Gwen Stefani nearly killed me

Some days start off normal. Same old routine; get up, feed the twins, change three kids while husband makes breakfast, eat together, husband goes to work, change three shits, clean up breakfast dishes, move all three kids into the bedroom while I shower, chill, morning tea, nap the babies, have a cuppa on the balcony while the big one plays, babies wake up and we're ready for lunch.

Then on a whim I decide to take all three to the local shopping centre to have lunch and a stroll around the shops, a play on the rides and pirate ship, visit the pet shop. 

All hell breaks loose.

While I get ready and by that I mean get our stuff together and scribble on some eye brows and eyeliner, one of the twins decides to howl as loud as possible, fat tears streaming down her cheeks the entire time. The other twin tips over the bucket of toys I just packed up and distributes the neat pile of books I just stacked around the entire lounge room floor. The eldest decides to follow me around so closely she is practically crawling back up into my uterus. I bump and knock her over several times and she still walks around glued to the backs of my knees; giggling every time she lands flat on the floor as I rocket around the house with gusto trying to get ready before I change my mind. I always vow to travel light, but I still need a whole bunch of shit 'just in case'. The day I don't take something with me is the day I need it.

Anyway, I'm finally ready to walk out the door; twins in their capsules, one clipped on to one side of the double pram, the other capsule needs to be carried out; the eldest sitting on the other side of the pram. Got my wallet, phone and lippy (as if I'll reapply) in my back pack on my back. I've packed three water cups, three bibs, three jumpers, a stocked up nappy bag and my house and car keys. No one is naked, me and the big one have shoes on, all have clean nappies, I've peed. I'm sweating profusely by now, I think I've smeared one eye brow, one twin is red faced from her heartfelt meltdown; sniff sniffing so sincerely and broken heartedly, you'd think I'd just flogged her, the other twin is squirming profusely and about to pick up where the other left off. The eldest is calm; well actually she's shocked into silence; I've put her in the pram awkwardly and scraped her arm by accident. She thinks I've done it on purpose; toddlers don't understand apologies for being flustered. But we're out the door. I push the behemoth of a pram with one baby and one toddler out the door while carrying the other baby in the other hand; we're all in the lift to go down to the garage. I park everyone near the door and get the car out of the garage. I put everything in the car. First the toddler, then both capsules, then all my crap (hand bag, phone, nappy bag and sundries), then fold the pram and put it in the boot. It is now 40 minutes since I decided to go out and we are all very hungry.

I am calm when I drive. Everyone is strapped in and safe and I'm in control; the air con is on and my body temperature has stabilised. I'm breathing calmly again. I get to the shops and the car park is full. I want to cry, but instead I drive off trying to think of what else to do. Do I go home or go to the other, duller shopping centre. I drive around the block and think to myself "I can turn this shit around!"

I glimpse my toddler in the back through the rear vision mirror. She's dozing. This used to panic me, but now I welcome it as a resting snooze she will benefit from instead of a sleep that will ruin her for the rest of the day. I drive into the car park again and as I'm entering a car pulls out of a spot so I wack my indicator on with such force I nearly snap the thing off. I park. I rest for a bit, because now I have to get all the shit and kids back out of the car. Only now I have it down to a fine art, everything in reverse. Pram out of the boot, nappy bag and all paraphernalia loaded onto the pram, kids last. Babies out of the capsules and into the pram from either side of the back seat, pull one capsule out and extract the toddler then trap her between the car and my body while I replace the capsule, in case she runs off in the car park. She doesn't ever, I make sure of it. Then I sit her on the handle bars of the pram and sing the song I made up until we are out of the car park. "Hold on to mum and you won't fall off, hold on to mum and you won't fall off..." etc.

Once in the shops she's walking again, she holds my hand and we go to the supermarket to buy the babies some packet food. Of course it is right up the back of the fucking shop. I can't just pop in. I have to maneuver the double pram and the toddler, dodging other shoppers and their trolleys, display shelves and all manner of obstacles to get to the right isle. And then back to the self serve where the pram just fits. I pay and head to the food court. It is now a good hour and a half since I decided to go out and we're starving. No one has died.

I get to the healthy take away shop, order mine and the toddler's sandwiches and a smoothie and chat to another mum with a toddler and baby. She inflates my ego immensely as she considers her own struggles and thinks mine must be so much worse. I assure her they are not. Whether you have one, two, three or sixteen, kids are hard work and sometimes they aren't and you're organised and it's fine. You just do it. Sometimes shit goes smoothly, sometimes it hits the fan.

I find an empty table and park the twins; I leave them momentarily while I fetch a high chair from nearby, taking the toddler with me. We return and I sit her in it and assemble everyone within my reach. I take everything I need out. Wipes, spoon, three cups, three bibs.

We eat. I'm now completely confident and relaxed. The hard shit is over. That's it. Whatever happens from now doesn't matter. We're sitting down and eating, my brain is now functioning optimally and I have this. I banter with the elderly couple sitting near our table. They have twins on both sides of their families, the husband is a twin himself. They didn't have children just in case. They were both terrified. They ask me if there are twins in the family. I tell them apparently yes on my dad's side, but I only found out after I had mine. It wouldn't have stopped me having babies.

I spend the rest of the afternoon strolling around the shops to kill time, letting the toddler play on the rides and play equipment. On a whim I walk to the park at the end of the street, leaving the car in the car park. As we walk we meet twin men, probably in their late 50s. They are besotted with my twins and I with them. They tell me my girls are beautiful and twins are heaps of fun, I add "...and it appears, best friends for life!"

At the park the toddler plays. We meet a young mum with a smaller toddler who my daughter instantly befriends. Her mum and I chat and compare stories, we have a laugh and part company. As I'm leaving the park, a woman with twin boys holds the gate open for me. We exchange meaningful looks. I'm euphoric. I really did turn the shit around today. The babies are tired, but content. The toddler is giggly and obedient. We walk calmly back to the shops and I point out wildlife and chat to her about road safety. I'm feeling very bloody smug.

I buy a giant coffee with hazelnut syrup and re pack the car. I decide to go for a long drive so I can hold onto this feeling of smugness achievement and calm and let the kids all have a sleep. I know they will. All three can't resist sleeping in the car.

As I'm driving home Gwen Stefani comes on the radio....

It's perfect. It epitomises everything I'm feeling in that moment. I don't know all the words, but the ones I do know I sing with enthusiasm and volume. The chorus happens on a particularly bendy and descending road. I nearly lost control, but I turned that shit around.

My Fling with PND

My fling with PND lasted about an hour. I say fling because it wasn’t a full blown relationship. We met, we checked each other out, we had a bit of a pash and then I realised PND was a complete bastard and wanted nothing to do with it, so I dumped it.

When I had my first baby, I was so thrilled that I’d finally conceived after a year of trying and getting really close to intervention, that I literally threw myself into mothering her. I jumped every time she squawked. I leaped out of bed enthusiastically in the middle of the night to feed and soothe her. I prolonged every phase of her development; mostly because I was too inexperienced to read the signs that she needed to change, but also because I indulged in the established routine and was afraid to alter it. With support and information, we got there in the end. She ate solid food and weaned off the breast easily, she slept through the night, she rolled, crawled and walked, she got teeth, she’s talking and she even sits on the loo every now and then and actually goes. Even when I was tired and frustrated and confused though, I was never really depressed. I never felt utter despair. I didn’t feel rage. I wasn’t confused to the point of sobbing. I was content and happy. For the majority of the time it was me and her in the trenches. Her dad at work during the day and during the night, I insisted he sleep so he could function at work the next day, knowing I could rest when she napped.

When the twins came along she was 18 months old. Again we were thrilled to be having not only another baby; a much wanted sibling for her, but two healthy little girls. Our family was going to be full, abundant; something we dreamed of, but weren’t sure we were going to achieve. Despite everyone’s shocked warnings of how busy we would be and the necessary banter about the chaos that would ensue, we were truly excited and thrilled. We weren’t under any illusions that it was going to be easy, but we felt prepared. Raising our first through that first year was still fresh in our minds and we learned a lot. We knew it wouldn’t be the same though. There were two babies at the same time and a toddler who’s nurturing still needed to be observed and progressed milestone by milestone. We were going to become masters of multi tasking, champions of triage, expert jugglers. Well I was mostly, because let’s face it, I’m the primary carer whether I care to admit it or not. Yes I have support; my husband and parents do their best to help me. However, the majority of care giving for all three children at this early stage is my sole responsibility. It was my choice, my preference and I can do it. I do it pretty well. But it’s bloody hard and sometimes, it doesn’t have to be, but it is. Sometimes there are more obstacles and hurdles to jump than there needs to be.  

I first flirted with PND shortly after settling back at home from hospital with the twins. I’d had another caesarean and was in a fair bit of pain, but luckily the hospital sent me home with a small supply of Endone. I have a lot of feelings and rationalisations about both my caesarean birthing experiences. Bottom line is I did not give birth vaginally. I say vaginally not naturally because that implies that it’s a competition between natural and artificial birth simply defined by which part of your body the baby came out of. And people are too shy and uptight to say the word vaginally....vagina. It is so much more complicated than that. Yes, a caesarean operation is medicalised and involves a lot of artificial intervention for want of better words, but vaginal births are rarely without assistance too. I am completely in awe of women who go into labour naturally and give birth without any drugs and no intervention like episiotomy, forceps, vacuums, tearing and no assistance to the baby afterwards either. Heaps of women do it and have done throughout history. More women are aiming for that these days and when everything aligns and there is a perfectly healthy, low risk pregnancy, strong supportive networks around the pregnant woman, intelligent and woman focused midwifery and doula services, progressive medical systems to fall back on, education, money, comfort, time, peace of mind – so many factors; when all those circumstances combine and harmonise, it is definitely more possible and desirable for a completely natural birth to happen. When it doesn’t go completely perfectly, we are lucky enough to live in a country where medical birthing support is available and accessible and whether a woman needs a little help or a lot, her birthing experience can still be positive with the desired end result that everyone aims for; a healthy, safe AND HAPPY mum and baby. I needed a lot of medical support both times. The first time I wasn’t prepared for it, the second time with the twins I was, but still needed more than I thought I would. I was in excellent hands. I was surrounded by incredibly kind and capable people at both hospitals; one was public the other private and I learned a massive lesson; that so many expectations are placed on birthing women, so many false assumptions are promoted and there is a lot of misinformation out there. We as a species are still evolving biologically, emotionally, psychologically and culturally and all these factors contribute to our birthing experience. It is the single most important and profound human experience there is; perpetuation of our species and next to death and physical illness or injury the hardest thing a human will have to endure. Really. What else is harder or more profound? Don’t get me wrong. In saying that, I am not saying that a choice or otherwise not to experience that leaves you lacking; there are other human endeavours that are just as challenging in other ways, but giving birth and raising a child is intense and unique. We need to honour that better as a species and acknowledge what is necessary in a collective way to ensure that the experience has the best possible outcome for everyone. At the moment we don’t do that all the time. This is reflected in so many aspects of society. The administration of medical support to pregnant women to facilitate self determination in their birthing experience, the gender inequality women experience in the workplace and in society generally, how public spaces cater to parents, children and families and how we address issues surrounding depression and mental illness to name a few. We don’t look after our planet either, we don’t look after each other. We need a Revolution. Right now I’m reading Russell Brand’s book by the same name. It says everything I am trying to say so much more concisely. 

So the drugs ran out, I was making sense of my birthing experience; mine and the whole idea of birth generally and at the same time trying to fall into a new routine with two newborns and a toddler. When I say I was thinking about it generally, I was thinking how lucky I was, even though I felt obligated to explain or defend my experience of a very medicalised birth to many people. When you have a caesarean you have to explain what went wrong. It is not how I experienced it. Everything went right. I didn’t die and neither did my babies. I was surrounded by kindness and made comfortable in every possible way and I was surrounded by the love of the closest people in my life at all times. What more did I want? What more did I have to do to demonstrate and prove to people that although I would have liked to have given birth vaginally both times and everything I came across – people and information – preparing me for birth was telling me that was the proper way to do it, I actually had no control over how my body behaved and could only trust that the intervention I received would ensure a good outcome? I thought about women who have none of that. They may give birth vaginally and drug free, euphorically and safely, but they may have no other choice and if something goes wrong, it goes terribly wrong. They may be living in a remote community or in a war zone or a refugee camp. They may have no family or medical experts to cajole them through the pain and terror and have to muster the strength through their own self determination and survive the consequences no matter what happens. I started to think about birth on a global scale and this was magnified with every little experience I confronted. Whenever I found myself lamenting over a particular aspect of my experience, I imagined the alternatives. I found gratitude. I reasoned that it could be worse and how can I make it better for myself and for others. This story helped me immensely.

 

I took the babies and continued to take the toddler to the health clinic for their periodical check ups. At the end you do a little tick a box quiz, which I love and have absolutely no cynicism about how leading they are (eye roll) and I always scored pretty well. I always answered completely honestly, because I am up for the discussion with the nurse and ready to rant about how I feel about the label Post Natal Depression. Again, it’s not that I don’t believe it exists. I am certain it does and that there is a spectrum. However I understand where I’m at on that spectrum and my critical analysis is that you can’t put a woman in a pressure cooker and expect her to remain cool as a cucumber in a crisper all the time. That’s just madness. I always answered the questions truthfully and I especially loved the one about the sense of humour. That is my measure for my state of mind. Can I still laugh at things? Am I still able to find the comedy? The answer is almost always yes. The other good ones are about crying and raging. Do I cry and rage often? Not like the normal amount that is expected when you are elbow deep in shit most days, when you are exhausted from broken sleep and waking through the night sometimes hourly, when your body is being ravaged by breastfeeding and mastitis – I’m on my sixth bout and this time the site of infection was right behind the nipple and one of the twins has teeth…..yep excruciating. When you are alone with three babies most days and you’re doing most of the feeding, lifting, napping (them not me), changing, cleaning, singing, entertaining, routine monitoring, cooking and food preparation, thinking and planning and observing….what do they call that these days? Hypervigilance. 

So at around the babies’ 6 month check, which was really at 8 months because we were delayed after one of them had a minor cleft operation at 4 months; it was at this appointment that I answered truthfully; I hadn’t had a good belly laugh in ages. I cry more than normal – when the babies refuse to sleep, when I am in pain, when I feel unfit and frumpy, when I haven’t got time to write or crochet, when I’m bored of the same three rooms and I despair at a world that is cruel to women and girls and I am raising three. I rage more often than I used to. I nag my husband and my toddler; I pick fights with them and my parents. I get the shits with the general public (OK I did this most of my adult life, but now it’s for different reasons like why are they taking up the pram parking when they don’t have children, why is their trolley abandoned in the middle of the isle, why is the neighbour continually slamming doors or using power tools beneath my bedroom window, why do people have to mow lawns so often, why are people so impolite, rude, indifferent, conceited, incompetent, complacent….why am I so angry all the time.)

The baby health nurse listened to me and validated my feelings. She said everything I was going through was understandable. I’m in the thick of it and she recognised that I am very self aware. I made a commitment to take some time out and go back to looking after my body and mind through yoga. I have now bought a ten class pass and started classes.

When the teacher asked at the first class if there was anything in particular we wanted to address at the session I had to bite my tongue. People said their lower backs and neck hurt, some wanted a good stretch – I wanted to address my deep seeded rage and existential confusion; I didn’t say it out loud. At one part of the class we were lying on our backs and he asked us to take a deep breath and release it with a loud sigh; I fought the urge to scream out MOTHERFUCKER.

It’s a start. I’m trying to do one or two sessions a week and I’m already seeing the benefits. For some people who are experiencing Post Natal Depression it is much more serious and complicated than that. Maybe they don’t have the tools to critically analyse and understand what they are experiencing and only see the symptoms independent of the causes. For me it isn’t like that. I can’t control feeling like crap; crying and getting angry, feeling overwhelmed and confused, feeling lonely and isolated and desperate that everything is bleak and hopeless. But when the moment passes I can make sense of it and I understand that I feel those things not because of something inside me that is dysfunctional or broken, but instead I see it as a very normal response to what I am experiencing being a stay at home mum to three babies under the age of two. I think that if mums didn’t respond with the emotional and psychological behaviours that we associate with depression after making a human or two or more in their bodies, having given birth and being suddenly bombarded with the immense responsibility of taking care of babies; if they were all calm and positive and well groomed and happy all the time; that would be psychotic. That would be dysfunctional and not a normal response to the stimuli. 

For some women, medication is absolutely appropriate. I am afraid to take anti depressants because I think I will like them too much. I recognised something very sinister in myself when the Endone ran out and I faced the prospect of having no more pain killers. I felt a bit like a junky that needed their next fix and was not going to be able to score. I have an indulgent and addictive streak that I need to keep an eye on. I am very good at utilising tools like wine for example, to self medicate and keep me calm. This hasn’t been an option until recently because I don’t like to drink at all while I’m breastfeeding, but the babies have cut back on feeds and I’ve been allowing a glass or two each night and it has made an immense difference. I can get a good buzz on with just a small amount and it is helping me get through the nights. The babies still don’t sleep through and I think the nights are the hardest for people who experience depression. On second thought, the nights are hard on most normal human people who are engaged with the nature of existing and have a mind and emotions. The nights are dark and silent and the self and the mind are alone to dwell and reflect. The self is awake to dance up a storm of despair and uncertainty that the day time can easily mute and hide in the light. If it was legal, I’d smoke a joint once in a while.

I guess my point is this. PND is very real and very debilitating for some women, but it isn’t a flaw in them. It isn’t a condition that is inherent in their nature. It is a response to a situation that will push any normal person to their absolute limit. Women all deal with this pressure differently and we all make choices and sometimes have no control over how we experience pregnancy, child birth and parenting.

I’ll end with one of my favourite quotes. 

Hey thoughtless, don't ruin the park for me!

The only place I can really get to on my own, with twins and a toddler, without someone meeting me at the other end is the park up the road. It’s literally across the street. I can time it to avoid breastfeeding and nappy changes and still get maximum time outside. The babies nap in the pram and the bigger one can have her morning tea and play for at least a couple of hours. I feel safe there. I’m not anxious about taking heaps of time to pack and unpack the car or fulfil the kids’ needs away from home and I know if anything happens I don’t have far to go to be back in the comfort and security of home.

Sometimes though, I come home feeling disappointed and cranky that I even bothered and it’s not because of anything my kids have done. It’s other people. Don’t get me wrong. The majority of the time I meet absolutely beautiful strangers. Mums, sometimes with twins themselves or children close together who understand the chaos my life entails, often connect with me in the moment. We don’t even get each other’s names. We just learn the ages of our children and chat quickly about what we are experiencing most recently. We share a little bit of the anguish we feel, but by instinctively trying to buoy each other’s spirits, end up finding the positivity and humour in our own situations. It’s what keeps me going back to the park. That and watching my toddler roll around in the sand, run in the grass and sunshine, climb, swing and try to befriend other children. She forages for leaves and sticks and collects rocks. She watches insects and points out birds; she lights up when she sees dogs. She giggles at the wonder of smaller children and idolises the older ones; following them around and copying their bravery. 

The disappointment and frustration I feel escapes her. She isn’t aware of what I am aware of. She doesn’t see the flaws and dysfunction like I do. I myself know that these moments are insignificant in the scheme of things and won’t prevent me from going out, but they are important enough for me to think them through and dwell on them. Probably more than I should, but I feel they deserve enough attention to be addressed and to extract some sort of learning from them. At the very least I need to make sense of these incidents within myself so that they don’t bother me next time, because I know I will come across the same stuff again and again.

Some mothers are not friendly. They don’t make eye contact. They don’t return your smiles or acknowledgment. Their children are the same. When my child approaches them, they turn her away or turn away from her. It’s no big deal. You never know what someone is going through or how they are feeling. Their hostility is just my interpretation and for all I know they could be in a world of fatigue, pain, depression, fear, anxiety that I know nothing about. They don’t owe me anything. They don’t have to say hello or smile. They’re not there for me. It would be nice if we could all put aside our personal feelings and experiences when we are out in public so as to connect with other human beings and allow that human interaction to soothe us and to temporarily fulfil us, give us joy and maybe heal our ills, but there is no obligation. It’s an unwritten social contract that a nice community, a civilised society is reliant on people being courteous to each other. 

I can handle being ignored or watching my child being ignored, what irks me is actual hostility. The adults are subtle. They’ll just ignore you, maybe scowl imperceptibly or do inconsiderate things like litter, park their cars selfishly, bump into you, get in your way and pretend they don’t see you, but generally they don’t tell you to fuck off even if they’re thinking it – sometimes they do though. But kids do, they innocently verbalise their discontent. 

The other day my daughter approached two older boys at the park smiling and giggling. She has no fear or shyness about other children. She’s a bit of a busy body. She spends a lot of time alone with just me and her baby sisters because she doesn’t go to kindy yet. She’s only two and she’s quite content at home at this age and while I’m home looking after her, there is no rush to institutionalise her too early, there’ll be plenty of time for her to be out in the world. In my experience, children that do attend day care or some sort of formal establishment with other children, don’t necessarily socialise any better at that age. I’ve found they’re sometimes less willing to engage with others because they get enough of it and want to be left alone at every opportunity. Neither is any more or less right or beneficial in my opinion. She’s the opposite. She wants to know what other kids are up to, what they have and if she can join in. I’m trying to guide her to know how to do this with respect and without being a pest, but she’s two and all she knows is that if there are other kids around, she wants to play with them. As soon as she approached, one of the boys stood up to her, he was taller, bigger and said “No. We don’t want to play with you because you’re a girl.”

My heart skipped a beat. She didn’t flinch. She probably didn’t even understand what he was saying, but to me it was the start of a social script that she was going to internalise. Over and over again, if she hears it enough and feels it enough, she is going to think that she can’t because she is a girl. My feminist brain exploded, but I kept my distance (she was in the sand and I was on the path with the twins in the pram) and didn’t get involved. I watched them continuously turning away from her, walking away, taking their toys and her innocently thinking it was a game and following them. I intervened only by trying to get her attention and diverting it to something else. I led her to another area next to children and a lovely mum who were willing to play with her. It’s not the boys’ fault. They’re babies themselves. Wanting to play uninterrupted, not wanting to share their bikes and having no obligation to do so, but they were unkind and incidentally, there was no one around to correct them and encourage them to be nicer. Their mums were sitting away from them, not paying any attention to them whatsoever, deep in their own conversations. Again, they have every right to….sort of. Maybe they really needed a deep and meaningful. Us mothers rely on our connection with other mothers, but perspective, priorities. Make time and space for those connections to happen, but if you take your kids to the park, maybe supervise their behaviour. Not only for their own safety, but so we can all as parents, encourage our children to play nice. To practice kindness to one another without compromising their own needs or being martyrs. They don’t have to play with each other, they don’t have to share their toys if they don’t want to or if they are busy playing with them. They don’t always have to be inclusive, especially if they are deep in a game and some stranger expects to be included. But be kind. Say kind words. Be conscientious of other people’s feelings. Children need help to do this and if the adults don’t know how or can’t be bothered to negotiate civilised human interaction, what hope do the kids have.

You don’t have to be a helicopter parent to observe children in their play, leave them to their own devices, but at the same time know when to intervene to guide them to be kind and prevent and avoid conflict. It is also ok to make sure your children are safe at the park or out in public generally. It’s ok to demand a safe and secure space for children to play and mothers to occupy without having to compromise that experience to share the space with people who don’t belong there or don’t know how to behave appropriately there. 

I hate it when older kids from the high school up the road come to hang out on the play equipment at the park. They run up the stairs, run down the slide, swing roughly, throw sand or rocks, shout. I know they have a right to go wherever they want, but how about knowing your place. How about showing some respect and maturity and understanding that if there are small children and babies around, it’s not the place to be boisterous and behave like lunatics. You might not only injure a child, you’re being a shitty example and a nuisance.

I also hate it when some adults invade that space inappropriately. I recently confronted an incident and was shot down by most people and while I totally saw their point and knew the risk I was taking, I didn’t give a shit and felt I did the right thing and was happy to look like a bloody idiot, but take the precaution.

I was at the park with a friend. The twins were in the pram and she and I were swinging our toddlers. A man with tripods and camera equipment turned up to the park and asked us, (rhetorically, he wasn’t anticipating us to say no and I wish I had), if we minded if he took some photos of the area. He said he wouldn’t photograph our children directly, but we may be in some of the photos. He was middle aged and well dressed; he looked like an intelligent person. He knew full well that it was something that could be misconstrued or that it may make us uncomfortable, but he didn’t give a shit and he didn’t approach anyone else at the park for permission, just us, tokenistically. I didn’t immediately say yes. I asked him what it was for. He said it was for real estate purposes around the area. I didn’t make a big thing. He didn’t show me any identification and I didn’t quiz him further. I acquiesced. I didn’t have much choice without making a scene. And that’s exactly what he knew would happen. He didn’t give a shit how uncomfortable it made us or how suspicious it looked; he had zero respect for our feelings or the security of that space where mums and kids come to play with some level of privacy and safety. He carried on fulfilling his own needs. 

I gave him the benefit of the doubt and we ignored him. I did openly take my phone out and photographed him just in case and he didn’t seem to care. Later that afternoon I went home to read about a recent incident nearby where a man was caught photographing children suspiciously at a local school. Alarm bells rang and I panicked a bit. So I went to social media where I think you can be as open and expressive as you want and get messages and information out quickly. I knew the risk I was taking, that I was potentially unnecessarily vilifying someone, but I thought it through. My intentions were good. I wanted to put it out there just in case and used closed community groups to do it in. I wasn’t accusing him of anything, I just wanted people to know what happened, to see his picture and maybe identify him and speak for him (nobody that knew him personally did) and to eliminate the possibility that the two incidents were connected and that there was anything sinister going on.

That didn’t happen. What I feared would happen happened. People lost their fucking minds and accused me of being a stalker, a monster, out to destroy an innocent man’s reputation. I argued weakly that it wasn’t what I was trying to do at all and that I just wanted to make sure it was ok. That if he felt ok to photograph us and use the pictures for whatever purpose he wanted that he didn’t mind being identified and discussed by the community. I genuinely did it without any malice at all. I just wanted to make sure. The posts were removed from social media. I was called names. Some people suggested I report it to the police. So I did. 

When I rang the police it was like the woman that answered was expecting my call. If she was a local who was on social media, she probably was. She said they’d send someone around and about half an hour later two cops turned up. One was a hostile looking young woman. She came in thinking I was a trouble maker. She left with a little more sympathy and understanding I think. It was obvious I wasn’t a psychopath. I told her and her partner, a giant of a young man who was very serious, as he should have been, that they would have to follow me around and we couldn’t sit down to talk because I was on a schedule and had two babies I had to get down for their nap. We discussed what happened. I told them to excuse my nervousness, but I was genuinely breathless with anxiety that I had two fully armed police officers in my home and how my toddler would interpret this. Like with most things I fret about affecting her, she was oblivious.

I told them what happened and that I hoped I was making a total idiot of myself and was completely wrong and that I felt that being personally attacked and placing myself in the position of a fool if I was wrong was worth it if I was circulating information that was useful if my suspicions were founded. The male officer said a couple of things to me that made me think that not only was he very young and a little bit socially unaware, he was also a bit naïve. He asked me if the man was bothered when I photographed him back and when I said no, he implied that that was enough to show he wasn’t up to anything. He also said to me that if he was well dressed, he must have been ok too. These two things annoyed me. Just because he didn’t care if I took a photo of him and that he was well dressed didn’t mean a thing. I argued that he knew he was making us uncomfortable. He knew that enough to half heartedly ask for our permission. I mean what did he think it would look like?  A middle aged man, turning up to a playground taking photos of the area around children. If he was doing it for work, why not wait until the playground was empty or cordon off an area. If he needed photos showing high traffic or people frequenting the park, provide those people or by all means use us, but show us some information. Introduce yourself properly, give us your card, make us feel at ease that you aren’t up to anything. Don’t mothers and their kids deserve at least that courtesy? At the very least it’s lazy and unethical, just to save a buck and some time.

  

When I expressed all this to the cops in between wrapping and tucking in my babies and ushering my toddler out to the lounge room I think they saw that it was clear that I didn’t have time for this bullshit. I wasn’t some bored sociopath wanting to start drama or out to get someone. I was genuinely concerned that something untoward had happened. It made me uncomfortable and had I not read about the other incident I would have just lived with my discomfort and carried on.

I don’t regret it and I’d do it again. This time I’d go straight to the cops first, but there is nothing legally to stop me from utilising social media and despite placing myself at the mercy of other people’s indiscriminate abuse, I’d post his photo up again.

It’s hard being a positive and kind person and parent when you are socially aware of the risks society can pose to your children and at the same time knowing the potential there is to raise kind and strong individuals who see the world as a safe and enriching place full of people genuinely wanting to do good things and have positive connections. I know I fret more than I should and that bringing this stuff to my children’s attention risks creating a problem in the first place, one that if I just let things slide they’ll not really notice exists and can just go on being blissfully unaware, but prevention is better than cure and I’m getting involved. I can’t help myself. We should all be engaging. It’s a fine line between naivety and resilience.

Mummying My Way

Looking after three kids under the age of two is hard work. I find it goes in cycles. If I am organised and create rituals and routines for me and the kids to follow, it does make life much more predictable and it definitely contributes to a settled brood and household. It’s impossible to be a clock watcher and it is imperative to have flexibility; anything too fixed and militant is absolutely impossible if not psychosis inducing, but just observing daily markers and chopping up the day into achievable segments minimises chaos. When I say it goes in cycles I mean that sometimes everything is in alignment and those rituals ebb and flow throughout the day flawlessly. Other days it’s Armageddon. It takes commitment too. I can’t just observe routine some of the time; I have to do it most of the time. Not all the time, that’s impossible. I’d never leave the house. However, it helps to do the same thing over and over again. It can become tedious and boring, sometimes I feel like the walls are closing in on me, but it gives the kids security and it works.

We observe daily patterns anyway as ordinary adults; in our workplaces, on our weekends and evenings at home, on holidays. Humans have historically measured and applied repetition, counted and noted events and actions to get us through the hours, days, weeks, months and years.

Generally, the day can be broken down in relation to mealtimes. I guess it has something to do with survival and base instincts and since having children, I have found that mealtimes are my touchstones. We do breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea and dinner. We fit in nap times, play time, nappy changes and toileting, bathing and leisure amongst the moments when we employ self sustenance. 

Even with newborns; especially with newborns, breaking down the day and night into doable parts allows us some control over the unpredictable and helps us to survive the difficult moments. Feeding a newborn is frequent, particularly breastfeeding so maintaining my own daily routine amongst the constant feeding, changing, sleeping pattern of an infant (or in my case, two), not only contributes to my own well-being so that I can care for a helpless human, it assists in maintaining a sense of calm so that when the shit hits the proverbial fan; sometimes literally, because baby shit is often like a fire hose spewing out pumpkin soup; I have the opportunity to leave that segment behind and correct my path during the next one. It is often the hardest when the cycles bleed into each other and one stuff up snowballs into ruining the whole day. I’ve had many moments like this. Whether it be over stimulation from having visitors, or a loud noise waking a baby, or teething, or illness, or an outing – a missed or disturbed nap, a disastrous breastfeed, a poo explosion – all these things can throw me and how I handle it, how tired I am and how much positivity and enthusiasm I can muster can mean the difference between simply getting it right at the next cycle or writing off the entire day to start clean tomorrow like erasing a drawing on an Etch a Sketch. Sometimes I can have a week of crazy, especially when the babies are ill or teething or going through a milestone. Some days I cope with the stuff ups. Some days I lose the plot over the tiniest crack in the system.

It took a while to find my rhythm with my first baby. That’s understandable. Being a first time parent can be daunting, confusing, exhausting; the flip side of course is the equivalent joy, but it’s challenging. You made a human. You have to keep it alive. It has to thrive on so many levels and people expect you to look like you are coping and glowing like all the cultural representations of parenthood that are blatantly shoved down our throats to give us an ideal to measure up to and make us feel guilty and shitty if we fall short. Just google celebrity mums or yummy mummy or some shit; the imagery is hilarious and often for most mothers on a day to day basis, unattainable. However, other mothers still insist on giving me pity face. You know, they look at you like you’re a poor soul struggling, getting it all wrong, because you’re not doing it their way or visibly fitting into the cookie cutter version of what motherhood or parenting is supposed to be according to the sheeple of the world. They’re probably struggling in many ways just as much as I am, but focusing on my failings is comforting to them. Mothers should make a pact to always give each other empathy face rather than pity face. We’re all doing the best we can, given the circumstances. There is no right way or wrong way most of the time. 

And it’s competitive. Once you join that world and you start associating with other parents, it’s game on. Everyone wants to tell you what they did and how they did it and what they read and who they spoke to and what technique they used and what products they bought and blah fucking blah blah blah. I participated with my first baby. I listened intently to every piece of advice that I came across. I figured everything would be helpful whether it was right for me or not and I shared my experiences because I thought the interaction was constructive. I was either getting help and support or I was giving it. However since having twins, I’ve completely surrendered. I’ve decided it’s a waste of energy and it’s an exercise in futility. Who gives a shit honestly? Just let me get through my day with all of us alive and well. And sane. In saying that, I’m writing a blog about how I mother….the irony hasn’t escaped me. I guess we just want validity for what we are doing and rightly so. And you know what? I still believe the dialogue is constructive. So humour me. For the record, I wrote this for myself, but if even one person can relate or gets some ideas or it reinforces what they do by disagreeing with me, then we all win.

I’m still breaking down the day. I’m better at it. I’d be level champion if I’d had one baby the second time around, but I had twins and I’ve had to stomp down on the accelerator pedal with both feet. Actually, I am Grade A+ level champion when I have a good day. It’s not quite double the work, but it’s close and add a toddler to the mix and you have a very busy day if you try to cover all bases all of the time.

So now I not only try to see the day in time slots marked by meal times, I’ve also learned that the most important thing that babies and young children need to thrive; heck I need it too, are three things. Good nutrition, adequate rest, basic hygiene. That’s it. If I aim at achieving these three things I reckon I'll survive the first few years of child rearing and instil some excellent habits in my children that will see them through to prosperous adulthood.

Good nutrition doesn’t mean eating impossibly expensive, difficult to obtain, guilt free, completely devoid of any excitement, fad diet type food or eliminating entire food groups. I don’t understand the obsession with food, I understand passion, but not obsession. To me eating and preparing food can be simple, creative and enjoyable – given you are healthy to begin with and don’t have any adverse reactions to certain foods. Food allergies are very real and certainly debilitating to some people and this can’t be ignored. Otherwise, balance is the key. We eat plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables, lean meat and fish, wholegrain and seeds, dairy and eggs and don’t deny ourselves the sweetest things in life like chocolate. We enjoy beer and wine (I appreciate this the most at the moment because while I breastfeed I abstain). We control our portions. We drink heaps of water and hot drinks often; tea and coffee are the nectar of the universe (I don’t believe in gods). That is not to say that I don’t sometimes fret over where our food is sourced. I have ethical questions too and I limit our consumption of pre-packaged, processed foods and have heaps of questions about sugar and salt and animal by-products (this one haunts me and I’m sure if I were single and childless I’d be vegan), but I must admit I don’t obsess over it. I’m not perfect and I wish I could participate in sustainability more. I stay away from fast food as much as possible, but the only thing I never touch is offal, you know, because IT’S OFFAL! 

I always made baby food for my first and aim to do the same for the twins. Nothing fancy, just introduced vegetables and fruits and stuck with fresh from the beginning. I did give her a couple of those packet meals if I was out, but she was so used to eating our food and my cooking by then that she refused the bland packet stuff. I kept it simple. I mashed sweet veggies like pumpkin, sweet potato and carrots to start. I gave her avocado, banana, apple, pear and blueberry. I gave her baby cereal and cow’s milk by around 10 months. She weaned off the breast by 11 months when I fell pregnant with the twins. Once she was old enough to have more textured stuff, I started blending our own food for her to try. Meat and veg, coarser veggies like broccoli, peas and corn kernels with their skins on, combinations of fruit, leaving it chunkier as time went on and experimenting with what she could handle. I gave her bread and pasta and crackers to gnaw on. As soon as she could I gave her eggs and make sure she has one every other day. She drinks water all day long. I let her try whatever was on my plate if I ate out and when I cooked I was not afraid to flavour food with salt and pepper, curry, stock, herbs and spices and even a bit of heat as in chilli – not too much, just what I can handle, which isn't much. She even eats Thai or pizza (the good healthy versions) if we order out. 

She is an amazing eater, but it wasn’t always without its dramas. If she refused something, I offered something else, but I didn’t give up on that particular food. For example it took many offers of tomato over many months for her to even try it and now she devours them. I employed a little trick I discovered when giving her grapes and mandarin segments. I learned that if I cut them in half before giving them to her she wasn't intimidated by the skin. She tasted the flesh immediately and didn't have to bite through the weird stuff to get to the good stuff. It also goes the other way. She ate baby stick cheese every day for months, then all of a sudden decided she hated it and hasn't touched them since. She prefers grown up cheese now.

I only embraced some aspects of baby lead weaning theory. It's pretty good and backed by research, but I just couldn’t handle the mess. To me, meal times aren’t play time. Yes babies need to touch food and feel their different textures, experience smells and tastes for themselves and no, they aren’t going to sit still and use cutlery like a civilised person from the get go, but I can aim for that can’t I? My instinct was just to aim for getting food into her mouth and belly with a balance between fun and the seriousness of making sure she was actually eating stuff. It felt more natural to build up to solid food from breast milk by not skipping the puree phase. I felt that she needed the mush in between breastfeeding and eating solid food to be able to experience different tastes separately to experiencing textures. I also couldn’t cope with her wearing her food from head to toe. I don’t see the point. I don’t mind her getting messy, but I don’t want her to think that meal times are an opportunity to go nuts either, especially if we were at someone's house or out somewhere. When it’s time to eat it's not time to play, but we can still have games and have fun. I’ll still make faces with her grapes and cheese and tell her that shredded ham around her plate are flower petals and I still feign surprise when the food goes into her mouth off the fork, exclaiming “where’d it go, oh my goodness, it’s gone!!” BLW has some amazing principles, but I didn't follow it to a tea and still reaped some of the benefits. The research and theories behind this practice are incredibly wise and valid, they just weren’t all for me. I took some principles on board, but not all of them and I genuinely respect mothers who go down that path. I might let go a little more with the twins, who knows? 

I recently allowed her to try chocolate. She’d had the baby custards and yoghurts before, but I didn’t want her to eat sweets regularly. At nearly two, she had a couple of chocolate eggs this easter. I didn’t even let her have a cupcake on her first birthday. She didn’t miss anything. I didn’t do a cake smash either – no way, not for me. Maybe on her second birthday she can try a piece of cake.

I’m confident though that she enjoys eating and is willing to try new things; she is curious about food. Meal times aren’t a battle most of the time. We try to sit down together to eat as a family. We have breakfast together before her father goes to work; I often have morning tea and lunch with her. Afternoon tea she has at her leisure, either in front of the tele or at a park or on the balcony. We sit down for dinner together as a family in the evenings. It’s a very important ritual.


I personally feel that the most challenging hurdles to conquer with kids are sleep patterns. Day naps and bedtime are difficult to negotiate because it involves a lot of cue reading and guess work and plenty of consistency whilst at the same time maintaining flexibility. There are so many factors to consider and when I myself am tired and sleep deprived, it is easy to take short cuts and avoid the hard work by looking for quick fixes and instant gratification – and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. The aim is to make sure babies and kids rest when they need it and understand that they do. Giving them the space and security to sleep and helping them when they need it with cuddles and comfort and a relaxing atmosphere can take up a lot of time, but it is necessary. The biggest lesson I learned that helped me to understand when a baby needs to sleep (at least in their first year until they get to just one nap a day) is to always focus on their waking time instead. It’s no good trying to get them to sleep for a certain period of time. I can’t control that. A noise could wake them; they could just wake up or sleep for ages. The only thing I can observe and limit is how long they stay awake for, for their age group. This is a great resource. I swear by it.

My first baby was nursed or rocked to sleep in arms or a pram til she was around 18 months. At 22 months, she still sometimes needs to sit on my lap to fall asleep, especially if we aren’t home. I don’t think it will be any different with the twins except for them being rocked in vessels like the bassinets or the pram because I can’t carry them both at once and I refuse to separate their schedules too much, otherwise I’m bogged down with them all day, perpetually. I’ve never been keen on sleep training. I think it is futile more often than not because children’s needs for security change so often with different milestones and growth spurts. I never let my first child cry much, but it was easier with one. With two it’s a little harder to avoid because one always has to wait for the other at different times. However, I still try to avoid them getting too distressed. My theory is that they need help to fall asleep and I’m happy to oblige. Yes I can teach them to fall asleep by themselves, but I think there is always a level of disassociation that has to take place for that to happen and I don’t think it’s necessary. I’ve never seen anything wrong with comforting a child until they fall asleep and when I get the cues right and they’re tired, it doesn't take them too long. It’s not easy and sometimes it is the most frustrating thing in the world when they refuse to shut their eyes, but consistency and persistence, patience and trial and error reap results; and if they miss a nap, although it can throw out my whole day, it’s not the end of the world (although it feels like it is to me). They’ll catch up.

I maintain loose routines with all three; I’m consistent with what happens before it’s time to sleep while at the same time encouraging flexibility so they can sleep where ever we are when they need to. So whether it’s at home in their beds, the car, the pram or a portacot at someone’s house or on holidays; as long as the sleep happens at around the same times in the cycles of the day and there are familiar things for them to associate with the sleep like a muslin wrap, being swaddled, a favourite toy or if necessary a cuddle from me or dad; they know that when they’re tired they can let go and drift off. It is not always as easy as it sounds and if a nap is missed, so be it, we catch up the next time, but I make the effort to observe it every single day and bed time at night is not negotiable. It’s really important that they rest. It’s important for their physical and emotional well-being and mine. 

For my kids, motion has always been a requirement in the early months to comfort them to sleep. Perhaps I indulged this as an easy way to get the sleep to happen and had I not, then they wouldn’t have needed to be literally physically moved to sleep, but I was more interested in the sleep happening quickly and easily than how to lay them down and make them sleep by themselves. I chose to embrace the rocking of the bassinets by hand, the use of the pram or car or holding them close to me and swaying if it meant the sleep would come asap. It was worth it with my first. She eventually didn’t need it anymore and she is a great sleeper most of the time. My twins are now nearly ready to move from the bassinets to their cots in the elder’s room. I have no idea how we are going to achieve sleep as they are rocked in their bassinets that are on wheels. The cots don’t rock and if I’m alone I can’t hand rock them both at once in my arms. I think the double pram is going to be the best option and then transfer to the cot at night or leave them there for their day naps. My first had day naps in the pram regularly beyond her first birthday. The biggest hurdle is going to be having all three sharing a room and learning to accommodate each other. I envisage many many challenges ahead, but am confident we’ll find a way and they’ll settle eventually. Bottom line is that when kids are tired they will sleep given the opportunity and space to do so. Eventually. Most of the time.  There is nothing more rewarding than watching those sleepy eyes slowly close and stay closed. To say I’m bloody terrified of this next phase is an understatement.


Personal hygiene is a big one for me. I didn’t bath my first baby very often as a newborn; once a week was sufficient. The hospital told me that right after they’re born, the vernix all over their body, that gooey thick white stuff, is really good for their skin and to just let it be absorbed. So we waited til we got the baby home and had a midwife show us what to do on one of her visits. The first time I bathed her, I dunked her face in the water and she cried her heart out. It was far from a relaxing bath. As she got older and we moved her to the big bath and she started walking and playing outside and getting dirty and messy with food and the like, the baths became more frequent. Now it’s like 3 times a week. I’ve never understood where the energy comes from to bath a child every day. My bad because I shower every day. When she’s independently bathing, I’ll encourage her to do the same. I am much more confident with the twins. We bathed them in the hospital. It was helpful that I had a sink that doubled as a baby bath in my room and once we got them home I found that I was eager to get them all fluffy in a bath. One of them hates bathing with a passion; the other one loves it. I do it twice a week. I look forward to chucking them all in the big bath together.

I like to think I keep my kids clean generally though. I wash their faces and hands and feet daily. I have given the eldest a toothbrush to chew on since she was 1. Not a lot of brushing takes place, but we’ve now added some kids’ toothpaste for her to swish around and she’s getting better at it. I just make sure it happens every day. Eventually I’m sure she’ll understand tooth brushing and I’m sure it’s doing her some good having the bristles in her mouth and chewing on them each day.

I get through a lot of wet wipes and not just for nappy changes, which happen very regularly, especially for the babies, after every feed. Particularly if we’ve been handling food or playing outside, hands and faces get a wipe often. Not incessantly, but enough to maintain hygiene. When they’re old enough to reach the sink, they’ll be encouraged to wash their hands. After playing outside, before meals and after meals. This simple ritual escapes many people. I absolutely love washing my hands. I know it sounds weird. I don’t do it obsessively or anything, I just enjoy it. I love the feeling of the cold water in my palms and the aroma of the frothing soap and I just love having clean hands. Add moisturiser and I’m in heaven. The Mor argan oil range is bliss! I've also been known to brush my teeth so enthusiastically that I've injured myself. Once the toothbrush slipped and I stabbed myself in the gums with it, nearly rendering myself toothless.

Don’t get me started on runny noses. I will chase down my kids all day if I have to when they’re unwell, which is rare, to prevent that stream of snot ever reaching their top lip…there is nothing more repulsive to me, let alone watching kids wipe snot into their eyes and having people wonder where their kid got conjunctivitis from. And I will spend an entire morning digging out a booger, even if I heave the whole time. 

If they’re snacking on something messy, you know, banana, any kind of spread on any kind of cracker, it’s nice for them to have that stickiness be temporary. It’s uncomfortable being covered in gunk. Don’t get me wrong. I let my daughter get dirty. I love watching her face covered in food and her trying to lick jam off her nose. She hates having sand on her hands, but will immediately scratch her eyes the moment a grain is on her fingers. I love watching her forget about it and lose herself in play when she starts to appreciate its texture. She loves water play. I don’t care how wet she gets – clothes, hair, whatever. If it brings joy to her, then I’ll deal with it later. But I deal with it. When play time is over, it’s time to get cleaned up and if a bath isn’t on the cards that night then just a change of clothes and a quick do over with a soapy face washer or wet wipe will do. Children want to feel fresh too. Same goes for wearing shoes. Being barefoot feels awesome. Around the house, at the beach or at a park - but I'm cautious. I use a simple rule. If I'm wearing shoes, so are my kids. I know I over worry about stubbed toes, stepping on glass or sharp stones and sticks, hepatitis, salmonella, but I don't think my worries are unfounded and I won't walk around the shops or the streets barefoot so why should they?

The worst possible thing has begun to happen. She’s interested in what’s going on in her nappy when I’m changing her these days. I’ve had to sing songs about putting your hands in the air at that moment because she once grabbed at her poo. I nearly fainted. Of course the dirty hand went straight to her face. I wet wiped her like a woman possessed.

As at the time of writing, I’ve never dealt with food vomit or diarrhea. I hope I don’t jinx myself. I’m very lucky they’ve never been that sick. I dread the day. One of the twins was a real chucker as a newborn. She suffered from terrible reflux and threw up volumes after each feed. Although breast milk spews aren’t that smelly, it still got my goat that I had to change bibs and clothes, both hers and mine (not the bib, I don't wear a bib), so often. She still posits every now and then as does her twin, but it’s manageable. Wet wipes to the rescue. I have an open packet in every room of the house. 

I’m not saying that my way is the only way or even the right way, it’s just my way. In contemplating all of this I've felt conflicted. I don't want to be a helicopter parent, I don't think I am, I try not to be and when I think about all the things I try to consider when raising my children day to day, my attention turns to broader global issues that affect children and how other parents must cope.

How are Aboriginal parents coping whose communities are being closed by our government? What happens to their child rearing routines and customs? The government is claiming they are doing this to save children from abuse, but much of this information is being distorted and statistics the government uses are often mirrored in the broader Australian context, but systematically ignored. 

What about the children locked up in detention at the moment on Nauru? How are their mothers coping in those dismal conditions? I read that "New mothers are forced to queue up for strictly rationed nappies, baby wipes and powdered milk, with staff telling them constantly they will never be resettled in Australia." What does that stress do to them on a daily basis?

What of the children in Syria or Nepal? 

My ramblings seem rather insignificant. 

Bottom line is we should love and nurture all children and aim to make them happy and healthy at all times. Nutritious food, clean water, warmth, rest, hygiene, access to medicine and vaccinations; this is what we should aim to provide ALL children everywhere. If that was the focus of governments and politicians and corporations at all times, instead of profits, power, accumulation of wealth.....Imagine the planet we would live in!