Mums and Bubs Halloween Party

Penguin costume

Our friends Dan and Estee have generously handed down to us some cute clothes and baby things that their sixteen month old son has outgrown. Included in a recent bag of hand-me-downs was a Carter's penguin costume, sized six months. This was perfect as Lachie's nursery already had a penguin theme and Mickey and I decided it was his favorite animal... :) Last year when I was only a few weeks pregnant, I was already thinking about Halloween this year, how old the baby would be and how I could dress him. I think I'm not alone in my opinion that infant Halloween costumes are ridiculous and adorable.

Anyway, we had the perfect costume, but no occasion to which to wear it. Lachie's at least a year away from trick or treating and no one would be coming to our door so I decided that I had to host a Halloween party for our mother's group. I specified in my email invite that the mums shouldn't feel that they had to attire their babies in costumes to join, but that I would be dressing the Lachster in a penguin costume and snapping a photo regardless of the weather.

Mums and bubs

About 36 hours after sending the invitation to a large email list (I didn't want to not include anyone in the mum's group crowd), I had about a dozen yes RSVPs. That's twelve mums, twelve noisy bubs and twelve large prams, aka too much party for my apartment. Fortunately, I booked out our building's bbq courtyard area that has a nice patch of grass and shade. I was also allowed to borrow the two folding tables that belonged to the building.

This one melts my heart

I asked the mums to bring picnic blankets, but was concerned that there would be nowhere for anyone to sit if they wanted to sit at a table. We have eight outdoor chairs so I would ask the concierge to bring up a trolley, drag the chairs from our balcony into our apartment, load them on to the trolley, wheel the unwieldy trolley down the lift and outside to the courtyard. Whew! This was in addition to the other stuff I wanted to bring downstairs for the party: a tablecloth, a jack-o-lantern, a tray of cupcakes, decorations, drinks, Lachie, the stroller, etc. Having the party in the courtyard was perfect in regard to space, but it involved transporting a LOT of stuff.

I was grateful that Jess and her little giraffe for the day, baby Josh, came early to help. We made more than one trip up and downstairs to bring the party to life in the courtyard. The weather was perfect for a party, but perhaps less than perfect for Halloween. My cupcakes and candies started melting quickly in the sun, the champagne warmed and I only got half a week out of the jack-o-lantern before he was a mushy mass of mold.

Still, the mums and bubs had a great time! In true Australian fashion, the mums went all out with the baby costumes. We had a lion, flapper, witch, spider, angel and fairy princess in addition to the penguin and the giraffe. We sat on blankets in the grass and no one used the eight outdoor chairs (lesson for next time). Because naps are tricky to plan around, mums and bubs arrived at different times. Without fail, a new mum would arrive and suggest that we lie the babies down in a circle and take pictures of them in their costumes. This made for some funny shots as there were plenty of cranky bubs who didn't share our enthusiasm for costumes with head pieces. Lachie was a trooper, but mid party I realized that I couldn't in good conscience keep him in a fleecy penguin suit. That was fine because we got some great photos.

I love to entertain and hosting my first kids' party was an adventure and a half. I know for next time that at least this crowd of mums were really appreciative of a basic party. They were happy with an opportunity to be together outdoors in nice weather and didn't necessarily need the blood orange champagne cocktails that I couldn't find the proper ingredients for anyway. 

A Jaunt to Coles (my local grocery store)

Plenty of my posts are dedicated to exciting moments and events, trips, holidays, etc. The purpose of this blog, though, is to record my thoughts and feelings about not only those special times, but the mundane everyday parts of life as well. Hence this post about the grocery store.

Expensive GF cereal

I go to Coles almost every day. When you don't own a car, have limited storage space in the stroller, eat most meals at home and have only planned a meal or two ahead, you end up going grocery shopping a lot. Most of the time I buy five to ten items, but sometimes even fewer than that. Last week my bill came to $1.25 when I purchased one red onion and one-vine ripened tomato. And I wasn't embarrassed by this at all. The cashiers know as well as I do that when your total is $1.25, it's more about the journey than the actual groceries.

Indeed, a journey to the supermarket is the perfect outing for Lachie and me. It's close by so we can go in the stroller or the front pack. It's on the same route as most other places we go: the doctor, mother's group, the library, etc., so we can easily combine a quick stop to the market with our other errands.

Our Coles is underneath the iconic Coca Cola sign in Kings Cross, a neighborhood known for its bars, nightclubs and brothels. The folks I see shopping there during the day are mostly normal-looking: middle-aged working people, families, elderly people, but the occasional junkie spices things up. Kings Cross is also home to a number of youth hostels so a trip to Coles usually involves overhearing groups of German, French or Japanese backpackers debate what type of cheese to purchase for their Bondi picnics (at least that's what I imagine they're talking about).

We've lived here long enough that I often see people I know at Coles: mums from mother's group, the guy who cuts my hair. It feels comforting to run into people I know at the market even when I haven't put on makeup and have wild hair. It reminds me of childhood trips to Vons during which we'd always see friends and neighbors. I guess it provides a small sense of community within a large city.

The other familiar faces at Coles are those of the employees. There seems to be a high turnover rate among the mostly South Asian immigrants who stock the shelves and work the tills, but when you're there every day, you recognize people. It would be hard to forget a man called Joy and a lady called Sultana (the Aussie word for 'raisin'). The older lady whose arms are covered in warts regularly asks Lachie questions about whether he'd helped me do the shopping. I always answer in the affirmative on his behalf.

We don't do a lot that's terribly interesting each day, so I save up my Coles anecdotes to share with Mickey when he gets home. I update him on what's happening with the produce: blueberries are down to $3.20 a punnet again, so I bought two, or the first peaches of the season are in and they're $15/kilo! I have him try to guess who I ran into or complain about the stench of the homeless guy I waited downwind of in line. As of yesterday, the employees at the deli ask you if you want to try anything behind the counter. Free samples are not as big of a thing here as they are in the states so tasting some Virginia ham yesterday was fun. Today I couldn't try anything because I had a cough drop in my mouth when they offered.

Coles lost our business for a while when Lachie was first born. We hadn't even noticed that you couldn't get in without going up a flight of stairs and going down an escalator, but with a stroller it suddenly became a challenge. We were very cautious with our newborn and went out of our way to shop at the Woollies in Potts Point (they have a ramp). Convenience ultimately trumped caution though and now I take the stroller down the escalator.

Coles won't be my local grocery store for long and there are plenty of things about it that I won't miss: $10 boxes of cereal, the fact that dog food is refrigerated but eggs aren't, the absence of black beans and the way they replace more and more registers with those awful self check bagging stations.

I wonder what my relationship with my new local grocery store will be like. How long will it take me to learn where everything is? Will I go there everyday? How long before I start seeing other people I know there? Time will tell.

Swimming Lessons

Lachie and his mate Josh in swim nappies

As soon as I learned that the Cook and Philip Pool offers lessons to babies as young as four months, I knew I had to enrol my little nipper. We've gone four times now and it's fantastic. The instructors are knowledgeable and patient: not pushing you to dunk your baby under the water until you're both ready and working up to every skill with clever baby steps.

Of course a lesson for a four month old is really a lesson for the parent and that's fine by me. I'm happy to learn more about how to hold Lachie in the pool and other water safety tips. I didn't expect a lot more from the class; I just wanted to have something fun for us to do together that gets him better acquainted with water.

I realized though that swimming lessons connotes actually learning how to swim when I told my brother, 'Lachie totally killed it at swim class today.' He said something to the effect of, 'yeah? Is he learning how to kick and paddle?' I clarified that my definition of 'killed it' actually meant: did not cry during the half hour lesson.

Not crying may not seem like an accomplishment, but on day one, when all the mums and dads were ready with cameras, most of the babies cried and some had to be taken out of the water. This is understandable because there are only short windows of time during which infants are not too tired or too hungry to do anything else. They certainly weren't crying because of the water temperature, though. They keep the hydro pool heated to a bath-like 33C.

Getting ready to go under the tunnel

Lachie, though, has yet to have a poolside meltdown and I'm proud of him for that. I give most of the credit to his Swimava, an inflatable tube that goes around Lachie's neck, allowing his whole body minus his head to be submerged in the water (and allowing me to have two free hands during bath time). It looks odd, but it's fun and I suspect it makes Lachlan feel very free. He can't yet roll or crawl or walk obviously so kicking in the water is the only means for him to direct his own body.

Most of the time when we get into the pool, Lachie starts splashing right away. He becomes very focused on the water and often doesn't look at me or use his voice. I think he becomes so distracted by the pool environment and the stimulation of the water that he forgets everything else. I hope that in the coming months he'll laugh and smile in the pool when he's more comfortable.

Lachie's mate Mattia is on the left with his papa

Getting dry and then rinsing off and dressing Lachie and myself after the lesson is a juggling act. I try to make sure that he doesn't scoot off the bench or scream the place down when I dress him. Lachie is exhausted at the end of our half hour lesson and ten minutes of getting ready and so am I. He has his best morning nap of the week (up to 1.5 hours) afterwards and that alone makes swim class worthwhile.

Early Childhood Health Centre

During my antenatal classes and while staying in the hospital, the midwives stressed the importance of reporting to the Early Childhood Health Centre (ECHC) as soon as I left the hospital. A midwife would visit me at home, answer my questions and I'd be referred to the local parents' group. This sounded great to me because these services are provided by the government for free and I'm a nervous new parent who can use as much help and support as I can get.

I returned from the hospital on a Saturday, the following Monday was a public holiday so I promptly called the ECHC on Tuesday. I was greeted with a lengthy voicemail message informing me that the office was open two days per week (Wednesday and Thursday) and that a midwife would get back to me then as long as I answered my phone. The message stated that nurses spend a lot of time playing phone tag with new mums who need to answer their phones: "when we call, our number will display as 'private,' so please pick up our call." Jeez, I get it.

Anyway, I didn't want to fail Lachie in the first week of being his mom so I left my phone on full volume during normal business hours awaiting a call from the ECHC nurse. It took them seven days to return my call. The earliest they could see us for my baby's one to four week check was in one month. That seemed a little late, but I said okay. In setting up my home visit, I was asked a series of strange questions which, after the fact, felt like a quest to find something that would impede our meeting:

Nurse: Are there any renovations happening in your building?
Me: (Idiotically answering this question honestly) Oh, all the time!
Nurse: ...Uh... (obviously unaccustomed to hearing the wrong answer given so enthusiastically) Anything that would impact Denise's safety?
Me: No (Did she think I'd bring my baby home to a construction site with asbestos and metallic dust?)
Nurse: Is there abuse in the home?
Me: No (very sorry for the people who respond 'yes' and are in obvious need of support, but are probably denied a visit)
Nurse: Is there parking available where you live?
Me: Oh, yes, we have a car spot in the garage, but no car so she's free to use that.
Nurse: How will she get in?
Me: We leave her name with the concierge and he'll instruct her to go to our spot, number 787.
Nurse: How does the nurse get out of the garage?
Me: ... (Is this really a question?) ... There are doors leading to the lobby.
Nurse: Our staff have gotten trapped in garages before. Can someone meet her?
Me: Yes.

This inane conversation went on longer than it needed to. A friend had a similar experience when they phoned about her home visit. They asked if they'd prefer the midwife to remove her shoes in their home. My friend and her husband usually do this so she said 'sure.' The midwife replied, 'well, she has to leave her shoes on.' Okay...

Again, it felt like they were using any excuse not to do their jobs. When the day of Denise the midwife's visit finally arrived, my mom and I were curious and eager. At the appointed time, Denise rang and said she'd be there in half an hour. One hour later she phoned again from outside the garage. I was feeding Lachlan so I told her my mom would run down and meet her. Ten minutes later the midwife rings and says she can't see my mom and also her mobile doesn't work in the garage before the call dropped. My mom calls me and says she can't find the midwife. I tell her that she just phoned, but the call dropped would she please have a look around the garage. Ten minutes later my mom is back in the apartment saying that she jumped into a car with an old lady she thought was the midwife and rode into the garage with her before learning that she spoke little English and was not in fact the midwife. My mom went back to the garage and hollered for her before noticing a car parked on the second level with its lights on. My mom approached the car and found the midwife sitting in her car. When my mom asked her why she didn't get out of the car she said something about, 'oh, we don't do that. We need you to come to us.' Right.

Once everyone was finally upstairs the midwife asked a number of questions that I'm surprised she didn't have the answers to. When I told her that Lachie was five weeks old, she said, 'we don't usually see babies older than five weeks.' That's when we wanted to tear our hair out, but I calmly tried to explain that their soonest appointment was five weeks after I called.

Nurse: Well, have you booked in your 6 - 8 week check?
Me: No, I thought I had to sort out this visit first. How long does it take to get that appointment?
Nurse: Several weeks so you better arrange that now.
Me: No kidding.

Denise weighed Lachie and said he appeared to be in great health. I walked her back to her car to make sure she wouldn't get trapped in the garage.

I had high hopes that my conversations with the other midwives at the ECHC wouldn't be as nonsensical when I visited the center to attend my first parents' group meeting. During these 2pm meetings, new moms sit around a circle and state their name, baby's name and any issues/questions she has about her baby. The midwife gives a vague, unsatisfying answer and then they move on to the next mom in the circle. I quickly learned to ignore most of the baby advice and just enjoy the time commiserating with the other moms.

Unfortunately, the midwives didn't ignore me. Denise gave her colleauges at the center a heads up that I was suicidal or something (see my previous post on anxiety) so they were always calling me to see how I was doing, referring me to other people who didn't know anything about me and making sure I was attending the next parents' group. At one point they asked if I wanted to attend such and such support group and I agreed because it was helpful to meet other new moms. Yet another midwife then left several messages on my voicemail explaining that there was no room for me in the group that they had referred me to. Great.

During one meeting I made the mistake of telling the group that I was concerned about Lachie's weight gain following his cold and tendency to regurgitate an entire feed. I had seen the doctor about this and he wasn't too concerned. He was confident that Lachie would gain the weight back quickly after his cold and the vomiting subsided. The midwife cornered me after the meeting and lectured me about feeding Lachlan more and waking him up in the night to feed him. She threatened that if I didn't and he didn't gain enough weight, 'his brain wouldn't grow.'

The midwife who replaced her wasn't on my case, but was kind of grumpy and useless. Once I began attending mother's group meetings in the park, I stopped going to the ECHC. Friends and other mothers agreed and had similar stories and bad experiences. One mom said that the midwife yelled at her and made her cry. My friend Meaghan said that though government midwives in Victoria are required to have masters degrees and a certain level of experience, "any old grandma could get this job." Meaghan was right. When I learned that the government didn't trust these midwives enough to allow them internet access in the ECHC offices, I finally wrote them off.

At my last meeting at the ECHC, a midwife complained about potential budget cuts to their program. I felt like raising my hand and asking how I could give the government my feedback about the program. Dear NSW, your attempts to help new moms are admirable, but if the best you can deliver is poor service from lazy, mediocre staff then don't bother.

On a More Serious Note...

I am amazed by how profoundly my experience as a new parent is shaped by expectations and confidence.

Like Rufus Griscom in his TED talk: Let's Talk Parenting Taboos, I expected to be hit by a "Mack truck of love" upon holding my new baby for the first time. Though I loved Lachie and in a way had loved him since before he was born, I did not feel an overwhelming surge of love in the way I had expected. The experience of holding him and looking into his eyes for the first time was surreal. I found myself dumbly asking him, 'are you my baby?'

I had grown up loving the story of my own birth: the doctor announcing "it's a girl!" and mom declaring it the happiest day of her life. Unconsciously, I had expected to feel the exact same way when Lachlan arrived and when I didn't, I immediately felt deficient. In the days following his birth, I tearfully asked my mom and Mickey, 'when will I love the baby the way I'm supposed to?' I felt a bit of relief when my friend Shannon told me that falling in love with your baby is a lot like your other loving relationships: they build and grow over time.

Mickey surprised me by putting Lachie in our bed

Still, during those first weeks I was filled with overwhelming anxiety. I was on the lookout for post natal depression (PND), a condition which affects 15% of new mums in Australia. The literature and websites advise you to call a doctor if you feel like you don't want to get out of bed, can't cope or have thoughts of harming the baby. That all sounded very alarming and I couldn't really relate. Instead, I felt a paralyzing fear of making the wrong decision in regard to looking after Lachie. It felt like there were a zillion decisions to make about the new baby (Should we swaddle him? Is he still hungry? Should we change his diaper when he seems so sleepy?) and I couldn't bear the thought of him being uncomfortable and unhappy while I struggled to respond to his needs. I found these decisions so exhausting that non-baby decisions were likewise impossible. Even deciding what to have for dinner felt unbearable. I found myself looking for excuses to do housework even though my mom was doing most of the cooking, cleaning and shopping. Tasks such as emptying the dishwasher were gratifying to me because I felt confident doing them. Nothing about caring for Lachie was as straightforward or satisfying because I felt like I was doing it all wrong. I fantasized about being our housekeeper because then I could help with the baby, but not be so completely responsible for a new little person. I constantly asked Mickey and my mom to tell me what to do.

Sleep deprivation, of course, compounded the problem. It killed me that we weren't up all night because Lachie was. On the contrary, he gave us decent blocks of sleep between his feeds, but I found that I couldn't put myself back to sleep easily. I nearly had a panic attack one day while lying down for a nap thinking, 'I need to sleep right now because he is, but I can't.' There was so much pressure to sleep when he was settled and I was always sure that the moment I dropped off to sleep, the baby would wake and need me.

After one particularly heinous night, I stayed in my pajamas the following day so that I could nap, but I couldn't nap and then felt even worse. From then on, I made an effort to shower and dress each day not because I was going anywhere, but because I needed it mentally. Nights were like this really strange sick joke; let's all put on pajamas and brush our teeth and pretend that we're turning in for the night, but really we'll be feeding and settling the baby around the clock.

Impractical, but cute overalls

I made the mistake of sharing some of these fears with the Early Childhood Health Centre midwife (whose visit is worth its own post). She must have decided that I was suicidal because mental health specialists turned up at my door the next day. They began making appointments for me that I never agreed to attend. When I didn't turn up to these appointments, they visited me again and when I didn't allow them in, they phoned Mickey and left cryptic messages on his voicemail. The madness didn't end until I visited one of their doctors. It's unfortunate that the government's response to my request for help with anxiety only yielded more anxiety and I regretted ever sharing my feelings with this midwife.

What did help was talking to other mommy friends and time, of course. I learned that all of my feelings were completely normal and common though not textbook PND. It turns out that I didn't really need a diagnosis; I just needed time to realize that making the "wrong" decision when caring for your baby won't kill either of you. In fact, it will help you respond to his needs better the next time around. As my friend Meaghan said when I told her I was afraid of nights, "dawn always comes," and she was right.

Lachlan is twelve weeks old now and I grow more confident as a new parent each day. It helps that he grows more settled and more communicative each day. When I first held him the day he was born we were strangers, but with each smile and cuddle I fall deeper in love.