Cover that welt, we're off to the Child Health Nurse

Getting ready to visit the Child Heath Nurse (CHN or MCHN for you east coasters) the other day, I was mentally preparing myself to be told I was doing everything wrong.

Our CHN home visit had gone relatively smoothly if you don't count the part where I was told off for feeding Bobbin to sleep. I felt like saying "Dude, she's 9 days old! Feeding takes all her energy!!". I don't know if it was because I was still in a post birth euphoric state but I managed not to roll my eyes and instead I did the whole smile and nod thing.

Tricky's CHN was a lovely lady. She was helpful and non-judgmental. But I knew we weren't seeing her and the horror stories from almost every other person I'd spoken to had me worried I'd either leave in tears or ready to punch someone. Or both.

I shared my fears over on the Facebook page and asked what you all thought of Child Health Nurses. It seemed to be an all or nothing phenomenon - they're either amazing and full of friendly, helpful advice or horrid creatures handing out misguided advice and designed to make you feel like the worst mother in the world.

My nervousness increased when, on getting Tricks and Bobbin out of the house I managed to DROP MY KEYS ON HER HEAD creating a lovely red welt. Mother of the year, right here.

Luckily the welt disappeared on the drive over so I wasn't marked as "neglectful key dropping mother". Instead we got off to a different and slightly less welt inducing start when I got told her wondersuit was too small - I swear it fit her two days ago so I didn't look when I dressed her! My bad. But except for pulling me up on the wardrobe malfunction, I was blindsided by her awesome attitude.

She wasn't numbers obsessed. It was up to me whether we weighed and measured her because "she looks healthy and it's obvious she is growing" and then I got told that as long as it's going in one end and coming out the other fairly regularly that all is well - which is pretty much my whole philosophy for checking if my kids are OK. Then she gave tips on how to have tummy time safe from the feet of a boisterous toddler - on my knees, who knew?

She didn't even bat an eye when she found out I was in to placenta encapsulation.

So it appears that our CHN falls in to the first category: friendly and full of practical advice. PHEW. I don't really see the point of going unless there is something of concern or a question to ask, but when she booked me in for the next appointment there and then I couldn't quite bring myself to say no seeing as she had been so awesome. Oh well.

Got a fabulous/horror CHN story?

Backseat bitch

Map Guy came home early from work the other day to visit the doctor. I decided to go with him because if driving to the local surgery with your husband isn't quality time I don't know what is.

I used the opportunity to update him on the state of the Blogosphere, seeing that he has just STARTED A BLOG! Normally any mention of blogging results in a smile, a nod and a few strategically placed "oh yeahs" while his eyes glaze over, so it's safe to say I was taking advantage of having a captive audience.

"I just use The Weekend Whine vlogs to have a bit of a bitch session" I sighed.

From the back seat, Tricky chimed in...

"Bitch, bitch, bitch."

Map Guy wasn't happy. "Did your son just swear?". Because he's my son when he's naughty and his son when he's awesome, obviously. I felt so ashamed.

"Ah FUCK!" OK, so that probably wasn't the best response. I expect my Mother of The Year nomination any day now.

I'd only just mentioned on here that he has a bit of a speech delay and he decides it's time to start parroting every. single. thing. I say and his words have exploded as if a switch has been flicked. Getting through a serve Alphaghetti now takes half an hour because he insists on naming all the letters before eating them!

To be honest, I swear so much that I'm surprised it has taken this long, speech delay or not. One of Tricky's first ever words (other than mum and dad) was duck when he was about ten months old. For half a second before we followed his line of sight to see a rubber duck, we were convinced he'd dropped the F bomb as his first proper word. Now I know I'm a bit bogan but I'm not that bogan that it's something I'd be proud of.

In the days following the backseat bitching he's also tried to say bastard after some idiot said it in front of him. OK so it was me again, shuddup. But because he didn't completely say it I'm not even going to count it - because if I can't change the rules to suit myself, what's the point?

I'm in a box, bitch

When did your child first swear? What did s/he say? Do you make up flowery words to cover your filthy mouth?

A Manifesto for Mums - Review & Giveaway

This post is sponsored by The Smile Collective... but the sappy sentimental stuff is all mine

The interwebz has been getting me down a bit lately.

It seems that lots of people, lots of Bloggers, seem to be going through a bit of a funk and since I'm one of those people who feed off the emotions of those around me, I can feel myself being sucked down. If you're crying, I'll weep. If you're hurting, I ache. If you spew, so do I, but that's taking the example a little too far.

At the peak of my doldrums, Kelly Exeter from The Smile Collective contacted me to see how I'd feel about reviewing (and giving away, yay!) the inspirational prints for Mums and kids she wrote and designed and it was like a little beacon of light had shone in to my world. Sounds totally corny, right? Well kinda, but if you think of it like pop-corny it's less like a boring vegetable and way more fun.

I've been staring at the Manifesto for Mums since it arrived... it's propped up against my bookcase because I still haven't gotten to the shops to get a gorgeous frame for it. But you know what? That's OK. Because I'm an awesome mother. I'm not trying to show off, or say that I'm better than you, but I am serious. Tricky is kept (mostly) clean, fed, entertained, guided and loved. I'm not a perfect mother, but I'm a bloody good at it, a fact that the Manifesto helped me to remember when my mood, much like my still breastfeeding mammaries, was less than perky. I wish I'd had this on those long nights of feeding through gritted teeth, so I could look up and see "trust your instincts" *coughgreatbabyshowerpresentcough*.

The Manifesto for Kids is everything I want for Tricky. I want him to explore the world and marvel at it's intricacies; to make a mess and be so completely covered in mud that I have to strip his clothes off at the back door before a warm bath; to run and play and climb and scrape his knee but be having such a brilliant time that he doesn't even notice. I know with a crazy mama the odds are stacked against him a little bit... but he will know he is loved and he will know that it is more than OK to just be a kid. And with this hanging in his room (yes, once I get off my backside and get a frame), he will be reminded every morning when he wakes *coughgreatchrissypresentcough*.

If you need a reminder that you or someone you know is an amazing mum and that kids just need to be kids then tell me below one of your favourite childhood memories. Three winners will be chosen and each will receive an A3 poster print of both the Manifesto for Mums and the Manifesto for Kids valued at $60.

Find The Smile Collective on Facebook and chat Kelly on Twitter @kellyexeter... in fact, you already might have!

Entry is open to Australian residents only. Entries close at 10pm AEDST on Monday 20th November 2011 at which time three winners will be chosen using a random number generator. Make sure you sign in to the comment platform with a valid email address/twitter handle or leave your details as part of your comment so you can be contacted. Winners have one week to reply to notification, failing that, the prize will be redrawn. The prize is provided by The Smile Collective and is not transferable.

iParenting vs Back In My Day

We are living in a Digital World and I am a Digital Girl. Are you singing now? I am.

The other day, as I sat writing a blog post with one hand on the iPad and the other cradling Mr Cranky Pants my darling boy, I marvelled at our Digital Age. Or iAge. Whatever.

It got me thinking just how much we rely on technology to help us parent, or more specifically, to stay sane as we parent. I am an iParent. I was going to say Digital Parent, but it's obvious I'm one of those, I've got the button in my sidebar to prove it.

So let's do a little comparison, shall we? iParenting vs Back In My Day (well actually my mum's day, but it doesn't have the same ring to it)...

iParenting: Vibrating rockers and swings will lull your spawn to sleep so you can do more important things, like play on Twitter
Back In My Day: Rock your own damn child. You're lucky to even have a cot that isn't a death trap

iParenting: Buy some book apps and record yourself reading a story ONCE. Your child can now play it ad nauseum without you having to look away from Neighbours or put down your tequila
Back In My Day: You will read See Spot Run, complete with character voices, until you are ready to give Sally and Sam the big green needle

No drooling on the iPad

iParenting: Let Walt Disney do the hard work on a long trip by whacking in a DVD or two in your air conditioned 4x4 Range Rover Sport
Back In My Day: You play number plate spotto til you reach 100 or Punch Buggy until someone is bruised and/or bleeding on the back seat of the orange and tan Datsun Stanza with no aircon and broken windows that don't roll down

iParenting: Shove an iPhone in to their tiny little hands with some animal noise app and let the little suckers learn about farm life while you Skype with your buddies. When they become bored and irritable (irritating?) threaten them with "I will stop your download if you don't behave!"
Back In My Day: Visit an actual farm and vainly attempt to stop your child stepping in sheep poo. Then scold the child when he runs around chasing his sister with the poo-shoe. When they're both exhausted battle to get them in the car with threats of "We won't go to the video store if you don't behave!"

OK so it's an exaggerated comparison, but you get what I mean.

Do you iParent? What 21st Century tools do you use to make the job easier?

Pointing the Bloody Finger

Five little ducks went out one day,
In to the bottom kitchen drawer to play,
Mother Duck said "Quack quack quack" (which loosely translated means "watch your fingers")
And only four little ducks came back...

Yesterday morning, as I was getting Tricky's breakfast ready, he was playing with the bottom kitchen drawer about half a step away from me.

It's his drawer. Only his stuff goes in there and he's allowed to play with it. He'll sometimes touch the other drawers but after being told "no" he'll generally leave it alone, and go back to his drawer.

Yesterday was no different. Except as he went to close the drawer, he slipped and fell over.

Didn't make a sound. So I said "Oops, you fell over! Up you get, time for breakfast"

Then he started screaming.

I figured he must have bopped his head as he fell and was doing one of those delayed reaction cries. You know the ones where it's been a good five seconds since they've injured themselves and you can see the little cogs in their head turning. Does this hurt? Should I cry? Yeah I will. Waah! So I scooped him up for a cuddle and saw a little bit of blood on the floor.

I checked his mouth. He's put his tooth through his lip or gum before after a fall, but there didn't seem to be anything there. I looked down at his hand...

Blood everywhere.

I could see it was coming from his finger, but there was just so much blood I couldn't see how bad it was.

"Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck have you cut your finger off?" Because dropping the F bomb to a one year old is fine in these situations.

I'm not entirely sure why I asked him. I didn't exactly expect him to look up and answer me.

I tried to blot away the blood with a tissue but it wasn't doing any good so I ran his finger under the tap. He went quiet. I think he liked the cold. I could see through the water that a big chunk of skin was missing.

After quickly getting dressed while my Mum (who was almost at my house already when it happened) held him, we jumped in the car and raced to the doctors.

We asked if we could see the nurse.

"You can't see the nurse without seeing the doctor"

We asked if we could see a doctor.

"Do you have an appointment? They're fully booked."

Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I have an appointment? Meanwhile my child's hand is dripping with blood.

But I kept it all inside and instead said "No, I don't, he's just cut his finger a few minutes ago"

"Well he doesn't look too distressed"

What?! Can we focus for a second on the blood pouring out his frickin finger? Maybe he was in shock, I dunno, I'm not a medico and neither was she. Being a receptionist at a medical centre doesn't actually qualify you to triage.

So we waited almost an hour to see the doctor. My Mum and I took turns holding him, and holding his hand up and his thumb away. He wanted to touch his finger and each time he did it, it would pour with blood. We could see it wasn't a bad injury by now, but like all finger wounds, it would not. stop. bleeding.

I was anxious that the doctor would tell me off. Tell me I should have been supervising him more carefully, that I shouldn't let him play with the drawer. But instead, he introduced himself to me, asked what had happened then told me how his own son, at age 23, has just run his car up the back of a Mercedes, assuring me that "it doesn't stop as they get older, you'll have to get used to this".

The doctor put on those big magnifying goggles and had a look. The giant flap of skin was still partially attached so he unrolled it (ick), smoothed it down, and put a bandage on it.

All the while Tricky just sat there, hand outstretched, staring at the doctor. No screaming, even when he was unrolling the skin. Then when it was time to go he turned around and waved to the doctor. He bloody waved! The child is a champion.

Be sure to send in my Mother of the Year nomination, won't you?

Look I haz bandage!

Hrmm, tastes funny

I feel better now, Mama

It got caught in Frederick's teeth