So, it's my final week of trimester 2 - things are starting to get a whole lot more uncomfortable for me now. Whether it's the middle of the night trips to the loo, the soccer game that my unborn son insists on playing in my belly when my posture squeezes leaves something to be desired or just trying to get from A to B....
I got an email this week from Master 2's daycare centre to say that they have had a case of Parvo virus B19 (slapped cheek) in the centre and that they have to notify pregnant women who should consult their doctor.
Having not ever heard of "slapped cheek" before I head for the trusted google search to see what I can find out. I find a fact sheet from NSW Health (http://www.health.nsw.gov.au/factsheets/infectious/parvovirus.html) amongst the range of information available which tells me that usually there's no problem, but for it may lead to miscarriage for women in the first half of pregnancy.
I call the doctor, who says that it's not an emergency, but that he'd like to see me anyway, so I've got an appointment for later in the week.
But it gets me thinking - the email from the childcare centre was sent to me because they know I'm pregnant. If the risk is highest for the first half of pregnancy (the first 12-13 weeks of which most people don't tell anyone they're pregnant) - surely the centre has a responsibility to inform all parents, not just those who are obviously pregnant... food for thought?
So, I'm having less trouble getting a seat on public transport, thanks to the ever more protruding belly. But I had an interesting experience at Central Station recently.
On a slight tangent, has anyone else noticed how annoying it is that the bench seats at central station on the platforms are now divided into 3 with armrests? I think that they thought it might stop the homeless having somewhere to sleep, but what it has meant in reality is that a seat that can comfortably accommodate 4 people (or 5 smaller people) now has a max of 3 - you do the maths....
Anyway, back to my story....
I was waiting for a train and a seat became available on the platform which I began walking towards (is it still called walking when there's an ever so slight side to side tilt?). Another woman in her fifties perhaps walked in front of me clasping her handbag and sat down. To say I was astonished was an understatement - she did a good job of ignoring everyone around her as she dug through her handbag for something (a grenade perhaps?). Next to her was a woman with a small baby attached to her front in a baby Bjorn who promptly stood up for me. I told her not to worry that her baby was surely heavier than mine (as I know from experience), but she was insistent as she said "I remember what it was like". Bah. Why is it that it is usually only women of childbearing age who even pretend to notice pregnant women on public transport (or is this just a large city (Sydney) phenomenon?
Moving around is becoming more challenging for me. Early mornings are the worst, my blood pressure is low and I can't even manage the steps up from the platform at the station (thank goodness for lifts). Usually I walk from Wynyard Station to Town Hall Station in Sydney one day a week when I've left Master 2 with grandparents and that's where the end of the bus ride is, but lately I've arrived at work after walking and felt ready enough to go straight back to sleep (not to mention that the 10 min walk now takes closer to 20 min). I try and walk anyway, because I know it's good for me but it's becoming a struggle.
Most pregnant women suffer similar discomfort during their pregnancy and having trouble sleeping is just one of them. I find myself in the unusual position of waking up each morning and finding myself asleep on my (ever growing) belly. Sort of, well as much as you can when you're pregnant, but I think it takes the weight off my spine and must be comfortable. Usually my unborn son is kicking me as well almost as if he's saying "GET OFF ME, MUM!".
The other discomforts that I'm getting are some reflux (that a small glass of milk before bed seems to help with, even if it ensure I'm up to empty my bladder during the night), and some sciatica in my left side. Oh yeah and some unusual swelling in unusual places (but I think that fits into the category of TMI!).
Other than that, the last month has been almost pleasant. Spring is definitely here, the garden is blooming and smelling divine. I've had only 1 hot day of travel on an unconditioned train and let me tell you, I'm NOT looking forward to the heat of summer arriving.
Work is going well, I'm really enjoying it at the moment. The work is good, my team are a joy to work with and it's almost a shame that I have just over 10 weeks left before my baby is due. I can only hope that it stays as enjoyable on my return!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Holidays and Trauma
Last weekend was also Jewish New Year. As with any family holiday it's usually a chaotic event. This year, however promised to be something different. We often have dinner on both first and second night, even though we only really celebrate one day in our household. This year 2nd night was going to be the big family (read chaotic) event. My aunt was hosting and we were starting early to make concessions for the growing number of little people in the family. Now we have 4 (3, 2, almost 2, and 1) we want to try and make it as pleasant as we can for everyone. This necessarily means not waiting until 7pm to eat. So it was a 5.30pm start.
First night we decided to do something different. Given we were doing the big family thing on 2nd night, some friends of ours who don't have family in Sydney agreed to host. There were only 6 adults and 3 kids and it was a lovely meal. A nice change from the chaotic family events we usually do. All the kids had a great time and because it was at a "child friendly" location it was relaxing for us as well. Must try and do this each year :)). Saturday night was the family event, not as chaotic as it might have been and it was lovely to have an early start and be home by 8pm for Master 2 to have a relatively normal sleep.
Our trauma happened Saturday morning.
I had decided to put Master 2 into a lovely white shirt to wear to Synagogue but it needed ironing. I got out the iron - had to bribe him with a chocolate to put the damn thing on - and of course, it's far too big. I found an alternate shirt for him, turned off the iron, told him to be careful because it's hot (he's usually VERY good about not touching hot things), and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Then I hear a yelp followed screams and tears.
My heart jumps into my mouth and I run out to discover that he has touched the iron with his thumb and has had a nasty fright and a small burn. His little hand goes under the water for the required time but he's inconsolable. The only way I can get him to stop wailing is by trying to help him regulate his breathing - in and out, in and out.
Eventually I go searching for my "burn aid" a soothing cream you can use on minor burns, but to my disgust it's nowhere to be found (later I recall throwing it out as it was a few years out of date). I decide to pack him up and take him to Synagogue anyway - I can't see the burn myself and while I know from experience how much these things hurt, I hope that with some distraction he'll be OK. We stop at the chemist to buy some more cream and head for the toddlers service. Master 2 has his left hand in a cup of water and only seems to be calm when his hand is submerged. Sometime during the car ride he spills most of the cup of water so that by the time we arrive he is absolutely soaking wet. And still inconsolable.
You'd think in a toddler service no one would bother giving me filthy looks for a crying child - but no, this group of parents seems no more indulgent or understanding than any other group of adults. I'd met my Dad at the Shul and he had decided that after the toddler service he'd take Master 2 home to his place so I could go to the main service and meet them at his place for lunch. Toddler service out - we literally shove Master 2 (still crying uncontrollably) into my Dad's car and he takes him home. Instructions are given to my Mum for a dose of panadol and some TLC.
My experience at the service was difficult this year. There's a particular prayer that relates to the story that on New Year God writes in the book of life and death - who should live and who should die and the manner in which they will die. How many shall pass on and how many shall come to be... The prayer concludes with a verse that claims "repentance, prayer and charity temper judgements severe decree". Given the rawness of emotion still with me after the death of our good friends son (he didn't survive even until the early induced birth, and was stillborn) I found myself with tear running down my face. The idea that is espoused in this prayer that their actions might have prevented this event make me angry and sad and make faith extremely difficult. I hope that their holiday period was not too traumatic and that their prayers are answered - I also pray that our unborn son makes his journey without incident.
It's been a rather emotional week.
Happy New Year to all, and may you be written in the book of life.
First night we decided to do something different. Given we were doing the big family thing on 2nd night, some friends of ours who don't have family in Sydney agreed to host. There were only 6 adults and 3 kids and it was a lovely meal. A nice change from the chaotic family events we usually do. All the kids had a great time and because it was at a "child friendly" location it was relaxing for us as well. Must try and do this each year :)). Saturday night was the family event, not as chaotic as it might have been and it was lovely to have an early start and be home by 8pm for Master 2 to have a relatively normal sleep.
Our trauma happened Saturday morning.
I had decided to put Master 2 into a lovely white shirt to wear to Synagogue but it needed ironing. I got out the iron - had to bribe him with a chocolate to put the damn thing on - and of course, it's far too big. I found an alternate shirt for him, turned off the iron, told him to be careful because it's hot (he's usually VERY good about not touching hot things), and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Then I hear a yelp followed screams and tears.
My heart jumps into my mouth and I run out to discover that he has touched the iron with his thumb and has had a nasty fright and a small burn. His little hand goes under the water for the required time but he's inconsolable. The only way I can get him to stop wailing is by trying to help him regulate his breathing - in and out, in and out.
Eventually I go searching for my "burn aid" a soothing cream you can use on minor burns, but to my disgust it's nowhere to be found (later I recall throwing it out as it was a few years out of date). I decide to pack him up and take him to Synagogue anyway - I can't see the burn myself and while I know from experience how much these things hurt, I hope that with some distraction he'll be OK. We stop at the chemist to buy some more cream and head for the toddlers service. Master 2 has his left hand in a cup of water and only seems to be calm when his hand is submerged. Sometime during the car ride he spills most of the cup of water so that by the time we arrive he is absolutely soaking wet. And still inconsolable.
You'd think in a toddler service no one would bother giving me filthy looks for a crying child - but no, this group of parents seems no more indulgent or understanding than any other group of adults. I'd met my Dad at the Shul and he had decided that after the toddler service he'd take Master 2 home to his place so I could go to the main service and meet them at his place for lunch. Toddler service out - we literally shove Master 2 (still crying uncontrollably) into my Dad's car and he takes him home. Instructions are given to my Mum for a dose of panadol and some TLC.
My experience at the service was difficult this year. There's a particular prayer that relates to the story that on New Year God writes in the book of life and death - who should live and who should die and the manner in which they will die. How many shall pass on and how many shall come to be... The prayer concludes with a verse that claims "repentance, prayer and charity temper judgements severe decree". Given the rawness of emotion still with me after the death of our good friends son (he didn't survive even until the early induced birth, and was stillborn) I found myself with tear running down my face. The idea that is espoused in this prayer that their actions might have prevented this event make me angry and sad and make faith extremely difficult. I hope that their holiday period was not too traumatic and that their prayers are answered - I also pray that our unborn son makes his journey without incident.
It's been a rather emotional week.
Happy New Year to all, and may you be written in the book of life.
I need to slow down!
Last week was a little bit busy for me.
I was asked to speak to a group of uni students about one of areas of activism that interests me. Usually I'd be pleased to be asked, but being 22 weeks pregnant I had to pause and consider whether or not this was something I could reasonably do. It was a Monday, a work day for me and because my workdays are long (9 hours) I generally avoid making commitments on nights where I have worked and then have to get up and do it again the next day.
There was also the "how do I get home" consideration, but as most of you would realise, if you want to do something then you can generally find a way. So after making sure I could get home at a decent hour (they provided me with a cab charge voucher) I agreed. What I didn't do first was check that I had no other alternate commitments that week.
As fate would have it, I have a commitment one Tuesday a month, and, you guessed it, the day following my talk I again had a commitment straight after work. The thing is - the talk I gave was great, good engagement, but it's hard work. Hard when you have a growing foetus roughly the size of a barbie doll and all the accoutrement's (placenta etc) squashing your diaphragm. Hard when you know what you're talking about is contentious, and hard when you have lots and lots of questions thrown your way. By the time I got into a taxi I was absolutely exhausted.
Fortunately, my Tuesday night commitment is much less taxing. It's usually reasonably passive and doesn't involve much participation - and once I've signed in, I can leave before it gets too late. After all my now obviously pregnant belly makes for a great excuse for all such occasions.
Wednesday evenings I'm usually out of the house. Before I fell pregnant I was a reasonably active sportsperson, and my sports association needed someone to supervise the grounds on a Wednesday night. Keen to stay in touch with my mates who I otherwise never see, and given it's not a particularly onerous task I readily agreed. Hubby gets home in time to look after Master 2, we have an early dinner together and I'm home before it's too late. Most weeks not at all difficult. After 2 consecutive nights out, I have to say I wasn't particularly looking forward to another one. The weather was lovely and mild and I got to catch up with friends and watch some games which was pleasant enough. But by the time last week finished I was absolutely exhausted.
I really really need to slow down.
Maybe next week.
I was asked to speak to a group of uni students about one of areas of activism that interests me. Usually I'd be pleased to be asked, but being 22 weeks pregnant I had to pause and consider whether or not this was something I could reasonably do. It was a Monday, a work day for me and because my workdays are long (9 hours) I generally avoid making commitments on nights where I have worked and then have to get up and do it again the next day.
There was also the "how do I get home" consideration, but as most of you would realise, if you want to do something then you can generally find a way. So after making sure I could get home at a decent hour (they provided me with a cab charge voucher) I agreed. What I didn't do first was check that I had no other alternate commitments that week.
As fate would have it, I have a commitment one Tuesday a month, and, you guessed it, the day following my talk I again had a commitment straight after work. The thing is - the talk I gave was great, good engagement, but it's hard work. Hard when you have a growing foetus roughly the size of a barbie doll and all the accoutrement's (placenta etc) squashing your diaphragm. Hard when you know what you're talking about is contentious, and hard when you have lots and lots of questions thrown your way. By the time I got into a taxi I was absolutely exhausted.
Fortunately, my Tuesday night commitment is much less taxing. It's usually reasonably passive and doesn't involve much participation - and once I've signed in, I can leave before it gets too late. After all my now obviously pregnant belly makes for a great excuse for all such occasions.
Wednesday evenings I'm usually out of the house. Before I fell pregnant I was a reasonably active sportsperson, and my sports association needed someone to supervise the grounds on a Wednesday night. Keen to stay in touch with my mates who I otherwise never see, and given it's not a particularly onerous task I readily agreed. Hubby gets home in time to look after Master 2, we have an early dinner together and I'm home before it's too late. Most weeks not at all difficult. After 2 consecutive nights out, I have to say I wasn't particularly looking forward to another one. The weather was lovely and mild and I got to catch up with friends and watch some games which was pleasant enough. But by the time last week finished I was absolutely exhausted.
I really really need to slow down.
Maybe next week.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Our big boy - and other news
After our return from our overseas holiday we had the added bonus of a day off work with Master 2 in day care.
Apart from catching up on the mundane household activities of laundry, we both enjoyed some extra sleep and I even went out for a few hours. We decided though, that this was a perfect time to help our little boy move into a proper bed. Everything we've read about new babies suggest that any changes for the older sibling get under way as early as possible before we bring home baby so that he doesn't associate all of the changes with the new baby.
Things are never as simple as they seem.
Firstly we had to find the tools. Hubby insisted that I had "lost" them and that we couldn't possibly do the bed without them. After some prompting he did a better search of his office, and finally found the offending tools - minus the Allen key. Hubby then began insisting that I'd taken the Allen key (to use to assemble Master 2's bike). He was insistent that it wasn't in the tool box. Finally I gave in and went to the tool box and started searching. After only a few seconds I had not just one, but 2 Allen keys in my hands!
I had already spent some time going through the bedroom to make it safe for the inevitable, when Master 2 realises he can hop out of bed and get into everything! Away go all the dangerous items, and the nappies go into a nappy stacker to make it that much more difficult to get into them. Wonder how long it will take before he's out of bed and into things?
Hubby headed into the kids room to start taking off the side of the cot ready to replace it with the bed rail. It was at this point that we realised that we'd put the cot together incorrectly when we first bought it. The holes to accommodate the bed rail were on the same side of the cot as the railing that we didn't take off. So we had to unscrew the base, turn it around, and put it back together before putting the railing on. We finally got it on and I headed out to pick up Master 2 from day care.
He got home and was so excited by his new "big boy bed" that he spent some time getting in and out of it and practicing going to sleep.
It was a different story at bedtime.
"Daddy fix it" said Master 2.
"Fix what?"
"Daddy fix bed!"
Ahhh. Now it was bedtime gone was the excitement instead there was fear and dread in his tired little eyes. The bed wasn't made up with sheet and blankets as Master 2 sleeps in a sleeping bag. But a sheet with Pooh Bear characters on it and a proper blanket all tucked in like "Mummy and Daddy's bed" seemed to do the trick. He was a little unsettled but managed to sleep through the night without falling out. He didn't get into stuff this morning so perhaps it might take a few days (or can I hope for weeks or months??) before he realises his potential?
In other news, our friends whose baby was diagnosed with a fatal brain tumour at 33 weeks were induced and lost their son. It's an emotional roller coaster for all involved and our hearts go out to them as we with them and their loved ones long life. This holiday season will be terribly difficult and we can only be there for support.
Work is looming, baby is kicking, tummy is growing (but amazingly enough the rest of me doesn't seem to be, even with 5 days of mega indulgence). The weather is warming up, spring has arrived. The garden is flowering and we're all healthy.
Apart from catching up on the mundane household activities of laundry, we both enjoyed some extra sleep and I even went out for a few hours. We decided though, that this was a perfect time to help our little boy move into a proper bed. Everything we've read about new babies suggest that any changes for the older sibling get under way as early as possible before we bring home baby so that he doesn't associate all of the changes with the new baby.
Things are never as simple as they seem.
Firstly we had to find the tools. Hubby insisted that I had "lost" them and that we couldn't possibly do the bed without them. After some prompting he did a better search of his office, and finally found the offending tools - minus the Allen key. Hubby then began insisting that I'd taken the Allen key (to use to assemble Master 2's bike). He was insistent that it wasn't in the tool box. Finally I gave in and went to the tool box and started searching. After only a few seconds I had not just one, but 2 Allen keys in my hands!
I had already spent some time going through the bedroom to make it safe for the inevitable, when Master 2 realises he can hop out of bed and get into everything! Away go all the dangerous items, and the nappies go into a nappy stacker to make it that much more difficult to get into them. Wonder how long it will take before he's out of bed and into things?
Hubby headed into the kids room to start taking off the side of the cot ready to replace it with the bed rail. It was at this point that we realised that we'd put the cot together incorrectly when we first bought it. The holes to accommodate the bed rail were on the same side of the cot as the railing that we didn't take off. So we had to unscrew the base, turn it around, and put it back together before putting the railing on. We finally got it on and I headed out to pick up Master 2 from day care.
He got home and was so excited by his new "big boy bed" that he spent some time getting in and out of it and practicing going to sleep.
It was a different story at bedtime.
"Daddy fix it" said Master 2.
"Fix what?"
"Daddy fix bed!"
Ahhh. Now it was bedtime gone was the excitement instead there was fear and dread in his tired little eyes. The bed wasn't made up with sheet and blankets as Master 2 sleeps in a sleeping bag. But a sheet with Pooh Bear characters on it and a proper blanket all tucked in like "Mummy and Daddy's bed" seemed to do the trick. He was a little unsettled but managed to sleep through the night without falling out. He didn't get into stuff this morning so perhaps it might take a few days (or can I hope for weeks or months??) before he realises his potential?
In other news, our friends whose baby was diagnosed with a fatal brain tumour at 33 weeks were induced and lost their son. It's an emotional roller coaster for all involved and our hearts go out to them as we with them and their loved ones long life. This holiday season will be terribly difficult and we can only be there for support.
Work is looming, baby is kicking, tummy is growing (but amazingly enough the rest of me doesn't seem to be, even with 5 days of mega indulgence). The weather is warming up, spring has arrived. The garden is flowering and we're all healthy.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Baby Moon in Vanuatu
We're home from our "babymoon". Apparently that's what they are called these days - the holidays that parents take before they are overcome with sleeplessness and everything else associated with a new baby. I wonder, is it still called a babymoon if you take a toddler?I didn't hate being pregnant as much this week - in fact there were times that I felt almost normal!
We spent our short (4 night 6 day) babymoon in Vanuatu. This was despite our initial intent to go back to Fiji where we've had a good time previously. The reason for the change of plan was twofold. Hubby was concerned about the political instability and I decided that I didn't want my tourism money in any way assisting the economy of a dictatorship that has shunned democracy.
So it was Vanuatu here we come.
We decided to spend more than we'd planned and go in style and so began searching for resorts on the mainland (the outer Islands have a higher risk of malaria - not recommended for anyone, but particularly for pregnant women!). We wanted somewhere with a kids club and ended up with a choice between the highly recommended Le Lagon and Le Meridien Port Vila. A quick look at trip advisor (www.tripadvisor.com) had us convinced that Le Lagon was the place to go. We contacted the travel agent and were all set, only to discover that it was fully booked at the time we wanted to go. Not to be deterred we tried other dates, only to discover that it would have cost us double what we'd already decided was a very generous budget for a short holiday. Back to drawing board we did some more research on Le Meridien - some of the comments on the website were less than inviting but there were also some positive ones. We decided to risk it and booked Le Meridien.
Our departure date loomed, we borrowed my uncle's portable DVD player to assist with difficult times with Master 2, particularly on the plane flight.
The trip over was uneventful - the plane was only about half full and Master 2 was very well behaved. The DVD player was a godsend, and between that and some rice crackers the 2 1/2 hour flight really did fly!
We arrived at Le Meridien and I was a little concerned but it was all for nothing. Check-in was quick, our room was ready and though the agent hadn't passed on our request for a cot for Master 2, by the time we checked in and got down to the room it was set up and made up for us. It had been a long day for Master 2, so he was tucked in for an afternoon sleep while hubby and I sat on the patio outside our room and had a read.
We had a chance to explore the resort - while not new and modern, it had all the amenities we could ask for. 2 pools, a toddler pool, a playground, a kids club, 2 restaurants as well as a pool side bar and dining. Our room was fine, though sharing with Master 2 became interesting at bedtime at night. He kept doing the "Jack in the box" thing where he'd pop up from the cot to investigate even the slightest of noises. It took quite some discipline to ignore him.
The 4 days were filled with sleeping (us and Master 2, lots of it), reading, swimming (not heaps), eating (far too much), and keeping our toddler amused.
The staff at the resort were so good with kids. Each meal we enjoyed at the resort came with live music, from the 2 men at breakfast to the 1/2 dozen by the pool side bar, it kept Master 2 amused. He'd clap when they finished and say "more song". The staff learnt his name and would keep a keen eye on him as he made his escape from the Veranda restaurant mid way through a meal. They were indulgent and so obviously used to children that we didn't feel at all uncomfortable (as parents of toddlers so often do) even during his rattiest moments. Perhaps the proliferation of child (under 15) free resorts mean that those with little tolerance stay away.
We discovered a lovely restaurant in town called "Chill". It overlooks Port Vila harbour and has a kids menu that includes an activity mat, crayons and a take home souvenir cup - we went back twice for dinner. The food at the restaurant come more quickly than at the resort and again, the staff were incredible.
Our flight home was longer (thanks to headwind) and took almost 4 hours. It was hard going. It was an afternoon flight and Master 2 had such a tiny sleep as to be rendered insignificant in the morning before we left. He was tired and cranky and didn't want to be stuck (by a seat belt) on the aeroplane. Unfortunately the seat belts on a plane are much simpler for a toddler to learn to undo so there was no keeping him pinned to his seat. The DVD player was useful but was never going to keep him amused the entire trip. A couple of times he almost gave in to sleep but never quite got there. It was a very long trip.
Home sweet home. We had the most amazingly quick trip through at the airport. I would not have believed it if someone had told me I'd be at home one hour after landing. It was a small plane that wasn't full, and we were sitting at the back - so by the time we got off and threw out all the food we had in our bags and want to take through quarantine, there was no queue at immigration, our baggage was already on the carousel, no queue at customs and no queue for taxis. Truly amazing.
So that was the babymoon. Back to work on Monday. 13 weeks before I go on maternity leave... It's all happening!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)