Sunday, January 30, 2011

The One About Visiting the Child Health Clinic [June 2007]

Dear everyone
There is some talk about boobs and breasts in this update – so if you are easily offended, I suggest you don’t attempt to have children of your own, and perhaps go and read a nice Harry Potter book instead.
Things must be improving because here I am again, writing to you all.  And Baby Bombshell is still in nappies and not at high school as I would have predicted.  I am wearing relatively clean clothes (only a little baby vomit on my top), I have eaten both breakfast and lunch, and I thought about brushing my hair, even though I never followed through on the thought.
I have even left the house, taking Baby Bombshell to the local Child Health Clinic yesterday for her first weigh-in.  According to one of the other mums I met, I am doing very well, as it took her more than 6 weeks before she felt able to leave the house.  The visit to the clinic wasn’t quite what I expected, although I must have been deluded because considering it was a bunch of mums bringing their babies in to see the nurse and have them weighed, I’m really not sure what I did expect.  High tea and scones?  My baby was the youngest by far, and luckily she lay in my arms snoozing as a progression of older babies (and older mums) came through the door.  What professionals they were, taking their turns at the scales, stripping their babies, weighing them and recording the info in the little purple books. 
No one seemed to know each other but there was polite chatter –
 ‘is it normal for my baby to put on a kilo in less than 2 weeks?'
‘what a cute baby, how old are they?’
‘where did you get that adorable suit/pram/baby/husband?’
‘Whew! Did you make that smell? Bad baby!’ 
Okay, I’m making that last one up – the mother just looked embarrassed and left very quickly.  Okay, that mother was me, but hey!  She’s only little!  For those interested in percentiles, bubby has moved from just below the 50th percentile (for weight) at birth, to just above the 50th percentile.  Go Bombshell, you little achiever, you!
Although the Bombshell is only 3 weeks old, it already feels as though she has been in my life a lot longer than that.  Well, duh – I know there was that whole 9 months in utero part, I mean her being out in the world, attached to my breast.  After 2 weeks worth of ouchy breast complaints you will be happy to hear that we seem to have sorted out the feeding problems, and we have moved on from bleeding boobs to dripping boobs.  I remember asking my Mum at my Baby Shower what the ‘breast pads’ were for... well now I know.  We are well acquainted.  Much like the neighbours now are with my breasts.  We considered getting blinds for all the windows, but I think we ran out of money somewhere after the HandyCam and before the BabyGym.  Oh well.
It is really astonishing how quickly your life changes.  I know everyone told me it would, but it’s not as though I actually listened to anyone.  Just like I didn’t really comprehend the whole ‘lack of sleep’, ‘night feeds’ and ‘vomit rags’.  These are meant to be taken literally!!!! Not just some hypothetical ‘could be’ or ‘might be’ if you are unfortunate enough to have one of those ‘bad’ babies.  It applies to all babies.  For those without children you have been duly warned.  For those with kids, go ahead and laugh and think ‘I told you so’ – I deserve it! 
But apart from moving my entire life into the family room, finding my wardrobe now consists of pyjamas and trackie pants, reducing my personal grooming to brushing my teeth (but not my desperately-needs-a-cut-and-colour hair) and our house decor now resembling an eclectic combination of Ikea meets Babyland, my life now revolves around a small, occasionally wet, bundle of love and spit. 
I gave up my old life at the same time I gave up my dignity (about when the catheter was being inserted, I think). Gone are the days when I would be at work before 7am and achieve a dozen goals before morning tea. Now I work hard to set and achieve a single goal that is not related to fluids going in or coming out of my little girl.
With love,

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