Letter to Bobbin - twelve months old

Dear Bobbin,

Happy birthday, you gorgeous thing, you! I cannot believe you are one year old already, where did the time go? It seems like it was only a few months ago that you came in to this world in the most gentle way.

In the last month you have gained so much confidence with walking that you don't crawl at all any more. You're picking up more and more speed every day; I blink and you're across the room trying to get something you shouldn't have. You are also very much in to climbing absolutely bloody everything you can get a knee on, leading to many heart attacks as we look up and you've pushed out the highchair and used it to climb on to the table (searching for the fruit bowl).

Strangers have been stopping us a bit lately to comment on two things: your adorable pigtails (mama is a little obsessed with them because CUTE!) and your walking... because you are only a petite little thing, the size of the average eight month old, it looks like you are way too young to be doing it.

You continue to be a feisty little firecracker. You like things done your way and are very quick to let us know when you don't like what is happening. You fling yourself to the floor, kick your legs, and scream. If you're chucking tantrums before you turn one, I'm a little worried about what the future holds. Part of the issue is that you are fiercely independent - a characteristic I love about you, but it does make it a bit hard sometimes because you will scream if someone tries to help you move a stuck toy, pick up your water bottle, anything really. Drama Queen!

You have so many words now; mum, dad, Tricky, duck, hello, yum, bye bye, no, baby, Nanna, star, woof, vroom, ta and more. You sign for milk and food because yay, you're eating now!

We were starting to get concerned that you weren't very interested in food. The doctor gave you a medicine for a minor problem with your gut it and it was amazing how all of a sudden you started eating more and more. The doctor thinks you'll grow out of the gut thing and you might even start putting on weight - though maybe you're just a little thing like your Albany Nanna and Aunty Kitty.


Some of the cute things that you do that I want to remember (cute to us, they're probably boring to other people) because they make us melt are going and laying on your pillow pet when we say it's bed time, going over to the tomato plants and pointing when we ask you where they are (you love cherry tomatoes - you suck all the goo out and then pull the skin from your mouth and throw it on the floor!), turning on Tricky's CD player so you can dance, blowing kisses, walking around the house calling out for Tricky, sitting on the back doorstep (why do you love it there so much?), go on the dogs bed and in his kennel (you love Sprocket), shaking your head and saying noooo (won't be cute for long, I'm sure) and doing gigantic nods yes - seriously, your whole upper body is involved.

One interesting little thing you do is twist your dummy around so that the fabric of the clip wraps around the teat before you put it in your mouth. The fabric is partly inside your mouth and partly on your cheek. It's an unusual little comfort routine you do most times you take the dummy. People will unwind it for you, thinking it has got caught up, but you just take it out and re-wrap it again.

Next weekend we'll have a rainbow birthday party for you. You won't remember it, but I'm hoping it will be great for the people who can remember it. You'll have your first taste of cake, icing and chocolate - well, if your cake works out.

It's been an amazing year and I've enjoyed watching you grow so much. Whenever I've felt down or anxious, I've just put everything aside and concentrated on you, your brother and your Dad. You three are my happy place. Sitting down and watching you stack blocks, bang on drums and lift every flap in every lift-the-flap book we own is better than any drug. Granted it means I don't get much work done, but you're totally worth it.

Enjoy ripping paper off presents and getting even more cuddles today than normal, my girl.

Love Mama xxx

OMG you've put on so much weight... what happened?

"Oh my god, Glow, you've put on so much weight... what happened? Oh, you probably don't want to hear that... but what happened?"

These were the EXACT words that greeted me a few weeks back when Bobbin and I shuffled off to a morning of stopping my child putting crap in her mouth at playgroup.

I'd like to say that I immediately had some witty retort but instead I just mumbled something about life being hectic and "oh Bobbin is getting too close to the heater, excuse me". She was half a room away, but it was the best exit strategy I had available, and one that I will continue to use, I'm sure.

I avoided the woman who said it for the rest of play time and even left early because AWKWARD.

When the only pants that fit you have an elastic waistband and your muffin top is now a whole fucking bakery top, it's a bit obvious you've put on weight. But I was absolutely gobsmacked that it was said (before she even said hello), and since it was only a day after the whole baby in the car incident, my already fractured confidence was further shattered. It's not like I didn't know it had happened, but kick me while I'm down, whydontcha?

I was under the (obviously mistaken) impression that it's just not polite to mention that someone you haven't seen for a while is now a fatty boombah. Because a) RUDE, b) what business is it of anyones? and c) REALLY FUCKING RUDE.

I asked the followers of my Facebook page what I should do when I was going back to playgroup...

"Oh my god, you've become such a bitch! What happened?" was quite popular, as was ignoring her. I was so anxious and I played different scenarios over and over in my head all morning and even considered just never returning. But I rocked up with Exit Strategy, err, I mean Bobbin, ready to see what happened and maybe, just maybe, be an adult.

Breathe. You'll be fine.

She waved hello, with a warm, genuine smile.

I gave her a close lipped, raised eyebrow smile. You know the one. The one that says either "oh, we're friends, are we?" or "I think I have something in my teeth". I'm not super proud of myself but I was panicking a little.

After a while she made a beeline for me, and asked if I was OK because I seemed anxious.

Aw geez, don't be nice! I'm trying to be indignant and maintain a sense of superiority. That just won't work if you're not a cold bitch.

I brushed her off (I'm really not good at the whole conflict thing) and a few minutes later she came over again, expressing concern that I was so stressed that she could see it from across the room. Here I was thinking I was acting cool and aloof when in actual fact I was showing signs of being seriously unhinged.

Oh great, you're fucking lovely and concerned. How am I meant to be cranky at you now?!

So I did it. I acted like an adult.

I told her calmly and carefully why I was the Queen of Awkward. I let her know what she had said, and that it had hurt my feelings that she would rather point out my weight than talk about ANYTHING else. As soon as I said "hurt my feelings" I was kicking myself. I felt like I was seven. I had rehearsed this and used a thesaurus full of words because that totally makes me feel smarter. Insulted. Annoyed. Offended. Affronted. Antagonized. But no. Hurt fucking feelings.


She was absolutely mortified and so genuinely apologetic. She thanked me for being honest with her and you could have blown me down with a feather, you know, if I wasn't so fat. She had wanted to start a conversation on her own weight gain and that is how it popped in to her head to start it. I hadn't noticed her weight gain (which is probably indicative of my observational skills rather than any "I see inner beauty only" bullshit), but she explained to me she'd been diagnosed with a thyroid condition and promptly diagnosed me with one too.

I diagnose myself with cake. And zero self control. And poor time management. And chocolate. And binge eating.

I'm disappointed in myself for eating my feelings (and oh boy, they are delicious) and not dealing with my problems. I'm annoyed that I was so healthy this time last year - a great weight, a great BMI and a great place mentally. I lost all my baby weight then put it all back on, one Nutella croissant at a time, and at the same time went a little crazy.

I'm slowly coming back from the crazy by focusing solely on my family (and thus neglecting the blog and what feels like a billion emails), taking medication and I've even started exercising. It'll figure itself out soon. Well, it better. Otherwise I'm going to need to buy new clothes. But hey, at least I don't go around pointing out if people have gotten fat.

How would you deal with this situation?

How to make a kids viking costume on a budget

The Trickster was invited to an awesome How To Train Your Dragon party a few weeks ago, and because he is a little obsessed with dress up at the moment (gee, where does he get that from? *wink wink*), he said he wanted to be a viking for the day. Even after being told it wasn't actually a dress up party. The kid is a fabulous.

I didn't want to spend a lot of money on a costume and I've been embracing my inner craft blogger of late, so I decided to MAKE a costume. Ambitious, much? I thought I could stitch some material together and it would be quite, ahem, rustic and therefore historically correct. Vikings didn't have overlockers, ya know!

SO I checked for some faux fur material but on my way I stumbled across this:

Oh yeah, I did. I sent my kid to a party wearing a bathmat and toilet mat set. That cost $6 in a 50% off sale at Best and Less. Classy shit.

It's kinda fur-like, and the toilet mat part was even already shaped for a vest meaning less cutting work for Miss Lazypants. I got to work, cutting the bathmat up and sewing it, occasionally holding it up to the little guy to see if it was looking vest-y. My year eight home ec. teacher would have a seizure if she knew I was using my sewing "skills" 20 years later. Related: Holy shit it's been 20 years since I started high school.

I threw the off cuts from the arm holes down and they landed in the shape of a beard and moustache... BRAINWAVE! All vikings need facial hair for historical accuracy, yes? The longer offcuts from the bath mat I kept for leg thingamajigs that I saw some of the vikings wearing in the movie. They look like legwarmers but it just doesn't sound butch enough to say viking legwarmers, does it? I grabbed some shoelaces from the supermarket for $1 to tie them on. Because vikings didn't have safety pins. I'm assured historical accuracy is fun.

Then it was on to the weapons. I was pointed in the direction of a tutorial to make viking hats (because historical accuracy can be thrown out the window if things are cute) and shields. Some late night cardboard cutting with the help of MapGuy who can trace his roots back to the vikings (which makes up for the whole viking hat thing, ya know), and some masking tape and gaffa tape produced awesome results:

All that was left was to put the whole ensemble together. It's a little rustic, but that is part of it's charm. Because I had the cardboard (a nappy box) and the two lots of tape, those parts were pretty much free, meaning my outlay for the whole project was a whopping $7.

He loved it. I loved it. People could recognize what it was meant to be, and it cost me almost nothing. That's winning in my books.

Letter to Bobbin - eleven months

Dear Bobbin,

My sweetheart, I am so, so sorry. A mountain of shame and regret weigh heavily on my shoulders for forgetting you were with me that day. I need you to know that it is not because I don't love you, just a sign that I am losing the battle against insomnia of late and have been really distracted. If I could go back in time and make it right, I would. But I can't change what happened, so instead I'm going to use it as a profound learning experience and tell everyone I know how easy it is to forget your baby in the car in the hope that it might just save a life one day.

The whole thing has rocked me to my core. I love you and I love being your mother, so the thought of something happening to you fills me with dread. The idea that I could be responsible for that? I just can't even. I can't bear to think about it any more. I've decided that after this weekend, I will stop beating myself up for it and move on as best I can, taking joy in your last few weeks of baby-hood before you turn one. Extra cuddles, extra kisses, sleeping together and being worn.

You have been busy the last few weeks, taking your first steps at 10 months and 10 days old in to the waiting arms of your Aunty Penny. It was magical. Your Dad and I were both there to witness it and we all shouted and clapped at such a great milestone. I, err, may have been a little overzealous with my cheering because you got scared and cried... and didn't walk again for a week! Your preferred method of getting around is still your funny half crawl half scoot, but you will walk around the room and strangely, walk on placemats. There was one on the floor and you wanted to walk on it... so we put them all down, creating a path for you, and you just kept going. Excuse the crappy phone footage, but hurrah, we got your second lot of steps on camera!


You have an obsession with climbing. Nothing is safe! Tricky's table and chairs? You managed to climb up and stand on the table. Anything you can get a foot on, you will climb with no fear. You climbed a slide and a ladder the other day (with Nanna and I spotting you so you were safe) and didn't falter. STOP IT. Mama has had enough heart attacks, thanks.

The second music starts, you bop along and go for ages. You sway to the dancing unicorn toy and play it so much that I'm regretting putting batteries in it. But it's just so cute, so maybe I'll just put tape over the speaker. Clever mama.

Your favourite word is no. Surprise! You shake your head and say it whenever we say it... usually because you've thrown your food or water bottle on the ground. You can just put it down, sweetie, you don't have to throw it, OK? Your second favourite word is Tricky. You crawl around the house calling for him, it's so cute.

As we head toward your birthday, the party plans are starting to take shape but I have no idea who to invite because you love everyone and are happy to play with every kid you meet. So the guest list is currently around 100 and will be culled to approximately 15 people. Mama has to keep to her budget, ya know!

I can't wait to see what this next month brings, my smoosh.

Love Mama x

The day I left my baby in the car

I'm opening myself up to a lot of criticism with this post. If you'd like to tell me how horrible I am, go ahead. There is nothing you can say to me that I haven't already said to myself. But maybe, just maybe, you'll see that by pressing publish on this post, when tragic stories hit the news, it isn't necessarily torch and pitchfork time.

There used to be an Australian TV show called Crownies (it's now called Janet King). They had a story line where a baby died in a hot car after the father forgot him. The episode left me devastated and has stayed with me. Then, last year, it happened in real life here in Perth with an 11 month old baby and I was equally distressed. One was a fictional family and the other a real one that I had zero connection to, and yet my heart felt like it was being ripped from my chest. I remember my arms aching to hold my babies even closer that night, and it was one of the occasions where Tricky kicking me in his sleep was a blessing.

I wrote of my distress on my Facebook page and it touched a lot of people. Some were upset whilst others were confused at how anyone could ever forget a child and suspected something sinister (as the courts in the US suspect now in a horrible case). A Washington Post article did the rounds, explaining how common forgetting a child was (it's a long, but fascinating article). It referenced the Swiss Cheese Theory and it stuck in my head. Likening our lives to slices of Swiss Cheese, the holes are all over the place and when things fall through one layer, there is another right underneath to catch it... but sometimes, those holes line up and accidents happen.

Bobbin is a few days shy of being 11 months old, and yesterday, I forgot she was with me. The holes in our Swiss Cheese life lined up:

For starters my memory is shot. On Monday I forgot, within 40 minutes that MapGuy was off work, sick. I came home to grab a bag I had forgotten and nearly shat myself when I saw someone standing in the hall out of the corner of my eye.

Yesterday MG was off work sick again. With him home it meant I could drop Tricky at his first day back at school solo, which was fabulous because getting two of them out of the car in the rain is a pain.

At pick up time I ummed and ahhed about taking Bobbin with me or leaving her home with MG because of the rain. I decided to take her then I'd go shopping after I picked up Tricks. MG put her in the car while I jumped in the front. As I was backing out the driveway I realized I'd forgotten the shopping list so MG ran inside to get it and handed it to me through the window. I even made a joke about having a terrible memory, and waved goodbye.

I drove to school thinking about nothing important. The shopping list. What time to start dinner. Wondering if Tricks had had a good day at school. Wondering if I'd get a parking spot.

I pulled in to the street and parked in the exact same spot I had parked in that morning. Score. About ten metres away from the gate, close enough to not need an umbrella, even if the few spots of rain that had been threatening for half an hour decided to fall. I got out, jammed my keys in my pocket and walked through the school gate.

I chatted. I put my name down on the parent roster. I chatted some more. Tricky came out, we hugged and I asked him about his day. "It was good. Come and play with me." So I did. The rain was holding back so we walked around his playground looking at the strawberry plants and the Camellias. I was so impressed with myself that brown-thumb me could recognize some plants.

We walked through the gate hand in hand, swinging our arms, chatting about being back at school. It was a lovely moment, until we reached the car and I opened the door for him. Because that's when I saw her.

She leaned forward in her car seat, still rear-facing, and smiled at Tricky, saying his name.

I felt all the air rush out of my lungs and for the briefest of moments I could swear my heart stopped. I was so confused.

What the fuck is going on? How did you get here? Didn't I leave you with your Dad? No. I didn't. I brought you. I forgot you. I left you. Fuck. FUCK!

Ten minutes. I forgot her for ten whole fucking minutes while I made bullshit small talk about school holidays and not getting any sleep.

I got in the car and carried on like nothing had happened. We went to the shops and I walked around on autopilot grabbing the handful of things we needed. I spoke to the cashier, I smiled at a school mum, I told Tricky he couldn't have a packet of biscuits. Just push through, just go through the motions, don't acknowledge the horror, don't fall apart.

At home I told MG and then emailed my sister to declare that I was the worst mother to have ever lived. A throw back to Catholic school days and a need to confess my sins, searching for absolution. They were both shocked but understanding. I withdrew.

You would think, that after such a disturbing event, that I would spend the rest of the afternoon hugging my children, smothering them with kisses. But I didn't. For the remainder of the afternoon I avoided my kids, so ashamed with my actions (or lack thereof) that I could barely look at them. The thoughts that ran through my head were dark and scary, reminiscent of times when the Black Dog was not just barking at my heels, but mauling my soul. It was frightening how quickly I went back to old, familiar thought patterns.

After a few hours, when I could breathe again, I ran a bath for me and the kids. I washed their hair and we played with cups, splashing and laughing. Be normal. Be normal. Be normal.

I read Tricky a book and cuddled him to sleep, stroking his hair. Bobbin fed to sleep in my arms and I held her for a while, kissing her forehead, smelling that fresh baby smell as the endless what ifs circled whirled through my head. And finally, I cried.

MapGuy says it's OK. That all is forgiven. This was "just" ten minutes on a rainy day with no tragic outcome. I know I would tell someone else in my position that it was an accident, to take the experience, move on, learn from it. But right now, I just can't forgive myself.