The Tricky Trigger

Something strange is happening to me. I have never been very domestically gifted. My previous attempts at looking like I could actually run a household have all failed miserably - all plants die a slow and painful death, the super duper cleaning products stay in the cupboard barely used, the iron hasn't ventured out for a few years and let's not forget the copy of Shannon Lush's Spotless that still hasn't had it's spine cracked. I'm not a domestic goddess that's for sure. Well that is, until now.

All these stereotypical Mum things have started happening since I had a baby - I'm dubbing it the Tricky Trigger. I cook now and it has nothing to do with the country's current obsession with Masterchef because I never got in to it (although I've seen two episodes of Junior Masterchef and they're soooo cute!) I'm cooking real food and it's not just stuff from packets either, I'm talking about cooking from scratch and using the measuring cups that have sat unused in the drawer for years. Pizza dough, cakes, roast dinners, bread (without a breakmaker shock horror!) and biscuits. And when I'm finished cooking do I go and have a bit of a rest? A well earned lie down? No. Then I go and clean the house (well, after eating what I've just made obviously).

I was never big on cleaning before. Every so often I would blitz the house and make everything look shiny and new, but it wasn't ever a regular thing - if something didn't look dirty then I would consider it clean. But not any more. It started as nesting when I was pregnant - I would decide to clean the kitchen bench and end up cleaning the bench, scrubbing the oven, polishing the sink and emptying each cupboard, cleaning it and restocking it. I would even clean light fittings and dust skirting boards - things I had never done before in my life. Whilst it isn't as hard core now (the skirting boards haven't been cleaned since then) I'm still obsessed with cleaning.

These days I even find myself tidying up as I go. This concept, which for normal people is nothing special, is completely new to me! I will make a cake and while it's baking I'll clean all the bowls and measuring cups so that when the oven bings to herald the arrival of afternoon tea time, the place looks and smells divine. Who would've thought I would ever be like this?

It doesn't make any sense to me. Previously when I had all the time in the world to cook and clean, I didn't do it. Couldn't stand it. Now that I have a million other things to do, I will make the time to do it all. I think I must actually be a real Mum... or a stereotypical 1950's housewife - where's Mother's Little Helper when you need it?

Hubby is loving the cleaning (he used to do all of it) but particularly loving all the yummy food. My taste buds are loving it. Tricky, when he's old enough, will love it (I've already made and frozen some baby food because we had a heap of pumpkin). The only problem with this new found cooking ability is the exponential growth of my rear end. I could go for a walk to burn off some calories, but I have a bathroom to clean.

Did you become a domestic goddess when you had kids? Or were you one already?

From here to paternity (leave)

Working as a casual has it's advantages – for example, I can have time off (without giving much notice at all) when I get a freelance client. It does have its disadvantages too though, and at the moment they're being felt in the lack of maternity leave way.

Whilst casual employees are entitled to 52 weeks unpaid parental leave (It's called parental leave since either mother or father can take it if they are to be the primary care giver) its only if they have “completed 12 months continuous service” with their employer – and that, unfortunately, is not me. I was feeling like a bit of a change in direction so handed in my resume to be the 'Makeup Consultant' at a pharmacy. I was interviewed on the spot (glad I wore a nice outfit!) and offered the job right then, pending a police clearance. Excellent! So I gave three weeks notice at the place I was working in and thought everything was perfect. The day before I was due to start at the pharmacy, I found out I was pregnant.

Legally I had no obligation to tell my new employer I was pregnant, especially since it was before the 12 week “She'll be right” stage. But I decided to tell them anyway, basically out of a sense of overwhelming guilt. They were shocked to say the least and suggested we all just play it by ear and see what happened. Phew.

So after six months in the job I've now left. Although they have asked me to come back after Tricky is born, I don't have a legal leg to stand on if they change their mind. I've even trained up my replacement, and there isn't enough work for two of us. But I suppose I'll waddle over that bridge when I come to it. For now I'm enjoying the extra time to nest and put my (swollen) feet up.

But what about Hubby? And all the other partners out there? What are they entitled to? Bugger all is what. It is up to the individual company to decide what leave entitlements the non-primary care giver is eligible for. It was a topic of hot debate at antenatal classes the other day with all the couples comparing. It was awful to hear the stories of the men in the group (our class consists of all heterosexual couples with the woman being the primary care giver) having to fight for time off.

Hubby works for the government and gets two weeks paternity leave straight off, no questions asked. Luckily for us his boss (whose wife is expecting her third at the same time as we are expecting Tricky) is very flexible and encouraging him to do what he has done each time (and will do again this time). That is, to combine his paternity leave with carer's leave and a little bit of annual leave, which all up is a grand total of six weeks off work! Hooray!

This not only means that I will get some help in those difficult first few weeks, but it will also allow Tricky to bond with his dad, an opportunity not every bub gets. Especially, it turns out, for teachers. One of the men in our class is a teacher and is allowed a whole three days off. Three days?! THREE DAYS?! That is disgusting! Worse when you consider his wife has to have a scheduled caesarian section for health reasons – she will need three days just to get out of bed – then what?! She'll get a kiss goodbye while her husband goes off to work no doubt feeling guilty for leaving, and she can struggle through. They had tried to get the caesarian scheduled in for the beginning of the school holidays, but turns out you can't pick and choose quite that easily.

Did your partner have time off?  Did he/she have to fight for it?

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Today was my last day of work for a while. I'm going to let my inner feminist come out to play and say that more accurately: Today was my last day of regular paid work for a while. Because we all know that the real job starts soon, being a mother. Yes, the poorly paying, crap hours, do it for love job of a lifetime.

Ellen Page said it best in the movie Juno when telling her boyfriend she was pregnant: “Cos you know... they say pregnancy often leads to... you know... infants” Its not that I'm just figuring this out, I've been aware of how these things work since I was about nine years old, but now its becoming more and more of a real thing as opposed to just a concept which it has been up until now. Assuming that Tricky comes on his due date, which is unlikely considering only a mere 2-5% of babies do, I have eight weeks to prepare. I can handle eight weeks; I can do some painting, decorating, re-painting because I've changed my mind on the colour scheme, and even clean skirting boards in that time if I so choose. But what if the little sucker comes early?

My sister (who I was keeping anonymous but insists on commenting as 'Aunty Penny') attended a farewell party of her work friend, Cass, who was about to have a few weeks off in preparation for the arrival of her bub. There were presents and cake involved, so understandably everyone had fun. But the baby had other plans and decided to come THE VERY NEXT DAY! As a result every time Tricky moves today I look down sternly and say “Not yet, kiddo!” in my best don't-mess-with-me-I'm-your-mum voice. Because we all know that would work.

Even the antenatal classes are still focussing on birth – yes I need to know lots of things about that, but in the scheme of it all, that is going to be a very small part of the whole having a baby adventure. What happens after? I'll have some midwives and nurses for the first few days but then I have to take this small, strange looking creature home and he'll be entirely dependant on me for EVERYTHING! Hubby has never changed a nappy in his life and only recently held a newborn for the first time (looking highly uncomfortable and completely sh*t-scared, I might add). Now the two of us are supposed to keep this thing fed, clean, warm, entertained and alive. When does the training for that start? It surely can't be all 'on the job' can it? This is slightly more important than my high-school job at Kmart and even that came with a three day training course! If you want to get a bit dramatic and go all 'A Current Affair' and 'Today Tonight' on it, this is the future of our country I'm raising and I'm expected to just wing it? Sheesh! No wonder new mums are tired, they spend half of their time caring for the baby and other half wondering if they're doing it right.

When leaving work today I was amazed that each person used the same words – they all wished me luck on the “impending birth”. But whenever I hear the word impending, my head automatically assumes the next word is doom. So that's all I heard all afternoon, “Good luck on the impending doom” followed by a smile and quick hug. Thanks, the doom thing freaked me out but that pathetic awkward squeeze makes everything OK.

How long did you have off work before bub arrived? Did he/she come anywhere near the due date? Leave a comment.

Best Nest Quest

One of the primal instincts of motherhood is upon me. I'm nesting! Or at least I'm trying to.

According to the source of all information worth knowing, Wikipedia, nesting can be characterised by a strong urge to clean and organise one's home. Its not just limited to the baby's room, women have been known to unscrew every knob on the kitchen cupboards to disinfect the screws (that's not going to happen at Casa de Glow-Less), organise the pantry in to food groups and start major renovations.

The urge to clean hit me a few weeks ago. A domestic goddess I am not, so Hubby was completely shocked to come home and find the washing done, the floors vacuumed and the kitchen shining so brightly that a welder's mask would have come in handy.

I've mentioned before that I bought a lovely second hand cot - it was a nice varnished brown but I wanted it to be white just because I'm difficult. The recent heat wave means I haven't finished the transformation yet, but when the weather cools down a bit I'll be back out there with my dust mask and sander! There is something a little bit freaky and yet a little bit provocative about a pregnant woman using power tools. And nothing says sexy like protective ear muffs.

My only problem with the whole nesting adventure is that I'm desperate to paint Tricky's room but I can't! Hubby's parents are coming to stay with us for a few days soon and its currently a guest bedroom, so they'd end up suffocating from the painting fumes for sure. A lot of people would probably think the demise of their in-laws would be a blessing, but I actually love mine. Plus when you think that she can sew and he is the world's best DIY-er, they're going to be pretty handy to have around when Tricky starts growing quickly and breaking things. I'm actually wondering if it would be bad manners to ask them to move the furniture from the now defunct guest room for me on the day they leave? “Thanks for staying, now get to work”. Too much?

As I can't do all the big jobs I want to do, I've been busying myself with other slightly pointless tasks like folding baby clothes so neatly they could be on display in Pumpkin Patch and organising them in to sizes. I even made up labels so that at a glance it could be seen that this pile is 0000 and this one is 000 – because surely taking two seconds to look at a tag would be too hard, and one should never assume that just because this pile is to the right of 0000 it is therefore 000 (even though it is – if I could alphabetise it too I would!). I'm not so daft that I don't see how incredibly stupid this is and that makes it quite frustrating. I've turned from a person interested in world events and politics (plus a bit of celebrity gossip if I'm honest) to one obsessed by pieces of material so small they could be mistaken for a hanky.

There is one positive of having to wait to transform Tricky's room in to a relaxing haven where he will sleep soundly and never ever cry (spot the delusional woman). If I finished his room tomorrow then what else would I do between now and bringing him home? In this hormone affected state I might turn in to a screw disinfecting freak! Or clean the skirting boards with a toothbrush! Oh the horror!

Did the nesting urge hit you? Did the staff at Bunnings know your name by the time you were 35 weeks? Leave a comment.