a box, kinda like a veggie box covered in plastic, that sits on top of a tray that folds down - similar to the food tray table. An hour into the flight, she finally passed out in my arms, but as I transferred her to the ‘cot’ – she woke up, sat up and started crying. Back to square one. To cut a long story short, this went on most of the night, and in the morning Spen and I looked like we did the morning after we brought her home from the hospital. Sleep deprived and overly-stressed!

The good news is that her temp had finally broken, and she woke up chipper and top of the world. Clearly sleep deprivation didn’t affect her and she was back to her usual little self, waving and clapping at everyone, and being altogether very charming. See below.



After that part – the rest of our holiday was amazing, she was a dream kid, slept through every night except in the hotel. The trip home is another story - that for another time.

So, like I said, you may have travelled with a baby before, and found it a pinch of salt, I didn’t, it was hard and stressful, and a very different experience to travelling as a couple!

Would I do it again? sure I would, but next time I’m packing 17 extra kid outfits and a sleeping pill for me!

Keep it real
N

A rabbit and a horse

I was at a friend’s wedding in 2009 – her sister was her bridesmaid and was asked to do the reading. Usually when I think of a wedding reading, it’s a bible verse or a traditional blessing from India or something along those lines – so it came as a surprise to hear the one her sister chose.

Sitting in a little chapel in Kei Mouth, on a blustery Saturday afternoon in October, I listened to the words she read out. I hung on to them, processed them, and tried my damndest to remember them.

The reading was taken from a child’s story book – Velveteen Rabbit – not a book I had  read. You see, reading wasn’t on my list of priorities as a child, much to my mom’s dismay – climbing a tree or dressing my dolls over and over were much more appealing. It’s only nowadays that I realise how much I missed out, and I plan to make it up to myself (reading that is) – one day.

When coming up with a name for my Blog – i went back to that day, and remembered the reading. I remembered that it was all about being real, and what it would feel like to be real. This was asked by a toy rabbit to a skin horse.

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

I realise that through this process of being heard, having a voice, and standing up for what I believe in, I may hurt people along the way, and in turn I may get hurt. But at least if we’re all feeling something, then we’re all still Real!

What I did omit to include in my first post what that the editor did offer me an editorial in the magazine down the line – which I was really excited about. I’m not sure what it was going to be about, but through that I do know that the magazine covers real people’s stories. I know this because I read the magazine. My point was that what was on the cover isn’t translating into what’s in the magazine – as is the case with most magazines on the shelves – but is this right? I’ll leave it there.

Here’s the rest of the reading.

xxx

N

VELVETEEN RABBIT by Margery Williams

(this starts at the point when the Skin Horse and the Rabbit are talking)

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

A letter to a child

A close friend of mine, Tracey,  keeps a journal for her children. I think it’s such a wonderful idea, and something we should all be doing. Whether or not they read it one day is up to them, but children grow up so fast, it’s impossible to remember every single special moment and milestone they experience with us – and this is such an awesome way of remember for ourselves too!

After reading my first blog post, Tracey shared the below entry with me, which she gave me permission to share here.

An entry from May 2010 to my daughter who was about 15 months old at the time:
"...you are such a delight to us Erin. Truly a blessing. I am so thankful that God trusted me to be your mom. I feel an enormous sense of responsibility in this though...this world is not an easy place for young ladies finding themselves...there are so many unrealistic, unhealthy images/messages out there...my darling Erin, you are beautiful, precious, worthy of respect, with so much to offer this world...may you never feel that your worth needs to be sought in others' impression of you. Love yourself. be kind and respectful to yourself. Seek beauty.. know you were created intentionally and lovingly...and should be treated with care and respect. Your true worth lies in the beauty of your heart, your thoughts, how you act on these and not in these externals of ours which, no matter what you try, will droop, and wrinkle, and grey, and redistribute beautifully...telling a story of its own. (p.s. I love the stretch skin of my belly, my belly button which never found its way back, and my slightly drooped breasts...they tell the story of carrying an nursing you and Matthew... I am a mother! And I could shout that joy and privilege to the world)"

This is so real, and so true.

Take a look at this Youtube video entitled Onslaught by Dove… makes you think doesn’t it.

Take two

I was just about finished with this - my first-ever blog post - when that unexpected ‘save changes’ thingy-ma-bob’ popped up and I clicked ‘no’. *Sigh*

So I’m starting again, everything happens for a reason right? Right, which is why I am sitting here, on a random Wednesday evening in March, with an instruction to myself to be the change I want to see in the world!

I am busy with a six week course, rather intensive I might add, which is all about setting intentions, and making them happen. This requires a lot of mind-power, a lot of support, but most importantly, the belief that I can make this happen, by simply communicating. Well since this is what I do for a living as a PR consultant, I again thought, how hard can this really be. The industry I work in is a little flawed, there are good days and bad (mostly good), and a lot of what I do (not all of what I do) revolves around getting publicity for my clients in media applicable to the industries in which I operate. In other words, when you read an article about the launch of an iPad for example, 99% of the time it has been developed and secured by a PR agency. Also, when you read about a success story in a magazine about someone, that’s probably also secured via a PR agency. So now that you know a little bit about what I do, I’ll carry on with the intention thing.

The intention has to be something that excited me, but made me shit myself at the same time. It had to make my heart pound and palms sweat, but the thought of achieving it had to make me want to burst. You’re thinking sky diving, bungee jumping – nah, not for me, doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I chose an intention that I never thought possible, it was so out of the blue and seemed so unachievable, but I said it anyway. I wanted to be on the cover of a magazine, the April issue to be precise, with my baby girl (no guessing it’s a mommy mag). So I put it out there because, like I said before, nothing is achieved without communication.

I contacted the editor, sent her my story, my motivation to be on the cover and what I thought at the time was a pretty accurate pic of my little lady and myself.

 

And then I waited. Not for long however, and the response was along the lines of “thanks for your mail, like the approach etc etc – and then this “We would really need to see latest pics of you and your baby, so if you can get those to me this week that would be great. The decision is dependent on our stylist and art director, so it’s not just in my hands. We are also trying to feature more professional models than “real moms” (if you know what I mean) as per our new direction. But please send pics and we can take it from there.”

Well it wasn’t a NO, right??? But then I read the email again and re-read it, and the part that was bugging the shit out of me was the professional model blurb. I mean why? Do professional models help the magazine industry sell more magazines, which in turn depresses the readers as these people are so not real. Sure they’re gorgeous, skinny, pimple-less, flawless objects of perfection, but on a Mommy and baby magazine – seriously??? Do you have to be a size 8 four months after giving birth, because that is what this industry is telling us in normal? Whose normal? How scary and how sad.

Anyway, in my ignorance and clouded by the disillusion that she wasn’t really being serious about this whole professional model jibe, off I went, and had a ‘professional’ shoot done, trying to mimic a magazine cover, hahahahaha – I really wanted to do this the proper way, to make sure I had covered all my bases, and be on the cover. And this was the result:

I even agreed to having the moles on my arms and chest removed (well most of them anyway) – because that’s how far the airbrushing goes in the industry. I see a few were missed. I sent a selection of pics on a Friday, and again I waited, and waited. And waited. No news is good news right? Wrong! Monday afternoon and there is was, the response I was so excited to open. This was all I saw - Unfortunately we won’t be using you for the cover – I’m so sorry for this, but as mentioned our new directive is to use professional models.

Now this is where something triggered in me. I wasn’t upset about not getting the cover, it was the professional model crap again. In a world where women suffer every day from major self-esteem issues, weight problems (both big and small), unreasonable aspirations to be a perfect 10, where messages about looking beautiful glamorous, sexy, gorgeous, thin are thrown at us every day – what happened to being real? Or is this the new real?

I don’t think so, and I refuse to accept this. What is it going to take for the world to realise that no one is perfect. That being a mom is one of the most cherished and sacred privileges for a woman to experience and be – and with all this we're constantly told that you’re none of this until you look like a model. What a joke!

This blog is for real people, it's for those of you who see straight through those covers and know inside that you are truly beautiful just the way you are!

Keep it real!
N

Dedicated to my beautiful daughter Alexis Olivia, perfect and flawless in every way!