DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

When I hostessed at fancy-schmancy restaurants in LA, people wanting a table at 7.30pm on a Saturday night without a reservation used to say to me ‘don’t you know who I am?’

Last night that’s exactly what I wanted to say to the woman next to me as we f-lap ball changed our way through a tap class.

I would continue…

‘Don’t you know? I’m the mother of Little Miss Q and right now she’s not with me and I have two arms all to myself and I am using my brain for my thoughts and even though I miss her and I’m still thinking about her, imagining her sleeping (I hope) at home with her father, it feels absolutely fabulous to be doing this.

Is that wrong?

I’ve never had a real job, so I didn’t have to contemplate the transition from 9-5-er to SAHM (stay at home mum for those not in the know). I imagine that could be quite confronting – corporate world, corporate outfit, corporate credit card, corporate respect – to the jeans and spew-proof, breastfeeding capable t-shirt, no time for makeup, no one to talk to but a human that can’t speak English, spending the income you no longer earn on take away decaf coffees just to get out of the house and have an adult to converse with.

Yes I can see how it would be confronting indeed.

Mine was a different conflict. 

I’ve never had a real job, and when I’m not working I like to write at home. Writing I thought I’d be able to continue doing while my new human slumbered peacefully in her cot.

Yeah right.

But the truth of it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I don’t want to be away from Miss Q right now. (At least not for longer than a couple of hours).

But it was very nice just to hang out with myself.

It wasn’t much, but it did the trick. Reset the monitor, recharged the fast-approaching-flat batteries.

That’s all I needed. Ninety minutes of me-time, once a week on a Tuesday night.

Reclaiming my sense of self. One tap class at a time.

UNASKED FOR ADVICE FROM A TRUE PROFESSIONAL

My cousin has spent most of this year growing her first human and has no doubt been inundated with unhelpful advice and opinions from all and sundry.

So as I am now a professional human-raiser myself, I thought I'd enter the fray...

      ·               If you’re going to use a dummy get one that is similar in shape to your own nipple.     (Never would have occurred to me but it makes perfect sense).

·               My cousin is a no joke athlete. Seriously, she was in training for the Olympics. So (since she is hoping to breastfeed) and if she hopes to be able to get back on her bike and ride for longer than half an hour, I suggest she start expressing and giving the bottle a go sooner rather than later. There’s no science behind my theory, I just wonder if we started too late and that is why Miss Q bottle refused. Either that or she’s just a punk. (I am well aware the latter is the most highly likely theory).

·               Further to that…get them familiar with a posse of people early on. Then as soon as the breastfeeding is longer than every two hours (yes, yes I am well aware a lot of babies go longer from the get go) you can leave them and go for a delicious, solo, sanity-saving run.

·               Be aware that this may not happen until they are five months old or longer.

·               Every time you decide to risk it and not take a back-up outfit is when you will need it most.

·               Those ultra groovy leather nappy bags are very, very fabulous, but unfortunately a backpack seems to trump them. Much easier to have a pack on your back and a baby on your front – you may look like a double-sided tortoise, but at least you’re well balanced.

·               Incidental exercise may become your very good friend if you have an active baby. Some days Q and I walk for 3 or 4 hours just to tire her out.

·               If you have a bit of wine while you’re breastfeeding, you may look like a degenerate but there is no way your baby will be hit with the alcohol. Unfortunately.

·               Go to the movies when they’re brand new and total marsupials. I took Miss Q a couple of times and wish I’d done it more. She just fed and snuggled in my lap and none of the other patrons even knew she was there.

·               Feel free to consult me on any and all things baby related, as clearly Q and I have everything under control.

Relish these final few weeks, Abi. I know it’s a nervy ride, and I know you’ve probably been told way too much and far too little, but just remember, you ain’t the first and you won’t be the last. There’s a chance you may not be the best, but you certainly won’t be the worst, and just you wait till you meet your little human and love them more than this silly little blog could ever hope to describe.

That is the coolest thing to learn by far.

THE LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL DISTRACTION QUILT!

Here it is folks...
the long-distance-travel-distraction-quilt!!!


I'm unreasonably proud of it, given how poor the workmanship is.

But I'm also assured that given the amount of superglue and cotton I used, there is no chance Miss Q could pull anything off and cause a transatlantic medical emergency by choking on a plastic eyeball.

I've actually used the backside of an eye-spy quilt that one of Gregory's fabulous aunts made for Miss Q.

See, I'm not just a brilliant seamstress.
I'm also a tight-arse, double-using piggy-backer.

I hope the aunt in question sees the fact that I've redecorated her piece as an honour and not as the poorly executed sabotage of quilting mastery that it more likely is.

CRAWLING, DISTRACTION QUILTS AND HOW I SUPERGLUED MY WEDDING RING

Miss Q is crawling.

It’s not pretty, nor is it consistent, (she sort of looks like a confused tadpole on her way to becoming a frog) but she’s doing it.

I tell you, it nearly made this besotted mama cry.

Then I really did cry because I realised my time for Q-proofing the house has arrived.

Possibly, if I’d been organised like my mother always is (I means it’s not like I couldn’t see this coming) I would already have done this.

But why change form now?

Instead I’ve spent the evening working on a distraction quilt in preparation for our upcoming commutes – two weddings in regional Australia and one in New York.

It’s the idea of a fellow mother and traveller friend of mine.

She attached zippers, buttons, different fabrics and so on to a sheet of fabric and it entertained her son from here to…well at least until they’d taxied out of the airport anyway.

So I thought I’d do the same.

Only she can sew.

And I can’t.

So I used superglue and have just googled how to remove superglue from your fingers…and also your wedding ring.

I try.

Really I do.

But as is usual with anything crafty, my enthusiasm far outweighs my abilities.

Perhaps my sewing skills will improve in tandem with my daughter’s ability to crawl.

I sure hope so, otherwise we’re both in trouble. 

AUDITIONS, APPLES AND MAMAS WITH TWO ARMS

Show me what you’ve got,’ the photographer said to me today at a casting.

Ah…I’m wearing too much makeup, my hair hasn’t been done by a professional since my wedding and the dress I’m wearing is now too big because I bought it to wear to a wedding shortly after I gave birth when I felt like I was still carrying bits of Q around inside me and you want me to ‘show you what I’ve got.’

Well I’ll give it a whirl since this is for an ad that pays quite well and that could certainly raise my self-esteem after the recent week of knock-backs I’ve had.

So I channelled my inner Elle Macpherson, figuring Kate Moss wasn’t the best example and not knowing the names of any current supermodels and showed him my stuff realising afterwards that my lipstick had bled and you could see my maternity bra.  

Classy.

I’ve got the gig for sure.

I raced home from the casting, worried Q was missing my boobs, only to discover my mum – bless her - had taken her for a walk in her chariot so she could say hello to all her fans.

And now I don’t know how best to use this precious time…to eat without interruption, to write, to clean, to tidy, to sleep or to run around the place doing everything with two arms just because I can.

Typically, I’ll probably try to do it all and then wonder why I expect my child to be any different.

The apple, my friends, does not pitch itself far from the tree.

THE KAYAKER - Today's profile of a stranger

This is today's profile of a stranger...

‘You know, she is the only child in the world that has made me like children,’ the man says to me, friendly but still detached, ‘including my own. What’s her name?’

‘Quinn.’

‘What?’

‘Quinn.’

‘Oh. I guess I’m just old fashioned.’

He does that a lot I suspect – not bothering with an edit button. He did try for a while but his marriage failed anyway, so now he doesn’t bother at all.

He looks like a sailor, sure on his feet and he’s short like a lot of sailors. But he’s not. He’s a former corporate analyst and now he earns a living buying and selling on e-bay.

He has two children, his son lives in London and his daughter lives on the Northern Beaches. She wants more contact with him, particularly since her two children were born, but every time he tries to visit, his ex is there and although he knows it’s beneath him, he always ends up taking her bait and saying something that makes the situation uncomfortable for everyone.

He’d like to speak to his son at the moment, given the unrest in London, but with the time difference he hasn’t been able to make the call.

He bought his townhouse when his marriage broke up. It’s only small, but plenty big enough for just him, and he has direct access to the water where he can throw his kayak in of a morning and paddle up the harbour as the sun bleeds across the city.

He enjoys expensive scotch. And has a veranda furnished with a comfy chair and table just for that.

There’s a relaxed, sensitive side to him upon occasion. He just doesn’t seem to have much need for it, so it stays packed away with his regrets.

CLOSE, BUT NO IPAD...

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I was a finalist in the Kleenex Mums So You Think You Can Blog competition.

Turns out I was one of their top ten.

Close.

But no ipad...