Sweet Child O' Mine

When I wrote my last post, I intended it to be my last for 2013. But, over the last few weeks, things have happened which have left me feeling, I dunno, lost. I guess I wanted to write this post because I don't know how I'm feeling and writing helps me figure these things out.

Before I start, I need to say, that 99% of me is incredibly grateful to have my son. I am fortunate I was able to conceive a child, I am fortunate he survived the stroke and I am fortunate he is doing brilliantly in terms of his development. There are so many people doing it tougher than us. But more and more, I'm discovering, it's impossible to be grateful all the time. Now and then, that pesky 1% rears its ugly head, it makes me feel pissed off and completely overwhelmed.

It all started a few weeks ago, when Max had a paradoxical reaction to the pre-med he had, before his Botox. Although I've been with him throughout numerous unpleasant medical procedures, this reaction was right up there as one of the worst. I can't describe how it feels to see your child screaming and thrashing around so violently. I god damn hated the fact I couldn't do anything to make it better. I couldn't give him a cuddle, kiss his 'owie' and send him on his way. All I could do, was be there for him, completely powerless, utterly useless. I expected, that after a good nights sleep, I'd forget about the whole shebang. Shit happens, life goes on and I've dealt with these kinda crappy situations before. But, it's now been a few weeks and I'm still feeling pissed off that my baby has to go through these things.

A week later, we were back at RCH for an appointment with the eye doctors. Max's right eye turns outward and this is reviewed every few months. I absolutely loathe the eye clinic. The waiting time is long and waiting rooms + hyperactive toddler = mummy go cray-cray. Then there's the eye drops he has to have before seeing the Opthamologist. They sting and he can't see properly for hours, which makes him understandably cheesed off. The outcome is always the same, he'll have surgery to correct the eye, once he's old enough to do a comprehensive assessment (it's all about measuring exact angles of eyeballs, that's about all I understand!)

At the last appointment, it was suggested we try putting a patch on his left eye, to force his right eye to work a bit harder. See the risk is, if his right eye is slacking off all the time, it will start losing vision. I told the doctor it would be all but impossible to keep a patch on his eye for any significant length of time. I know that sounds like I'm a complete defeatist, but I know my kid. The doc wasn't fazed, he explained that vision loss was rare anyway and said we'd review it in a few months.

So, I've rocked up to the next review, prepared for the wait, prepared for the nasty eye drops and prepared to hear the same crap all over again. I wasn't prepared to be told that his vision was deteriorating. My little boy was going blind in his right eye. I was shattered.

It's now essential that Max wears a patch over his left eye for 2 hours each day. 2 whole hours. I despairingly asked the woman how the f*** would I convince a 2 year old to co-operate with this. She suggested I stick stickers on it. Admittedly, I was a total bitch when I told her that stickers were a stupid idea, when he wouldn't be able to see them anyway. I could feel the lump in my throat and being the type who hates crying in public, we took the patches and left.

The next day, I summoned every ounce of positive enthusiasm I could muster and we tried on the patch. I wore a patch too, I sang our favorite pirate song, I talked like a pirate (which normally amuses him), I danced like a pirate, whilst Rob clapped and cheered to spur him on. He ripped it off, we put it back on, he ripped it off, we put it back on. After one measly minute, the patch had completely lost its stick. The longest it stayed on, was around 3 seconds. Since that day, we've tried every approach we can think of and the longest it's stayed on was 10 seconds. The only options I have left, is (a) gaffer tape the darn thing to his head or, (b) put him in a straight jacket.



Arrrrrr, see Max? Being a pirate is cool ok? No? Damn.

By this stage, I'm kinda hystrionic, thinking my son is going to go blind and it's all my fault. See that's the thing, despite having an amazing support crew, it all comes down to me. I'm the person who spends the most time with Max and it's my responsibility to stay on top of these things. My family and Rob do an amazing job with him, but at the end of the day it all boils down to me. If his right
hand function doesn't improve, it's my fault. If his vision continues to deteriorate, it's my fault. If his language development remains below par, then that's my fault too (etc). Most of the time, I'm ok with that but right now, I'm tired of the pressure. I want to worry about all the normal bullshit, that other parents do.

(But I digress, thanks to the joys of google, social media and our amazing EI worker, we're developing a Plan B for the eye patching. Watch this space)

Which brings me to the final issue, which is Max's behavior. This is something I've been hesitant about writing about in depth, for 2 reasons- (1) It's really hard to find the right words to describe it, and (2) I'm tired of hearing "it's just a boy thing", "he sounds like a normal toddler" or "he'll grow out of it". I know people say these things with good intentions, and maybe they're right, but unless their child has a brain injury, I wish they'd all just shut up.

I've tried to go with the 'normal toddler' thing, but deep down, I've always felt something was different. I'm the person who's taken him to gymbaroo, music, dancing, swimming and play groups. I've taken him to every single class or group and every single time I've witnessed the same thing. Max is different from the other toddlers.

His energy levels make the other toddlers look listless. Whilst the other toddlers can focus on a task for a brief time, Max lasts about 3 seconds before he's off and running again. When the other parents are sitting down, sipping coffee, I'm the parent who's stopping her child from (a) playing in the toilet, (b) running out the front door, (c) ripping out the indoor plants, (d) trying to pull paintings off the wall, (e) grabbing and throwing piles of brochures, (f) throwing everything in general and knocking someone unconscious, and (g) I can't be bothered listing any more. Overall, his behavior is normal toddler behavior, but it's extreme. Far more extreme.

The most frustrating part is, I'm the person who cops the absolute worst of his behavior and I'm the person, he listens to the least. I know, I know, this part is normal but I'm tired of people smugly telling me what strategies have worked for them. You know what? I've tried that too and a zillion other strategies you'd probably never even thought of and he doesn't listen to me. Any kind of reaction he gets from me, is hilarious to him, regardless of how angry I might be.

My best strategy is to try to keep a poker face, remain emotionally neutral and talk him through the situation. It doesn't necessarily solve the problem, but it usually stops him from escalating. I'm acutely aware of the fact that I often look like a totally crap parent, because I appear to be ignoring his behavior. It's particularly unhelpful when other people decide to intervene instead. Yep thanks strange lady at Woolworths, now that you've told my son off for throwing things off the shelf, he's going to spend this entire god damn shopping trip doing exactly that.

The throwing. Oh my god. The throwing. If you're new to this blog, you wouldn't know about Max's pathological throwing problem. Read this




My latest injury. Lump on the head courtesy of Max throwing a hard, wooden train station at me

I can see the raised eyebrows we get, not only from strangers, but from those who are close to us as well. I know my parenting skills are criticized when I'm not around and I know I'm blamed for my son being out of control. I wish someone would just pat me on the back and say "I know he's difficult, I know you're trying your best and you're doing a good job". If people spent a week being Max's mother, they might reevaluate their expertise.

I've casually mentioned this stuff to Max's doctors at every review, knowing I'd be told "he's a normal toddler" and "it's too early to assess whether this has a Neurological basis anyway". I just wanted it noted that this is an ongoing issue.

We've recently started working with Jen, an OT from the RCH Rehab services and thus far, every session has been a disaster. Last week, Jen contacted our Early Intervention worker Caroline to express her concerns about Max's behavior. Jen plans to have him reviewed by Neuropsychology so we can assess whether his behaviors have a Neurological cause. I'm incredibly relieved that finally someone else can see it and doesn't blame me. Even though I've long seen it coming, I'm pretty scared about the diagnosis I strongly suspect they'll eventually make. But we'll deal with that if and when it happens.

Jen also expressed concern that I was burning out and struggling to cope. She's right on that one too. I am struggling and I'm not coping. I'm not a crier, but lately I've cried every single day. I hate it all, and I want the world to stop turning so I get off for awhile. I'm overwhelmed and very alone.

None of these recent events is a huge deal in the grand scheme of life. They're just stumbling blocks along the way. I know many people who deal with far greater things than I do and I really don't want to be a whining sook.

Max is my universe and he's the silver lining to every storm cloud I encounter. I love him more than I ever imagined I could love a person. He's charismatic, confident, mischievous, loaded with character and struts to the beat of his own drum. I always wanted my child to be an independent thinker and not a person who follows the crowd. I definitely got my wish. Time will pass, I'll get my head around things and life will go on. But for now? Just go easy on me ok?

And so this is Christmas

A few days ago, my mother alerted me to the fact that I haven't written a post here since July. Oops! I often have a dialogue running through my mind of what I'd like to write about, but rarely do I make the time to actually do it. So, now I find myself writing a 2013 wrap up, with no idea where to start!

Compared to the last 2 years, 2013 has been relatively uneventful. In May, Max had his first round of Botox and an intensive regime of therapy followed. We saw an Occupational Therapist 3 times a week and then did our own therapy in between. 6 weeks later, Max and I were both completely burnt out! He was always happy to see the OT arrive, but over time, became less than happy to do any of their activities. There were plenty of tears and tantrums involved. If we're unable to jolly him up or find another suitable activity, it creates a conundrum for me. Do I keep cajoling him into completing the task or do I allow him to take a break? Obviously, there are some things he just has to do for his hand function to improve. However, I won't allow a therapist to continue if he's really distressed. He is going to need therapy for a long time, there's nothing to gain by making it a negative experience. It's a fine line, but I'm thankful we now have great OT's who make our sessions fun and know when to back off.

The great news is, we've seen amazing results. As the Botox wore off, the improvements were largely maintained. His thumb abduction is much better and his hand is getting stronger. There is still a way to go, but it's really exciting to see him moving forward. 2 years ago, my little boy didn't even know he had a right arm, and when he eventually realized, he didn't have the co-ordination to use it. It's been a long, and often tedious process, so every step forward makes my heart smile.

Max had his 2nd round of Botox last week and the whole experience was a disaster. Whilst the Botox injections went smoothly, he had a paradoxical reaction to the pre-med. For an hour or so, he screamed until he turned purple and thrashed violently in my arms. Eventually I couldn't hold him anymore and the nurse placed a mattress on the floor. He was thrashing so much, I had to restrain him so he wouldn't bang his head. He eventually fell asleep in my arms. The experience has motivated me to really push hard with the therapy we're about to commence. If we can make further gains to his hand function, we might be able to avoid another round of Botox entirely. Perhaps I'm being idealistic in thinking this but I don't see the harm in aiming high.

From a Hematological perspective, things are still in status quo. Max's platelets have remained in the normal range ever since his last treatment 2 years ago. However, his immune system still hasn't fully recovered from the treatment, so we don't know what will happen once it does. The ITP may come back, or it may not. Ordinarily, the immune system recovers after 6 months, but it's been 2 and a half years and we're still waiting! Max was the youngest known person in the world to receive this treatment, so it's always been unknown just how it would affect him. I'm growing weary of seeing so many different Hematologists. They all have different opinions and I still don't know what to believe. For now, we continue to wait and see (doctors orders!)

A few weeks ago, we spent a week in Albury/Wodonga meeting with other pediatric stroke survivors and their families. This is now the 2nd year of the 'retreat' and we had 8 families attend (up from 3 families last year). In 2013, I've connected with several new families from various parts of Australia and slowly we are building up a stronger support network. I'll try and write a post about our time away, but here's some photos for now-




Max and his new friend Zen.









Some of our amazing kids!



Max's beautiful 'girlfriend'Ruby (aka 'Woobee'). He drove her bonkers with his overzealous love.

This year, I've finally started getting my health and fitness back on track. I've lost 40kg, with another 20kg to go! I've started running again, which is something I loved in my younger days. It was a massive struggle initially, and I felt guilty about the time spent away from Max. Now, I love being out on the road, with the headphones on and no one to bother me! Max gets excited when I go, I think he's learnt that I always come back in a ridiculously good mood. I've also started back on Community Radio and present a show once a week called 'Faith, Groove and Parody'. I also contribute pieces to a website called 'Little Melbourne', which is a guide to what's on in Melbourne for kids and families. It's a fantastic opportunity, and I love every second of it. I'm still working as a psychiatric nurse at Werribee Mercy's psych unit. As much as I complain about the place, I secretly love the chaos and the acuity of our clientele.

In 2013, we've been blessed by the generosity of our family and friends. Without their unwavering support, I'm not sure how I would've survived the 'not so good' times. In particular, I want to thank my parents Wendy and Gary for always being there for us (I could dedicate an entire post to everything they do!). As well as my sisters Tara and Kylie. They are both such beautiful, caring people- qualities I'm often lacking.

So that's the 2013 in a nutshell



Help!! I'm in a nutshell!!!

(Couldn't resist the Austin Powers gag)

Rob, Max and I would like to wish everyone a happy and safe Christmas. Your love and support means more than you could possibly know.





























See you in 2014 xxx

The Power of Memories

As a general rule, I try to not complain about the various tests and procedures that Max needs to undergo. At times, my heart literally aches for him, but the only thing I can do is acknowledge the pain and keep moving forward. Often, people will hear me say "ouch", that means my heart is hurting. But then I move on.

Earlier last week, I received a letter from the hospital with a date for Max's next round of Botox. After reading the letter, I felt physically ill.

I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but when Max got sick, I made a pact that I would always be with him for every medical procedure. When he's distressed, he wants his mother, and why would I deny him of that? Regardless of my emotions, my little boy needs me. My motto is 'if he has to go through in, then (metaphorically) I do too'.

I've been there through countless blood tests, cannulations and multiple procedures where I've had to hold him down. I hate it. The blood taking is getting harder as he gets older, he flips out the second he see's a tourniquet.

These days I'm an expert in restraining him, but it never gets physically or emotionally easier. The infuriating part, is when the doctor/nurse tells me I'm not restraining him properly. Max is different to what they're accustomed too, he needs his left hand held and both of his feet (his feet are especially adept at causing chaos). I've often been 'told off' for not holding his right arm properly. That's when I gritt my teach and inform them, he has hemiplegia in that arm and his feet are far more likely to cause damage. Cue awkward silence.

I look back to the time when Max had his first Immunisations. It was before the stroke and I was a quivering mess by the thought of him being subjected to pain. When he cried, I cried. Nowadays, I feel pretty silly about that and Immunizations are a breeze.

When Max had his first round of Botox, he didn't have a general anaesthetic, he had the 'happy gas'. The only problem I could foresee was being able to keep the mask on his face because I knew he would hate it.

Only one parent was allowed to stay with him during the procedure and that person was me. As predicted, he hated the mask, he sobbed and tearfully repeated the word 'car'. His little voice was muffled by the mask and the gas. Poor little guy just wanted to get in the car and go home.

It was at that moment, my mind flashed back to the day of the stroke. On that day, he had an oxygen mask on, when they drilled into his shin, he let out a bloodcurdling scream which was muffled by the mask. They told me he was unconscious, they told me he wouldn't feel it. I was all by myself. It's the one moment which continues to haunt me from time to time.

The day he had Botox was the first time since that very first day, where he'd worn a face mask. Those muffled sobs of 'car' took me back to the moment of that bloodcurdling scream. The exact point in time, I felt emotional pain unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

My legs started shaking, I held onto the trolley so I didn't collapse. I took a few deep breathes and reminded myself of the task at hand. I stroked Max's hair and sung to him until the gas took effect and he relaxed. The procedure was over in a matter of minutes.

That's the reason I'm dreading Botox round 2. Such a small thing which evokes such a powerful reaction. I'm still going to be the one who stays with Max during his next treatment. I know that avoiding painful experiences only increases the power they hold over you. So I'll take a deep breath, go into that treatment room and remind myself that we never truly know how strong we are, until being strong is the only choice we've got.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Botox- Round 1

Last month, Max had his first round of Botox treatment. Many people don't know (I didn't) that Botox was originally intended to be used to help control spasticity. In layman's terms, Max has certain muscles in his arm/hand which are too tight and make certain tasks very difficult for him. Botox deadens those tight muscles for a few months. In that time, we do intensive therapy to strengthen the other muscles which are weak from underuse. The hope is, once the Botox wears off, those weak muscles will be stronger and more able to counteract the nasty tight ones. Confused yet?

One of Max's biggest challenges, is that his right thumb is almost always tucked in. You'd be surprised at how much of a negative impact this has on his functioning. Try spending a day with your thumb stuck to the palm of your hand and see how you go.



The image on the left is a 'normal' hand and the image on the right is similar to Max's hand

The Botox was injected into 3 different parts of his right arm/hand. It can take 1-2 weeks before it starts to take effect but we saw an improvement almost straight away. Later that evening, his thumb was in a far more functional position. For a brief time, I allowed myself to be taken by the fantasy that this was a permanent cure.






Botox day

We started doing intensive therapy a few days later. At the moment we are seeing our Occupational Therapists 3 times a week (sometimes 4), as well as doing lots of work at home. We also do lots of sessions at the pool and lots of climbing at the park. I think pictures tell the story better than words can....









We're trying to do lots of 2 handed activities






He climbs up the top, so he can slide down any way he pleases!



Toddler gym






He LOVES the DustBuster



Sitting in his 'spinning' chair. Spinning is great Vestibular Stimulation, which is great for his balance and a whole range of things



Just randomly holding a card in 'righty'






A session with one of our gorgeous OT's Caroline












Holding a scarf in each hand at Music Class



A new splint to stretch his thumb out at nighttime. We're not having much luck!




As you can see, we've been pretty busy. Keep your fingers crossed that we can achieve some long lasting results!

Thank you to everyone for supporting us along this journey.

Faith and Max

Once an Alcoholic, always an alcoholic

They say, "once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic".

So, I guess I'm an alcoholic.

It started, when I was 21 and my childhood sweetheart broke up with me. We'd been together just over 4 years and I was devastated. I don't deal well with being dumped, I get reeeeeeally ugly. Except in this instance, it hurt so badly, I didn't tell a soul.

Life was different back then, there was no Facebook, Instagram or Twitter to ventilate to. 'Talking about it' meant picking up the telephone and calling someone, but there's no way I would've done that. It was my final year of university, so during the daytime, I studied and come 5pm, I started drinking. I was a fairly high functioning alcoholic, who managed to get decent grades and hold down decent jobs.

I lived alone in those early days, no one could've known how much of a grip alcohol was starting to have over me. Even if they had, I was too hellbent on a path of self destruction to have cared. When I eventually started going out again, I chose friends and boyfriends who didn't mind me drinking. We all had our own demons, and none of us really cared.

I spent the majority of my 20's either working, or drinking. I made a lot of bad decisions, I lost a lot of good friends, and I did some really stupid things, which I still pay for today.

By the time I reached my late 20's, I could out drink most grown men. All my friends were drinkers, every night we'd polish off a slab of beer or I'd drink half a slab on my own. I knew I had a problem but I felt completely powerless to stop. There were days, I literally felt pain in my liver.

I felt so ashamed of myself for not being strong enough to quit, I tried so many times to stop, but only ever lasted a day or 2. Every failed attempt at quitting, only fueled the addiction even more. What was the point in even trying to stop, when I was only going to fail?

Then one day, I discovered I was pregnant and I stopped drinking. Just like that. It was hell. The pregnancy hormones were raging and although the physical withdrawals didn't last long, the psychological withdrawals lasted well over 2 years.

When Max was in ICU, I wondered how I was going to get through, without alcohol. For almost 10 years, I used alcohol to block out every emotion imaginable. Yet, here I was, living a total nightmare with no way of numbing myself.

The ICU nurses often encouraged me to leave his bedside, in order to maintain my own sanity and prevent burnout. I always denied that I needed time away, but in reality, I did. On two occasions that week, we went to a pub not far from the hospital. I drank a bit on those nights, but made sure I stayed sober enough to still know what was going on.

Those two nights of drinking, only reinforced, my drinking days were well and truly over. There was something far more important in my life now and I needed to find a new way of coping. From that point onwards, I stopped craving alcohol. I'm still not entirely sure, how I coped during the early stages of this journey. There's every possibility I was completely batshit crazy but no one was brave enough to tell me.

Nowadays, I still have the occasional drink and have no problems stopping after one or two. I'm extremely cautious about the amount I drink and how often, because there is no chance in hell I'll let alcohol control me ever again. I'm happy for Max to know who I used to be, but he will never meet the person I was. That person went out the trash, along with a few hundred empty beer bottles.

My name is Faith and I'm an alcoholic.

10 weeks of normal

The first 10 weeks of Max's life, is something I've mostly avoided writing about. Partly, because it feels irrelevant, compared to our lives today. In the lead up to the 2nd anniversary of Max's stroke, I've found myself reflecting back on those first 10 weeks. 10 whole weeks of being 'normal' parents, with 'normal' worries. A time, which Max deserves to read about one day, if he chooses to. This post is for him....

Max, I was completely floored and unprepared for the intensity of the love I felt for you. It frightened the be-Jesus outta me and made me a little cuckoo (nothing has changed). For the first few weeks, I couldn't sleep, unless your father was awake to watch you breathe. One night, I busted him fast asleep during his 'watch'. Initially, I was furious but then realised, I was being irrational. Nonetheless, the sleeping routine that followed, was also a little bit nutzo. Your father and I slept on the couches, with your little basinette in between us. I couldn't fall asleep, unless both of us could see you.








When I was pregnant, I told you that once you were born, you should only poop for Daddy. You timed your first major poop explosion, for when I'd ducked out to a doctors appointment and poor Daddy copped it. When I got home, your fathers face was white. His retelling of the events, made me laugh so hard, I nearly broke a rib.

You first smiled at me when you were 4 weeks old. It came on the exact same day, I was so exhausted and had started wondering if you actually hated me. That one little smile, was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen and it melted me completely. I'm so happy I was the first person, to see your beautiful smile.



Gorgeous newborn smile



The first proper smile I got on camera



What were you thinking little man?

You had your first Immunisations when you were 7 weeks old. You cried and then I cried because I felt like a total meaner. We'd bought along a bottle to pacify you afterwards but I didn't put it together properly and it spilt all over your face (you cried some more). I was horrified!

You loved bath time, but for the first few moments you always pulled the 'Charles Manson' face....




.....then you remembered that baths were awesome and you'd relax....




You were a total mummy's boy and always wanted me to hold you. You spent most of the day and half the night in my arms, despite many people warning me not to 'create a monster'. After the stroke, you hated being held like that. I'm so glad I spent those first 10 weeks snuggling with you.




Your favourite song was 'Reminiscing' by Little River Band. I used to play it to you, when you were crying and it almost always settled you. I heard that song just the other day and the emotions it bought back gutted me.

A lot has changed since those first 10 weeks. I look back at the photos of us, your father and I look so different- so young, so unaware, so completely innocent. We could never have known how close we'd come to losing you. I still wish I could go back in time and prevent you from going through every shitty thing you've gone through.

Even though I knew you were destined for greatness, you've astounded me with everything you've achieved in only 2 years. I guess you're not really a baby anymore, you're a little boy with an amazing ability to cause mischief.

I like to think I can teach you about the world but in reality, you teach me far more. You helped me find strength amidst the chaos. For that reason, this will be the last anniversary related post I write. I'm burying it in the past where it belongs. I doubt June 2nd will ever pass entirely unnoticed but there's no point dwelling on it when the future is so bright.




Onwards and upwards little man. Don't let anything hold you back.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

What to Expect- The Toddler Years

Throughout my pregnancy, the book 'What to expect, when you're expecting' was my bible. After my horrific child birthing experiencing, I was angry. They lied. Childbirth was nothing like the book had told me to 'expect'. When the baby's head is 'crowning', it isn't simply a 'burning sensation'. It feels like your lady bits are being attacked by a chainsaw, coated in sulphuric acid.

Nevertheless, in the weeks following Max's birth, I carried 'What to expect- The first year', everywhere I went. Max was about 8 days old, when I threw the book at the wall. Because that book lied as well. Newborns don't feed every 2-4hours, they (well mine) want to be sucking your nipples until they're bleeding and cracked 24/7. Even from birth, Max had his own unique way of doing things and life was nothing like I 'expected'.

I was shopping the other day and I stumbled across this-



Given my previous experiences with the 'what to expect' crowd, I assume this book is full of complete and utter sh*t. I was tempted to flick through it a little, but the illustrations alone made me nauseous. I'm certainly no expert on toddlers and the oldest toddler I know is 28 months, so the extent of my knowledge ends there. Nonetheless, I think I could impart a little bit of realism into the whole 'what to expect' bizzo.

Note: Please remember, this is all intended in good humour and is by no means a replacement to scientifically proven parenting advice (that's what Attachment Parenting is right?). Besides, you might get lucky and have a toddler as placid as the ones adorning the cover of the book- just (a) don't gloat about it and (b) don't give them a matching 'bowl' haircut.

When you have a toddler, you can expect......

• To find the most random of crap, in the most random of places. There'll be egg flips in your bed, shoes in your bathtub and Mr Potato Head in your toilet. None of this will seem strange to you.

• To find yourself saying things, which are utterly ridiculous but again, don't seem strange to you. Examples include, but are not limited to the following-

1. Why is the dog covered in noodles?
2. Do not throw that helicopter at the....*smash*, *yelp* dog.
3. For the love of Jebus, will you STOP harrassing the dog?
4. Things that go in the rubbish bin, stay in the rubbish bin. Except for shoes. Why are my shoes in the rubbish bin?
5. Please stop trying to eat my shoe.
6. Mummy is not Mr Potato Head.
7. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Yes it's a car. Brrrrrrooom. Yes it's a car.
8. We don't eat dead bugs. Actually, we don't eat any bugs, alive or otherwise. For the love of cheesecake, spit that bug outta your mouth.
9. The toilet bowl is not a swimming pool.
10. The ipad has gone to sleep now. Nigh nigh ipad. In fact, everything has gone to sleep, nigh nigh train, nigh nigh hot wheels and nigh nigh to every annoying toy I'd secretly love to throw in the bin.
11. It's a wall. Not a canvas.
12. We don't hit people across the head with the remote control.
13. Mummy doesn't need you to repeatedly ram the fridge door on her head.
14. Stop sticking crayons down mummy's bra.
15. Please don't rub Mr Monkey on your doodle

• To abandon every parenting/discipline/educational strategy you had carefully planned out. Unless you have a textbook child, you'll spend most of your day flying by the seat of your pants. You might as well flush your disciplinary plans down the toilet, alongside the hairbrush, toast and random bits of fluff you find there. For example

1. My friend was successfully using time-out with her Master 2. Until the little fella decided he actually liked being in time-out and started deliberately hitting her repeatedly, so he'd get sent there.
2. My own son, who is bemused by my firm voice, giggles at my stern voice and laughs maniacally at my 'mummy's lost her shiz' voice. I have absolutely no control over him. Any type of reaction is a win in his books, and there's only so long I can maintain a poker face, whilst he's lobbing things at my head (The other day I was hit in the eye by a toy pineapple. Seriously. A flying pineapple)

• Extreme variances in mood. Toddlers are like land mines, you tip toe around them all day, trying to avoid anything which might trigger a full blown meltdown. Nonetheless, they will still loose their sh*t, with monotonous regularity. Sometimes, you won't even know why. You'll spend a large portion of your day, feeling like this.....

And then they'll look at you, all like this.....

And then you'll feel, all like this.....

• Mummy will always cop the entire repertoire of vile toddler behaviour. This is because they love you more than anyone else, in a sense it's a compliment, but you will find yourself wondering if your child actually hates you. In most instances, your toddler will pull out their halo for everyone else and then don the devil horns for you. Naturally, people will assume it's their superior way of interacting with your child that causes this response. It's not. We call those people 'douche bags'.

• Every single night, you'll stand by their bed watching them sleep and wonder if you could possibly love them any more than you already do. Then you'll wake up the next day and discover (a) that you totally love them even more than you did yesterday, and (b) there's a dinosaur in your undies drawer.