Penni Drysdale - P Plate Parenting

I’ve done it! Hearty pat on the back and gold star to pin on my big chest (cue mocking laughter). Earlier this week I successfully zipped and buttoned my favourite jeans…and they were on!

Hiding in tracksuit pants perhaps was not only a comfort thing, though they are undoubtedly the most comfortable item of clothing in existence. Maybe deep, deep down I was afraid that the moment would come when I had to confront the fact that I would no longer be the figure I once was.  But I pulled them off their hanger and wriggled into them, preparing a host of excuses just in case – they’ve just been washed so they’re probably a bit stiff and tight…I  have just eaten a  lamington and we all know that they lodge in the hips and bum and tummy and thighs instantly… it is only 4 weeks post birth… etc etc.

But lo and behold, with minimal sucking in and tucking in (of that slab of jelly that remains when the excuse of a foetus vanishes), they went on. What a proud moment! Only problem was sitting down…and eating…and breathing. But with my new achievement I went out into the big wide world (the local shopping centre) and flaunted it. Thing is, no one stopped to pat me on the back me, or smile in admiration. No one offered a hand shake of congratulations. Oh well. Maybe that level of recognition is reserved for the bikini come back… (cue mocking laughter).

Comment on this post

At an intellectual level, he gets it. “When the baby comes, there will be a mum, a dad, a boy and a baby. That’s four.” Correct. At an emotional level, I’m not too sure.

I’m a pretty useless playmate these days – I can’t run or jump, give wizzies or carry him on my back like a monkey. I can’t sit on the floor and do puzzles or attempt to construct things with Lego without my pelvis beginning to crumble, and I think it’s taking its toll. My little boy has adopted teenage attitude, BIG time, and perhaps it’s an expression of frustration and the need to feel in control of something in his life. He speaks agressively, pushes, hits, flat out refuses to do things inspite of the knowledge that there are consequences (that will cause grief when the reality of them sets in). Is it attention seeking? Is the unborn brother or sister already stealing his thunder and diverting precious energy and attention from his little world?

Days together can be long and frought with conflict and it’s at these times that he cries for his daddy. He’s never really done that before and I think I expected to feel rejected and hurt by his demands for a daddy hug and kiss at nine thirty in the morning. Secretly? I’m thinking, ‘Mate, if i could swap places with him right now, that’d be really great.’ But I’m his mummy and I love him too, even if there if a baby brother or sister waiting in the wings. We’re just going to have to work harder at cementing his place in the family unit and convincing him that although mummy is a pathetic playmate, he is still her big boy and she loves him very much.

Comment on this post

There are a few different ways to tackle genital talk with your kids. We are of the ‘call them by their real names’ school of education. There is no ‘pee-pee’, or ‘front bottom’ or ‘poo hole’ – only penis, vagina and anus. But I digress.

The baby within has been kicking, punching or head butting (I’m not sure which) for the last couple of weeks and recently it became possible to feel the action from outside touch. As a consequence I have been recruiting my husband’s hand frequently, urging him to feel it and, probably unfairly, getting disappointed when he looks at me blanky and shakes his head.

This morning I summoned our toddler’s soft hand and placed it where I was feeling the movement. Now, I should add that a lot of the movement has been down low… low, low, and so it was that his fingers did have to venture south of the knicker line. Struggling to keep still and concentrate on the task at hand, his little fingers did slide a little further south than intended. He quickly withdrew his hand and stated, ‘Oh, no, that’s your vagina. Maybe you should do it.’ In between attempts to suck in air amidst the laughing, I felt proud. Proud that he had used the real word and demonstrated that he was aware of personal boundaries. That’s my boy.

Comment on this post

Well, it seems that one child was simply not enough. Number two is on it’s way and we’re thrilled!

Let me retrace our steps for you (don’t worry, I will be careful to avoid any unnecessary details). Something clicked towards the end of our Europe adventure and suddenly it just made sense – we would love to have another child. After being back on Aussie soil for a few weeks it was confirmed and any chance of keeping this piece of news a secret went out the door with our three year old son’s enthusiasm. ‘Baby? Did you say baby? Yeah, we’re having a baby aren’t we mum? Aren’t we?’

Over the weeks he has enquired regularly about the baby and even me – Him: ‘How are you both going?’ Me: ‘Well I think the baby is fine…I feel terrible.”. He talks excitedly about taking it for a walk and sharing his bath toys. He whispers through the stretching skin of my now bulging belly: ‘Hello baby. Hello! Hello…?’.  He understands that I am going to blow up like a balloon, but that the grand, messy ‘popping’ of this balloon (as per Play School) is not going to happen until after his birthday. Time is a difficult concept for young minds. And yet despite this knowledge he has frequently forgotten about it’s existence as his arms and legs are thrown wildly towards me in a state of tantrum. Let the ride begin!

Comment on this post