21 Apr 2016


Molly is now a week old.  I don't know why but I can't continue to call her Baby Beet like I did with the Mushroom.  It just feels weird and a bit wrong.  So Molly it is.

Anyway, since coming home from the hospital, my poor first born has been acting out.

He's been naughty at bedtime, won't settle, won't eat dinner, yelling and answering back, poos in pants, hitting and kicking me.. you name it, he's doing it.

Of course this was expected.

But you feel so fucking guilty.

I can't pick him up and cuddle him.

I can't get down on the floor and play with him.

To make matters worse, I keep yelling at him to stop being so rough with me as he barrels into me at full speed and he's the same height as my scar.  He then starts hitting me on purpose because he's angry and frustrated.

Yesterday he tried to get up on the couch for a cuddle whilst I was breastfeeding and it was just too sore.  He was wriggling around, squashing me, squashing Molly.  I sucked it up and held out for as long as I could.

In the mornings, I've been trying to have one on one time with him while he has breakfast but now he doesn't want a bar of me.

All day long I now hear: "No Mummy, Daddy do it."

I feel bloody shitful about it.  So guilty, so torn. Tonight, tonight I felt like crying.

Every night, Juffin reads Mushroom stories and then I go in and sit with him until he goes to sleep. Some may think this is excessive at his age but it works and I'm only in there for 10 or 15 minutes and it's nice to have a little yak with him before he nods off to sleep.

So tonight, he said no Mum, I don't want you to sit with me, I want Daddy to sit with me.

Cue Jessica heartbreak.

I know we're all adjusting, it's hard.  But I just want my happy boy back and then I feel guilty for having another child all over again. Hooray for baby blues!

Bugalugs in his new seat!

18 Apr 2016


So SHE'S here!

SHE!  I have a daughter, and good God, what AN EXPERIENCE!

Just a warning, this post isn't particularly funny, or good.  I just had to get it out.  And I probably don't really want to talk about it much again for a while.

I think I knew that something was up on Tuesday.  In the morning I lost most of my mucus plug.  It wasn't bloody, or nasty, just lots of clear discharge (god I fucking hate that word!) and there was lots of it.  I had a midwife appointment and refused a stretch and sweep as had a feeling baby would be here by the end of the week.

On the way home I stopped in at Coles and bought some chilli tuna.  I just really felt like tuna pasta and we'd had mac and cheese the night before so thought why not add the chilli?  Can't hurt.

I felt puffy, and tired.  And to be honest I was scared.  I didn't really believe that I could do the whole labour thing again, not really.  I took this photo and posted to facebook, because I can't help but share my whole life online, and then lay down to have a sleep.

The boys got home around 5 and we had chilli con carne for dinner, yep, more chilli.  I put Max to bed and attempted to go to bed early.  I'd been up half the night on Monday baking as I couldn't sleep, so I was well over tired and we had Captain Active in the morning.  

At some point over the course of the evening, I started getting mild contractions.  Nothing consistent, just a lot of tightening with no rhyme and reason.  This was probably around 9.30 - 10pm.  I tried to get comfortable and go to sleep but couldn't.  I tossed and turned for a while and then really couldn't ignore the fact that I was probably in pre-labour.  I'd also emptied my bowels about three times, which is surefire sign.  I think I was just in denial. 

Things ramped up after midnight.  I downloaded an app and started timing the contractions.  I told Juffin to get some sleep, but not sure that he was able to as I was huffing and puffing my way through each contraction now.  I was most comfortable bent over the bed rotating my hips but it was feeling at lot scarier and hurting a lot more than I had with Mushroom. 

I decided to hang the washing out.

Yes, you read that right, I hung out washing. 

I then got back to the bedroom and decided to get back into the shower.  I lit my vanilla candle and moaned and groaned my way through another half hour of contractions. 

I got out.  Did more hip rotations and bed hugging. I went and packed Mushroom's bag for my Mum's place.

I got back in the shower and woke Juffin up properly in the process, and he started timing for me as I was feeling really bloody awful at this point.  When I got out, there was blood on my towel and I was feeling increasingly scared.  The pain was so intense.  So much worse than I remembered with Mushroom.  I didn't feel like I could go on. 

I called my Mum and Justin had to speak.  She said to come to her place with Mushroom and as she lives around the corner from the hospital, and we thought this was a good idea.  I just didn't want to wait any longer as didn't want my son to see me screaming in pain, which wasn't far away. 

I called my midwife and she said she would see us after they assessed us at Birth Suite but good luck!  

Juffin put our bags in the car, and packed up the rest of Max's thing and put him in the car.  I put some clothes on and stumbled out the door.  This part had been total agony when I had laboured with Mushroom so I wasn't looking forward to the drive.  Especially trying to keep it together for my owl eyed son in the back seat who was looking pretty scared and worried.  I tried to keep it together for the drive and the drop off but he was close to tears when we left Mum's place.  So was I if I'm honest.  

I made Juffin park so we could walk in.  I just wanted to keep mobile. I think it was the longest carpark walk in history and being 3am we got a really good carpark.  When we got to birth suite to be assessed, I heard the worst words in the World.  

You're only 1cm. 

1 fucking centimetre.  The little confidence that I had left crumbled.  I burst into tears.  I couldn't fucking believe it.  Where had I gone so wrong?  

They laid it down for me, we could go home, or continue to labour there but my midwife wouldn't be coming in until I was 5cm.  Baby was posterior, so obviously immeasurably painful, but we could stay if we wanted to.  There was no way I was leaving and doing that drive again.  I looked at Justin and he spoke for me, we're not leaving. 

I took the meds they offered, panadol, then turned the lights off and wandered back and forth and commenced more bed hugging.  Despite having music ready, I didn't want to listen to anything.  I just wanted to focus on my breathing.  And trying not to die.  

Here is where I'll say that my man is fucking amazing.  He supported me.  He held me.  He wiped my sweat away.  He whispered encouraging words into my ear for hours.  He is truly the best and there is no way on earth that I could have done any of this without him.  

The birth suite midwife came back in and encouraged me to use the shower.  I was so hot and uncomfortable so this seemed like a bad idea but Juffin thought I should so he set it all up for me.  

The pain was coming thick and fast now, and not just in my back, but all over.  So much pressure.  I can't even describe it properly.  Words fail.  I felt like my entire insides were inside a vice and I was being squished and squashed at the same time.  It was beyond awful. 

By this stage I was screaming. Like actually screaming.  Like an enraged animal. 

The birth suite midwife came back and said let's have a look so I stumbled out of the shower and put my dress back on. 

Laying on your back during posterior labour and contracting is the worst thing ever.  I mean, aside from being in labour and baby being posterior anyway... fark me. 

Huzzah, grand news, I am over 5cm!  But FARK, still only halfway!  

I start crying all over again and tell Juffin for the millionth time that I cannot do this. 

The midwife then strongly suggested some morphine as clearly not coping at all.  She calls my midwife to make her way in and then comes back with a fetal scalp monitor, advises that she'll also break my waters and administer the injection. I start sucking on gas.  

Only five centimetres.  Only five centimetres. I just can't stop dwelling on how bad it is.  

I can't even talk.  I can't think of anything except that white hot pain.  I start thinking that something is very wrong. I feel like pushing.  Already.  And I shouldn't be feeling like that should I?  I mean who the fuck knows what people are supposed to be feeling during labour?  How can pain be the same for two people?  I've been told that I must have a high pain threshold as I had an ectopic pregnancy and barely broke a sweat, however, I am screaming and dying a thousand deaths with every contraction. 

This is where things get very fucking real, very fucking fast. 

Juffin is gripping my hand as I scream through another contraction and we hear our babies heartbeat falter and dip off.  

I start freaking out.  The two midwives are not happy.  An Obstetrician appears. As does the heartbeat but it's not consistent.  

Obstetrician is like, right, you need a caesarean.  Now.  

I am crying.  Juffin is whitefaced.  

Another contraction and the heartbeat does the same thing, except it doesn't seem to come back.  

Panic stations.  In less than 3 minutes they manage to get a catheter and a cannula in me at the same time.  I sign something.  Juffin is gripping my hand as I scream down the hallway to the operating theatre.  They take Juffin away to put some scrubs on and he whispers in my ear how much he loves me. 

I am screaming in the operating theatre table that I don't want a general.  I just want a spinal, please no general.  The anaesthetist says of course we can do a spinal, but then there's lots of talking in the background and I'm screaming my way through another contraction and there's no time for a spinal.  The anaesthetist apologises to me and says it's not possible, there's just no time, we have to get the baby out.  I am bawling my eyes out and screaming and terrified.  A mask is put on my face and I feel like I'm going to die.  And then nothing. 

I wake up and see people wandering around in the recovery room. A wonderful male nurse looks at me and says welcome back.  I pull the mask off my face and try to speak.  Where's my baby, where's my baby?  What happened to my baby?  

Another nurse says she's doing just fine.  And it takes me a moment to register.  She.  We have a baby girl?  A girl?! I ask if she's ok, is she ok, please tell me she's ok.  Yes, she's ok. She's doing just fine.  

Two beautiful angel nurses give me the details.  Baby girl was born at 7.04am, it's now about 8.45am, she had to be resuscitated and is now being monitored in NICU for low blood sugar.  She was 2891gms (6p 6oz) and 47.5cm long. 

I have a daughter.  

Like a magical unicorn Juffin appears before me.  I am crying.  Again.  He says that Molly is beautiful. 

Molly.  I am still stuck on Violet or Greta but Juffin just says wait until you see her.  

We have a baby girl.  Neither of us can quite believe it. 

My midwife appears and apologises for missing the whole thing but obviously things went a little pear shaped, no shit! 

She explains that she was able to express some colostrum whilst I was in recovery and Juffin approved this and she hopes that this is ok.  

Am I concerned that someone pumped my breasts whilst I was unconscious?  No!  My baby didn't need to have formula as a result and whilst hardly the same as breastfeeding, it did help us along the way to breastfeed. 

And then she's there.  And she is Molly. She latches straight away and we're together and I love her.  


I haven't thought about the birth since.  I'm trying not to.  I don't want to think about how close we came to losing her.  What if I had gone home to continue labour? What if they weren't able to revive her?  Why don't babies like coming out of my vjayjay?  

I'm sore, that much is true.  The bruising on my scar is a testament to how quickly they tried to get her out of me.  

But we're breastfeeding.  We're both healthy and well and in one piece.  

And I'm never, ever, EVER, doing that again!!  

So introducing Molly Lynette.  My beautiful daughter. 

My girl likes to make an entrance!  

11 Apr 2016


I have a serious case of the Monday's today.

Last night I stayed up watching Heston Blumenthal, because I love him, then having existential conversations with Juffin about Interstellar and who put the tessaract inside the wormhole for Coop to find... seriously.  Watch Interstellar.  I've seen it 5 times now and I still don't get it but McConaughey is the best in it.

Anyway, stayed up far too late then decided to eat a bowl of chocolate mousse and leftover roast beef at midnight before yelling at Juffin to go to bed.

On Saturday night I was up half the night with braxton hicks and I honestly thought I was going into labour. Mushroom came into our bed at some point and commenced Operation Kick Mum's Butt so that combined with less than 5 hours sleep last night has made me one tired and cranky Mama.

I've also had a sore throat and a cough for four days and my motivation has gone out the window.  My head is killing me and I coughed so much earlier that a little pee came out.  Yep.  I pissed myself.  
This morning we all slept in until nearly 8am and it was frantic mad dash to get to the pool for swimming lessons at 9.  I didn't even have a shower.  As I was dashing around trying to get shit sorted, I decided that instead of laying around here we should play at the pool for a couple of hours so started shoving stuff into a bag. Poor toddler is being neglected by my laziness.

When we came home I literally lay down for two minutes and managed to pass out for an hour.  Of course during this time the Mushroom raided the fridge and ate all the lollies that he could find.  He then promptly shat his pants.  First time in a week.

Monday can get f'ed.

Could I get any bigger?!

7 Apr 2016


According to my calculations, I'm 39 weeks tomorrow.

According to scans, midwife and GP, I'm 38+4 tomorrow.

Honestly, a difference of 3 days! How can that be a thing? Who cares?!

Today I had my midwife appointment and Baby Beet is engaged. Not engaged to be married, engaged to my pelvis.

And still posterior.

Stupid baby.

4/5 engaged either means that the head is only 1 fifth in or 4 out of 5 fifths in.  I looked it up and Google confused the crap out of me.  I'm heavily pregnant and rubbish at maths but what we can take from this is that baby is head down and right up in there.

Then lovely midwife said so it could be any day now and I literally nearly shit my pants.

Huh?! What?! ANY DAY NOW? Are you kidding me?  I'm not ready! I thought I had a week, maybe two.  I literally can't do this! I need 15 more years to prepare!!

After having a mini meltdown and delivering some cupcakes that I made earlier, I then spent the afternoon and evening in various flattering positions which involved me putting my knees on the floor and my arse to the sky so baby will stop being a douche and turn around.

Bum up on bed

Face down on ball

I have also put the last few items like nappies in the hospital bag, and it now looks like I'm going overseas for many months.

Sadly I am not going overseas for many months.  I'm attempting to push a baby out of my vagina again and I have no idea why. As for the contents of the bag, it's all essential. I promise. And there's mine and baby's stuff in there.

Whatever, I don't have to explain myself to you!

So I guess this is it. Now that we're thinking it's happening soon I'll bet you a zillion dollars that nothing will.

6 Apr 2016


I've probably jinxed myself by writing about this now but here goes.

The Mushroom has gone off the rails a little bit lately with his toilet training.  Yes.  He is still training at 3.5 years old.  I have no answers.  I'm not a bloody magical unicorn parent.  It's taken time and patience and lots and lots of pairs of jocks but I think we might just be getting there.

Let me be clear, it's not the weeing.  It's the pooping. We have been in jocks for a LONG time.  Long.  One day he just decided that he didn't want to wear nappies anymore and jocks were the way forward.  Great, massive sign of readiness is telling me that you are ready!  The potty worked well, the seat worked well, everything was working really well until it isn't.

And then it is.

And then it's not.

And then it is.

And then it's not.

I have no idea.

It was great.  For months.  Sure we'd have the odd accident but nothing major.  Nothing stinky.  None of this stand right in front of me and do your business rubbish.

At some point in the last 10 weeks, my darling son decided to shit his pants every morning instead of going to the toilet.  Pee is one thing, shit, on the other hand, is quite another.

I googled, I talked to friends, I spoke to daycare staff.. No idea, maybe because baby is coming?!  Common theme however is to remain calm, don't react, don't get angry, don't make a big deal out of it.

Yeah righto!  How do you not react when you have a three year old laughing in your face about his yucky poo bum (insert fart noise here)?!

It's quite difficult.  I'm not the calmest person.  Or the most patient either. In fact, pretty sure I'm a terrible mother, but having to clean up shit every fucking morning for weeks on end really does get to you.  Baby shit I can deal with.  Proper shit is just that, proper fucking shit.

Enter star chart.  And reward system.  And bribing child with lollies and chocolate.  And lo and behold, it works!

We have had limited success but if we give him a sweet treat, every time he poos in the toilet, it works.

No, I don't think that feeding toddlers sugar in the morning is a great idea.

No, I don't agree that rewarding toddlers with food is a great idea either.

No, I don't know how we will continue this into the future.

No, I don't really care what you think.

Here is my son eating his mango tango ice-cream today after reaching 10 stars on his star chart. That's some good pooping.

As another Mummy friend says, whose son has only just started going to the toilet to poo after being petrified of doing so, let's #prayforpoo and hope that our sons remain 'poo confident'.

The phrase 'Poo confident' did actually come out of a three year old's mouth.  You can't make that shit up.


1 Apr 2016


38 weeks today and the countdown is officially on as I started Maternity Leave this week.

So what have I achieved in my week I hear you ask?   And no, I did not just vegetate and watch endless hours of Netflix.  I was surprisingly productive, and I'd say that I was pretty damn awesome! My weekly achieved task list looks something like this: 
  • Stripped and sanitised all of the Mushroom's old nappies so they're ready to go. 
  • Washed, hung, brought in, folded and PUT AWAY washing, EVERY. SINGLE, DAY!  I cannot even close my underwear drawers properly because they are so freaking full!! 
  • Cleaned all the skirting boards in the house. 
  • Wiped down the walls in the lounge room, bedroom, hallway and living.  
  • Had stellar house inspection with new property manager.  
  • Cleaned out bathroom. 
  • Threw out all old make-up, sorted towels and sheets, and set up clothes shelf for baby.  
  • Watched Suits Season 4 (it was only 10 episodes and I'm feeling pretty fucking ripped off). This was on whilst wall wiping and skirting board cleaning was going on!    
  • Packed hospital bag for myself and Baby Beet.  
  • Shopped and purchased new bath mat for the Mushroom so he can start having showers in his own bathroom again. 
  • Sourced and bought snappis for the flat nappies online. 
  • Scored bulk bargains at Big W on clothes for myself. 
  • Pre- baby waxing done... And no, I did not go to Brazil again.  Once was enough!  
  • Weekly midwife appointment. 
  • Purchased last minute baby attire and breastfeeding friendly crop tops for myself.  
  • Organised and had plumber attend residence to fix busted ensuite toilet and leaky taps.  Hooray for only having to stumble 1 metre to pee in the middle of the night instead of 5!  
  • Painted nails three times - blue, orange and now 'barely there'. Yes, that's a colour. 
I know, I know, I'm totally awesome and amazing.  I must say, that I do feel pretty proud of myself.  I'm a serial procrastinator so to even achieve half of this shit in three days is pretty stupendous of me!  

Of course the Mushroom was at daycare for two of those days and my MIL for one, so you know, it's kinda cheating.  He drops back to one daycare day as of next week.  I'm actually a bit nervous about how I'm going to keep him entertained.  I'm not very good at this stay at home Mum thing but I'm sure we'll muddle through.  I am hoping to start cooking up a storm next week and fill the freezer and he loves helping in the kitchen so fingers crossed he'll enjoy that.  He still spends Tuesday's with his grandmother and we will keep that to keep it consistent for him, and then continue at Kindy on Thursday's... I feel bad taking him out when he loves it so much but money don't grow on trees and there's no reason why he can't be home with me so we can drive each other batshit crazy!  

Anyway... 38 weeks.  Fark me! Is it normal to start freaking out a little bit?  

Last day selfie - look at that grimace!