It’s all here. Adventures in extreme knitting, the house of poop, and suburban permaculture. You may also find rants about politics, ecology, humanitarianism, responsible living, toe floss, and other topics not covered here. Expect profanity and irreverence. You have been warned.
…that it’s about time I stopped being so lame, and learn how to crochet properly. I like crochet, not so much for garments, but for accessories, and for edging knitted pieces, but my crochet skills are pretty poor.
And this morning, I got “Crochet Blocks in a Box” by Luise Roberts. I had entered a Yarn Magazine competition ages ago, and apparently I won!
Thanks Yarn – looking forward to the next issue, and continuing a beautiful friendship.
That’s how much weight Inigo has put on in the last two weeks. Which Lyn (the baby health nurse) and I were really worried about, until we plotted his weight on an expanded chart, and it seems that his weight is following the curve for the 10th percentile. His height (length) is spot on the 50th percentile. So while he is a skinny little thing, he is growing, and following a normal pattern.
The good news is, he’s been on the Losec for about 10 days, and he is doing really well. His crying episodes now seem to be related to tiredness (and sometimes crankyness) rather than intestinal torment. He’s still crying, but it’s gone down to what might be considered normal in a baby his age.
I realised last week that I was living my worst nightmare – before he was born, my worst fear was that I would have a baby that cried inconsolably, and until recently, that is what I was living with. And although it has been horrible, I have coped much better than I thought I would. And as he gets older, and happier and calmer, he is much more fun to be around. He is laughing more readily now, and the cuteness factor is off the scale.
And one up side of the slow weight gain? When it gets cold enough to wear his woolies, some of them will still fit!
I’ve basically recorded and uploaded this so that I have a record that I can show to the next doctor I see. I have a feeling that actual video of what I have been using words to explain might help the doctors to take me seriously.
Inigo screams and screams, I hate giving him drugs, but I hate seeing him in pain even more. So if there is a drug I can give him that will prevent the pain, rather than just covering the symptoms, I think I should pursue it. Giving him Mylanta after every feed isn’t an answer in my book.
BTW, if I’ve seemed a little tense lately, and burst into tears at the drop of a hat, this goes a long way to explaining it.
We’re off to Pearl Beach to introduce Inigo to the sea, so we’ll be missing this historic night. But I do think it’s important to acknowledge the ’78ers.
After 30 years we’ve come a long way – but not far enough. Thanks to those that were brave enough to make a stand 30 years ago, and here’s hoping it isn’t another 30 years before we have what they were marching for. TRUE equality.
This morning, I thought I heard a precursor to a giggle, and I wondered if we might be getting some laughter from the boy soon.
I went over to Sally’s house for a pleasant afternoons knitting, leaving the boy with his dad. When I got home, he giggled!
Mark heard the first one, and called me in, then we had a second and third. Actual, real, proper, laughing and giggling.
The. Cutest. Thing. Ever.
At 2:18pm today, Inigo was 12 weeks old. Officially he’s now a baby, and he gets more and more cute and funny and entertaining to be around every day.
These are some crappy images from my mobile phone.
In health news, he’s doing OK. Breastfeeding is going brilliantly – except that he hasn’t gained any weight in two weeks, approximately the same period of time that the breastfeeding has been going well.
He’s also still having periods of intense pain, which are frequently turned around instantly by 1ml of Mylanta. I have a referral to see another paediatrician, but I can’t get an appointment until early April. I tried another one, he doesn’t have an appointment available until June. His receptionist was quite narky on the phone, and treated me like I had Munchausen’s by Proxy.
Of course I know that there are parents that seek medical attention for kids that behave completely normally, and I am very aware of that possibility. I also am very aware that because the boy had a rough start, it is expected that I’ll feel a bit precious about his health.
But I also feel like it’s my job, as his mother, to be his advocate. And if a doctor doesn’t listen to me, I’ll find another doctor who will listen to me.
If a doctor listens to me, or better still – sees what I am seeing, and then tells me that he’s fine, I’ll be really happy. But until that happens, and I see my little guy screaming in pain regularly, I want to do everything I can to get to the bottom of it.
Happy 1/4 birthday little guy.
Most of us give to charity now and then, Mark and I make a donation every year at Christmas instead of buying gifts for his family. We try to make it different every year, and last year for the first time we chose a human instead of an animal charity – we chose to send money to the orphanage we visited in Vietnam.
Today I came across the story of Macho, a baby alpaca who was the last of his flock to survive after they were abandoned to starve. Macho has been rescued by Edgar’s Mission, and is looking for sponsors to contribute to his care.
Inigo in his hand knitted organic merino soaker for the first time – kit from Eco Yarns
I took the squirt to see our community health nurse on thursday morning, as I wanted to ask her if she thought his issues were normal and nothing to worry about, or if it was worth pursuing further doctoring. My confidence was rocked rather badly by the Tresillian paediatrician, so I wanted to be sure I was on the right track before going off half cocked. She thinks it’s worth pursuing – screaming in pain an hour after a feed isn’t normal apparently. So we’re getting back on that horse, and I’m not getting off until we get an answer.
Alex sports a new hairstyle after a bath
I then went in to visit Alex, Adam and Sarah, and Sarah gave the boy a manicure and pedicure. Little fingers and toes have very little nails, and I still can’t bring myself to cut them. I tried once, it took me an hour to convince myself that I could do it, and then 15 minutes to cut one nail. I have a phobia about finger and toenails (I once put a staple through my thumbnail, and had to have someone else change the dressing until it had completely healed), and I come out in a cold sweat at the thought of having to trim his nails. As it is, I have to keep his hands in socks when his nails get too long, until I can get him over to see his Aunty for a manicure.
The view of the city from Balls Head at twilight
I picked up Mark from work, and we took the boy to Balls Head Reserve for a picnic. Since it was the day before payday, we had about $11 between us, which bought some chips and BBQ sauce, and a bottle of very cheap plonk, which we drank out of the bottle.
We were almost molested by a wild possum, who only left us alone after we convinced him that all the food was gone, and he went off to pester someone with food. One of the other picnickers was startled by a wet possum nose pressing against her leg as she was absorbed in conversation.
A fuzzy view of my Valentines Day. A gorgeous view, a beautiful husband, and a superb baby.
Ted, Inigo & Bev – his first “portrait” with grandparents
And Ted is fine.
Mark’s dad had to have surgery for a blood clot, which he was told was very dangerous. We were all very worried, and news that he was OK was a huge relief for all of us, especially Mark. We’ve all heard the stories about scary in-laws, controlling, manipulative, and downright mean, so it’s taken me a few years to get my head around the fact that Mark’s parents are exactly as kind, thoughtful, generous and caring as they seem. It’s a little bit strange to me that people can be that nice and not have a hidden agenda, but they are. Better parents in law you could not hope for.
Oh, and I finished knitting the socks. Now I just have to graft the toe and weave in some ends, and it’s safe for dad to have another birthday.
Today Kevin Rudd did a good thing. I was going to call it a wonderful thing, but really, it’s just the right thing. And the fact that we had to wait until 2008 for an apology is outrageous. But he did it, and he did it well. And my opinion of him as a man has been raised, I feel proud to call myself an Australian again, after years of shame under the Howard government.
But who the hell is Brendan Nelson to bang on about the first fleet, and how ALL Australians have contributed to our nation. Today is not the day Dr Nelson. And mentioning that “good was meant to be done” is bullshit, it diminishes the impact of what needs to be said.
So I shouldn’t be surprised that these words are coming from the man who said yesterday that if Kevin Rudd wanted to negotiate the terms of the apology, he should be talking to him, as the most important person.
He says that compensation should not be given, and then talks about sexual abuse of Aboriginal children, without taking responsibility for the breakdown of culture which caused this issue. He wants to create another stolen generation in the name of protection.
I am not an expert in Aboriginal issues – I am actually pretty ignorant. Which is disgraceful, as the area in which I grew had a proud Aboriginal history. Yet, I was nearly 20 when I met an indigenous Australian for the first time.
I have travelled to New Zealand, and though most Kiwi’s wouldn’t necessarily think that they have got the issue 100% right, they have a much better grip on fair and equitable treatment. We have a lot to learn, and a long way to go. And accepting that white Australia has stuffed up is the important first step to fixing it.
Disco Knitter 