As I grow...

Do you remember the scene in Sleeping Beauty when the fairies bestow their 'gifts' on the not-yet-doomed baby princess? Gifts like beauty, wit, grace and song? Those are all nice things, I'm sure. But at Christmas, my brother and sister-in-law gave Madeleine a beautifully-illustrated book called Amazing Babes, and inside it are the kinds of gifts I would like the fairies to give my princess.

Gifts like heart. And commitment. And conviction.

Bravery. Dedication. Curiosity.

And more.

The book celebrates inspirational women from around the world. Women who changed the world they lived in. Women like human-rights activist Aung San Suu Kyi, author and early feminist Miles Franklin, peace activist Leymah Gbowee, and passionate artist Frida Kahlo.

"As I grow," it begins, "I want..."

Since there were no fairies present at either Madeleine's or Harry's births (that I know of), I will have to do my best to foster these 'gifts' in my children myself. It might be time to visit Nanna.

Love multiplied

I have been writing this post for a long time, in my head. In the shower, mostly, because there just hasn't been time to sit down at the computer before now, and sometimes during the small, dark hours of the night while I nurse the hungry miracle in my arms and try to keep my head from nodding forward onto my chest. I have been struggling to come to terms with the great, weighty bundle of hormone-laden emotions that settled like wet cement over my head and shoulders the night Harry was born.

They are not all bad emotions. Not even close. There is wonder, all over again, despite the chaos. The second child misses out on all those months of pregnancy during which you stop and think "Oh my goodness, there is something alive in me!" because most of the time you are too busy running around after the first child to even remember you are pregnant. (Seriously, more than once I stopped in the street and thought "Gee my stomach is upset" before I remembered I was pregnant and that was the baby kicking.) But when you push and sweat and strain and sob and laugh that child into Planet Earth and life itself, and you hold him on your chest and he looks you smack bang in the eyes with his own big blue eyes that are so much like his father's, well, there is no emotion other than WOW. Wow, which is shorthand for love and pride and wonder.

But strange to say there is grief as well, and guilt over the grief.

Let's visit Day Two of Harry's little life. The perfume of hothouse lilies is heavy in the air of our hospital room and as my perfect boy sleeps blissfully, peacefully, arms above his head and tiny fingers curled into tiny little fists, I hold my still-swollen belly and sob. I am grieving the loss of my other baby, my baby girl who, it seemed, got big the instant Harry was born. I mourn the loss of our special little twosome, that exclusive team we built and nurtured between ourselves during the past 18 months. We will never be this tight little unit again, me and Madeleine, and already I miss her.

The next morning when Madeleine comes to visit us in the hospital, she positively bounces through the door, gloriously resilient. All my fears of her being jealous of her little brother, or anxious and confused at the absence of her mother, dissipate. Madeleine's internal world is healthy and well, while mine spirals into sadness and guilt.

Guilt because of course the emotion of grief is phenomenally unfair on Harry. Harry was wanted, longed for, dreamed of, and is and will be joyously celebrated. He is so quiet, sleeping beside me in that lonely hospital room. Unaware, thankfully, that his mother is quietly weeping into her pillow.

About a month before Harry was born my friend Ingrid sent me a cartoon of a mother with a hoard of little children around her legs. Another woman asked, "How do you divide your love among so many?" And the mother replied "I don't divide my love, it multiplies." I held on to that concept. How beautiful it was! Love, multiplied! And it did a lot to allay the fears I had secretly nurtured: "How will it ever be possible to love anyone as much as I love Madeleine?"

The night Harry was born I learned the truth of that cartoon. MY CHILD. MY OWN LITTLE MAN. Instantly, my love doubled. Just like that. It was so easy to love him, with his little old man Grandpa Smurf face and his snub nose and the way he loved nothing more to snuggle right under my chin.

Back to me in the hospital the next day. I'm physically depleted. I'm drenched in hormones. I'm in love with my new son. I'm grieving the loss of one-on-one time with Madeleine. I'm feeling guilty about the grief I have over Madeleine, on behalf of Harry, who deserves not only my love but my joy. So there is grief causing guilt and guilt feeding grief. There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza. It's exhausting! The nurses call it Day Three Blues. In my case, it lasted about three weeks.

A few days after we get home from hospital, Mr B minds Harry for an hour while Madeleine and I go up to a cafe by ourselves for a drink and a little bit of cake. It's a bit of a big deal. We brush our hair and I put on lip gloss. She cuddles on my lap and we share a vanilla slice, and I simply cannot stop smelling the top of her head and kissing her. We laugh, take selfies, sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. That hour is a tonic. When we return home I am in tears again, but they are happy tears, and I gather my boy into my arms and smell the too-delicious top of his head and kiss him, too.

The December days steamroll into Christmas and New Year and guests in our home every day and nights of nursing and hiccups and back-patting and floor-pacing, and somewhere, amid the yawns and tears and presents and feasts, Madeleine and I inch our way back to our very special us while Harry and I begin to build our own unique and beautiful us.

Then one summer's afternoon, Madeleine toddles over to a sleeping Harry and rests her cheek on his, smiling. And just like that, we are the family I had always wanted to be. We are the "love multiplied" family. Turns out we always had been.

The hormones remain. The sleep deprivation continues. I still have no idea how to keep both of my children happy in practical terms, especially at meal and bath times. But that will come, with time. And in that moment as Madeleine holds her little brother gently in her arms, my grief and guilt melt away.

Harry

Our sweet little boy Harry was born last Friday, and already my heart has doubled. He has a duck-down fuzz of hair covering his little head, and a scrunched-up, little-old-man expression that just melts me. (Everyone who knows Mr B says, "Now we know what you will look like when you're 90). Harry came into the world so quickly, and in such calm, that we barely had time to adjust. I went from five centimetres dilated to 10 in half an hour, and there was only another half-hour from the time they said "start pushing" to the time he was in my arms. In between pushing, I was laughing! Mostly from delirium: we'd been so busy this year that I'd hardly had a moment in my pregnancy to come to terms with what that meant. Maybe I'd been sub-consciously relying on a drawn-out delivery to get my head around what was happening to our lives.

It almost felt unfair to Harry. As if something as momentous as his birth should be accompanied by more build-up, more drama, more fanfare, than slightly hysterical giggles and a few big pushes. But before I knew it there he was, head and shoulders, and the midwives were saying, "You pull him out." And I thought "You must be joking" but it wasn't the moment to split hairs so I did as I was told, and the next moment he was snuggled onto my chest, pink and perfect with barely a whimper.

Madeleine, by contrast, had entered the world like a tempest. She cost me every last ounce of energy I had inside me to bring her to us, and months of pain in the aftermath (though I know others have had it far worse), and she was NOT happy about this birth gig. Eyes wide open, bottom lip protruding, she bawled her dissatisfaction at everyone in the room. And she has been stormy ever since, frequently swinging from delight to despair and back again in the space of a minute.

I've barely heard Harry cry yet, though only time will tell if that's his temperament or just an adjustment period. The most he has given me so far is a squeaky kind of grizzle, one that's easily fixed by milk or a cuddle (or both).

And that is where both my children are the same: they love to snuggle. Don't all babies? But it is just the BEST THING for a mother to feel her babies go calm as soon as they are in her arms, to smell their perfect little heads, to breathe in and fill her soul with love.

To anticipate life with Madeleine AND Harry in it... well, I know it's a cliche but I'm pretty sure that makes me just about the luckiest person in the whole world.

Sunday sunshine

Cicadas and dandelion fields, pine-scented humidity. The first day of summer was hot and sunny and blue-of-skies, and exactly the way the first day of summer should be. It was hunting for Christmas trees and swishing flies and knobbly bare knees and little girls who smelled of sunscreen. There is a seasonal energy in the air. Summer! Christmas! Holidays! I keep getting all excited about the season and then I remember that before Christmas rolls around, I have something a lot bigger to get excited about: Baby B, ready to greet us in a matter of days. And that thought makes Christmas preparations seem incongruous. Instead of putting up decorations I should be folding teeny-tiny little jumpsuits.

Then I look at Madeleine and think "I can't wait to spend Christmas with my two babies," and the excitement builds all over again.

Name trends

Well we made it. It's baby week! That is to say, little Baby B is due to be born THIS WEEK. On Friday, to be precise. If not before. I haven't divulged it online, but we already know the gender. AND we have already picked out a name. Could it be David or Jennifer? If so, our little bubs would be in good company. Did you see those "most popular names by State" maps doing the rounds of the Internet a little while back? Watching the maps evolve, I found it fascinating to watch name trends start small and spread across the entire USA.

The maps are based on Social Security Administration data. They were then developed by the folks behind the website Jezebel, who said:

Baby naming generally follows a consistent cycle: A name springs up in some region of the U.S.—"Ashley" in the South, "Emily" in the Northeast—sweeps over the country, and falls out of favor nearly as quickly. The big exception to these baby booms and busts is "Jennifer", which absolutely dominates America for a decade-and-a-half. 

And this is interesting, and a bit sad: in 1964, in the wake of JFK's assassination, "John" was the most popular name for boys in eleven states and was very nearly the most popular name in the country, just 0.15% behind Michael.

Here are the maps:

Watch this: Six Decades of the Most Popular Names for Girls

And this: Six Decades of the Most Popular Names for Boys

Madeleine's diary

8am: Wow slept in today. Super hungry, think I'll need extra Weetbix for breakfast. Horrible discovery! Slept so late I missed Peppa Pig! Parents say she will be on again tonight but can they be trusted? 8.30am: Nan! Pa! They arrived last night on a surprise visit and here they are again with coffees for Mummy and Dad. Think I will drag them by the hand into the lounge room so they can watch me dance to the radio. With the dog.

9am: World has ended. Mummy is having a shower and getting dressed instead of watching me dance. Think I will cry until Dad entertains me with little movies of myself on his iPhone. I am GREAT to watch in action. The camera loves me.

9.30am: The car has stopped. Where are we? The children's farm? Hooray! I LOVE the children's farm!

9.32am: I don't like the children's farm. A chicken stole my snack and pecked my finger.

9.45am: Why won't the adults shut up about the peacock? Who cares? Haven't they seen my chicken?

10am: Why do the adults keep going on about milking the cow. Who cares? Haven't they seen the cat?

10.15am: That goat got too close.

10.25am: I got this one. Quack! Quack! QUACK!

10.30am: Nan going on and on about geese and guinea pigs. Had to pull her away so she would pay proper attention to the cat.

10.45am: Woah. That's not Peppa Pig.

11.30am: Lunch time. I want banana! Yay banana! Yuck, banana. Will spit it out. I want yoghurt! Yay yoghurt! Nope, will push that away. Can I play with the lid? Think I want banana. Oh there it is in the dirt at my feet, I'll just grab it. WHY CAN'T I HAVE MY BANANA? Apple juice! Yay! Actually think I will just put my hands in the cup instead. Raisin toast yay! Blech. There are raisins in this toast. Has Mummy got a milkshake?

12.30pm: Riding home in the car. Sun filtering through the window. Light breeze in my hair. Got my Peppa Pig toy in my fist. Ahhh, so restful.

12.31pm: WHY! WHY! Why do they keep waking me up? What's with the "not yet"?

12.45pm: We are home, and they want to put me in my cot. NO WAY! I'm not even tired! ARGH I hate this I don't want to sleep let me outta he--- zzzzzzzz.

3.45pm: Aaah, that was refreshing. Think I will call out for Mummy. Hello? That's not Mummy, that's Nan. Mummy? Nan says she is out shopping. Dad? Nan says he is out shopping too. Pa? Apparently he is out shopping too! What is this? Think I will cry. Oh wait, Nan is here. Yay! And my dog. And my cat. Let's play!

4pm: Dad and Mummy and Pa are home and they brought a balloon with them. I LOVE BALLOONS! Let's all kiss and run and laugh.

4.30pm: Have just pushed my toy stroller with my baby doll all the way up to the Travelling Samovar's sunny courtyard for iced tea. Ate all of Mummy's flourless chocolate cake so she ordered another one for herself. Ate that too.

4.34pm: SUGAR HIGH! Excuse me while I run amok for a while.

5pm: Home just in time for Peppa Pig. Must stand transfixed in front of the television.

6.15pm: Just ate two pieces of cheese on toast, a bowl of corn and peas, and some orange. Feeling a bit funny. Not sure how well my dinner is mixing with the two chocolate cakes.

6.45pm: That was a fun bath. Threw the rubber ducks around, splashed Dad with soapy water, stuck funny animal figures onto the wet tiles. Warm and dry now, Dad's about to get me dressed. Can't decide whether to cry about this or not.

6.46pm: Hold that thought. Having trouble holding my cheesy toast, vegetables, orange and two chocolate cakes down.

6.47pm: FWURRRRP.

6.50pm: Dad has me back in the shower. Not feeling great. Not smelling great. Why is he washing my hair? NOOOOOO, no water on my head Dad. You should know that!

7pm: Not happy and still not feeling great, but getting lots of good attention from Mummy and Dad. Think I will get Mummy to read me an extra bedtime story tonight. The one about the green sheep. No Mummy, I definitely don't want my bottle of milk. Just give me a good, long cuddle. Aaah. I love you too.

7.10pm: What? No! I'm not tired! I don't want to go to bed! Just keep cuddling me. Oh no, she's putting me in the cot. NOT THE COT! I don't want to be here. I'm not even tir-- zzzzzzzz.

Update (2 Dec): outtake photos from this diary entry, including rather unflattering ones of massively pregnant Yours Truly, are now on my Facebook page

These precious days

This little girl. She is a champion. We have put her through so much change lately, and she has tackled it all with grace and cuddles and laughter and trust. Every morning, she and I sit side by side on the little step outside her room that leads into the bathroom, and brush our teeth in tandem.

When we go for walks, she cannot pass a particular daisy bush a block or so from our house without picking a flower, which she then gives to me.

Little hands reach up for me and big, blue eyes beseech. When I lift her into my arms, she lovingly pats and strokes my shoulder, just as if I am the one needing comfort and reassurance, and she is the old soul. Which is frequently true.

She can push her baby doll in her toy pram for six blocks, even with hills. She likes to paint with a brush in each hand. She drinks unsweetened herbal tea. Balloons and bubbles are pronounced the same way: “Baloobaloobaloo!” Not to be confused with flower, which is pronounced “Faloolooloo!”

When you ask her what sound a dog makes, she sticks her tongue out and pants. Cats make a sound kind of like a siren (which, if you’d met our cat, you’d know is annoyingly accurate). Ducks say “quack” with gusto but, then, apparently all birds say “quack.”

After breakfast this morning Madeleine figured out how to climb onto the old chair where the dog likes to sleep, and rested her head on his belly with glee. The poor puppy will never know peace again.

When her dad and I kiss, she grins and pushes our faces into each other to make us kiss again. (At other times she tries to make me kiss other people, which can be socially awkward, like that time she tried to make me pash the owner of a local café. I’m not kidding. He was disconcerted to say the least.)

Madeleine is learning to sleep in her own cot instead of our bed, and she is doing incredibly well. She is getting so much more sleep and is so much happier during the day, it warms my heart to know I’ve been brave enough and tough enough to give her this gift. Because it is HARD, and I really miss her snuggles at night.

When she wakes up in the morning we tell her we are so proud that she slept in her cot, and she gets to pick one (colourful, puffy, glitter) sticker and put it on the “Hooray for Madeleine” poster that I made for her door. She loves this, carefully choosing a sticker each day and placing it on the poster all by herself.

First thing in the morning and last thing in the evening she likes to sit on my lap in an arm chair and just relax. She reaches her arm up behind her and gently strokes my hair. Then she turns around and wraps both arms tightly around my neck, planting big sloppy kisses on my face with an open mouth.

I love her so intensely. I am really looking forward to seeing her become a big sister, and to knowing this love all over again with little Baby B2. But these precious days of just me and Madeleine. Oh, I am the luckiest mama in the world.

A simple Saturday

This day happened a few weekends ago but I am so far behind on this blog it's amazing we're still in the same season at all. This day was a warm spring Saturday and it started out as I'm sure many Saturdays do for families all over the world, with a trip to Ikea. But when we arrived at Victoria Gardens we discovered Ikea didn't open for another hour, so we stopped for mall coffee (mall coffee! Why can they never get it right?!?) then took a wander through all the other homewares shops, looking for inspiration for our new house. Somewhere during the course of that hour, Madeleine managed to take BOTH of her shoes off and toss them away so, while Mr B went and got a haircut, I spent another 20 minutes retracing our steps and asking in all the stores if anyone had found one or two teeny, tiny neon-orange plastic sandals.

We made it to Ikea five minutes before opening time and, seriously, it was like the start of a race up there! Hoards of families and pregnant couples milled around the entrance with barely-concealed anticipation, before SIRENS sounded (I kid you not!) to signal the imminent opening of the store. Next minute we were off and running and following those bossy floor-arrows as though our lives depended on it. Time gets all warpy in Ikea so I don't know how long we were in there but, when we finally emerged, it was time to get on with the 'real' day.

Madeleine was as grizzly as only she can get when more than an hour overdue for a nap. So While Mr B took the car back home and organised our purchases, I pushed the pram all the way from Little Audrey to Carlton Gardens, where we were meeting up with our friend Tonia to check out the Finders Keepers Markets in the Royal Exhibition Buildings. Madeleine was asleep before I'd made it half a block. During that walk the day transitioned from freezing to positively balmy, and by the time we'd all met up at the markets we were starving and ready for a late al fresco lunch.

A quick walk through the park and a spot of illicit flower-picking (by Madeleine), across the road to Lygon Street, and we hit up our favourite dumpling central. I've always enjoyed dumplings, but both my pregnancies have sent me into dumpling overload. I dream about those babies! Afterward Mr B ordered Madeleine a baby iced chocolate to go (I knowwwww), and it was HUGE, but that didn't stop her going absolutely to town on it. By the time we got home she was soaking wet and coated in chocolate milk from head to toe.

Mr B and I disagreed on her need to change but I won that round so, a quick wardrobe adjustment later, we joined up with more friends and all headed up to the Travelling Samovar for iced tea and a second spot of illicit flower-picking (again by Madeleine) in their pretty little courtyard. (The courtyard is also pictured at the top of this post from a separate visit, because I couldn't resist showing my little gardening angel and Oliver the dog, so happy about his invitation to the tea party). Nobody was hungry for dinner that night.

And there you have it. A simple Saturday.

1000 steps

Have I told you? Mr B is going to China in a week's time. He and Madeleine's biggest sister Meg will join a team of others walking the Great Wall of China to raise funds for cancer services. Pretty amazing huh? I'm so proud, Mr B and Meg have already raised almost $12,000 to support this cause! When they're done walking, Emily will join them for a little holiday in Beijing. Madeleine and Baby B2 and I will keep the home fires burning, unfortunately not yet in our new house (although we may move just before they get home. Eek!).

So a little while ago Mr B and some of his charity-walk teammates met up for a bit of a training session on the 1000 Steps Kokoda Track Memorial Walk, in the Dandenong Ranges.

For my non-Aussie friends, the Kokoda Track (actually in Papua New Guinea) is the very famous site of a WWII battle in 1942. It is considered one of the most significant battles fought by Australians during that war and, tragically, more than 600 died in that jungle, and another 1000 and more were wounded. The walk in the Dandenong Ranges commemorates the courage, endurance, mateship and sacrifice that characterised that battle.

Once again, Madeleine and I kept the home fires burning while the others walked, since being pregnant with a back injury doesn't lend itself to carrying a 10 kilo child up several kilometres of stairs, especially at "training speed."

These are some photos we took while exploring around the entrance to the walk. Apparently it's very beautiful once you're inside!

Sisters

Just popping in to say hi, and share this beautiful photograph of Madeleine with her big sister Emily. Em got home from Italy two days ago and Madeleine was ALL OVER HER when she arrived in Melbourne today, insisting on holding her hand the entire afternoon. It was just the loveliest thing. Loads of stories and photos to share with you from the past couple of weeks, I'll get to them eventually! Hope you're having a beautiful week.