Mom Archives - Rupert Approves

I’m Back, B*ches!

May 14, 2019 4 Comments

I was thinking about, how when I wrote this post, that I would need some witty intro line like ‘hey, remember me’ or ‘gosh, I haven’t blogged in so long my website is dusty, har har’. But then I can to my site and logged in, and realised I had forgotten my password. So this, in fact is my opening line:

Hi, I’m Kate, former blogger who cant even remember how to access her own website.

I realise that too many of my (sporadic and poorly spaced out) posts have started like this, so it’s also made me realise that A) I need to get my writing ass into gear and B) I’m sorry. I’ll try harder. All 3 of my followers tell me they miss my content.

So where does one begin after an almost 1 year hiatus? Everywhere and nowhere. I guess in a way my re-emergence from the fog means that my next few posts may be more of a (what the fuck?!) life lately than anything specific. So here goes:

It has been a hell of a year. In the last 13 months my husband and I both lost our jobs, started our own businesses, had a baby, renovated (twice) and then because I clearly didn’t have enough going on, I bought a business. So whilst some of that was super good, it has also been a really really terrible year. An Annus horribilis as Queenie would say.

I can’t get into the work front but let me just tell you, to be out of a job the first week you go back after having a baby is pretty much the biggest kick-while-you’re-down thing that can ever happen to a gal. I realised, recently, that I’m suffering from PTSD and am trying, every day, to remind myself that I am freaking awesome, capable and talented. Sounds pretty arrogant, but I need to start building my own confidence up. As with all sad stories though, it had a happy ending, and I finally had the push I needed to take my photography business to the next level. So I’m thrilled that Kate Rankin Photography is doing so well, and amazed that people keep booking me and using me and it really is the other love of my life. I love t so much, that when I was approached in January to buy a posed newborn business, I jumped.

On 1 March I became the official owner of Slumberings photography, and as I type this I am still sitting in a puddle of wee (not my own) glowing after having just shot a twin newborn session in my brand new studio.

The business, although wonderful, has come with a lot of additional stress. Not only have I had to get funding to buy the business, but I’m also loaned to my crotch hair on building debt and other-fun-stuff-that-comes-with-renovating. It’s been a long journey but I am so so happy to finally have an amazing little studio and office and a home for all aspect of my photography (come visit, I have good coffee;))

On the family front, Piper, the baby I told you about when I last blogged over a year ago, is already 14 months. This little spunky, wild eyed feral child has turned my life upside down and inside out. She took everything I thought I knew about parenting and blew it to smithereens with 8 months of no (and I mean NONE) sleep, dramatic flairs and tiny pint sized diva meltdowns. To say I love her is an understatement. She has climbed under my skin and into my heart and absolutely changed the way I feel about the world around me. Someone told me that she was sent to earth to teach me a lesson, and whiles I have no idea what lesson is, I do know that in her short 14 months she has made me more patient, more exhausted and more of a mom than ever before.

Carter, my angelic now 4 year old is just the most amazing child. He is the calm to her crazy and the brains to her bossy. My little big man makes me so proud with his intellect, thoughtfulness and eagerness ot learn. They always say that children are different but these 2 kids are polar opposites. yet it works. I think he has come to accept that his sister is the ruler of the Rankin roost, and he is merely her plaything and food-bringer. My sweet child.

Oh, and on the family front, because I clearly hared any sleep I was getting or any free time I never had, we got a puppy, Pixel. I have always wanted a Pointer and so I applied to a few rescue groups as I desperately wanted to re-home a dog. Three times we were approved, and then denied when a re-homing position became available – due to us never having owned the breed before. It was heartbreaking meeting a future dog and then being told he wouldn’t be yours. So we got Pixel from a farm in White River, and he has matched my daughter in character, busyness and attitude. He is wonderful (and so fucking naughty we threaten him with the SPA several times a day. (Rupert and Bella are still trying to make up their minds, though)

So that’s it, really. Apologies if you clicked through looking for dramatic anecdotes and hilarious stories – but there is just so much going on that it’s almost impossible to out down into just one post. Make sense?

Next week I promise to write about asshole friends, bad parenting and too much wine 😉

I can guarantee that I will be back here, way more often, and hopefully this Stella will get her writing groove back soon

Thanks for the love, friends!

Pregnancy and Parenting

Dear Daughter.

November 17, 2017 5 Comments

Daughter. Daughter. Daughter.

I can say it a hundred times and yet it doesn’t feel real. I am so used to being a boy mom. I buy shorts and dinosaur t-shirts and endless spades and diggers and trucks. We spend our time peeing in the garden and our bath time ritual consists of ‘bum and ball cleaning’. Boys are easy and laid back and get on with it. Girls? Well, they terrify me.

I’ve been referring to this baby as ‘Pip’ since conception and up until Wednesday as ‘it’. Even though doc has confirmed multiple times (Kate, see no penis) I’m still in denial that I will be bringing a female into this world, and just what that means.

I don’t know if you’ve seen this ‘Rules for my daughter’ post that has been circulating the Internet lately – it’s a list of 35 ‘instructions’ for girls, from their moms. I’ve read a few and whilst some are sweet (“Reserve I’m sorry for when you truly are” and “Question everything except your own intuition.”) there are some that are just so bullshitty. Like ‘always wear good underwear’. Please, I’m not even wearing a bra today (sorry, colleagues) and I can promise you that doesn’t make me less smart or womanly than someone in a R1000 boulder holder from La Senza.

So, whilst you may not be nearly ready to enter the world, your turns and flops and kicks remind me that, ready or not, in 3.5 months you will be here and I need to chat to you about the kind of person I want you to be, and the kind of girl mom that I want to be.

My ~~Rules~~ Advice, For My Daughter.

Don’t let them take advantage of you. Ever. Take this from someone who, for 33 years, has been a people pleaser. It gets you nowhere
That being said, be generous. Not with money alone, with time and character and kindness.
Don’t let the sexist win. Again, from experience and something I am still dealing with daily. Do you know that I got this in an email last week:

Bad of him, right? Even worse of me. I have done nothing about it. Remember this when your turn comes, as it will. Do not let people bully you on account of you having a vagina, a pretty face or double x chromosomes. Do not accept discrimination, lesser pay or lesser respect. Only you, and your peers, can change inequality around.

4. Lunch with me, call me, Let’s hang out. Sure – I am and will always be your mom but I want us – at a reasonable age – to be friends as well. I want us to talk and laugh and do stuff together, not for any occasion, just because. I am going to love your company.

5. You are not a princess. Don’t let people treat you softer because you are a girl. If you start it, finish it. if you fall down, pick yourself up. I will treat you the same way I do your bother – with a fierce sternness and love. I vow to not go soft on you just because you are pink and he is blue. Don’t lessen yourself because of your gender.

6. Work really hard. Please don’t go by the ‘marry rich’ mantra that some may.

7. Learn how to manage money. I was never taught and at the tender age of 21 plus some I am now finindg myself drenched in sweat on sleeless nights as I worry about my financial future.

8. That being said – treat yourself and buy nice things. I will try to not berate these decisions, but will try respect and encourage your financial independence.

9. Be polite, always.

10. Be interested. Learn. Explore, Be inquisitive. Check your facts and do your research and don’t just let a question linger. be so hungry for information that you feel like you will never be satiated.

11. Eat healthily. Enjoy your food. Splurge on junk but long for balance. It’s all about the 80/20

12. Hug me. All the time

13. Never ever let yourself be in a position where you feel like you are being a bully or are amongst bullies. These people are not good for you, despite what you may think or feel at the time. Be fair to everyone. Support the underdog. Always take the position of empathy.

14. If you are ever being bullied, tell me. I want you to talk openly and freely with me without fear of feeling judged.

15. If you want to play with trucks and diggers and spades, I encourage that. If you want to dress in pink tutus for 8 days in a row, I also encourage that (slighly less ;)). Try not to be defined by gender – your brother has a doll that he adores and I am so proud of him.

16. Use your wit and brain and character to get ahead.

17. Enjoy being a kid. Dont rush to grow up too fast. Adulthood is a no return purchase that really isn’t as fun as they all make it out to be.

18. Look after yourself but don’t feel bad about your weight, your looks or your figure. There are much bigger things to worry about – like which country to explore, which book to read or which retirement village to put me in when I’m old and crazy.

19. You are amazing, And fiercely loved. And you always will be.

I get to see you every 4 weeks, and it is the romantic date of my life. I can’t wait to be able to see you daily, for the rest of our lives. You are going to be the perfect addition to this little triangle-turned-square.

Exercise and Training, Pregnancy and Parenting

About That Body Change.

October 20, 2017 5 Comments

I met the girls for dinner last night, and the restaurant happened to be right next to my gym, so I quickly ran in to swipe my card and leave. I’m getting those nasty little email reminders from the gym about my membership, and infrequent visits and and and… It’s really very needy. I am just not finding the time to breathe, let alone exercise at the moment. I investigated preggy yoga and preggy bellies, but again was reminded just how unsuited these places are towards moms who actually work. It feels like a foreign concept to them. Who on earth can go to a Pilates at 9 or a preggy class at 4 pm? The same woman who probably have au pairs and breakfast at Tashas on a Monday morning. Ugh. Alas, yee of the working class just doesn’t have that luxury. In fact, I’m working harder now than pre-fetus because between you and me and thousands of readers I am freaking the fuck out about money and savings and education and and and. But that’s a post for anther time.

I digress. Tomorrow I will be 20 weeks with this pregnancy, and so far I’ve been totally OK abut my body image. At my checkup yesterday they doctor told me I have technically lost 6 kilograms, as I haven’t gained any weight yet and at this stage of pregnancy I should be 6 kilos heavier – so even though that was a small victory, it was short lived.

I got home from work yesterday and wanted to change into something more comfy for dinner. So I slipped off my dress and started rummaging around in my cupboard. Sadly, before I had a chance to put the fresh outfit on I saw my reflection in the mirror. My boobs have those tell-tale purple veins – I can almost see the milk flowing through them – and my love handles are clearly in the honeymoon period, for they spilleth over my hippeth like a river. I’m soft to the touch and any firmness my body once possessed has disappeared, along with the ability to control my bladder.

I remember this with Carter, but with 5 months to go still I’m quite distraught at the prospect of having to hate my body for a long time to come. Plus let’s not even get started at the post baby body – remember this fat post?

Anyway. Not a lot I can do now, I’m so far up the duff that it’s really fruitless to stress too much about it. All I can do is try maintain the good eating and try re-start on the exercise. I’ve downloaded an app catered for maternity exercises and all I need to do is activate my subscription and just do it, I guess. Tomorrow, or maybe Monday. Monday sounds good.

Beauty Review, Food, Foodie Stuff, Pregnancy and Parenting

Super Rad Sh*t

September 1, 2017 4 Comments

Happy Spring Day my little fairies! I for one am loving the warmer weather, although I may be imagining it, but for the first time in months I’m in open toed sandals (gnarly troll toes and all) and not wrapped in a Game Of Thrones style coat. So yay, here’s to warner weather and plenty more sunshine.

So, I’ve been tinkering around with a new idea for quite some time, and thought -what better day to launch it than on Spring Day. New starts, fresh beginnings and all that jazz.

The idea for the theme of ‘Super Rad Shit’ came about for two reasons – firstly – I get sent a lot of really cool rad stuff that sometimes isn’t enough for a whole blog post, but has definitely made a positive difference in my life, and secondly, I buy a lot of super rad shit (and sometimes super shit, shit). I’m the type of person who pops to Dischem for deodorant and comes back with a thousand rands worth of stuff (yes mom, I know I should be putting this money into my bond). So, to ease the guilt over being such a product hoarder, I thought what better way than to share my love of all products and things with you, my besties 🙂

I will be posting my Super Rad Shit (Yussis, SEO best practice is annoying) stuff every few weeks, and there probably wont be too much of a trending theme. It will just be me reviewing random stuff I have bought and tried and giving you the honest low down – to potentially save you some cash dolla should you be considering making the same purchase.

Some items are sponsored, some are the result of retail therapy. Either way – I’ll tell you, honestly, how I feel about them

My first post is dedicated to ‘Shit That’s Simplified My Life’. The last several weeks of pregnancy have left me a redundant human. Between the nausea, exhaustion and growing sense of hatred for 98% of all humans, I’ve had very little time for time consuming stuff. So here’s my round up of Super Cool Shit #1.

USN Trust Bars

Sure, the name is more suited to a condom, but these bars ( and I have only tasted the Vanilla Cupcake) flavour, are delicious. I munched one for breakfast this morning and keep them in my draw, handbag, cubbyhole and camera bag for when I haven’t had time for a meal or I’m feeling hunger pangs coming on.

Verdict: Rupert Approves. Rupert like cake.

2. Badger Pregnant Belly Oil.

My tummy has already popped, and I am so worried about stretch marks with this pregnancy. I’ve been using this Badger oil on my tummy since baby was just two lines on a stick. It doesn’t have the vanilla fragrance that it promises on the box, but that’s probably not a bad thing. Preggie noses are not good with overpowering scents, so I’m preferring a more bland vibe these days. The oil spreads beautifully and sinks in quickly – no ruined tops of clothing. Alos, the packaging is stunning and I’m going to see if they have baby products for when ‘Pip’ is born.

Verdict: Rupert – the anti stretchmark Boston Terrier Advocate – Approves.

3. Matsimela Bath Bombs

The closest I get to a Spa day is visiting my actual Spar for bread and milk, so to be tricked into thinking I’m having one at home sounded amazing. One of the things I’m most excited about with our renovations is the oversized freestanding bath we are getting. It’s going to make such a difference when my two-year-old and future baby joins me. The thought of wetting both boobs and knees simultaneously makes me want to poop myself – which coincidentally – is what these bath bombs look like once dissolved. Brown colour aside, they smell insanely beautiful and leave your skin with a soft oily finish. I will be stocking up on more of these for when my new bathroom is ready. I also have my eyes on some Lush products – although I need to save – because I’m pretty sure their non-official payoff line is ‘Gots to be flush, for Lush’.

Verdict: Rupert doesn’t apprive of baths, but he’s totally giving the thumbs up on these bath bombs.

4. Essence Quick and Easy Sponge Nail Polish remover.

Speaking of shit I buy at Dischem, there is never a visit to that store that doesn’t result in me buying something off the Essence stand. Their cheap and cheerful pricing model means I can leave with a little treat without too much guilt. Seeing as I am a nailpolish slut, I figured it was time to try this new nifty nail polish remover bottle, You basically dip your finger in and jerk it around for several seconds until the nail polish is gone. It’s apparently acetone free so I’m also happier to have it lying around the house in case my makeup obsessed son gets hold of it.

Verdict: Rupert says ‘Nailed it!’

5. Gel effect nail polishes

In a bid to save money, I quit having my nails done. Not the smartest move I’ve made as my hands are always showing – especially with photography. A lot of brands promise a ‘gel’ effect, but I have found that very few actually deliver on their promise. Another Essence favourite though is the ‘1 coat and go’ which is literally that – I can apply a coat of nail polish and have my hands dried, and coated, in less than 90 seconds. The paint chips after a day though – but I honestly haven’t found a product that doesn’t chip on me, even when having my nails done at a salon. I also tried the Wet ‘n Wild ‘1 step gel’ but hated it – the colour went on streaky and my nails were chipped within a few hours.

Verdict: Essence – Rupert Approves. Wet ‘N Wild: Rupert does not.

6. Silicon makeup sponge

I’ve been using the original Beauty Blender for a year now, but because I am as conscientious as a brick wall, I haven’t been cleaning it like I should, and it’s gone a bit mouldy and stinky. Eeuw. I have been seeing these silicon sponges around for a while now – they promise less waste and a smooth makeup application. Um, the verdict is out on this one. For R49 it’s not a devastating loss, but I found that my fingers work better than the silicon. It doesn’t really blend my makeup in as as much as it just smears it around my face. I’d give this one a skip. Side note – also pictured here is a new animal friendly makeup brand I’ve been trying – ‘MINA’. They have a store in Sandton City and every colour under the sun is available. they are well priced and I love the fact that I can wear their stuff, guilt free.

Verdict: Leave the makeup sponge on the shelf. The actual makeup? Rupert Approves.

7. UCOOK

Ok. I will be honest here. The only reason I signed up to try UCook was becasue they were promising a free Le Creuset dish to their first 100 new signups. Sadly, I was customer 101 (Story of my life) so I missed out on the dish, but my guilt also didn’t let me cancel my order. And I am SO glad I didn’t. The box arrived at work laden with ingredients and instructions for 3 meals. So far I have made the spinach, feta and mushroom ravioli and the butternut quesadillas. Both meals have been freaking amazing, and I’ve already signed up for next weeks box. The recipes are clear and the portions are really really generous (I ate my left over dinner on my way to work this morning. The fetus demanded it.)

Verdict, Rupert Approves (although Rupert is cheap and wishes these meals were a tad less pricey).

8. Sheryl Sandbergs ‘Lean In’.

I don’t know if it’s age, work history or what but I am really really battling with the huge amount of sexism I face on a daily basis. I have a vagina and am therefore incompetent and functionally useless. I bought this book a few moth sago after a particularly bad experience and am just loving how it verified everything about how I feel, and how all I suspect, a lot of women, feel daily. Do yourself a fave – get it. Get it now. Your useless, incompetent and confused vagina will thank you for it.

Verdict: Rupert, and Rupertina, approve.

9. Blendid Smoothie Mixes

The only reason my NutriBullet gets used these days is thanks to these bad boys. They have literally been a lifesaver on mornings when my morning sickness is so bad that dry retching is all I can manage. They are packed (I cant finishs one) with ingredients and have the best names. I’m trying to convince them to name a pack after my current situation “Dumb pregnant vagina who vomits all the time”, catchy, no?

Verdict: Rupert, the smoothie connoisseur, approves.

10. HnM Maternity Wear.

It happened on Tuesday. I was sitting at my desk in jeans that were cuting off my blood supply, and I realised it was time to bite the bullet and buy some sexy preggy wear. I never wore them with Carter and have always been super against the idea – but my burgeoning tummy had other ideas. Luckily for me, and you, HnM (Mall of Africa only from what I’ve heard) has a really nice range of fat clothes. Stylish as well. Like these here black pants, which may not be sexy on top but are well fitted, nice fabric and look like skinny tailored work pants. They are also perfectly complemented by the bathroom bin and sexy morning selfie. *face cut off to save you that sight*.

Verdict. Rupert approoooves. And, exhale.

Pregnancy and Parenting

Motherhood. And The Demise of Friendships.

March 27, 2017 2 Comments

I’ve read so many articles, written by moms, where they profess massive apologetic outbursts for ‘losing themselves’ in the first year of their child’s life and for being ‘bad friends’ during that time. And every single time I read something like that I get more and more pissed off. Because I call bullshit. Because – and it took me a while to realise this – but the demise of a friendship after one of you becomes a parent is in fact (gasp) not always the new moms fault.

When Carter was born, and in fact during my pregnancy, I tried my hardest to prove that I hadn’t changed as a person. I became the martyr of “normal-dom” and insisted on being at all the dinners and events. I sipped my alcohol free beer and sparking water and made chit chat until the last guests had left, even though many times I as so dog tired I wanted to cry. I had dinners and arranged get togethers and had people visit my home and watched them get drunk and silly and had fun while doing it.

The night after my son was born I had (non mom) friends visit with fancy red wine and cheese and we giggled in my hospital room until the nurses kicked them out.

When he was a tiny week old infant we had friends for diner and we drank champagne and I burnt the food and it didn’t matter because we were doing this. We were being parents and friends and adults and functioning members of society.

When he was a few weeks old I went back to gym – with him in tow – and met people for lunch – with him in tow again – and enjoyed every last second of my maternity leave while I could.

When he was 3 months old I went on my annual girls trip – willingly – and loved every second of it – despite my overweight body and leaking breasts.

We’ve been to friends houses for lunch and ended up staying until early hours of the next morning – with our son sleeping on a duvet nest in the room next door. We’ve gone away and strapped his car to game vehicles using cable ties and a prayer. We’ve traveled overseas with him, rocked him to sleep in fancy restaurants and bathed him in sinks and basins and Jacuzzis at braais.

And now he’s almost two, and I’ve barely dropped the ball. I’ve yet to use him as an excuse for not participating, and on the few instances I’ve left a function early to put him to sleep or arrived a little bit late because he has a routine I’ve chosen to ignore the comments and eye rolls. In fact, the reason I sometimes do decline an invite is because I’m working too hard. Which when you are child-less is heroic, but when you’re a mom is an excuse.

But I’ve also come to a realisation that some friendships have changed – friendships that I thought were rock solid. And I have spent the better part of nearly two years trying harder and making more effort and saying ‘yes’ to girls nights. And the more I tried the more disconnected I’ve felt and it’s taken all of this time to realize that I have actually done nothing wrong. And that sometimes people with no kids do not want to spend time with people with kids. And that is actually OK.

I haven’t been invited to some friends houses since the day Carter was born. I haven’t cracked the nod for an after work glass of wine or a holiday or a movie or been called for advice. Because I think that some people think that we change, and they immediately assume we will have no time for them. And perhaps we don’t, all the time, but we do some of the time, and even though my life is more structured and more-often-than-not revolves around a school run, a bath time, a feeding or a nap, and I cant just do a lot of the things I used to do pre-baby, on a whim anymore, I’m still here, and available. Even if I’m sometimes I’m only available with a plus one. And I can promise you this much, if you need me, when you need me, I will always be there. Because I am still the good same person that you fell in friendship love with all those years ago.

So to the new friends with kids who just understand broken conversation, broken sleep and broken wine glasses at dinner parties, but who welcome us anyway, I say thank you. To the friends with no kids who totally get that sometimes I just cant get out, but who come to me with wine and pizza and who bath my child while I pour more booze, I say thank you. And to the friends with no kids who don’t come to me, or let me in, or invite me over please know that I haven’t changed. I still drink as much Merlot (if not more), I still talk shit and love being social, I have interests and careers and things to talk about that I can promise you are not even close to baby related, I still need your advice and and shoulder to lean on and to bitch about husbands and work and finances. I just now have a small human, who I call my son, who is now the best part of my life. And I hope one day you will see me not just as another mom, but also as Kate, your friend.

Pregnancy and Parenting

Crushing on 22 Months

March 1, 2017 3 Comments

There are some days of being a parent where I wonder what the hell I’ve gotten* myself in to, and other days where it’s decidedly the absolute best thing I have ever done. I’ve had one of those days-turned-weeks recently, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve bred a #LegendChild or because he’s at a certain age, but my little human has hit champion status, and I am absolutely loving him at the moment (not to say I don’t ever love him, but he’s just even more awesome than normal lately.)

Here are a few reasons why i’m totally crushing on 22 months.

He can understand, comprehend and communicate. Have you ever heard a parent say to their small child “I am so proud of you“? I remember hearing moms say it and I would puke a little bit in my mouth every time. What the actual fuck could you be proud of in a toddler? Proud that they didn’t shit their nappy? Proud that they didn’t have a tantrum? Proud that they were beginning to look like small adults? I totally get it now. When your child gets to the age where they mimic, talk, learn, copy empathise and communicate, when they start acting out instructions and learning routine and doing clever things like acknowledging life, you actually think your heart might explode from the proudness. I promise. It’s real. So don’t mock charge next time you hear a mommy coo’ing over their child’s seemingly mundane behaviour, because your kid learning to put a lid back on a toy, unplug the bath, wipe up a spill, tell you who their best buddy is or hand you a steak knife that you’d accidentally left on their plastic dinner plate (not my proudest moment) without slicing their arteries open, is pretty much the equivalent of them bagging an MBA or receiving a job offer from Richard Branson.

They can be bribed. Which means resisting a nappy change can be halted in one fluid sweep with the simple threat of confiscating their dummy. Giving them medicine can be easily done with the promise of a sweet (or a raisins in my sons case) afterwards. Suddenly, every day goods become bartering gold mines. As long as the bribery object in question is treated with excitement and an air of pricelessness, your child will want it, and therefore will do everything to get it.

“Carter, if you don’t stop shouting I will not let you hold this plastic comb!”

They do things that are hilarious and video-worthy. Like the day my son learnt to say the word ‘fuck’, see below. It is both my most and least proud moment.

(I wasn’t going to share this as we had just returned home from overseas, my house is in shambles and I still have those nightmare inducing pink tiles, but hey, what the fuck right? PS – any flooring companies out there willing to do a makeover in my home? Let’s chat.)

They travel well. You may or may not know that we recently returned from a week away in Mauritius (blog post on that coming soon!) and despite the “are you batshit crazy?!” comments from other moms who couldn’t believe we would be travelling with a kid under 2, he was better behaved than most of us. He even travelled well on an aeroplane, which may or may not have had anything to do with the ice cubes he was sucking from my breakfast GnT.

They can be trained. I may have lost a set of crystal goblets along the way, but my son can now bring me a glass of wine and replace said empty glass on the table when I’m done. I mean, if that alone isn’t worth having a kid, then I don’t even know what is.

*Dad, if you’re reading this, then yes ‘gotten’ is a word and no, I shall not replace it with something more satisfactory.

Pregnancy and Parenting

I’m Not The Mom I Thought I Would Be.

November 30, 2016 3 Comments

We all have a picture in our head of how we think we are going to raise our children, even before we have them. I’d say a large percent of that is based on the way we were brought up as kids, as naturally, we tend to model our parents – willingly or not!

I grew up on a plot. I played with newborn sheep and ate fresh apples out of the bowl. A weekend treat was a glass of Halls juice concentrate and once, after 7 days of solid begging, my parents actually took us to the shops – Fourways Mall – so I could buy a glass tank and some hamsters. I always had the best lunchboxes – gigantic sized things, several ice-cream tubs stacked on top of each other kinda size. My grocery-box consisted of morning, afternoon, lunch and in between treats. Fresh toasted sandwiches still warm and in foil. Individually cut slices of veggies and a homemeade dip. Frozen water that began to melt perfectly in time for hockey practice and thermos’s of soup in winter and for after early morning swimming training.

Fast forward 31 years and I’m 9 months pregnant and so organised you could hear a pin drop on my day planner. Carters little newborn outfits are packed into individual zip locked bags, labeled, colour coordinated and sized. Clothes smell like baby scented Sta-soft and his room is the nicest place in the house.

Maternity leave was also quite peachy. All that time (ha!). I specialised in martyr and in between baby yoga and baby massage and baby reflexology I baked from-scratch cakes and whipped cream for the top, I hosted and wined and dined and exercised and maintained a home. I blogged and studied and got a diploma or two. I was practically the Martha Steward of Mothers, folks.

Things actually carried on quite smoothly even after going back to work. Barry and I passed like ships in the night – we still do – but we still each got to gym once a day, cook, parent, socialise and not drop any balls.

And then suddenly I was working and studying and training for a Half Iron Man and planning a first birthday party that had to be Pinterest-worthy and then planning my mom’s 60^th and interviewing for a new job and maintaining a large circle of friends and then somewhere, something just cracked. It wasn’t a monumental explosion or a giant noise, I just suddenly lost the ability to do everything, all the time. If it hadn’t been for our full-time nanny who started in April I think I would have thrown myself off the nearest Pappachinos jungle gym before Winter hit.

The thing is, I take after my mom – we carry a specialised ‘A-Type gene’ where we are totally convinced that people will simply not like us if we aren’t perfect, all the time. The other thing is, that when we are like this we tend to alienate the people closest to us in order to make space for almost relative strangers. I often find myself moaning at my mom that we never do anything just the two of us, but the same can be said for me. I feel like I’m alienating my own son to try and make room for everything else. I’m missing his last day of school today because I have a career. He has never been to the zoo. On weekends I find people to watch him so my husband can ride his bike and I can go off to do my photography to try earn more money to buy him things out of guilt. We don’t have bowls of fresh apples (very often) and he eats more Marie biscuits than I could begin to remember.

I feel like I’ve become lazy with the most important person in my life – my son. This past weekend I cleaned the sheet on his cot and was appalled to see that it had a face (literally) shaped hole in it. I’ve defrosted more frozen meals than I’d like to admit and the greenest thing on his pate at the moment are frozen peas. He doesn’t like books and I need him to like books. I don’t push it though because I’m always in a hurry, always rushing from one thing to the next. We both end up in frustrated tears every morning as I’m clipping him in his seat and he can feel the tension vibrating off of me. Meetings, traffic, late late late. I’m sure that’s all he ever feels.

I’m inconsistent in my discipline. I go from a smack on the hand to a ‘no’ to a ‘here you go’. I put the iPad on when I should be teaching him rhymes and songs. I beg him to play on the jungle gyms at restaurants so I can have half an hour to eat my food. I don’t feel like I’m doing very well at being a great mom.

Don’t get me wrong, my love for this cheeky little human is so big I wonder how it fits in my heart. He is my greatest achievement and my greatest blessing. But I need to treat him with more respect. I need to make the time to spend with him and have the patience to just be with him. Not looking for an out, or a distraction, or picking up my phone, just to be.

Last night we did something totally out of the norm and took him to a Christmas themed event and pantomime. It was late, and out of his routine and quite a drive. It was one of the happiest moments of parenting. The venue was decked from top to bottom in lights and decorations if every shape, size and colour. Carter was mesmerized and after about an hour decided he was brave enough to explore. He made a beeline for a display on the lawn. A few hundred lit up flowers. And for close to half an hour, he moved between every-single flower and stopped to smell each and every one.

My little wonderful 18-month-old literally showed me how to slow down and stop and smell the roses.

So, my commitment this Festive Season is to try and take a deep breath and find some special time where it can just be us, our little family. Where we can take it all in and remind ourselves of just how lucky we are.

Pregnancy and Parenting

What Is It To Be A Mom?

October 27, 2016 2 Comments

It’s repeatedly telling your child to please not eat the computer mouse cable, to please not sit in the dog food bowl and to stop wiping their macaroni fingers on new couches.

It’s casually referring to their poo’s as ‘chicken korma’ ‘pre-gastro for sure’ and ‘bok pellet hard’ with your partner nodding their head in sage agreement.

It’s thinking a lie-in past 5:30 am is a treat

It’s going to the shops, on your own, to buy something or yourself and returning with baby sunblock, nappies and a new toy

It’s yelling ’keep making a noise, I’m coming right back’ as you leave them in the bath to quickly find towels/soap/facecloths/your wine’

It’s understanding what they want, and when they want it, even when they cant say a word

It’s having someone watch you got to the loo – even for a poo – for the rest of your life

It’s wanting them asleep when they’re awake, and then watching them when they sleep willing them to wake up.

It’s not so subtly rolling your eyes when non-parents tell you how busy/stressed/broke they are

It’s secretly being relieved when your child is the bitee and not the biter

It’s the sweet-grab-to-shut-them-up in the middle of the shopping aisle even though you swore you never would

It’s the catching them doing something new and feeling you might burst from pride

It’s repeating the same thing, for hours on end, just to get them to laugh again and again

It’s wondering why you ever thought you were poor when you didn’t have kids

It’s admitting that you can no longer wear white, or anything that costs more than R300

It’s cursing them for the state of your body, while eating more chocolate and staring into your 3rd wine glass

It’s berating yourself for being a working mom and wondering if the guilt will ever really end

It’s the magical limb stretch you do when driving, just to retrieve their dropped dummy/water bottle/tree leaf

It’s the automatic stop, freeze, listen motion you make whenever you hear a small child cry

It’s the promise to yourself that tomorrow you will be stricter, better, more attentive, more aware

It’s the greatest, hardest, best, most fun adventure you will ever go on

Pregnancy and Parenting

Proud.

August 23, 2016 4 Comments

I don’t have a Facebook account or an email address for my son. I have this blog, and from time to time I write only things about my son. This is one of those times.

You always think that you will remember every single second of your child’s development and life. But honestly, you don’t, and even though he’s only 15 months I’ve already forgotten the exact age he was when he walked, talked or hit a milestone. I don’t know what his first words were – everything in the early vocabulary stages sounded like ‘mom’ and suddenly, before I knew it, he was learning so much that it was hard to keep up and make notes of everything new he was doing.

What I do know for certain is that he is awesome, and my physical love for him is so large I feel it might suffocate me. He is funny, like really funny. He mimics and jokes and goofs around that sometimes I wonder how I made this great little kid. He eats non-stop – from sandwiches to snoek and kefir milk. He has this way of walking, while carrying a handbag that makes you snort laugh and he is interested in absolutely everything. He watches birds and ants and when not trying to eat miniscule grains of god-knows-what off the floor he is wobble-running and exploring and marveling at his surrounds.

Fiercely independent, he often drives me mad with his insistence of doing everything himself – from manually eating rice, to (badly) brushing his teeth and washing his face. He tells me what he wants and how, and lord help us if we don’t agree.

I enjoy spending time with him so much, but bedtime is still my favourite occasion. He’s become my number one photography subject and I fear I may need a million terabyte hard-drive to save every memory I’ve every captured.

I still walk in his room every night before I go to bed to kiss his little face, untangle arms and legs and cover him with a duvet that he never keeps on.

He’s my reason for wanting to better myself.

It’s not his birthday, or a special age, but it’s been a week – where big changes are happening as I’m leaving my job after three and a half years – where I’ve had a lot of time to think and count my blessings, and Carter James is by far my biggest.

Pregnancy and Parenting

Nine.

February 11, 2016 No Comments

A few people I know had babies recently. My neighbour being one of them. Most mornings as I’m leaving for work I see her walking up the road with her tiny newborn swaddled in her chest, and I watch as she has eyes only for him. I get teary everytime I see them, because I’m reminded of just how small and tiny my baby Carter was.

However, as much as I yearn for the days of having an infant, I cannot stop marvelling at just how much fun they are when they’re older. He’s not even talking but somehow his character shines with such enthusiasm, that I find myself in stiches, daily.

I’m not the mother I thought I would be. I have no baby books and milestone charts. I don’t have a Facebook page for my son and I’ll probably never get round to setting up an email address for him, but what I do have, is this blog. And it’s here, amongst other things, that I talk about my son and document his life.

And 9 months? That deserves its own little post. At 9 months pregnant I was huge, swollen, exhausted and riddled with heartburn. Now I have a 9 month old baby, and unlike pregnancy, it is going way too fast.

Carter James, you light up my day from the moment you wake up – all bed head and puffy eyes, to the moment you go to sleep – mouth dripping in spilled milk and knees filthy from play. You have an insatiable curiosity and I am dumfounded at your intense interest in everything. I can literally throw paper bags your way and a new adventure begins. You crawl faster than I walk and I still feel bad for the times when I couldn’t quite stop you from falling down the stairs, off the bed or bumping your face on the table. Funny, the falls only make you try harder, and I live for the tiny gasps and pants you make as you race up the passage for the 8^th time, trying desperately to grab the dog food before they do.

It’s almost impossible to get a photo of you anymore, it’s a blurry mess, and my hopes of Pinterest worthy photo shoots have been bookmarked for baby number 2.

I catch you looking at me, and smiling, and I sometimes think my heart could burst. To me, you are the prettiest baby I’ve ever met. To me, you have the kindest nature and sweetest face.

I won’t miss the nappy change wriggles, or the tantrums you throw when I take something away from you. I take it away because it will probably kill you. I wish you knew that when we pick you up and remove you from a situation, it because it’s the best thing for you. I’m sorry you don’t get fruit at night anymore – but momma likes her sleep more than you like your sugar. I’m sorry you ate that moth, wing by wing, before I realised what is was. As for that Marlboro stompie, I’m very sorry you ate that as well. I’m sorry there are days when I count down the minutes until you go to bed. Please know that these nights always end with me standing over your cot, willing you to wake up.

I’m sorry that my love for you will always make me feel like I’m drowning.

So here’s to the next 9 months, and then some. I am so excited to watch you learn, and grow, and fill my heart with so much more.

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