Mummy Meme

From what I can gather, it started here at Her Bad Mother and I've been tagged by the extraordinary Pommy/Aussie blogging Mother Extraordinaire, Baino.

I’m supposed to link to a couple of other 'mum' bloggers, from other countries around the world, and they’ll write their posts, sharing 5 things about being a 'mum', and then they’ll tag a few more bloggers from their own country and from other countries, and so on, yada yada meme meme meme........ And you’re more than welcome to join: just write a post of your own and link back here to the originator of the idea - http://badladies.blogspot.com/2009/03/world-according-to-mom.html and leave a comment. Or something like that.

But. And there's always a 'but' isn't there? But I want to change this to being a parent, because a glance at my favourite blogs shows that some of the most revered and worthy reads are from Dads - Myninjacockle, Franzy, Ashleigh and Tom - with children ranging from zero to their twenties.

1. I found out I was pregnant and publicly announced it at my 30th birthday party which was a shindig held in our back garden on Melbourne Cup Day in Melbourne. It felt like the city was having a day off just for me. Everyone got drunk, sunburned and obscenely full bellies from the day-long brunch whilst I hid under the tarpaulin-draped Hill’s hoist and sensibly slurped Passiona.

Other pregnancy foods that got a real hammering included salt-n-vinegar chips (which are usually avoided by me), cheese twisties, icy cold milk, chocolate (as if I needed a growing being inside of me to provide the reason), bacon sandwiches, oranges, tomatoes and biscuits. Yes, I gained far more weight than just Sapphire and fluids but remained overwhelmingly proud of the fact that I could wear and do up my own lace up shoes right up until the due date.

2. Sapphire was born at the Women’s and Children’s Hospital in Carlton on Sunday 23rd May 1999 at 2pm, a mere 29 hours after my labour pains began at a dinner party on the Friday night. Memories are scattered but the image of Love Chunks leaning over me, struggling to maintain eye contact as he ran alongside the gurney as the doctors were rushing me into the operating theatre was admirable, especially seeing as he was crying and wearing a shower cap thingy on his head at the time.

Our baby eventually emerged without the need for a caesarean and was a uniquely purple colour for a few minutes. Even now, the entire birth experience still visits me sometimes in dreams, as do other even less-pleasant ones of me rushing to catch her from falling from a great height - this is particularly frightening as I was never a sports hero when it came to catching or throwing, but I have found myself actually acting out the movement and wake up shivering, on the carpet, hands outstretched.

3. She was a brilliant baby who started sleeping through the night from four weeks and seeing that I couldn’t breastfeed (due to medication to keep my brain tumour in check), Love Chunks got to share those duties and bond with her extremely well. So as much as I'd like to do that all-knowing nod of sympathy to exhausted new parents and say, 'Yeah, we've been there' re the torture of sleep-deprivation, I really can't.

However - and this is written knowing that it is barely a substitute but at least it's an effort - more than once we were subjected to spectacular displays of projectile vomiting with absolutely no warning beforehand. Thankfully our dog at the time – Tess the insanely protective blue heeler – rushed in and eagerly lapped it up and I was too tired and relieved to feel revolted.

3. 5 Sapphire was a born helper. Cooking, car cleaning, dog-washing, bed-making, sticky-tape applying, you name it. Her curiosity was quirky and insatiable and she still finds pictures and shapes in the way that wood knots are in the fence, via papers are scattered on the floor or through oil spots in the driveway. I discovered that Creme of Tartar was a necessary shopping item as we went through oodles of bright blue homemade playdough and that clean margarine lids, yoghurt tubs and tissue boxes make wonderful animals, doll houses, presents and party favours. I found crudely drawn and cut-out love hearts in my laptop bag, wallet and briefcase which seemed pretty poignant from a four year old.

4. Rushing back to full time work when she was only nine months old and wondering why - about six years later - I was burned out, exhausted, unfunny, joyless and resentful made me assess some of my priorities. Plus, I had six new teeth inserted THREE times to thank for excessive night time grinding and clenching as just one aspect of the physical decline I went through.

The best decision I made as a so-called grown up and mother was to no longer be the parent who waited for the doors to open so that I could drop Sapphire off at before-school care at 7am in order to be at my desk by 7:30am. Also, I dropped the overtly fake ‘good mum behaviour’ of leaving work ‘early’ at 5:00pm in order to then rush home and work frantically at my second job as ‘mother’ for three or so hours before putting Sapphire to bed and opening my laptop for more office work until 10:30pm.

Waiting for my child at the school gate is one of the most important jobs I've ever done. Even now, at age nine and easily embarrassed, my beautiful daughter is as glad to see Milly's wagging tail and my goofy face waiting as we are honoured to be there. Few free things in life are as enjoyable as walking hand-in-hand down the street with your kid, listening to her stories of the day and laughing along with her. Such a privilege.

5. Now, it's Sing Star double competitions, rabbit cuddling and sipping our weak cups of green together as we watch ‘The Biggest Loser’. She used to tease me when I cried over the contestants’ sad stories, but now cuddles in closer as we watch avidly and urge them on to happiness and size Medium/Large.

On camping trips and weekends away with friends, I hardly see her. As the reliably boring person she relies on most during the normal days, I’m required only to holler out when meals are ready, to find her lost toothbrush and to surreptitiously check her itchy scalp for nits. To compensate, I give her more kisses when she's tucked up fast asleep than usual. She woke up recently and muttered, “Dad said I should be glad that you’ve got Milly and now I know why – you’d drive me even more nuts with the kissing and hugging if we didn’t have a dog.”

Anyone can have a go but the Mums I tag are:
Simply Natural

Deep Kick Girl

Listen no longer in Silence
Blakkat

Third Cat

PoetSquib

Naomi

Blogger on the cast iron balcony

Jabberwocky

And RIVER. Even though you're a commenter, not a blogger, you're an honorary one.

Dazzling Dads chosen to participate have already been mentioned. C'mon, get those photos out, get all misty eyed and get to work on a meme!

What a Palaver

Esteemed blogging buddy Baino has recently done a Letter Meme (hers was ten things starting with M) and, I couldn't help it, but asked - yes asked, instead of politely waiting to be 'tagged' - for a letter. My only excuse is that well, I needed an excuse to write about something other than the bushfires: far better people are doing that and doing it much better than me. Donate, shop at the right stores (like Coles) and give blood when they ask you to.

In the meantime instead of telling me to Piss off she gave me the letter P.

Punch - A well-timed punch saved my life. At least I think it did. It was way back in 1991 and I was quitting my nanny job with relief and taking a mini-cab to a job interview in Finchley during the January snowstorms. Like the naive nincompoop Aussie backpacker I was, I sat in the front alongside the driver, chatting inanely about only having been in London for two weeks; how I wasn't sure where Kingsgate Avenue was and what sort of adventures I hoped to have. It was nearly 4pm and already pitch black. The driver muttered something about being lost and pulled into a side street. For once, my internal-alert-system switched on, stopped my chatter and, when he reached over to grab at my chest, I punched him one right in the face. BAM! He was clutching his nose in pain, screaming as I leapt out of the car into the snow. ...... Wouldn't you know it, but Kingsgate Avenue was right around the corner, so I took a deep breath, walked up to their front door for my interview and got the job. Nervous shaking and crying occurred a day or two after that when the enormity of my stupidity and lucky escape sank in.

Parachute - I did a solo parachute jump as my 21st birthday present to myself. I was newly single, still trying to come to grips with the utter let down and disappointing misery of working as a graduate trainee loans officer during the 1989 interest rates of 17.5% and needed to do something fun and pointless. None of my friends were game enough to join me, but Dad turned up to the Goolwa airport to see me nervously climb aboard a very small plane. At 2500 metres, when indicated by the instructor, I climbed out of the open door, put my right foot on the tiny rubber landing wheel as I reached for the wing strut, hang limply for a few moments before throwing my arms back wide as if in joy instead of terror as I dropped towards the earth. The beautifully-reassuring flappity-flap sound of the chute opening above me was something that returns to me still and the view below was amazing. I steered myself using the left and right toggles that hung from strings and landed on my feet. Dad, by this stage, had taken a range of photos to document the jump but still needed to lean up against the hangar until he felt the queasiness disappear.

Paint. In my last year of high school, I wanted to be an artist. A painter in particular. Of the five subjects that needed to be completed for matriculation, art was where I put at least 95% of my time and energies. I was probably the best drawer of my year, but realised during the interviews for Fine Arts that I'd be one of dozens who'd study for three years, turn into weirdly-dressed alterna-zombies with less chance of finding paid work than a paedophile at a petting zoo. I ended up choosing to study English, history and psychology instead with almost (but not quite) the same outcome I'd predicted for painting.

Parent. My hardest job ever. It is scary, puzzling, worrying and often prevents a decent night's sleep from occurring and yet still makes me smile when I realise that 'Mum' is another title that sounds a helluva lot better than Mrs Lockett or 'Hey Lady'. It came as a complete surprise that it was possible for me to be one (ask the Endocrinology Department at the Royal Melbourne Hospital), and not a day goes past where I don't look at Sapphire and wonder, "How in the hell did something as beautiful as she come about?" It even makes listening to her play her full, screechy repertoire on her brand new viola - when a migraine was fearfully looming last night - worth it.

Plump - I run and am pretty fit for an old gal (my resting heart beat is 60 and I can do 8 kilometres in forty minutes) but my body certainly doesn't resemble that of a runner. No, mine has the padding earned from daily chocolate inhalation, sitting on my arse at the computer for most of the day and (usually) eating more chocolate in the evenings in front of the telly with Love Chunks. If it wasn't for running and power walking I'd resemble a Lindt Ball wearing Crocs. This has an unintended bonus for any person I happen to stand next to at barbeques or outdoor parties. Mosquitoes are immediately attracted to my sweet, soft flesh and leave all of the other guests alone.

Potential - We all have it, regardless of our age. In my own case, I reckon I still haven't quite worked out what I want to be when I grow up and am now - after a few years of struggle, self-doubt, false starts and stress - am at least learning enjoying the discoveries made along the way.

Photography - My camera isn't fancy or new and I've never done a class or a course, but my trusty Canon is always with me. Yesterday for instance, I earned a few curious glances as I snapped at intriguing graffiti in the Bourke Street Mall, Wellington Street and when staring up at the Housing Commission block nearest our house wondering just what that pale blue squiggly thing was that sits on up on the very top of it. Despite this, I always end up kicking myself for neglecting to take photos of friends and family during social and fun occasions- either competely forgetting to or not wanting to 'ruin the moment' by asking everyone to stop what they're doing and smile.

Persecute - This is one form of human behaviour that I particularly despise. Persecution, domineering, bullying, oppression, torment: whatever you want to call it, it is the lowest form of behaviour for someone in power or a higher position to stoop to doing to someone who relies on them for work, assurance, security or a future. I will do my damnedest to stop it from happening from now on - no longer will I be that nervous teenager feeling afraid that the bullies will move to her, or the anxious co-worker too afraid of the boss's wrath so that it prevents me from sticking up for others. No-one deserves to feel worthless, frightened or as though they deserve it. No-one. And for those who have persecuted others - Karma will come, be sure of it.

Pilgrimage - Really this is just another word for travel in my book. After being thisclose to living in Geneva, the idea of travelling around Europe with Love Chunks and Sapphire for company would be a wish come true. As would a lenghty sojourn in various Asian countries, a fun-packed, kid-friendly trip to California and Hawaii or spending Christmas in New York with a nice juicy credit card. Not to mention Canada, Japan, the South Island of New Zealand and to finally get off my butt and find out what's in Canberra to see....

Pepper - On everything. Even in dark chocolate (especially good with lemon and/or salt to enhance the flavours). All I ask is that restaurants give up trying to stinge on the black stuff and leave the friggin' grinder on the table for us customers to use when and as often as we want. I mean come on - how many of us are going to try and walk out of a cafe with a wooden grinder the size of a pine tree shoved in our pockets?

So many other Ps to mention - my Partner Love Chunks, Patting Milly the dog and Skipper the rabbit; occasionally acting Pompous; avidly reading Paperbacks; receiving Praise when least expected; finding Presents for people that I know (or at least hope) they'll love; eating Portions of foods (especially evening meals) that are far too large; having mostly Peasant tastes; being too Pale for the Australian sun and yet feeling so Privileged to live here.