Monthly Archives: March 2009

the bigger the man the bigger the baby

My super gorgeous, super husband and nanny-in-chief to son is ill. Came down with a head cold on Friday and was man-down-and-out over the weekend. I came home to a snotty, wheezy hacky lump of man on Friday and I realised just how spoilt I am! The sprog wasn’t bathed, the house was untidy, no supper and most NB of all… no sundowner in the fridge for me. He usually chills a bottle of wine for us to have before and with sups. I remembered that he’d been at the pub with the guys at lunch time and asked him how he managed that? Said he was the designated driver because he was not feeling well and ‘I don’t go to the pub just for the beer… I go there to connect with the guys and to be with adults.’ Fair enough. I asked what he wanted for supper and got this very pathetic “I don’t know – I can’t really taste or smell anything so no need to haul out the Larousse.” That was all I needed as I really was not in the mood to cook. Decided to make yummy chicken and veg soup for husband and Sprog and I joined friends at Primi. Husband was happy to be home and rest. I must add here that husband suggested I go out. Sprog and I had fun and when we came back, husband was still in the rocking chair where we left him with blankie pulled tightly over him and looking all pale and sadly loitering… I of course was buzzing after a few drinks (don’t worry – I didn’t drive – went with a preggie friend! They are so handy to have around… preggie mommies who wants to be part of the fun and don’t mind carting their sozzled friends around!) Sprog and I went to bed and left grumpy in the lounge. On Saturday morning when we woke up and tried to wake grumpy daddy up all we got ws grunts and snuffles. That’s when I realised super dad was really ill as our morning routine is very special and important to him. Sprog and I traipsed off to the pharmacy to buy muti for dad and went to buy fresh ingredients to make yummy healthy soups and stuff for dad. We cooked and we cooked and we baked and we nursed poor daddy all weekend. I did tell him a couple of times that I didn’t really like him being ill as I found it a turn-off. My usually handsome, strong, virile husband reduced to a lump of snot and tissues… not sexy. Why is it that men become such big babies when they are ill? He felt SO sorry for himself… I’m sure if I offered to call his mommy he would not have stopped me! He even went as far as telling me what his grandma used to do to make him feel better… She used to play with his ear and sing to him! I pretended to not hear that as I’m sure he was angling for me to play with his ear and sing to him. But I suppose underneath it all we are all just babies when we’re not feeling well and whether we want to admit it or not… we would all like to have our mommies take care of us when we’re feeling rotten. Husband is on the mend and he’s slowly becoming his self again. And I have a whole new appreciation for him and all the things he does for me, Sprog and around the house. He’s a rock star and I think if he’s well by this weekend he can have the entire Saturday off and be with the guys to watch Super 14 rugby!

Traitorous 14-month-old free to a good home.

So we’ve cleaned up most of the soot and grime in our house and all the “things-we-can’t-do-without” has been stashed away. Husband shows me a new game they’ve started which involves him standing with his feet wide apart and sprog running to and fro between his legs. Lots of hysterical laugh-until-something-comes-out-your-nose-or-mouth and shrieking ensued and then it was Mommy’s turn to stand with feet apart. Mommy has a lower and heavier centre of gravity than daddy so mommy decides to hold on to the mantel for stability. So if you can picture it… I have my right arm on the mantel, my right foot on the ground and my left leg and arm in the air to accomodated the “choo-choo coming through the tunnel!” Well, this carries on for a while and the sprog suddenly stops, takes a good look at me and mimics the way I’m standing while cackling loudly! I was never ever more humiliated! My own darling son, making fun of me and my spastic-ness! Needless to say his little “how does mommy stand?” trick was repeated again and again to howls of laughter and shrieking from him and his father. Traitorous little beast.
And this stings even more as he’s been cutting his upper and lower molars for the past three weeks and I’ve only loved and soothed and comforted and Vidol-ed him. The least he could do was let me retain my dignity by not laughing at my unfitness. When I spoke to my husband an hour ago, he informed me with absolute glee that my son was doing his “how does Mommy stand” routine for the guys at the pub! Seventeen hours of labour, abdominal surgery, icky support hose to prevent DVT and foundation garments straight out of the Victorian era (to get things to go back where they were) and this is what I get. So not fair! πŸ™‚

Of chic refugees and Dirty Sooty Mammas!

So we had a fire in the hood last night. We were just about to turn in when our neighbour called to say: Look out your kitchen window. We did and saw this ball of fire looking like it was heading straight for our area.The fire engines started arriving and people started milling about in all their barbaric nocturnal splendour… and I thought I looked a sight in my pj’s sans make-up, sans ghd!! Talking about ghd… why are grey hairs so stubborn? Mine are like pubes almost… every hair around it will be dead straight and well-behaved but that grey hair is much like a toddler discovering it’s powers and pushing boundaries! All crooked and coarse and on it’s own mission! Anyway back to the fire. So word starts spreading that houses further up the drag will be evacuated. Well! Nothing like the word evacuation to get adults scurrying. The mommies were gathering all the necessary baby paraphernalia and other essentials (a stack of love letters from that guy at varsity, all the birthday cards ever received, the boxes my engagement, wedding and maternity (my husband reckons it should be called a maternity not eternity ring – as I started drooling about eternity rings the second I heard I was preggers) rings came in, my wedding frock, all the knitted baby stuff I received from family and friends, etc.). The daddies of course were in their garages trying to stash their golf clubs under the babies’ prams in the boot and getting other essentials too (all the bar paraphernalia they’ve received and collected, their Kellerman books, the expensive bottles of booze that they were saving for graduations, weddings and holes-in-one and other such stuff). Must admit our efforts at packing was rather half-hearted as we didn’t expect the fire to reach us. Once we saw the lines of cars heading out of the area and heard that people were being evacuated to the Good Hope Centre, we started feeling anxious. Another aside here… I have always ONLY had white bedding. I cannot sleep in florals and colourful bedding. Yup, even with a toddler with icky, sticky hands and leaky nappies – I have stuck to my guns and made my white bedding the last bit of me that I will not let go the same way my boobs, tummy, hair, nails, shaving legs, etc has gone. So people start whispering that we might be next to go to the Good Hope Centre. The first thought that entered my mind was that I was going to be a refugee. Secondly was that I was going to have to sleep under those icky, coarse, grey blankets the removals people use to protect your furniture and breakables. It was then that I ran to the front passage where we had put all our “stuff we can’t do without/replace” things and chucked the letters, birthday cards, empty ring boxes, wedding frock and knitted baby stuff and replaced it with….. MY GRANNY GOOSE 100% GOOSE BOX-STITCHED DUVET! If I was going to be homeless and live in a refugee camp, I was going to do it in style darn it! No coarse steelwool-like blankies for me thank you very much! And just in case they fed us some watery soup, I packed one of those really cool and pretty woolies cooler bags with crackers, duetto dolce cheese, grapes, breakfast cereal, milk and chicken nuggets and veggies for the Seal and a bottle of bubbly to make us feel better when the news comes that our home is just a heap of ash! By the time it was clear that the fire was not coming our way, it had turned up the montain and we were safe, our folks had already been called to tell them where our wills were. They knew who had custody of Thomas in case we didn’t make it out. They knew where our money was stashed and who to talk to get it out and most importantly of all, I finally told my sister she could have all the things she’s always told me to leave for her. So we weren’t going to lose our houses and the babies and daddies were safely in the houses, so the mommies started chatting about what we wanted to save and what an eye-opener this was… we drove to where most of the firefighters were recharging and taking a breather and gave them whatever liquids we were able to take from our fridges… Firemen “Fred and Ken” were very gracious about being given Barney and Spiderman juices to drink but I reckon they would’ve taken ‘wee’ if it was being offered! I noticed something disturbing as we were hydrating the firemen… some of the mommies were ‘coming over all queer’. It took me a while to notice that the age old man in uniform cliche was playing itself out right in front of my eyes! I whispered in a few ears that I thought they were acting like teenagers but my voice of reason fell on deaf ears. I decided to stroll home as there was so much activity and left the Dirty Sooty Mammas with Firemen “Fred and Ken”. When I got home and told my husband about the Dirty Sooty Mammas he gave me the glad eye… Needless to say, the Seal woke from his slumber and I went to shower and poor husband could only dream of a Dirty Sooty Mamma!

No seals were harmed during the creation of this blog…

My husband and nanny-in-chief, Elton, called me in a flat spin five minutes ago. He told me Thomas, pictured below has just bitten him and drawn blood! Wanted to know if He should get the Tetanus shot or if Thomas should or should both of them? After snortling and cackling for a bit I managed to talk him back into the house before he set the alarm and raced off to hospital.
Okay so this is how it happened. We have this little family ritual that involves us tottering over to the Waterfront to check out the seals (behind the Aquarium) or to Kalkbay to watch the seals being fed fish entrails by the fisher folk. The Waterfront seals are tame and lazy though compared to the Kalkbay tsotsis and we prefer the Kalkbay lot. My son becomes a bit of a whirling dervish and sometimes an outright tokoloshe when he sees the Kalkbay lot in action. The seals duck and dive and just about walk on the water to get to the stinky fishy bits first! Thomas shrieks, jumps, whoops, screams, stomps and whirls when he sees the seals come in for the ‘kill’. We’ve lost the following:
1 x Avent green sippy cup ( so if you ever hear about a seal found with a sippy cup in it’s guts, send Greenpeace our way!)
2 x Avent bottles (see above)
countless x Joubert & Monty baby biltong
and whatever the dervish had in his paws at the moment of rapture!So Thomas has had a fair bit of seals-chomping-fishy-bits-action and he’s taken to eating like a seal for just over a week now. Give him a Flings chip and he chomps it out of your hand, piece of sarmie, pizza or any finger food and out comes the seal fangs. Elton says he was cooking and had the Seal in his high chair and fed him a julienne carrot. He’s usually quick because we’ve learnt over the past week to be quick with finger foods because of the Seal but this time Elt was distracted by the phone. Needless to say, the Seal chomped down and daddy recoiled and blood was let. After my snortling and cackling stopped, my poor long suffering husband told me to come home soon as the ‘baby Seal’ is losing his cuteness rapidly…



Thomas (9 months in this pic) the not-so-furry Seal in his natural environment . . .

Out of the wilderness

Okay so 14 months ago after being ‘rather uncomfortable’ for 17 hours, I finally had to admit defeat and allow doctors to send in ‘Search and Rescue’ to fetch my son who turned out to be 4,340 kg, with a head circumference of 39 cm and 59 cm long/tall. If you were in that hospital that day I was the woman who through gritted teeth chanted NO CAESARIAN. NO CAESARIAN. I WILL NEVER EVER HAVE A CAESARIAN! In hindsight, I’m grateful that doctors overruled me because baby nappies are expensive on their own – don’t think the budget would’ve allowed for adult nappies as well! I went to hospital at 03:00 am and was given an epidural at 12:00 pm. By the time I was wheeled into theatre I could start feeling my legs and told my anaesthetist who then ‘topped-up’ my epidural as he put it. The top up didn’t seem to kick in on time as I could feel them rooting in my gut and told them. They gave me the option of being put under as you can imagine feeling people rooting in your gut is not a pleasant experience. I was just about able to hear my son’s first cries and all I saw of him was these huge bollocks and a red angry face and then I was out!
Once I came to I saw this mewling little ‘old man’ who demanded me 24/7 and so I rushed headlong into this mindbend called motherhood. My son is now 14 months, weighs 13 kgs, is 84 cm tall and moves at the speed of light and… I am still breastfeeding. I was on maternity leave for three months and my husband has been with him ever since.
I am now slowly coming out of the stupor that is motherhood and firstly am struggling to reconnect to the world. I’ve had a bit of a crash course in reality and how the more things change the more they stay the same… thanks to Joostgate, Rihannagate and all the other gates that have been swung open unceremoniously since Feb.
I’m so torn between people who go – as soon as your suckling turns 1 – take them off the breast and the World Health Organisation who says suckle them until they turn 2. I went as far as buying the tabs to dry up my milk supply but I’m just too much of a wuss to take them. I LOVE coming home from work and having my monster run to me and start digging his head into my chest and making little coo-ing sounds. I LOVE that no matter how crap my day was I have this little man who thinks the world revolves around me and thinks I’m just the best ever. I LOVE the way I can be how icky sticky sweaty after the drive home, he still finds my boobs the best and nuzzles his head under my sweaty armpit without crinkling his nose! But most of all I LOVE the way he looks deep into my eyes at the end of the day when he’s about to fall asleep and I see all his potential and he sees the sanctuary and refuge I provide and how he slowly falls asleep with his mouth around one breast and his hand on the other! At the risk of sounding like a Mastercard ad… PRICELESS.
I do not however LOVE my little monster when in the middle of the night he demands a comfort feed and just has his mouth wrapped around my boob – not sucking, mind – and I have to lie on my side and am not allowed to move as he has one leg between my legs and the other on my hip. I do not LOVE the little tyke when he wakes up even if his Dad just has a ‘dirty’ thought  before we even move closer to each other! And I most certainly did NOT LOVE him when at 13,5 months his first real word was Dadda instead of Mamma! My heart was broken like only a drama mama’s heart can be broken!
It’s amazing to see how certain behavioural things are genetic and others are environmental. I see so much of the things I did as a kid and in some cases still do in him and I marvel at genetics. I love the way he’s inherited a really good mix of our senses of humour, our looks and of course intelligence (Makes the R500 a month I spent on prenatal vitamins worth every bleeding cent!)
So now to get to the point of all of this… It’s time for ME to reclaim a little bit of my life back and first on the list is a GOOD CHIROPRACTOR in Cape Town… Anyone out there who can recommend one with preferably more than one testimonial to realign a mommy’s body who’s been sleeping on her side, on a sliver of her KING sized bed for the past 14 months – yes… we co-sleep and he’s been in our bed since day one – yup, it’s come to bite us in the bum as Lord Muck refuses to sleep in his campcot in our room for too long – NO don’t even ask about the nursery that’s gathering dust on the other side of the house!