Tag: The Life of Lara

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.

As big as a baby’s head

A darling friend of mine is pregnant. And absent. She decided that America, despite being full of Septics, was a great place to have a baby. Something about her support system being over there. Or something.

So of course I must knit something for her. My standard baby gift is a cotton hat, a simple pattern, machine washable, cute, and useful (I hope!).

This particular friend fell in love with a man from the Pacific. And many jokes have been made about head size, especially in relation to this baby, and his imminent birth. Since he will be born in the Northern hemisphere spring, I also thought that a larger hat would be useful for longer. So, a larger hat was cast on.

How big?

IMG_0082.jpg

Big enough to fit the resuscitation dummy at our First Aid for Parents course on the weekend 🙂

In Praise of the C-Section

This article talks about the good stuff associated with having to have a c/s. Mainly, a living baby.

The article raises a lot of issues for me – mainly because I still feel crap about not experiencing the labour I had imagined. And worse, experiencing a procedure that was about as far from the what I had imagined as it could be. Of course, having a live baby is very important, of course I would be feeling a lot worse today if I didn’t have the squishy guy around, of course I acknowledge that his life is of primary importance.

But if, for a second, we can separate the outcome for Inigo, and the outcome for me, the C/S was a horrible experience for me. Still 18 months later, I think of those minutes of fear, and huddles of medical personnel, the haste which overcame the importance of treating me like a person instead of a host organism, the LOSS OF CONTROL, and I can’t read that article dispassionately.

And when I hear of someone cheerfully planning a C/S, being upbeat about the positives (I can make dinner for my husband before I go in to the hospital!), I feel sick inside. I’m sure that a rational me would be fine about all of this – but that’s the point. I lost that rational part of me in the confusion 18 months ago, and I don’t know where to find it again.

I’ve bought “Birth Crisis” by Sheila Kitzinger, now I just have to psyche myself into reading it.

Dear Solar Hot Water Supplier (an open letter)

I will be spending approximately $6,000 (six thousand Australian Dollars) somewhere. If you play your cards right, and don’t commit one of the offences listed below, I might spend it with you. So you can buy a 2009 lime green ute to replace your 2008 lime green ute. Or something.

When I call and ask for a quote, telling me that “we don’t do urgent” won’t get you my business.

Waiting two days to return my call, and then telling me that “a lot of people don’t understand that the rebates will continue after this month” also doesn’t wash. As I haven’t washed, in my own home, for quite some time now. I’ve been going to Bev & Ted’s or Mum & Dad’s for showers for over a week at this point, I’m grumpy, I’m stinky, and I used to work in sales. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.

Telling me that system x is better than system y won’t wash. My uncle is an expert on solar systems, so even if I am not an expert, patronising me won’t get you very far. Clear information will.

The other thing that really impresses me? A pithy turn of phrase.

Wayne, who we eventually decided to go with, won me with this phrase.

“Go with me here luv, I reckon we put in the tank on Sat’dy, and then hook up the panels when we find some. That way, yous’ve got some hot warter in the meantime. We’ll do that sat’dy, unless it farken rains. If it farken rains, that really buggers us up.”

And today, despite a light sprinkling of rain, we have hot water.

Thanks Wayne.

One and One Half

He talks, he plays the recorder. He dances, he is obsessed with cheese, and he gives the wettest kisses.

18 months have turned this beautiful baby into an amazing little person.

Tantrums, an embarrassing obsession with “In The Night Garden”, amazingly good fine motor skills, and not so advanced gross motor skills. He can put all his shapes in the shape sorter, but falls flat on his face when he tries to run.

His communication skills are fantastic. He seems to be learning new words (multiple) every day, and this morning said quite clearly “ball gone”, a two word combination, which is pretty good for an 18 month old.

He still gets very cross when either Mark or I leave him, and still becomes absolutely desolate at the gym. We’ve been going at least twice a week for the past few weeks, and is now playing happily with the toys, interacting with the child care worker, and has a wonderful time, until I stand up to go. He ramps up into an desperate wail, which takes some minutes to calm. I suppose I can use my gym membership to get some study done!

A ball flying through the air is still the funniest thing he has ever seen, loving Daisy is a new obsession (one that Daisy isn’t too keen to comply with), and there is nothing more satisfying than spreading the recycling from one end of the house to the other.

Equal parts of determination and delight, life with Inigo is a rollercoaster of laughter and tears, and though it’s hard to know where he’s heading, it’s the best ride of m life.

And in case you can’t tell from the photo, I think he’s beautiful.

iPhone. I haz it

Well, not quite yet. But my best friend Simone has one she isn’t using any more, and she knows how pathetically woeful I am about gadgets, so tomorrow night we are going to meet up at Ikea and have a handover ceremony.

And there will dancing in the streets of Granville, and butterflies will flutter, and unicorns will frolic, and there will be puppies and kittens for all.

Sigh…