Today is Saturday ... almost Saturday night, and my big plan is to sit in bed and begin watching the complete set of 'Friends' dvds on my trusty computer.
The Bare-chested Chef is cooking pumpkin, sage and walnut ravioli for dinner ... another healthful gastronomic delight and he and I just drove to the supermarket and stocked up on junk food so that we can all sit back, relax and enjoy a Saturday night 'IN', all doing our own thing and feeding our faces while we're at it!
It's perfect weather for this delightful pastime - very cool and raining outside. The clouds are low and thick around the mountains so that you can barely see where the sky and the mountaintops meet.
There are no outside parties happening because of the wet weather, so it's peaceful and quiet in the neighbourhood and the house is bursting with the aroma of roasting pumpkin and walnuts hmmhmm.
So today I am being selfish and self indulgent and leaving this very short Saturday post. I hope you all enjoy your Saturday night, whether it be 'IN' or 'OUT'.
Until tomorrow ... stay safe.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Aiming for a different future
Yesterday, I wanted to buy Chicklet her first 'post-birth' gift, so I walked into Queenstown. No wonder they call Queenstown 'The Adventure Capital of the World'. It's because there is NO SHOPPING!!
I found two baby/children's wear outlets. Both of them had sales on and I could have bought her a little size 0000 dress which was on sale from $179 down to $117 in one of those shops. (If anybody can explain to me why you would spend so much money on an item of clothing that won't fit your baby by next week, I would be very interested to hear it!).
I did find a little pair of pink velvet jeans at a reasonable price, which should fit her by Winter. The other outlet also had sale items and I was able to acquire a pair purple polka dot tights and a little black dress with red and purple flowers embroidered on the front. It's very rare to find anything for a baby girl in black!
My plan was to get something pink, lacy and frilly but Vegan Chickie and The Bare-chested Chef are not fans of 'pink for girls' and 'blue for boys' or anything that distinguishes girls from boys. What difference does it make what sex your child is? How can there ever be equality when we treat our children so differently depending on whether they are wearing pink or blue? Our daughters grow up believing that they must be pretty. Our sons grow up believing that they must not wear pink.
Her point is not as black and white as the little information I have mentioned in that short paragraph and of course, there is so much more to it than that.
I do believe that her point is valid, though for my generation, it's difficult to get our head around it and that alone is a huge hurdle for Generation X to climb, let alone all the other feminist issues on the agenda.
I think my generation should be called the 'Confused Generation'. I am not a Baby Boomer and I am not Generation X. Ours was the generation that was sitting in a boat in the middle of the river when the world offered:
Option one - row to the right if you want to stay at home, have babies and take care of the house and family.
Option two - row to the left, if you want to have a career.
If we chose option two, we had to be superwoman and be prepared for war with everybody. Half of the human race believed there was something seriously wrong with you if you chose career over family.
If we chose option one, it was an admission that we didn't think ourselves capable enough to go the distance with option two and the other half of the human race believed that you were useless, incapable and brainless if you stayed at home and raised your family.
Did I want to be Germaine Greer or did I want to be Mrs Brady (from The Brady Bunch for those of you wondering)? It was one or the other.
So what does the world have in store for Chicklet's generation?
The feminists from my generation have broken down many barriers, but it's only our generation who can see great break-throughs because we experienced what it was like before.
The current generation are fighting hard to make their own break-throughs and know that they have to involve their own daughters and sons in the fight to create change and equality for future generations.
So I'm thinking that by giving our daughters and granddaughters a firmer grounding than 'Don't you look pretty in that pink fairy dress', they just might be able to strive for greater goals than 'I want to look the prettiest at my high school graduation'.
So with the help of today's feminists and feminists past, their sons and their daughters, and even re-educated 'Confused Generation' members like myself, I'm guessing that Chicklet will be aiming for a very different future than any of the generations before hers, including mine and her mother's!
I found two baby/children's wear outlets. Both of them had sales on and I could have bought her a little size 0000 dress which was on sale from $179 down to $117 in one of those shops. (If anybody can explain to me why you would spend so much money on an item of clothing that won't fit your baby by next week, I would be very interested to hear it!).
I did find a little pair of pink velvet jeans at a reasonable price, which should fit her by Winter. The other outlet also had sale items and I was able to acquire a pair purple polka dot tights and a little black dress with red and purple flowers embroidered on the front. It's very rare to find anything for a baby girl in black!
My plan was to get something pink, lacy and frilly but Vegan Chickie and The Bare-chested Chef are not fans of 'pink for girls' and 'blue for boys' or anything that distinguishes girls from boys. What difference does it make what sex your child is? How can there ever be equality when we treat our children so differently depending on whether they are wearing pink or blue? Our daughters grow up believing that they must be pretty. Our sons grow up believing that they must not wear pink.
Her point is not as black and white as the little information I have mentioned in that short paragraph and of course, there is so much more to it than that.
I do believe that her point is valid, though for my generation, it's difficult to get our head around it and that alone is a huge hurdle for Generation X to climb, let alone all the other feminist issues on the agenda.
I think my generation should be called the 'Confused Generation'. I am not a Baby Boomer and I am not Generation X. Ours was the generation that was sitting in a boat in the middle of the river when the world offered:
Option one - row to the right if you want to stay at home, have babies and take care of the house and family.
Option two - row to the left, if you want to have a career.
If we chose option two, we had to be superwoman and be prepared for war with everybody. Half of the human race believed there was something seriously wrong with you if you chose career over family.
If we chose option one, it was an admission that we didn't think ourselves capable enough to go the distance with option two and the other half of the human race believed that you were useless, incapable and brainless if you stayed at home and raised your family.
Did I want to be Germaine Greer or did I want to be Mrs Brady (from The Brady Bunch for those of you wondering)? It was one or the other.
So what does the world have in store for Chicklet's generation?
The feminists from my generation have broken down many barriers, but it's only our generation who can see great break-throughs because we experienced what it was like before.
The current generation are fighting hard to make their own break-throughs and know that they have to involve their own daughters and sons in the fight to create change and equality for future generations.
So I'm thinking that by giving our daughters and granddaughters a firmer grounding than 'Don't you look pretty in that pink fairy dress', they just might be able to strive for greater goals than 'I want to look the prettiest at my high school graduation'.
So with the help of today's feminists and feminists past, their sons and their daughters, and even re-educated 'Confused Generation' members like myself, I'm guessing that Chicklet will be aiming for a very different future than any of the generations before hers, including mine and her mother's!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Love yourself and learn to live!
I'm a non-smoker ... now.
The first cigarette I ever tried was not long before my 12th birthday. I had just moved to Perth with my family and had found a group of neighbourhood kids to hang around with.
This particular day, one of the kids said that he had something to show us, so we all followed him behind a shed in one of their back yards. All very secretive and hushing each other as we tiptoed down the drive way, past the house where one of their mothers was baking in the kitchen. When we arrived at the desired location, the boy slipped a brand new, sealed packet of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket.
We all gasped in admiration. He had taken it from a carton of cigarettes which was supposedly hidden in his father's back yard work shed. It was the only place that his mother would allow his father to smoke because she didn't like the smell.
Then the boy pulled out a box of redhead matches from his other pocket. More gasps followed.
At this point, I still had no idea that the aim of this game was for us all to smoke a cigarette. My only experience with kids and matches, was when my neighbour's son, in the last house that I lived in, played with matches in a wardrobe and consequently burnt their house down. To me, matches were dangerous! I was nervously looking around us at what could catch fire and whether the house was far enough away that it was safe.
The boy unwrapped the packet. There were 20 in the pack and there were 7 of us. He emptied the packet onto the ground and handed each of us a cigarette. Then we had to figure out who was going first. We all agreed that because he had brought the cigarettes, he should light up first. This was a huge relief to me because I was dreading my turn, and with hindsight, I think the other kids were too!
Our ages probably ranged from about 10 to 13 and the boy with the cigarettes was the oldest. He put the cigarette into his mouth, struck the match and lifted it to the cigarette end. It glowed orange as he sucked the flame onto it and he coughed a huge puff of smoke out of his mouth. It smelled bad. He whispered 'hmmm smooooth' (Seriously! He was mimicking the ad on TV!).
I have stronger memories about that boy's first puff of a cigarette than I have about my own. I remember that it tasted bad, but we all finished our cigarettes that day and after that, every week, he would steal a packet of cigarettes and we would all have to smoke one behind the shed. I don't remember how long we did that for, but by the time I was 13, I was stealing packets of cigarettes out of my own parent's cartons.
We had moved by then, into a new housing estate, so it was with a new group of friends that I hid inside houses in various stages of construction to smoke our cigarettes.
One day, when none of us were able to acquire any, I was feeling particularly brave and I dared to ask my mother if I could have a drag of her cigarette. She didn't miss a beat. She handed it to me saying 'as long as you smoke it properly. You breathe the smoke in.' By this stage, I had been smoking for long enough that I was a pro!
I sucked in the smoke and as I blew it out, she responded with 'ok you can have 3 cigarettes a day, but you have to promise me that you will only smoke inside your own home. I don't want to catch you smoking outside!'
So that was my introduction to a 37 year smoking habit.
I attempted and failed to quit through all of my pregnancies. It was my over active thyroid and subsequent visit to a naturopath in March 2008 that prompted me to quit. I read a book called 'Allen Carr's Easy Way to Stop Smoking' and it took 2 attempts with the book, but I did it!
Three years next month and I feel better than ever. I played a lot of sports in my time and never realised that my struggling and gasping for breath was from smoking. I believed that everybody felt that way when they ran, swam or played hard. It's only now, at the age of 50, that I can play a full hour of tennis and never feel short of breath and never have to gasp for air.
It's amazing! The frustrating thing is that smokers are so addicted that they can't understand how good it is to not smoke. They say that they enjoy it and don't want to give up but after you give it up, you realise what a big fat lie that is.
To all of those smokers out there - two of my grown children included - learn how to live smoke free. It's much better than you can ever imagine, to be a non-smoker.
Two things I do know for certain. You can't do it unless you want to do it. You can't do it for anyone but yourself.
Love yourself and learn to live.
The first cigarette I ever tried was not long before my 12th birthday. I had just moved to Perth with my family and had found a group of neighbourhood kids to hang around with.
This particular day, one of the kids said that he had something to show us, so we all followed him behind a shed in one of their back yards. All very secretive and hushing each other as we tiptoed down the drive way, past the house where one of their mothers was baking in the kitchen. When we arrived at the desired location, the boy slipped a brand new, sealed packet of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket.
We all gasped in admiration. He had taken it from a carton of cigarettes which was supposedly hidden in his father's back yard work shed. It was the only place that his mother would allow his father to smoke because she didn't like the smell.
Then the boy pulled out a box of redhead matches from his other pocket. More gasps followed.
At this point, I still had no idea that the aim of this game was for us all to smoke a cigarette. My only experience with kids and matches, was when my neighbour's son, in the last house that I lived in, played with matches in a wardrobe and consequently burnt their house down. To me, matches were dangerous! I was nervously looking around us at what could catch fire and whether the house was far enough away that it was safe.
The boy unwrapped the packet. There were 20 in the pack and there were 7 of us. He emptied the packet onto the ground and handed each of us a cigarette. Then we had to figure out who was going first. We all agreed that because he had brought the cigarettes, he should light up first. This was a huge relief to me because I was dreading my turn, and with hindsight, I think the other kids were too!
Our ages probably ranged from about 10 to 13 and the boy with the cigarettes was the oldest. He put the cigarette into his mouth, struck the match and lifted it to the cigarette end. It glowed orange as he sucked the flame onto it and he coughed a huge puff of smoke out of his mouth. It smelled bad. He whispered 'hmmm smooooth' (Seriously! He was mimicking the ad on TV!).
I have stronger memories about that boy's first puff of a cigarette than I have about my own. I remember that it tasted bad, but we all finished our cigarettes that day and after that, every week, he would steal a packet of cigarettes and we would all have to smoke one behind the shed. I don't remember how long we did that for, but by the time I was 13, I was stealing packets of cigarettes out of my own parent's cartons.
We had moved by then, into a new housing estate, so it was with a new group of friends that I hid inside houses in various stages of construction to smoke our cigarettes.
One day, when none of us were able to acquire any, I was feeling particularly brave and I dared to ask my mother if I could have a drag of her cigarette. She didn't miss a beat. She handed it to me saying 'as long as you smoke it properly. You breathe the smoke in.' By this stage, I had been smoking for long enough that I was a pro!
I sucked in the smoke and as I blew it out, she responded with 'ok you can have 3 cigarettes a day, but you have to promise me that you will only smoke inside your own home. I don't want to catch you smoking outside!'
So that was my introduction to a 37 year smoking habit.
I attempted and failed to quit through all of my pregnancies. It was my over active thyroid and subsequent visit to a naturopath in March 2008 that prompted me to quit. I read a book called 'Allen Carr's Easy Way to Stop Smoking' and it took 2 attempts with the book, but I did it!
Three years next month and I feel better than ever. I played a lot of sports in my time and never realised that my struggling and gasping for breath was from smoking. I believed that everybody felt that way when they ran, swam or played hard. It's only now, at the age of 50, that I can play a full hour of tennis and never feel short of breath and never have to gasp for air.
It's amazing! The frustrating thing is that smokers are so addicted that they can't understand how good it is to not smoke. They say that they enjoy it and don't want to give up but after you give it up, you realise what a big fat lie that is.
To all of those smokers out there - two of my grown children included - learn how to live smoke free. It's much better than you can ever imagine, to be a non-smoker.
Two things I do know for certain. You can't do it unless you want to do it. You can't do it for anyone but yourself.
Love yourself and learn to live.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The voices in my head
I believe that I am emotionally stunted.
I listen to voices in my head. I believe that everybody listens to voices in their head, but very few people have ever made the admission, even after I share this information about myself. In fact, some people are quite offended that I should even suggest that this might be happening to them!
Perhaps I am not only emotionally stunted, but just a little bit crazy as well!!
When I feel an emotion, the voices in my head take control of it. They talk it through, while I listen carefully, and then they put the emotion in a box and place it on a shelf on the rear wall of my inner cranium.
The voices talk about why I am feeling this emotion, who caused it, what they did to cause it, what their 'issue' is that gave them the ability to cause the emotion, what will happen if I show anybody this emotion, why I need not feel the emotion and where to put it for now until we can get rid of it.
This is not just for bad or negative emotions, but the 'out of control' happy ones as well.
Must remain calm. Must remain stoic. Avoid situations that trigger extreme emotions. Show a little bit of emotion once in a blue moon, just so that you appear human.
Mostly, this works for me. Sometimes, like when Vegan Chickie told me that she was pregnant, I lose control a little and 'have a moment', but my moments are few and far between.
It's why I am not a fan of alcohol, drugs, doctors, hospitals (or related TV shows), extreme sports (like sky diving or bungie jumping), or other people's terminal illness. I must be in control at all times!
Both of my parents were like that and they had no time for emotional people. Very critical of them in fact ... except for my little sister who is a big sookie la la and shows enough emotion, good and bad, for the whole family. I think she enjoys feeling these emotions because she does things to purposely remind herself to feel emotional - be it subconsciously or consciously.
I think I have, to a degree, passed on my stunted gene to my children. I think they are all fighting to rid themselves of it. I wish them luck!
As I grow older, I feel myself mellowing and I have long lost those nicknames like 'the terminator' or 'the bitch'. In my new life, people are not so afraid of me.
I'm hoping that the coming of the golden grandchild, Chicklet, will help me loosen all of these nuts and bolts that hold me together so tightly.
My written words are oh so eloquent and insightful and articulate and I appear to be emotionally healthy. If you hear the surprise in the voices of those who know me, after they read my posts, you realise that this is a new experience for them and they are discovering a new me! A new human me!
So, allow me to introduce myself ... Age Challenged rQQzy ... is what's on the inside of the woman you see standing before you. Not really so calm and not really so stoic, but always struggling to look that way.
Here, is where the voices in my head 'shut the hell up' and let me BE ME.
Thank you for listening.
I listen to voices in my head. I believe that everybody listens to voices in their head, but very few people have ever made the admission, even after I share this information about myself. In fact, some people are quite offended that I should even suggest that this might be happening to them!
Perhaps I am not only emotionally stunted, but just a little bit crazy as well!!
When I feel an emotion, the voices in my head take control of it. They talk it through, while I listen carefully, and then they put the emotion in a box and place it on a shelf on the rear wall of my inner cranium.
The voices talk about why I am feeling this emotion, who caused it, what they did to cause it, what their 'issue' is that gave them the ability to cause the emotion, what will happen if I show anybody this emotion, why I need not feel the emotion and where to put it for now until we can get rid of it.
This is not just for bad or negative emotions, but the 'out of control' happy ones as well.
Must remain calm. Must remain stoic. Avoid situations that trigger extreme emotions. Show a little bit of emotion once in a blue moon, just so that you appear human.
Mostly, this works for me. Sometimes, like when Vegan Chickie told me that she was pregnant, I lose control a little and 'have a moment', but my moments are few and far between.
It's why I am not a fan of alcohol, drugs, doctors, hospitals (or related TV shows), extreme sports (like sky diving or bungie jumping), or other people's terminal illness. I must be in control at all times!
Both of my parents were like that and they had no time for emotional people. Very critical of them in fact ... except for my little sister who is a big sookie la la and shows enough emotion, good and bad, for the whole family. I think she enjoys feeling these emotions because she does things to purposely remind herself to feel emotional - be it subconsciously or consciously.
I think I have, to a degree, passed on my stunted gene to my children. I think they are all fighting to rid themselves of it. I wish them luck!
As I grow older, I feel myself mellowing and I have long lost those nicknames like 'the terminator' or 'the bitch'. In my new life, people are not so afraid of me.
I'm hoping that the coming of the golden grandchild, Chicklet, will help me loosen all of these nuts and bolts that hold me together so tightly.
My written words are oh so eloquent and insightful and articulate and I appear to be emotionally healthy. If you hear the surprise in the voices of those who know me, after they read my posts, you realise that this is a new experience for them and they are discovering a new me! A new human me!
So, allow me to introduce myself ... Age Challenged rQQzy ... is what's on the inside of the woman you see standing before you. Not really so calm and not really so stoic, but always struggling to look that way.
Here, is where the voices in my head 'shut the hell up' and let me BE ME.
Thank you for listening.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I know, I'm her mother and I am biased but ...
My Vegan Chickie has been naked for almost 48 hours. Skin on skin with baby Chicklet. Breast feeding on demand. It brings me great joy.
You know when you go for a massage, and the room is dimly lit with scented candles, it's warm and the gentle music is wafting all around you while your body is slowly and gently massaged with warm oily hands? That's what it's like being in this home. That's the feeling. Of course, there are none of those things here, but Vegan Chickie and The Bare-chested Chef have created an atmosphere in their home that wraps you up and massages you in and with warm, secure love.
While Vegan Chickie was experiencing 18 hours of labour - her contractions ranging from 3 minutes to 10 minutes apart - she was asking ME how I was! "How are you coping Mum?" "Are you ok Mum?" "Is everything alright Mum?" "How are you doing Mum?"
Apart from the fact that I was reliving the memories of my own labour (ouch), I was trying to stay quietly in the background. It wasn't until right at the end when I felt that my physical presence was needed. You know that end bit when you believe that something might really be wrong because nobody should ever have to endure this kind of horrific, uncontrollable pain unless they are dying?
That's when you need someone to tell you that you're doing ok and that this is supposed to be happening and that it won't be long now.
I was sitting in the background wondering how the hell my beautiful daughter found the strength and the courage to firstly, go through her first pregnancy, not even in her own country with the support of her friends and family, and secondly, complete that pregnancy with a natural home birth in a pool in her lounge room.
Except for the fact that she was overdue, and that's why I happened to be sitting there, if the timing was different, it would have been just her and The Bare-chested Chef.
But she never wavered. She never questioned her decision. She knew what she wanted and it being the unconventional way, she received lots of negative feedback from lots of people of all generations and all walks of life. Telling her, in indirect ways, and some even direct(!), how dangerous it was for her to do this and that she was putting hers and her baby's life at risk.
Crossing the road is more dangerous than giving birth ... yet we do that every day without assistance!
I have just deleted paragraphs and now I'm going to say instead .... don't get me started!!
She knew she wanted to do it the natural way. No medical intervention. She studied and investigated and researched and educated herself (and me) about everything she could ever need to know. She knew the statistics on every possible outcome.
She talked to scores, if not hundreds, of people who were or had been pregnant and who had experienced all kinds of pregnancies and births. She shared the highs and lows of other people's experiences, whether they were joyful or tragic, hospital or home, natural or medical, controlled or relaxed. She was, by no means, lacking in knowledge.
She found herself a very experienced and very lovely midwife who visited her throughout the pregnancy and monitored her progress. A midwife who respected her wishes, gave her her options and did not push her into anything she didn't want to do. A midwife who, knowing that Vegan Chickie was a strong and capable woman, did not interfere in the birth until she received a phone call asking her to attend the home.
My daughter did all of this on her own. I know that she found strong support from people on different birthing websites, but her true support came from within. To me, she is amazing. She pushed through all of the emotional road blocks and obstacles that many people put in her way and she had her baby just the way she always planned and dreamed about.
I always wanted a home birth but I always fell at the first obstacle. How did my baby find the courage to do what I could not?
She was brilliant. She did everything right. She did it with strength and courage and confidence. Mostly she did it with love.
I am so proud of myself for bringing this exceptional human being into the the world. (C'mon let me steal just a little bit of credit!)
I am overwhelmed with pride for the strong woman that she has become, for the exceptional human being she has chosen to be and for the honest, devoted and loving friend she is to all who know her, including myself.
I know without a tiny doubt that she will be a wonderful mother and that my perfect little granddaughter is in excellent hands.
I know, I'm your mother and I am biased ... but from the depths of my heart ... I love you xx
Monday, February 14, 2011
The morning after the night before ...
... and now reality sets in! Anybody who has had a baby knows how unpleasant the first few days after childbirth are. You know that your body is not your friend. You know how physically, mentally and emotionally drained you are. You know how difficult it is to do the smallest task and you know how desperately you want to sleep and allow your body to heal itself.
You also know how difficult that is when you don't have the perfect support system.
Vegan Chickie has the perfect support system in her Bare-chested chef.
He is my current hero.
He has cooked and kept his wife nourished with food and fluids throughout the labour, and still been at her side for every contraction. He has single-handedly set up the birthing pool and when the hot water ran out in the hot water system, he boiled huge pots of water on the stove to finish filling the pool in readiness for the birth.
During this time, he was running back to Vegan Chickie every 5 - 10 minutes to help her through another contraction. He single-handedly made the bed up with the various layers of bedding required, for if they chose the bed instead.
He has tirelessly practised acu-pressure through 18 hours of labour.
Even when he was at his most afraid, during the final stages of his first birth experience, he was strong and supportive and unfailing in his efforts to make this as easy as possible for Vegan Chickie.
At the end, when his beautiful wife gave that final push and his perfect daughter was born, he was overwhelmed with emotion and happiness and with tears of joy, he wrapped his arms around his family and held them close.
At that moment, it was as if they were the only 3 people in the entire universe.
When it was time to climb out of the birthing pool, he was there helping the midwife lift his wife and baby out of the murky water. He sat right by his wife's side as the midwife checked his daughter over and weighed her. He then sat for over an hour on the couch holding his daughter in his arms and staring lovingly at her face while his wife was taken into the bedroom for stitches and checking over.
With all the mess that goes with that, even though he was worried, he remained calm and took care of his daughter.
After Mum and baby were re-united, he then made food for his wife and after she was taken care of, he had to empty the birthing pool and clean up all that goes with giving birth at home.
Never did he complain and always, he had a smile on his face like this was his 'calling' and he was happy that his family were relying on him to be their rock.
Today, after just a few short hours sleep, he has done more cleaning, gone to the supermarket for Vegan Chickie's and Chicklet's requirements, changed his daughter's first nappy, nursed his wife and helped her to the bathroom and cleaned up all the messes along the way.
Now he is in the kitchen preparing their first cooked meal of the day.
He is an amazing man and he just oozes love whenever he is near Vegan Chickie and Chicklet. I consider myself blessed to have someone like the Bare-chested chef to take care of my family.
I know I said in my last post that I was going to talk about the birthday (with hindsight) but I just needed so badly to tell the world about my hero son-in-law. I have always thought very highly of him, but now I have him on a pedestal and I have a renewed love and respect for him.
So, on the morning after the night before, I have 2 reasons to rejoice! I have a perfectly wonderful brand new little Granddaughter and I have perfectly wonderful son-in-law to love her and be her father.
Life is good :o)
You also know how difficult that is when you don't have the perfect support system.
Vegan Chickie has the perfect support system in her Bare-chested chef.
He is my current hero.
He has cooked and kept his wife nourished with food and fluids throughout the labour, and still been at her side for every contraction. He has single-handedly set up the birthing pool and when the hot water ran out in the hot water system, he boiled huge pots of water on the stove to finish filling the pool in readiness for the birth.
During this time, he was running back to Vegan Chickie every 5 - 10 minutes to help her through another contraction. He single-handedly made the bed up with the various layers of bedding required, for if they chose the bed instead.
He has tirelessly practised acu-pressure through 18 hours of labour.
Even when he was at his most afraid, during the final stages of his first birth experience, he was strong and supportive and unfailing in his efforts to make this as easy as possible for Vegan Chickie.
At the end, when his beautiful wife gave that final push and his perfect daughter was born, he was overwhelmed with emotion and happiness and with tears of joy, he wrapped his arms around his family and held them close.
At that moment, it was as if they were the only 3 people in the entire universe.
When it was time to climb out of the birthing pool, he was there helping the midwife lift his wife and baby out of the murky water. He sat right by his wife's side as the midwife checked his daughter over and weighed her. He then sat for over an hour on the couch holding his daughter in his arms and staring lovingly at her face while his wife was taken into the bedroom for stitches and checking over.
With all the mess that goes with that, even though he was worried, he remained calm and took care of his daughter.
After Mum and baby were re-united, he then made food for his wife and after she was taken care of, he had to empty the birthing pool and clean up all that goes with giving birth at home.
Never did he complain and always, he had a smile on his face like this was his 'calling' and he was happy that his family were relying on him to be their rock.
Today, after just a few short hours sleep, he has done more cleaning, gone to the supermarket for Vegan Chickie's and Chicklet's requirements, changed his daughter's first nappy, nursed his wife and helped her to the bathroom and cleaned up all the messes along the way.
Now he is in the kitchen preparing their first cooked meal of the day.
He is an amazing man and he just oozes love whenever he is near Vegan Chickie and Chicklet. I consider myself blessed to have someone like the Bare-chested chef to take care of my family.
I know I said in my last post that I was going to talk about the birthday (with hindsight) but I just needed so badly to tell the world about my hero son-in-law. I have always thought very highly of him, but now I have him on a pedestal and I have a renewed love and respect for him.
So, on the morning after the night before, I have 2 reasons to rejoice! I have a perfectly wonderful brand new little Granddaughter and I have perfectly wonderful son-in-law to love her and be her father.
Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Just over 30 yrs ago I gave birth to my oldest daughter, Vegan Chickie. It was a drug free natural birth in a hospital. I would have liked a home birth, but I was young and easily discouraged.
As I write this, I am sitting in the corner of Vegan Chickie's lounge room as she is in the early stages of labour with her first child. Hers will be a home water birth and the birthing pool is sitting, pride of place, in the middle of the lounge room. The Bare-chested chef is cooking vegan hotdogs!
I booked my flight to arrive 10 days past her due date, to give them time to bond with the new baby before I arrived ... I arrived 10 days ago! I really shouldn't be here for this!
I'm not exactly sure how I'm feeling at this point. A little bit like I'm intruding on such a special event in their lives, incredibly excited to be a part of it and reluctant to watch my baby experience the pain of childbirth.
The Bare-chested Chef is so excited. He is glowing and has a twinkle in his eyes, which reminds me of the day he married my Vegan Chickie. He is very busy organising. Setting up the birthing pool to be filled at a later time. Making up their bed with all the special layers required for having babies in beds (if that's where they end up). Setting the heater in place ready to create a warm environment to which the baby can enter.
Meanwhile, I sit here, typing away and trying to be inconspicuous. Wondering if I should offer my assistance, but thinking that he is needing this to help the time pass between contractions and to feel useful. (I think I will go scrub the bathroom very soon!)
I am timing the contractions - that is my way of being useful at this time. I am also official photographer, so I guess I have another good use!
So now it's the waiting game. The oh so long minutes between contractions. The oh so long minutes during contractions. Me trying to ease the pain by 'willing' some of it over to this side of the room.
Time to take a break from here ... I will be back soon!
Well, here we are 5 hours later and things are progressing nicely. I feel less anxious. Everybody is calm and relaxed. Vegan Chickie is doing beautifully and the Bare-chested chef is coping very well.
More hours have passed, things are a little more intense and I am so amazed at these two beautiful people and how they are handling this together ... they are a wonderful team and are really supporting each other.
The home atmosphere is so much more relaxed and infinitely better than the sterile hospital with the demands of impersonal nursing staff. Doing it all in their own way, at their own pace with low lighting, soft music and the gentle sound of their own loving voices.
A storm passed over with some thunder and lightning and the gentle rain on the roof - soothing for us all.
Pamela, the midwife is now on her way. I will come back when the baby comes.
Well! After 18 hours, my beautiful baby girl now has a beautiful baby girl of her own!
I am in awe of them both and how they supported each other through this day. We are all exhausted, but happy and healthy.
Tomorrow, after some much needed rest, I will post my thoughts (with hindsight) about this marvellous experience.
We are there. We did it. Vegan Chickie is a Mum. The Bare-chested chef is a Dad. I am a Grandmother.
Now ... we sleep.
As I write this, I am sitting in the corner of Vegan Chickie's lounge room as she is in the early stages of labour with her first child. Hers will be a home water birth and the birthing pool is sitting, pride of place, in the middle of the lounge room. The Bare-chested chef is cooking vegan hotdogs!
I booked my flight to arrive 10 days past her due date, to give them time to bond with the new baby before I arrived ... I arrived 10 days ago! I really shouldn't be here for this!
I'm not exactly sure how I'm feeling at this point. A little bit like I'm intruding on such a special event in their lives, incredibly excited to be a part of it and reluctant to watch my baby experience the pain of childbirth.
The Bare-chested Chef is so excited. He is glowing and has a twinkle in his eyes, which reminds me of the day he married my Vegan Chickie. He is very busy organising. Setting up the birthing pool to be filled at a later time. Making up their bed with all the special layers required for having babies in beds (if that's where they end up). Setting the heater in place ready to create a warm environment to which the baby can enter.
Meanwhile, I sit here, typing away and trying to be inconspicuous. Wondering if I should offer my assistance, but thinking that he is needing this to help the time pass between contractions and to feel useful. (I think I will go scrub the bathroom very soon!)
I am timing the contractions - that is my way of being useful at this time. I am also official photographer, so I guess I have another good use!
So now it's the waiting game. The oh so long minutes between contractions. The oh so long minutes during contractions. Me trying to ease the pain by 'willing' some of it over to this side of the room.
Time to take a break from here ... I will be back soon!
Well, here we are 5 hours later and things are progressing nicely. I feel less anxious. Everybody is calm and relaxed. Vegan Chickie is doing beautifully and the Bare-chested chef is coping very well.
More hours have passed, things are a little more intense and I am so amazed at these two beautiful people and how they are handling this together ... they are a wonderful team and are really supporting each other.
The home atmosphere is so much more relaxed and infinitely better than the sterile hospital with the demands of impersonal nursing staff. Doing it all in their own way, at their own pace with low lighting, soft music and the gentle sound of their own loving voices.
A storm passed over with some thunder and lightning and the gentle rain on the roof - soothing for us all.
Pamela, the midwife is now on her way. I will come back when the baby comes.
Well! After 18 hours, my beautiful baby girl now has a beautiful baby girl of her own!
I am in awe of them both and how they supported each other through this day. We are all exhausted, but happy and healthy.
Tomorrow, after some much needed rest, I will post my thoughts (with hindsight) about this marvellous experience.
We are there. We did it. Vegan Chickie is a Mum. The Bare-chested chef is a Dad. I am a Grandmother.
Now ... we sleep.
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