Category: The Life of Lara

Being Two

Bubbles

Being two is probably different for everyone, and of course I can’t know exactly what it’s like for Inigo. But as the person who spends the most time with him, I have made a few observations, that I would like to record for posterity. For me when I am old and can’t remember Inigo at two, for him if he ever wants to know.

Being two means saying “Iggy do’d it” at every opportunity. He now has to feed himself, brush his teeth, water the garden, climb into his car seat, open the fridge, turn on (or off) the light, climb the stairs, stir the dinner, press the button to make the coffee, choose the book, and turn the page.

It also means LOSING. HIS. SHIT. whenever something doesn’t go his way, and flinging his head at the nearest hard object, wall, or floor, and often kicking or punching the nearest person, usually me (especially since I am apparently supposed to hold him while these rages happen!). This then leads to physical pain on top of the wild emotion storm he is riding. Needless to say, this is NOT. FUN. for the primary caregiver, who has been known to LOSE. HER. MIND. when dealing with the ferocity of these episodes, especially on days like yesterday, when he averaged about one every 45 minutes.

And speaking of pages. When I was very little, my dad taught me how to care for books, to turn the pages carefully from the corners, not near the spine. Consequently, I am a little obsessive about caring for books, and having a kid who likes to drool all over them has been a personal challenge for me. So it is with immense gratification that I can report that Inigo is now carefully turning pages. From the corner.

Being two means a fascination with shoes, his own, or anyone elses. He is getting quite proficient at walking down steps in shoes that are much too large for him.

His father is thrilled to note that not only is Inigo singing songs with actual words (and he gets surprisingly many of the right), he also sings in tune. “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” is a favourite, but we also get “Open, Shut Them”, “Incy Wincy Spider”, and “The Alphabet Song”.

PensiveTwo

Climbing is really fun, and falling over is even more fun. It doesn’t require an actual fall, often it’s just sitting down gracefully and then lying down to great effect, and telling anyone in earshot that he “fall down”. Which he then will repeat, ad infinitum, until someone repeats what he says.

He is getting quite definite ideas about what he will and will not wear, and I can see multiple changes of clothing per day are in our future. For the past few weeks (since we had a swimming lesson with Aunty Josephine and Cousin Owen), he’s been wanting to wear his swimmers all the time. I think this may correspond to a desire to go swimming more often, so we are looking forward to summer. This past weekend we spent at Pearl Beach, and Mark and I took Inigo into the ocean for the first time. It was a little chilly, but he was a trooper, and I can see us enjoying a lot more swimming at the beach during the summer, particularly our annual Pearl Beach pilgrimage between Christmas and New Year.

Being two means identifying shapes and colours, and counting. Big and little, circles, squares, triangles stars, every symbol must be observed, and talked about, and enthused about. One of his birthday shirts has a peace symbol on it, and when he wears it he has to say “BIG CIRCLE” about eleventy brazillion times.

Being two means sharing your breakfast with a toy, always taking a rock with you on car trips, and happily going out with Nanna and leaving Mama at home. Or even slamming the door in Mama’s face when she went out at night a few weeks ago.

Another clothing change has been the lack of undergarments, preferring to be as naked as possible for quick potty trips. We introduced him to the potty when he was very little, and again while we were in Bali, but in the last few weeks it’s been warm enough to go pants free, and we have had remarkable success. He’s even been out of the house in undies a few times, with only one or two accidents. And today he even stopped playing when he realised he needed to go and asked for the potty. * Update – He’s been in undies (apart from naps) full time since Monday.

And we’ve said goodbye to a faithful companion. When Inigo and I went to Tweed Heads to visit Josephine and Owen, I decided to see if we could do the trip dummy free. The first night was hard, the second night better, and by the third night he didn’t even ask for it. Of course he expected for it to be back when we returned home, but we decided to tough it out, and now, a few weeks later, he is sleeping through the night a few times a week, and hasn’t asked for a plug in ages.

When I look at him, I still see my little baby. But all these changes mean he’s growing up.

And today, we introduced him to Scrabble.

All about the cows

So the plan was to eat some cow. But I’ve stalled, due to the lack of a dining companion, and a restaurant that is open on a day when I have no child.

Mumu is Crows Nest used to be open on a Tuesday, I’m sure, but when I went there yesterday they were closed. Fe couldn’t make it, but promises to be with me next week. But now I can’t find a restaurant that sells grass/pasture fed beef and is open on a Tuesday.

Here is an article from the SMH about the differences in producing different bits of cow. In case anyone is interested in why I insist on grass fed cow.

Heavy Metal

Or Iron continued….

I’ve found (through the ABA mafia) an excellent dietitian that is going to help me negotiate this minefield. Apparently, humans are born with at specific transporter in the gut for haem (blood based) iron, and that eating vegetable sources of iron metabolises in a completely different way. So this means that eating meat will boost my iron levels in combination with and complementing my iron supplements. Which is actually much better news than I was expecting, and she is going to guide me in eating the right amount to get me out of this situation without going overboard. She is also going to look at my overall diet, and make sure I keep a good balance – useful for someone who hasn’t eaten red meat in a long time. I’ve also got to make sure I’m still taking care of Inigo and Mark’s dietary needs too.

I was going to respond to the comments on the previous post in the comments section, but it got unwieldy, so here we are.

Thanks everyone!

Ali – I remember having a bit of tandoori chicken about 8 years ago, it it came back up rather violently. I shall heed your sage words of warning!

Steph – I cannot tell you how much I appreciate having an econometrician (did I spell that right?) in my life. I shall be consulting you for the spreadsheet, flow chart and venn diagram of my next decision 🙂

Emma – I am still unable to walk into a butcher shop, so I am doing my research on the internets (of course). I am unable to look into the meat cabinet at Woolworths, so talking to a butcher might actually explode my brain. Also, I don’t think I could cook meat in the house – the bunnies, who are very sensitive people, freak out at meat cooking smells, and I don’t think it’s fair to make Mark and Inigo live with it either. But restaurants – that is another question entirely 🙂

Min – After about a decade of vegetarianism (though still loving the taste of meat), I have found that I can salivate at the idea of salami, (or pate, or bacon, etc.), but when it comes to the crunch, the thought of actually eating said delicacy actually turns my stomach. So while I like the idea of pate, I looked at it in the supermarket today, and read the ingredients, and as soon as I read “animal and vegetable oils”, the magic was gone. And I know I can’t eat a factory famed duck liver. And I still kind of hold on to the idea that if I am prepared to eat an animal, I ought to be prepared to kill it. I reckon I could kill a cow (with years of therapy), to save myself and my child, but I am still doubtful about killing a chicken or a duck. But then, I am a weirdo.

Ginevra – you’re right. And it’s such a cliche, but I don’t think there is anything else on this planet that could convince me to do this, except that little guy.

Fe – thanks for your support. Nothing like going carnivorous with an ex vegan for company!

Heavy thoughts

So. The vegetarian/iron deficient thing.

I’m vegetarian because I think that in our society (and most of the industrialised world – and growing parts of the developing world), factory farming and the cruelty that is inherent in them is not something I can conscience. I always thought that if I was marooned on a desert island with nothing to eat but a cow, I’d totally be apologising to the cow, and then eating it.

It basically came down to the fact that I have the luxury of choosing what I eat, and I have the luxury of being able to provide healthy alternatives for my family. I also had the luxury of good health.

Since being anemic, I’ve actually been concerned about my ability to care for Inigo properly. And today, I had a real scare. We were in a park, about 200m from the car park. I was sitting down chatting with some mums from playgroup (playgroup has ended for the year, so we are catching up informally just for something to do). Inigo was playing happily close by for quite a while, but after an hour or so, he started to wander further and further afield. I was comfortable that he wouldn’t go too far, but of course, eventually, he did. I got up to grab him, and he started running. I sped up, but felt like I was likely to collapse at every step. I literally could not run. I couldn’t run to save my child, who was running headlong into a carpark. I went as fast as I could, and I caught him in a disabled parking spot, just inside the carpark. Thank goodness there were no moving cars at the time, but that did nothing to calm me down. It was all I could do just to carry him back to the picnic blanket without crying hysterically.

So yes, I am feeling better. Much, much better than I was at my worst. But I’ve decided that right now I can’t afford the luxury of refusing to eat meat. I can still make ethical choices, and next Tuesday, I am going here, and I am going to eat a steak. Anyone want to join me? Fe, I am looking at you!

But I’m still going to think of myself as a vegetarian. And when my iron levels normalise, I will be again. But for now, I need to protect my family, and apologise to the cow later.

And one more thing. I read this today, and am reminded of how special the ability to give blood is. What a difference it can make to a life, to someone you’ll probably never know. And what I found out last time I gave blood, that makes my blood extra special.

The big and heavy question – should I eat animals so I can save lives? Or do I think too much? Or is it just normal to think about the big picture just after a cancer scare?

So, readers, lurkers especially, what do you think? Self indulgent pap, or good sense?

Oh – and P.S. Fe asked if this meant that I will become “a meat eater” again, and I thought about it. But my touchstone is Inigo. I wouldn’t want him to see me eating meat, and I wouldn’t want him eating meat until he is old enough to make the choice for himself. So no, this is just for now, until my iron levels normalise.

Guts wrap up

I don’t have coeliac disease, gastric ulcers, Helicobacter Pylori, or intestinal parasites. Nor do I have bowel or esophageal cancer.

I did have a polyp in the bowel, which would probably eventually grow into a cancer, which as been removed. But considering my age, that is a bit of a worry, and a good thing we found it sooner rather than later. It also means that I will have to go through this whole process again every three years. Joy.

So, the summary. Gastritis is pretty normal. Polyps happen to people with a family history of bowel cancer (which I do, but it’s not a strong one), and I have a “mild” case of reflux (doesn’t seem mild to me, but who’s to argue with the expert?). The current theory is that as a vegetarian I had good iron in my bloodstream, but relatively low iron stores, and giving 2 litres of blood in a year probably made my iron levels critical. And that last donation was enough to tip me over the edge into anemia.

And I have fatty liver disease, so I have to reduce my body weight by 10%, and give up the turps. I wonder which will be harder?

Dear ING Direct

My name is Lara. On my birth certificate, it’s Larissa. Lara/Larissa. Matt/Matthew. Rob/Robert. Ed/Edward/Ted.

It’s not fucking brain surgery.

So why does it take 2 years, a marriage certificate, endless phone calls, and various paperwork, only to be told that I now need a birth certificate, certified by god, and a Statutory Declaration saying that I am who I say I am, and always have been?

And why, why, why, why, do I have to speak to a supervisor, and practically beg to be sent this information in writing. I don’t think it’s unreasonable, if you make a process unnecessarily impossible, for a customer to ask for specific instructions in writing.

And lastly. Why does it take 3-4 weeks for a letter to be put in the post? Are the typing monkeys on sabbatical in Switzerland? Do the legal people need to check it for possible litigation? Does the office junior only go to the post office every fifth Tuesday?

What the fuck people?

I am taking my $3.50, and putting it with a bank I can actually visit, and shout at in person.