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Friday 24 April 2009

No wonder I eat so many weetbix

Cuinn had his 3 month Plunket check yesterday. Since his last check on 6th April, he's grown half a centimetre and put on half a kilo. So, it's not just me thinking the little monster is getting heavier.

So, he's kicking around the house at 62.5cm long and weighing in at 6.57 kilo.

It turns out too, after a visit to the Dr to get something for his snoz etc that our poor man was actually sick. Woops. He had a sore throat to go with his snots for Africa, and was running a temperature too. The Dr did give me a chart though which showed that I could double the dose of Pamol I was prescribed for him when he last got sick, so I loaded him up last night and he slept better - longer and more comfortably. Of course, after a 4 hour stretch when he'd only been doing one to two between feeds during the night, he woke up howling like his throat had been cut, but he great horror of starvation was easily fixed.

Now I'll just hope he comes out the other side nice and quick. We're going into Fertility Plus on Tuesday, on the anniversary of egg collection and therefore Cuinn being conceived, to meet the nurses and do a victory lap.

Wednesday 22 April 2009

Uhmmm ... Hmmm ... Just curious ...

How long d'you reckon we've got before I have to put the dining table into Cuinn's room to change his nappy on?

I swear he didn't take up that much room yesterday.

We should've brought a bigger change table.

Tell me a riddle

What goes ...

Ah CHOO fifty million times a day for a couple of weeks?

Constantly rubs at and has scratches around its eyes, which are glassy and red-rimmed?

Snotty and coughy?

A baby with hayfever, according to Grannie.

How ... special. And likely, all things considered.

Mix a bit of hayfever up with a bit of 12 week growth spurt and whaddyagot?

Awesome fun.

(I don't think I blogged about his cold - we've had sneezes and coughs for quite a while and thought nothing of it, then the scratches appeared and the eye rubbing started and again, thought nothing of it (we're fantastic parents). He's a scratchy baby, and we figured the eye rubbing was just a tired sign. Then the snot started so we assumed that was a cold. He started getting unsettled with these other symptoms, then started snotting and getting really unsettled on Friday night, snotty, snotty, snotty until ... Sunday? It calmed down Monday, which, when you think about it, was when there was all that rain so the pollen wouldn't have been floating around, and was perfectly fine yesterday - until last night when he snotted up again, rubbing his eyes, scratching ... Damn)

Can I have some sleep please?

I'm so tired, I could puke.

Yes, I know. I'm such a delicate flower. But seriously. So tired, I could puke. Sooo tired.

I'm hoping more than anything in the world that this is a growth spurt associated phase and it'll settle down, because Cuinn wasn't even this bad as a newborn. He's down to feeding every 1 to 3 hours around the clock, and through last night it was 2 hourly. I'll leave it to you to do the maths on how much sleep I'm getting once I've gotten up, fed, changed (sometimes completely if he throws up on himself, which he does) and settled him, got myself back to bed and he wakes again.

It's taking a truck load of pikelets to keep me on my feet just now.

We make a spectacular team though, he and I, because he's about as buggered as I am. The only difference is, he still manages to throw out brilliant smiles at 1am. and 2am. and 4am. and 6am ... I do more of a blank stare myself.

We have the Plunket nurse coming back tomorrow, so he'd better have put on some serious weight. Or grown 10 centimetres. Or something.

Al has some time off in a couple of weeks, so we're going to work really hard at getting Cuinn to take a bottle during that time (it's really hard at the moment when Al's only available to do it in the afternoons and that's Cuinn's worst time) - if this is still continuing at that point I'll be ready to drop, so if Cuinn will at least take a bottle (which he absolutely refuses to do at the moment), I can get a break from the odd feed, and it may be that, even though I really don't want to, he gets substituted feeds. Yes, I know. *Gasp* and all that. We'll see. I'm still relatively confident at this point that it's growth spurty, so it'll settle down. I can but hope.

So anyway, I imagine I'll be functioning on the most basic level for a while yet, so all those emails piling up? I'm sorry ... I'm reading them I promise (!!), and I will respond eventually. You'd probably prefer me to wait anyway before blasting out a reply because who knows how much sense I'll make right now?

In other news, did I tell you I was booking a haircut? Very civilised sort of thing to do, that. Quite exciting even. Except, it turns out, it's a bit more of a mission to pull off just now than I anticipated. Getting a late night appointment is a long-term commitment, the thought of managing to stay awake for a late night appointment makes me laugh, and making a day time appointment? Yeeeeah. No.

I think I might just buy a cushion instead and make friends with my split ends. Cushions are cool.

Tuesday 21 April 2009

Hot chocolate and the beginnings of winter

I love this time of year. Absolutely love it. I'm not designed for summer and sun, and I love thick chunky jerseys too much to think that summer is good for anything more than getting the washing dry quickly. Or, you know, dry at all.

So, I'm sitting here with a hot chocolate contemplating my wonderfully chilly toes, smiling at both dogs curled up tight in their beds, and the only thought running through my head (aside from hoping that the child stays asleep a while longer for any number of reasons, and almost wishing there was room in one of those dog beds for me because those animals look seriously cosy) is barely a thought at all - it's just a blissful sigh and a sense of welcoming of the weather ahead.

Fab.

Tuesday 14 April 2009

Thinking on one's feet

You've just got the washing off the line one handed while holding the baby.

It's starting to rain and you need to get the basket of washing inside.

The baby has only just woken up, so putting him in his cot while you dash outside to get the basket is not an option. Well, it is, but there will be bellowing and you'd prefer to avoid bellowing.

How do you get the washing basket inside, while holding the baby?

Stick him in the basket too.

Heh.

Well, aren't you a clever little industry

The fashion industry is cashing in on the recession, and it amuses me.

Because we're all dead broke - costs are way up (food, electricity, mortgage payments (for those of us lucky enough to re-fix when the interest rates were the highest they've been for years and years), land rates, car registration costs, et cetera et cetera to infinity and beyond - even the blasted garden bag gets more expensive every time the paid in advance period rolls over) but incomes are being capped, frozen or lost altogether - the key phrase splashed in all directions in all the latest fashion glossies is 'Investment Pieces'. And, by fashion glossies, I'm referring to the likes of Vogue, FQ, that sort of thing - not so much the back end of the Woman's Weekly, or the Farmers catalogue currently spread across my front lawn. Just so you know.

Anyway. Hehe. 'Investment pieces'. Hehe.

It's important to note I'm not knocking the theory. The theory is good - buy less, buy well, spend more and have it for twenty years. Agreed, absolutely (well, by me at least - probably not the husband. The buy less bit certainly and the keep for 20 years bit absolutely, but not so much the spend more bit). I'm waving sparkly ribbons for the entire parade. Promise.

Apparently, the average woman utilises about 20% of her wardrobe (in one of my bored moments (really bored moments), I really should put that theory to the test and yank everything I own out and see what gets worn and what doesn't. Obviously, it'd also be best to do that when the husband isn't around) so one is being encouraged enthusiastically to pare back to that 20% and plow the other 80% of your budget into that 20%. Of course, to do that you'd have to start from scratch with your 20% which seems a bit pointless, especially in the midst of the dire world financial situation that no one can stop talking about and which is the inspiration behind the whole hoopla in the first place, but that's neither here nor there it seems.

Sooo, in case that's not making sense, at the risk of making even less (sense), say you have 100 items in your wardrobe that you spent $100 a pop on, giving you a shopping bill of $10,000 (oops), you're probably only wearing 20 of those items meaning you've got $8,000 of dust gathering future Trademe sales (really ooops). So, the grand plan is to spend our $10,000 on things that you'll get a whole lot more mileage out of, giving a forever-wardrobe that you can update just by adding a few pieces (*snort*) every season, thereby cutting the clutter, and cutting back long-term expenditure on crap.

Therefore, the mags are banging on about investment piece buying in theory to get you through the recession and into smart shopping habits and a beautiful wardrobe for forever, but possibly, just maybe, in actual fact to convince you that spending thousands and thousands of dollars on really frightening stuff is a sterling idea.

See, what I don't get, is why, in one magazine for example, there is a list of 895 must-haves. And that's just for winter. Huh. How is that less for a start? Yes, I know you can select part of the 895, but on a must-have scale of 1 to 10 I'd really much rather have scoured pages of things that I might actually want to own, that I could walk in, that can survive a hand wash, or better yet, a washing machine, that I wouldn't put a hole in as soon as I looked at it, that I wouldn't be embarrassed to leave the house in ... that sort of thing. I found one pair of boots, and since I already have an awesome pair of boots, that little search and covet mission was a bust. 895 must-have pieces, and 99% of them I'd class as most-definitely-must-not.

For example, it is infinitely debatable as to how something Trelise Cooper kicked out that is shaped startlingly like a housecoat my Nana used to have, and is covered in a print of massive great red raspberries and finished with an enormous black floppy bow at the neck, with a price tag of $695, could be considered investment shopping. Seriously. I wouldn't be seen once it it, dead even, let alone keep it for years and years (unless I'd gotten it for free, and it was being kept in the bottom of a drawer because I was too embarrassed to admit I owned it in order to sell it on). And when you've got something so ... ummm ... memorable? in your wardrobe, you can't exactly chuck it on every weekend now can you?

One mag's recommendation of a classic Karen Walker trench is slightly more on the money, but they fall flat on their faces over the $4,200 patent Gucci handbag with the 80's rock style 'Gucci' print across the front. Heavens above. Why on earth would you do it? Yes, yes, it's as much a collector's fantasy purchase as the next handbag fright from a luxury fashion house, but when I think about investment piece shopping, I'm more leaning towards the goodbye-dear-cardy-that-has-been-a-beloved-part-of-my-life-for-ten-years-and-has-fallen-apart-at-the-seams projection than the hello-ugly-handbag-that-cost-me-a-fortune-and-which-has-been-hiding-at-the-back-of-my-wardrobe-for-thirty-years-I-wonder-how-much-I-could-get-at-auction-for-you way of thinking.

(Even as I say that, I'm actually getting cold pricklies down my neck thinking of that scene in The Devil Wears Prada when Meryl Streep's character nails Anne Hathaway's character to the wall over a blue jersey or cardigan or coat or something (all I remember is the blue), the significance of high fashion and how you're buying into it even when you think you're not. Which is not to say that I'm going to buy the Gucci handbag, just that I'm aware that it may inspire something that I will buy. Although I'll make an effort not to now, so I don't look like a twit. Rather, more of a twit. The fashions Gods will strike me down)

I'm really not going anywhere with this, am I? In fact, I'm not entirely sure I've come from somewhere let alone heading to a destination, but I've typed way too much to just delete it. This is the problem with having a kid - thought process go bye bye.

OK. I'm going to make a point.

Ready? Right. (Glad someone is)

I have poured through the pages of leading fashion bibles that are giving us very good advice on the investment wardrobe concept at a time when one should be giving greater consideration to how and where one spends a dollar on clothing (well, in theory. A serious lack of the green stuff is good motivation if you've never thought of it that way until now), but, I am amused because the guidance is steering me in the direction of 10-inch purple plastic heels, things covered in fringes, and clothing in colours that I can't imagine ever waking up to and thinking it was a good idea to put on, instead of a handbag that I'll never want to be parted from ever, or the best cardy ever in the history of the world.

There! Ha HA!

And now I think it's for the best if I stick to photo-heavy posts again for a while because this little foray into brain exercise hasn't worked out too well, all things considered.

Monday 13 April 2009

Happiness is

... looking back on my 2008 diary, remembering what was happening a year ago, and then looking at our boy rolling around on the floor gumming his lion puppet. It's absolutely the best.



And if you're a dog, apparently it's finding the toasty sunny spot in the lounge as winter sets in.

Tuesday 7 April 2009

Ha. I forgot to mention Plunket.

So, after several weeks of no luck with Plunket, I finally got completely peed off, rang Plunket line and asked what I could do if I had a problem with my local Plunket, explained the nature of said problem. Plunket line then conference-called me through to Plunket head office who I went politely (I was! I was very polite!)stonkers at, they sent someone out to our local Plunket to put a bomb under them that afternoon, then the person who runs the local Plunket phoned, apologised a thousand times and assured me that a nurse would make a home visit either Monday or Tuesday.

Bless, the nurse arrived yesterday in the midst of what is perhaps one of Cuinn's worst meltdowns to date as he was bellowing his way up to a hysterical crescendo for no reason other than he apparently just felt like it. Awesome. The nurse then proceeded to attempt to ask me all manner of questions which had to be repeated fifty times before I could actually hear them.

Her "Is there any domestic violence in the household?"
My response "Definitely not" vs my facial expression "There's about to be ..."

Her "Are you suffering any post-natal depression?"
My response "No" vs my facial expression "Do I look cheerful to you??"

I can hear the first phone call she made after leaving our house now ...

"Ah, hello, CYFS? ... "

Bollocks, bollocks and more bollocks.

While she was here, the nurse charted Cuinn's growth in the 75th percentile, which is awesome, so long as you're not the person buying his clothes, and he weighed in at 6.17kg, which explains why, day to day, it feels like my arms are going to fall off.

He slept through the night again last night, which suggests to me that we've got another growth spurt coming - he's been feeding like a demon, sleeping like the devil, and behaving like both put together and on P. Definitely growth spurt atmosphere.

Monday 6 April 2009

Careful what you wish for

Last night, on the way home from a particularly good BBQ with our antenatal class friends, I made a deal with the universe. My words were I would give anything for a full night sleep. The universe took me at my word(s), quite literally and I did get my full night sleep - the child conked out and didn't wake until 5.15am - although what I apparently agreed to was a bellowing child. All. Day. Long. Awesome. Note to self - no more deals with the universe. Night feeds aren't all that bad.

AND then of course, apparently I also asked for another whopping vet bill - Jack is back at the vet with a very badly manged dew claw which is being completely amputated tomorrow. I absolutely hate when the animals have to go under general anaesthetics, but I am especially unhappy that Jack's going under again so soon after the last one. Nevermind the blasted vet bill.

Now, I am off to sit on the couch and ignore the universe completely for being such a literal ass. Stupid universe.

(I've done something really weird to my blog ... creating my posts, everything looks completely bizzare. Lots of . sorts of things and fifty five million lines of type when I upload a picture. No idea what I did. Must work out how to fix it. 'tis very annoying and makes no sense to me whatsoever ... but the way my day is playing out, now is not a good time to fiddle with it methinks)

Sunday 5 April 2009

Meeting the cousin

Cuinn was born on the same day as his cousin Alexis. She got a 10 hour head start on him, but I think Cuinn's winning in the giganta-baby stakes. Admittedly, Alexis was born at 28+2 weeks(I think it was +2 ... might've been +3, but even so - she was waaaaaay too early!), but that doesn't mean we can't have a laugh at how teeny she is compared to the Cuinn kid. Her poor father and I swapped kids and both of us struggled with the other - him thinking my lump was a tad on the heavy side after about a minute and a half, and me continually checking that I was actually still holding a kid because she was that little and weighs less than Cuinn did born.

GO KIDS! All three cousins on the Leach side of the family have beaten incredible odds to be here.

Cuinn and Alexis



Amelia, who I still hold responsible for bringing on my labour with Cuinn, nicking off with my shoes

Friday 3 April 2009

Just so you know

If the kid is asleep, and you want to see him? You have to get through the border collie first.

Wednesday 1 April 2009

Couldn't you just eat him for breakfast, lunch AND dinner? (and a bit about me being a guber and the husband being poisoned)

I don't know about you lot, but I still can't believe for that he's ours and we have him, and I certainly can't believe that he's hangin' in the lounge in a Jolly Jumper. On this date last year a scan confirmed I'd failed to down regulate for IVF and we had to start over. Overall, it is completely surreal that there could possibly have been anything bad ever associated with our gorgeous, adored little monster coming into our lives.

After a slightly uncertain start this morning, it was nothing but good times ahead for the kid by this afternoon. The video is from this morning - I'd have had a video of this afternoon (which was much more amusing I have to say) too ... except I took it sideways which is a tad unhelpful. So, from this afternoon you just get a picture of the cheeky one giving a grin instead.





We've made excellent sleep progress in the last couple of days, with Cuinn falling back into his night pattern of 6 plus 5 (thereabouts) with bed at around 7pm, wake for a feed around 1-1.30am, and wake again around 6-6.30am. During the day I've been concentrating hard on the kid and we've gone to ground this week so that I've got plenty of time, mental energy and absolute focus to see what he's telling me he needs. As a result, I seem to be working out where I've been going wrong and we're making progress which is awesome - and the way the kid has been sleeping the last couple of days, I can't imagine how tired he was when we couldn't get the day sleeps in place. Poor wee man. Ah well, 'tis all learning, is it not? The other thing is that the days coming together better is also helping with feeds. He still feeds a truck load, but I'm getting at least 1 break of 3 hours in the day instead of 2 hourly feeds all day. It's a small thing, yet rather a big thing. It continues to be murder at night though when he sleeps for extended periods, but my boobs don't.

Speaking of learning (we were. A few sentences ago), I also learned during the week that one should not blow raspberries on gorgeous, pudgy little baby tummies during bare butt time when piddly little appendages aren't safely covered. Just so you know. Nothing like wees sailing past your ear ... and kinda into it ... to make you yell and leap halfway across the lounge, much to the delight of the 9 week old.

On a compleeetely different topic, I spent some time a few weeks ago entering every competition in the latest FQ - and had a marvellous time doing it I might add, imagining winning everything from a Blackberry to a car, a Kate Sylvester winter cardy to a spectacularly expensive handbag and back to some shampoo and conditioner. Pee me off completely though, one of my envelopes was returned to sender a few days ago with the undeliverable explanation of 'Box Closed'. HUH? Dodgy. For a start we're on a single income and that was a 50 cent stamp thank you very much (I was going to say that they don't grow on trees, but they do don't they? Or, at least, they were trees. Once), secondly I would have really liked that Kerastase shampoo and conditioner and thirdly ... well. It's obvious. How rude! and dodgy. So, I was a complete guber and emailed them to say how terribly sad and distressed I was to enter their competition and have the envelope come bouncing back to me, therefore breaking my poor fragile wee heart into a thousand pieces and dashing my hopes of winning to smitherines. Or something to the effect of.

Anywho today I got an email back saying oopsie daisy, our bad, we're idiots ... or at least someone on our staff is an idiot and we accidentally printed an incorrect PO Box and errr, please send us your details so we can put you in the competition. Or something to the effect of. Which they may or may not do considering I checked out the travels of my email and someone, somewhere, has some seriously ringing ears from someone somewhat high up the food chain at FQ methinks. Still. Shampoo. And conditioner. And, when you think about it, surely my chances of winning one of however many sets have sky-rocketed on the basis that every single competition entry will return to sender (how peed off would you be working at the Wellesley Street postal sort right now, I'd like to know) people will have to go to the same effort I did to get themselves into the competition and surely loads of people won't be arsed? Of course, FQ may just split all the competition stuff between themselves, but I won't think of that.

Personally I think I deserve to win based on sheer guber-ness myself. In fact, they should just give it to me.

If only it'd been the competition for the car ...

And lastly, on an irony scale of one to ten, this is a corker! The husband went to a quality and service training course for work on Tuesday. They provided lunch. He now has food poisoning. Awesome.

Now, to bed!