Taking stock: September 2015.

So, I'm going to try to get some structure and consistency happening here. My goal is to 'take stock' at the end of each month. Unless I forget. Then it'll be when I remember and have time. 

It's been a quiet month or so really. We've had several bouts of sicknesses, nothing serious. And many sleepless nights, which I consider to be very serious. 

My lovely parents came and visited us last week (even though it's really my turn to visit them – I couldn't face a three-hour car trip each way with a screaming toddler). They timed it perfectly to give us the love needed to help me and Little Red get over our respective bugs and sleeplessness. Parenting definitely gives you a new appreciation and love for your own parents.

We also spent some nice time with my boy's family, and his folks babysat while we had a hot date night. Hot date nights are fine in theory, but Little Red always seems to know... and decided to stay up most of the night crying, then wake early to start her day. 

I've also been:

• Making: The most of quiet time while Little Red naps.
• Cooking: Banana and coconut cake. 
• Drinking: Peppermint tea. Green tea. White tea. My favourite dandy chai. The odd whisky... (In other news, I have evidence that proves Little Red is related to me. She can now say 'tea', and loves drinking it. I think it makes her feel grown up and special. I think tea makes us all feel a little that way, actually. She is also obsessed with visiting the veggie garden each morning and eating snow peas straight off the vine. Case closed.)
• Reading: This Charming Man (I don’t rate it so far. Most sentences in the first part lack several things that my keen Editor’s eye considers to be vital, like subjects and objects. It grates. Even worse, I find the narrative in my head taking on the same literary 'quirk'. Annoying. I’ll have to visit my local library for another book this week in my continued attempt to avoid reading Buddhism for mothers of young children. Any excuse to visit the library, really).
• Wanting: Someone else to do all of the work around the house that the cleaner doesn't. I would love a holiday from being a mum/home owner/home occupier. Being a grown up is tiring!
• Looking: At the leaves sprouting on bare branches around the garden – nature amazes me.
• Playing: On swings at the park. Little Red is obsessed with swings. It takes me back to when I was a little girl and spent hours after school and on weekends on the swings. There is something quite therapeutic about swinging back and forth, staring at the sky.
• Deciding: Where to stay on our Christmas holiday… still.
• Wishing: I didn’t have to go to work tomorrow.
• Enjoying: The lovely sunny spring day.
• Waiting: For our Christmas holiday. Two and a half months and counting – yay!
• Liking: That I’ll be in the city for the next two weeks for work. I’m predicting it’ll be a massive pain organising us to get out the door earlier, but I’ll be sharing an office with a good friend of mine (I’m usually on my lonesome) and can indulge in healthyish vegan raw treats in schmancy city cafes (you don’t get those out in the sticks where my usual workday occurs). I might even hit my boy up for a lunch date or two now he's city based.
• Wondering: How my gorgeous friend copes with three little kidlets – twin boys (six months old) and a girl (almost 2.5 years old). We had a lovely play date in a nearby park this morning. She’s a (very patient and loving) star. So is her husband.
• Loving: That Little Red has slept through the past few nights. Recently it's been like having a newborn baby again, with her – and me – up all hours. Actually, it’s been worse than when she was newborn. Add to that various sicknesses and possible teething. Remind me why people have kids again?
• Pondering: Whether or not to buy a new fridge, and how much longer our old fridge will last (it's got to be at least 20 years old now, and like most ladies of a certain age, is starting to leak). 
• Considering: My career options/desires. Whether or not to have more cake. (The important things in life.) 
• Buying: New bathers. Basic black to hide a multitude of (usually chocolate-related) sins.
• Watching:
 800 words. A quirky new Australian drama. It’s nice and light-hearted. Have you been paying attention? is still also getting serious air time. I just watched The Age of Adeline. It's a nice girly film, although the ending was a little weak.
• Hoping: Little Red warms to eating more solid ‘solid’ food soon. 
• Marvelling: At how just a year and a bit ago, Little Red was a mini, immobile blob, and now she's literally running around the house by herself, constantly carrying, doing, wanting and saying (that is, yelling) things. The poor cats.
• Cringing: At The Bachelor/Bachelorette. My boy loves those shows. They make me want to throw something very heavy and sharp at the television. 
• Needing: A massage. 
• Questioning: Our ‘need’ for so much stuff.
• Smelling: Jasmine and wisteria.
• Wearing: Purple and white happy pants featuring elephants, a black singlet top and light orange cardi. Fashion 101 starts here.
• Following: This ex-serviceman/Afghanistan veteran and his dog Trigger's big walk around Australia to raise awareness and money for post traumatic stress disorder. Go him! 
• Noticing: How quickly time is passing. 
• Knowing: How very, very, very lucky we are. We have safety, security, abundant food, clean running water, electricity, gas, warmth, cooling, beds, gardens, jobs, good free healthcare, travel, friends, family, love. The veritable works. There are so many other people who aren’t as blessed. Especially those fleeing Syria, who are putting it all on the line.
• Thinking: I need to start ticking more things off my 'To do' list. 
• Admiring: The lovely gardens in my area at the moment (especially mine). There are so many gorgeous flowers out, the grass is lush green, the bushes and trees are thickening, the bees are buzzing, the air is full of different floral perfumes. It's like a Monet painting, but sharper and more fragrant.
• Sorting: Out my tax. Better late than never.
• Getting: More sleep – yay! 
• Bookmarking: This awesome interview Marie Forleo did with Elizabeth Gilbert (of Eat, pray, love fame).
• Coveting: Nil.
• Disliking: Yappy dogs.
• Opening: Little Red’s first passport – it’s pretty adorable. As a side, she just pipped me at the post for how old she was when she got her first passport. I was almost a year older than her when I got my first passport, or technically joined mum on hers. Red also beat her dad by about 20 years.
• Giggling: At the two big, fat ducks that just landed most unceremoniously on the deck roof. The roof is clear, so I can see the shape of their big webbed feet waddling along above me. They’re moving to the edge, surveying the landscape, wondering where to go for their next snack. Hopefully it’s into my veggie patch and they sort the snails out.
• Feeling: A bit sore – I’ve hurt my back. Woe is me!
• Snacking: See 'Cooking' above – Banana and coconut cake. It's totally addictive. Especially with almond butter and (sugar-free) cherry jam. I may be responsible for eating no less than half of it to date.
• Helping: My work colleague interview people to fill a vacancy in his team. No matter which side of the fence you're on in an interview, it's always a bit icky. But more so for the person being interviewed, of course. I sit there for the half hour sending the interviewee peace and love, hoping it telepathically takes some of the edge off.   
• Hearing: The next door neighbours’ inlaws’ dog yapping. Non. Stop. (Peace and love. Peace and love. Peace and love.)

Same same, but different (or how having a kid is like getting another cat).

Lots of people without kids have pets, who they lovingly refer to as their fur babies. I have two fur babies and one relatively furless baby (well, toddler now). And I’ve come to the conclusion that there really isn’t that much difference between them.

When we were contemplating getting pregnant, my boy and I talked endlessly about the pros and cons of it, and whether or not it was for us. (Of course, at that stage, we had NO IDEA what was really involved in being parents.)

To try to get me to think more favourably about pushing an infant the size of a watermelon out of my vagina and essentially having it hanging off me and my boobs for a year (or more in my case), vomit, snot, sleepless nights and dirty nappies (and pants and tops and bibs), he’d say that babies were just like cats, but with less fur. I thought about this for a little while and figured if that were true, I could probably manage one.

When I was pregnant about two seconds later (and freaking out a little about what lay ahead), I talked with my mum about it. Now, my mum had four kids. Three were born very close together, and I was born quite some years later. She also had very little support – or interest in parenting at the start (her priorities were more aligned with travel, gardening and work, like mine). Being in her mid 70s today, she’s probably seen (and/or done) it all. I think this makes her a bit of an expert.

Mum listened patiently to me trying to rationalize parenthood, as I talked myself in and out of it. Then in an attempt to reassure myself, I said, “Well, really, when you think about it, babies are just like cats, but with less fur. That and you just have to feed them more often.”

Mum went quiet for a few seconds. (I could tell she was thinking about how to reply without upsetting me – me, full of new pregnancy hormones and panic.) Then she said bluntly, “Well, not really darling.”

I’ve been thinking about this again recently. And as much as I hate to admit it, mum was mostly right (again). Mainly because of the sheer amount of work involved in looking after a baby (and all the extra work around the house and family and friend commitments they bring) versus a cat (or two).

But… I’ve also found some pretty convincing similarities between having cats and kids. Here are my top five.

1.     Sleep deprivation.

We like sleeping with our cats, but soon learned the only way to try to get a night of unbroken sleep was to ban them from the bedroom.

Bella is a bed hog. She snuggles right up to you, then pushes you out of the way so she has more room (she is very, very strong). You’re left balancing precariously on the edge of the bed with no doona. That or she sleeps on your face.

Indi keeps to her corner of the bed, but will randomly come up to pat you on the face to check if you’re still asleep. Then once she wakes you up, she’ll jump up onto the sink in the ensuite and wait for you to turn the tap on so she can have a drink of water. (She has access to two full water bowls in the kitchen at all times.)

Of course, closing the door on them doesn’t guarantee they won’t wake us up by running around the house, fighting with each other or the neighbours’ cats through the window, or banging on or trying to open our bedroom door. When all of this fails to stir us, they sometimes sit outside our bedroom and meow pitifully for what seems like hours.

When Little Red isn’t sick or teething, she usually sleeps through the night, occasionally half waking us up with a grizzle or groan, or a few minutes of crying before putting herself back to sleep. If all is well, I get up maybe once or twice a week to resettle her when she’s standing up crying because she’s too sleepily confused to lie back down herself.

However, to get to this point, we had to bring in the big guns – a sleep consultant. Until then, I was sometimes up with Little Red several times a night, for anywhere from one to five hour stretches. And when it all got too much, I’d pop her into bed with me and feed her to sleep (it’s hard to cry with a boob in your mouth). I’d wake to her taking up two-thirds of the bed, me huddled on the edge, my legs and arms aching or numb from not moving as they formed a U around her, and a milk-and drool-soaked sheet beneath me. Happy times.

2. What goes in, must come out (part 1).

Nappies and kitty litter. Without too much detail, they’re both pretty gross.

The main difference is you need to change nappies more often. And thankfully, our cats very rarely ‘leak’.

(PS What they say is true – you do talk about poo A LOT when you’re a parent. Especially when you’re a new parent.)

3. What goes in, must come out (part 2).   

Little Red isn’t such a big spewer these days. In fact, the last time she kind of vomited was from crying too much on the way up to visit my parents a couple of months ago (that car ride was a joy). But when she was tiny, it was spew city in our house (and out of it). The couches, cushions, carpet, car seat, stroller, bedding, and us and our clothes all featured regurgitated milk highlights. What I could throw into the washing machine, went into the washing machine. What I couldn’t, got one of two treatments: a proper clean with soapy water/stain remover, or a quick rub with a cloth (or in the case of the carpet, my socked foot). The extent of cleaning usually depended on volume, shade, surface affected and the amount of sleep I’d had the night before (see point 1).

Cat vomit is so much harder to clean up. It usually consists of fur, the last thing they ate, and something unidentifiable, often green, likely from the garden. Bella has the most delicate stomach of our two cats, regurgitating God knows what a couple of times a week on average, usually on the couch or carpet (90% of the time), in Indi’s bowl (5% of the time), or tiles or wooden floor (5% of the time). This is where I tell you that carpet accounts for about 10% of our total floor covering. Thank goodness for Scotchguard, because no quick rub with any sock will fix cat vomit (not that I’ve tried).

4. The red dot.

You can give yourself cats and kids hours of fun with a laser pointer. As long as you don’t shine it in their eyes, I’m sure it’s perfectly legal (just don’t let Customs inspectors find one in your suitcase or I hear they’ll confiscate it, even when you assure them it's for your cats).

Our cats are generally pretty lazy, but whip out a laser pointer and they’ll happily chase it until they’re puffed (which is in about five minutes). It didn’t take Bella too long to realise that I was in control of the red dot, but she still succumbs to its elusiveness.

Purely by accident (well, kind of), we discovered that Little Red is also quite partial to chasing the red dot across the floor. She hasn’t quite worked out why she can’t pick it up, but like Bella, knows that its source is the little pen in my hand.

  

5. Kisses and cuddles (AKA Love hurts).

There’s a lot of love in our house. It’s quite nice, really. While Indi tends to be a little restrained with her affections, Bella is without doubt THE MOST affectionate, loving and clingy cat I have lived with. She demands to be on you (or at the very least, leaning on you), and snuggles right in and doesn’t stop until she gets your undivided attention. She is very liberal with her kisses and will give them on demand. Some people might refer to them as Liverpool or Glasgow kisses. They leave bruises if you’re not careful.

Bella isn’t too fearful of Little Red, and sometimes gives her ‘kisses’ too (although is intuitively much more gentle with her than with us). Little Red also likes ‘kissing’ Bella, and will do so on demand. It’s pretty cute to see them butt heads.

Little Red is just as affectionate with us. The problem being that most of the time she kisses us in the same way that she kisses Bella. With her forehead. Hard. 

Raised by cats? Maybe in part. (Don't tell social services.)

The long overdue apology.

Over the past month or so, Channel 7 here in Melbourne has been heartily promoting its upcoming Peter Allen biopic. I’m actually quite looking forward to it, being a bit of a long-time, closet Peter Allen fan. There’s something about his music that gives me goose bumps. Whether it’s the sentimental, soft side of me during ‘I still call Australia home’ or a peppier me during ‘When my baby goes to Rio’*, I just can’t help it getting all emotional when I hear him sing. And you have to admit, his music is oh so very catchy.

Mum told me that when I was a wee kid and he was on the television, I would sit in front of it, transfixed, singing and jigging along. And with good reason. He was a very talented and engaging performer, whom few can mimic.

And here’s where the long overdue apology comes in. Because I tried to mimic him – and I failed abysmally.

I don’t remember exactly what year it was, but I think I was around 10 years old. Mum and I were flying back to Australia after spending a few weeks overseas, visiting family. I’d like to say we were on a Qantas flight, so I could claim some influence over Qantas' brilliant choice of his song in their marketing. But it was more likely we were flying with Singapore Airlines, because they were our airline of choice.

The pilot announced we had only an hour or so before landing. I was extremely excited about going home, for reasons long forgotten now. This news and my excitement took me to a whole new level of annoying. With little else to do to pass that final hour, I started listening to the inflight radio.** Lo and behold, ‘I still call Australia home’ started playing through my wonky airline headphones.

Being a kid, I didn’t really have much consideration for the comfort of my fellow passengers, or any insight into my absolute lack of vocal talent. But this didn’t stop me from belting out the couple of lines of the song I could remember. Loudly. Over and over. For the remainder of the flight.

And for this, I give my most sincere and heartfelt apologies to those passengers on that flight, whomever you were and wherever you may be now. Because I think that at the end of a 10ish-hour journey (or longer if that was just the final leg of your trip), the last thing you wanted to be subjected to was an amplified version of what surely sounded like a helium-affected cat being strangled. Especially when you had no avenue of escape from the relatively small confined space in which it was occurring.

To their credit, and that of the air hosts/hostesses, no one complained (to me or mum anyway). I somehow doubt the same would happen today...

So, to make amends, I would like to share with you the original, tuneful and gifted Peter Allen singing one of his greatest hits. Enjoy! 

*Actually, to be honest, these two songs and ‘Tenterfield saddler’ are the only Peter Allen songs I know. But they are arguably his best and most noteworthy.

** Yes, a strange choice for a child. However, for those of you old enough to remember, this was back in the good old days when you had to share a TV screen with the 100 other people in your section, and the airline only played one or two movies the entire way – which you had to watch through a haze of cigarette smoke. There were no inflight movies or TV on demand (or apparently much care for health and wellbeing) waaaay back then. Thank goodness for progress!