So the other day, Max was drinking some AIDs

Without scaring you with too much information, I'll just say, my Breastfeeding experience was crap. At no point during the gazillion ante-natal checkups, do I remember ever feeling like I had the choice to bottle-feed. 'Breast is Best' so they say and I doubt anyone would argue that from a nutritional perspective. However, there's an infinite number of reasons why Breast isn't necessarily best but not many people are brave enough to talk about it.

I'll admit a dirty little secret here.....I never wanted to Breastfeed. Shocking yes? Selfish, yes? Child abuser yes? The thing is, I'm a bit of a prude sometimes and I never felt comfortable with the thought of my boobs hanging out in front of people. Every time I heard someone say "flop out a boob", I literally felt sick from the anxiety. Everyone told me, once you've given birth, you don't care who see's your body. For me, it was the opposite. After childbirth, I became fiercely protective of my privacy......fiercely. I was also in a lot of pain from a pretty traumatic birth and having nightmares/flashbacks from said traumatic birth. All in all, I wasn't in the best emotional state I was a blubbering mess.

The thing about pregnancy, I loathed most was the body sharing part. What can I say? I like my space. If I could've rented someone else's uterus, I would've. In my last trimester, the only thing I could eat, was icy poles. My beloved coffee, made me spew. My even more beloved Pepsi Max made my esophagus burn. Everyone told me to 'make the most' of being pregnant but not once have I wanted to put him back inside.

Despite all of that, I tried to Breastfeed and failed dismally. There wasn't one simple problem, there were several. The lactation consultants at the hospital couldn't see me for 2 weeks. 2 weeks is an eternity when your baby is screaming and your nipples are falling off.

I remember typing into Google 'will my son become a serial killer if he is bottle fed?'. I seriously worried about that. I was angry that everyone else was able to love and adore Max, whilst I was an emotional mess. I went through so much to bring him into this world, how was that fair?

It was Rob who made Max his first bottle late one Sunday night. I'm glad he took control of the situation because I felt like a demon mother for even considering it. Hearing him skull that bottle and the sigh of satisfaction at the end, was the sweetest sound I've ever heard. My baby had a full tummy for the first time ever and it was the first feed, I didn't cry through.

The Australian Breastfeeding Association, have been slammed in recent days following allegations, that one of their presenters told parents to be, "formula is like AIDs". Benign comments like these, made by 'lactivists' infuriate me. If I'd continued with Breastfeeding, I have no doubt, I would've been another Postnatal depression statistic. How is that 'best' for my child??

The A.B.A. have since stood down that person, pending an investigation. They are no doubt, saying things like "this persons view do not reflect the opinion of this organization, blah blah blah". But, such extreme statements are not that unusual and many of my friends have said they felt bullied to Breastfeed, by a well intended Breastfeeding Nazi.

It needs to stop, now. Breast may be 'best' but it may not be 'best' for everyone. It's time the lactivist's allowed woman to make an informed decision rather than a co-erced one. It's time woman's online forums quit stirring the pot with contentious articles, intended only to entice readers into a slagfest. Back the f*** off people and mind your own breasts....I mean, business.

Welcome to the club

Every now and then, a 'newbie' arrives at the CHASA* group on Facebook. Someone's child has either just had, or has just been diagnosed as having a stroke. No one can forget being at that place, and we embrace people who've just arrived. It's a dark, confusing place and it doesn't matter how many people are standing there with you. You feel more alone then you've ever felt before. Recently, I got to thinking about the things I'd say to myself if I could go back in time to that moment. So here goes.....

*Children's Hemiplegia and Stroke Association

I would tell myself, it's ok to grieve..... It's a strange sort of grief and one I've touched on before. I never felt like it was appropriate for me to feel sad, when I had so much to be grateful for. Those first few hours at the hospital, before being told of Max's diagnosis were absolute terror, in it's purest form. I remember thinking 'please don't take him, please don't take him, please don't take him' like a broken record over and over again. Once I knew what we were dealing with, I was ok. I didn't think I had the right grieve, when I had so much to be thankful for. How can you grieve for someone who is still alive? More recently, someone told me it's ok to grieve. Although we didn't lose him, something else was lost that day and it's something that will never return.

I would tell myself, it's ok to be afraid.....Two days later, the doctors would sit us down again and tell us our son had brain damage. If I could go back in time, I'd tell myself it was ok to be afraid. Fearing the future doesn't make me ungrateful, it makes me human. At the time, it felt as though everything I'd dreamed of for my son had gone. I was afraid he'd have no quality of life, I was afraid he wouldn't know I was his mother and I was afraid I wouldn't have the strength to keep going. I felt guilty for even thinking those things.

I would tell myself, I am strong enough to deal with this, but I don't have to be strong 100% of the time...... It's true when people say, you never realize how strong you are, until being strong is the only option you've got. That being said, no one can be strong 100% of the time. It's ok to cry, and it's ok to feel overwhelmed. Crying reduces stress hormones and you'll feel better for it.


I'd tell myself, no one wants to be in this position...... In the weeks following Max's stroke, I spent a lot of time on the net looking for other families in the same position. In every story I read, parents were saying things like "we wouldn't have him/her any other way". I felt bad for wishing things were different, and I felt guilty because I wanted my son 'unbroken'. I've since realized though, no parent wants life to be this way. There's a point where you accept what's happened and you can find silver linings for the storm clouds. But, that doesn't mean you wouldn't change it if you could. There's nothing wrong with that.

I would tell myself that my heart will break every time I see my baby struggling..... It does get easier but the pain never truly goes away. Watching other kids do things with ease still throttles my heart with astounding ferocity. It's ok to hurt, just so long as it doesn't consume you. Acknowledge the pain but keep moving forward.

I would tell myself, that life isn't fair....... I don't know how many times I've wanted to run into the middle of the road and scream "IT'S NOT FAIR!!! WHY HIM???". Any honest parent will tell you, they have the same moments. It's ok to have these moments, but it's not ok to let them destroy you.


I would tell myself, brain injuries don't magically heal, every achievement takes a lot of hard work...... The experts would tell me we were lucky this happened while Max's brain was still young enough to adapt. No one ever told me how much work would go into every single achievement. Some days, it's so daunting and I feel like throwing everything in. Which brings me to my last point.....

I would tell myself, for every low there's a counterbalancing high..... There's a certain degree of perspective which comes after surviving crapful situations. When you've stood on the edge of a cliff and faced losing everything you've ever loved, you appreciate everything that's truly wonderful about life. You stop sweating the small things and you rejoice in every tiny achievement. It's a perspective that can't be taught and it can't be explained. It's impossible to truly understand it, unless you've lived it.

Everything in life happens for a reason. Whether or not you understand that reason is irrelevant. I intended to go to Italy but my plane landed in Holland instead. Turns out, Holland isn't so bad, just different.




I love you so much beautiful boy

Watch This Space

10 years ago, I moved away from the suburb I grew up in and vowed I'd never move back. I was 21, nearly at the end of my University Degrees and in my own mind, destined to achieve great things. I aced most of my Uni subjects, with an (almost) HD average. I only applied for one graduate position, because I knew I would get it, I was young and I was cocky. But for the most part of my life after University, I was drunk. I managed to hold decent jobs but had disastrous relationships and got evicted from one rental property after the next. To this day, I have very little to show for my 30+ years on this earth. Memories? Yes. Assets? Zilch.

I've lived in my current house for over 5 years but in the 5 years before that, I lived in 8 different houses. The house I'm in now, is a total shithole. I hated it the day I moved in and I still hate it now. I hate the suburb, I hate the street and I hate the memories. I moved into that house with my boyfriend aka 'the one' in early 2007. It was late 2008 when he packed up and left me for another woman. When he left, so too did the fragments of my white picket fence dream. He is the reason I don't fall in love, and he is the wall that keeps others from away. When he left, the house became a virtual backpackers hostel. Housemates and their pets came and left, the only thing that stayed the same, was me. That shitty old house, with it's shitty old memories, reflects my total failure of grown up life.

The only thing that has kept me there, is sheer laziness and the fact that I loathe moving. In early 2010, I decided to move back to the neighbourhood I grew up in. That was 2010 and I still haven't budged an inch.

There's always been good reasons for staying put. When I was pregnant, I didn't have the energy, then Max came along, then Max got sick, then Max had a full time schedule of appointments, then I nearly drove myself bonkers trying to be mum/physio/OT/breadwinner (etc). But now? I have no reason to stay.

I'm not exaggerating when I say, I want to hire a massive skip and dump most of my possessions in it. Most of it is worthless crap, shitty artefacts of my former life. I don't need those possessions to remind me of where I've been, because those scars are with me everywhere I go.

Last Summer, I swore I would be out of that house before another summer came around. It's almost the end of August, and Summer is only a few months away. It's about time I left.