And may I present ...(drum roll)... crawling

So this is what started it... A bunch of babies and some kick-arse toys, juuuuust out of arm's reach. And voila! We have forward momentum. It's more commando than textbook elbows and knees, but I'm fine with a fairly slow speed - can catch her before she gets into the bin, pulls the power cord, eats the pegs, rips the magazine, licks the dog, and on and on.

So 

It was the House! It was the House that did it!

Mr B took a Friday off work just after we got back from holidays, (keeping the dream alive for as long as possible). It was a beautiful sunny day and we walked in to the South end of the city, to check out a new Thai joint, the little sister of very popular and much loved by boys, Spice I Am. Its name? House. Staffed by gorgeous Thai girls, attached to a pub selling cold Singh beer, spicy for Mr B, sweet for me. Kop khun ka!

Toothy pegs!

They're hard to capture on film, but we have two little teeth, bottom middle. They are super sharp and I love them! Why? Who knows... They have nipped me a few times, but after a firm "no" (which was met with a cheeky grin), she seems to have quit. But I love it when she chomps down on my finger with relish, like she's testing out a new pair of shoes. Which I guess in a way she is. Chomp chomp chomp.

MILF

Our holiday to Palm Cove did us good on a number of fronts. One - I'm feeling a lot better about my bod. Yeah, my tummy's a little crepy, my thighs are a little orange peely, but I'm comfy in my body again, and there's something so comforting about holding that tiny person against my skin, something uplifting. 

Plus I find a capsule wardrobe strangely satisfying. Why is that?  

Bliss

Sleepy baby. Happy baby. Yeah yeah yeah!

So Palm Cove was really just what the doctor ordered. We had a fabulous time, lolling by the pool, going on little walks, reading books, having lunch at nice beachside joints and generally spending time together as ...a family...

And The Berry, little minx, suddenly started being much easier to settle for her naps. Why? Who knows! Maybe Dadda taking turns? Maybe more food in her little belly? Maybe she could just sense the lack of tension. Or it was plain simple coincidence. I'll take it any which way.

Oh, and a note to travellers: babies on planes? I used to cringe when I saw them board. "Not next to me, pleeease!" Now I know, the smaller, the better. When you can still whack 'em on the boob, they're OK. Toddlers, not so much.

Mighty mummy

Juno is having trouble getting to sleep. I think by trying to solve one problem (weight), we've introduced another - associating breast with falling asleep. Which, to a point, is OK. But I can't feed her all the time, and she gets so upset if she wakes when moved into bed. It's breaking my heart to see her distressed by the world I've created for her, and I feel like I've failed her by introducing this "crutch" for sleep. 


I am still struggling with trying to be the person I think I need to be - the mother I think I need to be. I need to be stronger - when all I feel is so fragile. 

Summer holiday

We're going to Palm Cove for a holiday. Mr B just went ahead and booked it without even a consultation which I absolutely L.O.V.E. I've been pretty down in the dumps, but with the help of Nanny Sue, I braved the Zimmermann warehouse for some new togs. The depression of going up a size in bottoms was lifted by the novelty of going up *2* sizes in tops. So will be showing off my maternal bosom while it lasts.

Spring

When The Berry was born, I received some beautiful hyacinths in a little pot. When they finished flowering, I chucked the pot outside and forgot about it. Digging around the other day, I found these little babies poking out. I transplanted them and brought them inside - hope they keep pushing up, it's inspiring in that very simple way.

A cup of tea and a nice lie down

I'm drinking fennel tea to try and boost my milk supply. It's actually quite nice and a beautiful wheat green colour. Now if only I could have the lie down as well...

Chili Pepper

My old boss thought that if she had a daughter, she'd name her either Chili or Pepper. Hot. Nor, not. I prefer my peppers sweet and slippery, and when they're cheap, Mr B brings home bags of bright red capsicums to marinate.

Chop chop.

Mess!

Burn, baby, burn.

Studded with slivers of garlic, chili, and doused in olive oil and balsamic. Now, marinate away, my lovelies!

Skinny Minnie visits the Boob Lady

So, there are women (I'm guessing it's not a popular vocation for dudes), that sit around all day, chatting to mummas about boobs. They critically observe the boob. They theorise about the boob. They analyze and they advise. God bless the boob ladies*.

After days of fighting with The Berry over the bottle of formula and getting exactly nowhere, we decided to seek expert advise. Armed with a list of questions about teats, temperature and timed feeds, we drove down the highway to boob town. Finally, we talked to someone who, firstly, knew about the physiology of breastfeeding, and secondly, knew about the emotional minefield of discussing these issues with a fragile mother. She was gentle, sympathetic, and she knew her stuff. (She was also the mother of five, yes five, boys, the last two being twins. respect.)

Her advice was to chuck out that pesky bottle and go on holiday. OK, not a cruise in the bahamas kinda holiday, but a feeding honeymoon where you just keep doin' it all day long, feeding any time The Berry seemed like she'd tolerate that nipple in her gob. Which, it seems, is quite often! I stopped following the routine suggested by the child health nurses, stopped looking for hungry signs and I've just been feeding that baby til it comes out her ears (well, sometimes it dribbles back out her mouth, no ear leakage so far). And of course, she's putting on the plod. Haven't weighed her again, and she's still much smaller than many of the other babies, but she looks good to me - more solid and filled out.

It seems to be working and my supply is better - can now try to cut back to a more reasonable number of feeds, while keeping an eye out for signs she's hungry, not worrying about whether it's just before bed or only an hour after the last feed.

The whole thing has made me realise how much knowledge about this stuff has been lost, how between our isolation in the big bad city, the generational thing where women were told formula was the way to go, stigma about breasts, what their function is, all that jazz, it's affected how we are able to feed our babies. And then a big finger waggles and says "breast is best" "breastfeed your baby for 2 years". And we try, without understanding or support, and then we fall under the weight of so much guilt when it doesn't work. From my mother's group of about 15 women, at least half have had problems with supply, weight gain, latching, whatevs.

It shouldn't be this way, and I hate the pressure put on women to just "know". To have these mothering instincts. Cause it's a cop out.




*Boob ladies may sometimes be referred to as lactation consultants.

Dinner dilemmas

So Sunday lunches have been going well - time to prep, casual convo, and I can stay awake. But friends from Melbourne, a double booking, a vegetarian, a new girlfriend and a raving carnivore - and it was for dinner.


Was pretty un-fun. By the time everyone was fed and I extracted myself from the kitchen, it was terribly late - at least 9.30pm, and I could barely keep my eyes open.


I also feel bad for Mr B, who really only gets to see me after 6pm (zombie lady), or on weekends (hey! a babysitter! well, I have to go here, and then I might just pop out there, and then, and then, oh, you're going to vacuum, let me get out of your way).


When will I stop feeling tired?

Rolling!

Clever baby!!

Hostessing with the mostessing

On Sunday we hosted an engagement party for some friends. Oh I do like a hostessing moment, right up until the point when people arrive. The best bit is when everything's laid out and pretty and empty and Mr B has just put the music on. 

The main project: cupcakes. After much interwebs research, made recipe from Crabapple Bakery - apparently a dubious business, but a great cupcake. Iced 'em with chocolate buttercream and lemon/sour cream. Only sent Mr B on three trips for forgotten ingredients.

We also had chicken wings, wedges and yummy dips from Sultan's Table. Decorations courtesy of my supply of washi paper masking tape.

Juno had cuddles with lots of Aunties and good sleeps despite the racket, and the lovely couple hung around into the evening... 

Success.

Skinny Minnie

Went to see the GP last week for The Berry's 4 month jabs. The vaccinations themselves went fine - a good yell but soon forgotten. More of an issue - the dreaded growth chart. I had thought that The Berry was looking a little on the lean side, compared to some of the other babes at Mother's Group. She also feeds very quickly. At first when I mentioned it, the doctor said, "well you're both tall and skinny, I'd expect your baby to be the same". Very good. But then The Chart appeared. With its percentiles. The Berry has maintained her percentile line for her height, but not her weight - she's dropped from the 50th to the 15th. This seemed to change the tune the GP was singing pretty quick. Does she take a bottle? How are her poos? Can I top her up with expressed breast milk, and then formula? 


But she was happy - sleeping well and a few times even sleeping from 10pm-6am. And the GP said (or I heard), "Some babies are just very good natured. She could be hungry all the time and just not be complaining, because she's used to it."


I'm starving my baby and she's just gotten used to it.


Now I know this is an overreaction. But since then, it *does* seem like she's hungrier. A few times, she's refused to go to sleep - although in her very good-natured way, she just lies in her cradle and makes little sighs and coos and simply stays awake until I twig and give her a feed. Sometimes she seems unsettled in the middle of the day. But don't all babies?


I don't want to just introduce formula - I've heard lots of stories about upset tummies, early weaning, constipation, allergies. While I don't have a problem in the slightest with other people formula feeding, for some reason I can't fathom doing it myself. I don't understand this. In practical terms, it would be great - I could let Mr B do a feed. I could have a few glasses of wine. But that voice just keeps saying,


I'm starving my baby
I'm starving my baby


I'm feeling depressed and teary again, things like my weight are getting to me (can't I transfer the fat from my belly to hers), and the days are feeling empty, like a blur. This is not good.

Two from two

Two successful luncheons - a Masterchef-inspired terrine (was delicious but didn't photograph that well), and a yummy roast ducky with soy and mandarin sauce. Charlie watched me cooking. 


"What's that?"


"Um, duck fat..."


"And what are you putting in there?"


"Um, duck fat..."


"And how did you cook the potatoes?"


"Um..."


Needless to say it was yummy.

Technicolour

As a self-confessed spoilt only child, I often make demands on my poor parents. I'd been harassing them about a sad and droopy bougainvillea that looked ready to shuffle into the compost bin. They seemed determined to keep abusing it. Then I had a bad day involving a melted breast pump, and my dad turned up with the sorry specimen. A new pot, plenty of sunshine, and it's laden with these heavy technicolour pompoms. We often pop out onto the balcony just to gaze at it.

Ooh ooh ooh!

The Berry has breastfeeding sorted out (don't ask us about the bottle, that can be another story). While it feels like just a moment ago we were trying to perfect our latch and suck, let alone the logistics of under-muslin public feeds, she now has the most adorable routine, especially in the morning when she's hungry and seems to have just remembered the world exists... Her little feet kick, her eyes light up, her little mouth makes fishy-gulps and her head bobs as she lunges towards breakfast. Then her fingers grasp, her eyes close...


It's singleminded contentment.

A special visit

We flew to Melbourne on the weekend to visit The Berry's family on Mr B's side, her "Duffy" and "Pop". And extra-specially, her "Nuffy" - that's great-grandmother to you. The Berry gets her middle name from Nuff, she is so loved by her grandsons and I felt very proud to be able to share this moment. Nuff has her good and bad days (don't we all?), but was sharp as could be when we visited, and declared The Berry "absolutely gorgeous". Agreed.

Wet but wonderful

The rain, the rain... It shows how engaged I am with the outside world that it didn't seem crazy to walk up to Redfern with The Berry, The Boutz and Mr B. It was wet. But wonderful. Took The Berry in her Hug-a-bub sling and she slept the whole time as we ate brekkie at a tiny chilly outside table, with the dog huddling under our knees, doing a very good job of looking pathetic:

I had gingerbread hotcakes with pear, they were yummy, but could have been a bit lighter? I know gingerbread's supposed to be kinda fudgy, but... I'm taking inspiration to maybe try something similar but, well, better.

They came from Baffi & Mo, here's a pic taken in sunnier weather, nicked from Pia Jane Bijkerk (proof that the cafe is super-cool)

Remember when a date with Tom Cruise was tempting...

Love a lamb roast - it's one of the few appealing cuts of organic meat that Mr B can source from the supermarket. There's always an awkward moment when he returns from the outside world, my cave man with his kill, and I ask whether the woolly mammoth had a nice life.

I've been thinking that tempting some of our footloose and fancy free friends with a hot midday meal might be a good way to socialise - I'll only serve meals I can make fairly well in advance, and The Berry can snooze in her own bed while we chomp and chat. Our first attempt, I must say, was a great success. We invited just one couple, an easy-going pair, and we had the roast with cauliflower cheese, beans and polenta.

A partial overhead of the spread - I'm a bit sheepish about taking photos when we have company...

Super fresh and delicious cauli, covered with cheesy sauce, reminds me of my childhood.

The lamb roasted on a bed of onion, garlic, lemon and rosemary. We gobbled up the gooey roast garlic cloves that turn to sweet delicious morsels in the oven. Pan juices were also whipped into one intense gravy with a splosh of red wine...

The little lamby, studded with garlic and home-grown rosemary. Thank you, lamby.

Tony the pony

Meet our new family member, Tony. He was knitted with much, much love by one of The Berry's many clever Aunties, who had never knitted before his creation. He is A-Mazing.

Through it all

We're going to a wedding today. I had to pop out to make a last-minute, tummy slimming, leg warming undergarment purchase. Very mundane. I had left my baby behind, at home with her dad. I knew the two of them would be just fine. The sun was shining and it was early. I turned the pop music up loud.

In a world that seems to get colder and colder

Don't you worry 'cause

My love will only get stronger and stronger

'Cause I, I'm gonna love you gonna hold you through it all

I, I'm gonna love you gonna never let you fall

Through it all

When you're down and out

Losing dignity

Don't let go of me (hold on)

Surely this is a brighter day right in front of me (hold on)

If you really looked inside

You would finally realise

You don't have to cry (no more)

All you have to do is see

That you can believe in me

And I will never leave

'Cause I, I'm gonna love you gonna hold you through it all

I, I'm gonna love you gonna never let you fall

Through it all

And then (it's your fault Alicia Keys), the world went a bit wobbly. I've struggled with this love. Sometimes I think it isn't there. That I haven't bonded with Baby Berry. If I love her, why this awful empty feeling when she cries? Why this anxious worry? This isn't the feeling I call "love", that makes me want to push my body against my mate, that reassures and buoys me up.

But as the world wobbled all wet with tears, I made a baby step towards understanding mother love - fierce, protective, fraught... And it's definitely there.