It was the 5th of February, 2014. I jumped up from the bed screaming "what do you mean it broke? Aaaaaaaaaaaah" I didn't want another baby, there was no way in hell I was going through any of that again. Thanks. Very. Much. Not long after, I drove to the chemist with every intention of buying the morning after pill. I found myself lingering in the baby aisle, and then the pregnancy test aisle. I never made it to the counter, I just lingered around with my hand instinctively hovered over my belly, wondering what if? I stood in the Manor Lakes pharmacy for a good 20 minutes before I decided to leave things in the hands of fate. I couldn't see any good reason why I should become a mother again, only a million reasons why I shouldn't. But I walked away and for the next few weeks, I waited.....

Silvie Lena Valentine is now 8 weeks old and Christmas is only a few days away. She was born on the 23rd of October and this time around, I have some perfect memories from that day. Max is besotted by her and he calls her 'Shil-vee Yeena' or 'Baby Yeena'. Silvie looks nothing like her brother did at this age. He was bald and blonde, whilst she has a head full of fluffy brown hair. Even at this young age, her temperament seems calmer then his (famous last words!). She is absolutely beautiful.



Just hours old

The last 8 weeks have been every bit as tough as I imagined they'd be. And then a little more. I'm slowly getting used to having 2 children, but there are many days when I feel utterly broken. Some nights, Silvie wakes up a gazillion times and then Max starts the day with full force at 5am. When Max goes down for a nap, Silvie won't sleep until he has woken up (cheers kiddo). She spends hours in the early evening just being angry and inconsolable in general. I close my eyes when both kids are finally sleeping but Silvie usually wakes 2 or 3 more times before she finally sleeps. Those are the days I cry and moan that I'm never going to sleep again. Because I'm a total moron when I haven't slept. I wish I wasn't.

I didn't expect my mood to get so low during this time, because I felt great after I had Max. But it has. It's absolutely no reflection on how much I love my daughter. I adore her and I adore her brother but I'm drowning. I feel like I'm not exactly winning at this motherhood business right now.

On a lighter note, the increase in poop production, still blows my mind. Some days I swear Max has tripled his poop load so he can keep up with his sister. Silvie screams like a possessed baby when she's dirty but Max doesn't care. So I have to drop everything and run to clean one kid, and then run around to pin down the other. I've lost count of the mornings where I've stood in the lounge room and cried "There shall be no more pooping today, from ANYONE!". I've told Silvie it's
forbidden to poop between the hours of 7pm-7am, but she ain't really paying attention to that.

As Silvie approaches the 10 week mark, I can feel myself getting a bit anxious. On the one hand, I'm excited about experiencing all those 'normal' baby things which happen from that age. On the other, it makes me sad, though I can't exactly explain why. More than anything, I'm scared and nothing anyone says will change that. It's just something I'll have to ride out ('this too shall pass')

I'm grateful to fate for the decision it made for me that day back in February, I would have never consciously decided to have another child. I don't understand why people have additional children, when they can't handle the one/s they've already got. Yet, this is exactly what I've done. I know I'll find my groove and eventually life will become vaguely predictable again (don't laugh, I said VAGUELY). Until then, I'll make the most of the baby snuggles and enjoy this time when she's too young to destroy my house.

My babies are my universe.
One day I will sleep again.

Every little thing, gonna be alright

I can't believe how quickly this pregnancy is flying. When I was pregnant with Max, it was the looooooongest 39 weeks and 4 days of my life. Life has been so hectic, all I've thought about, is those day to day things I dislike about being pregnant. I haven't had much time to think about what life is going to be like with a newborn baby again. But when I do stop and think, I realise I'm scared witless.

Newborns are freaky little weirdos who have strokes. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself otherwise, because this is my reality. People can reassure me all they like, and I fleetingly believe them when they tell me everything will be fine. But whenever I look at baby clothes, all I see is tubes, wires and infusion pumps.

When I decided to take Max to the hospital on the day of the stroke, I had no idea how sick he truly was. I was a paranoid first time Mum, who only took her baby to hospital because he 'wasn't quite right'. When I put him in the car, he was just a little bit pale, a little bit grumpy and a little bit sleepy. It took me less than half an hour to get to the hospital, but by the time I got there, he was unconscious and barely breathing. Only moments later, he was in full blown respiratory arrest. It only took half an hour for him to deteriorate to the point of near death. It still terrifies me, how lucky we were that day.

These days, it's pretty easy to recognise when my 3 year old is sick, but newborns aren't quite so easy. On the morning of the stroke, Max had no temperature, he drank his entire bottle and despite being a little bit grouchy, we still got a few smiles from him. There were no obvious signs that his brain was slowly filling with blood. I've never thought it was 'mothers intuition' which saved his life, it was pure luck.

I've avoided buying things for the new baby and I've had the perfect reasons to do that. We've had no money and we're moving house. Two perfectly valid excuses to avoid looking for things which I never expected to bring so much pain. I've always maintained that the week Max spent in Intensive Care, was actually the easiest week of this entire journey. During that week, I felt nothing, I felt numb. Now, I'm discovering pain I never knew I felt. My family have bought things for the baby, which I've largely avoided even looking at because it physically hurts. I feel horrible because they must think I'm completely ungrateful. But, I'm grateful beyond words, for everything they're doing for me.

I feel weak and pathetic for feeling scared about baby #2. From a rational perspective, I know there are no good reasons to fear any of this will happen again. I feel guilty for being so afraid, when I have so much to be grateful for. Max is an awesome little man and if anything happens to this baby, I know she'll still be awesome too.

We missed out on so many 'normal' parenting moments with Max. We bypassed 'babies first sniffly nose' and went straight to 'babies first coma'. I yearn to experience normal parenting anxieties. I want to sit back a little and watch my baby girl reach her baby milestones without hours of therapy and angst. I'm scared of that being taken away from me again.

The psych nurse in me knows that avoidance fuels anxiety, so I feel ridiculous for not being able to look at a cot, a stroller and a car seat. Which is why I'm writing this post. I've learnt, pouring my thoughts into a blog post is the most cathartic thing I can do at times like this. I've tried things like counselling, but I wind up spending the entire session, mentally critiquing the counsellor and their strategies- "Do you really mean that? Or are you just trying to make me feel validated?". I don't want stupid irrational anxieties to stop me from enjoying my baby girl. I need to remember, if lightening does strike twice, then we will be ok. Life will give me what I need, not necessarily what I want.

Music and song lyrics are two things which I can always rely on, to make me happy. So it seems fitting that I end this post with some words from the great Bob Marley.

Every little thing, gunna be alright.

What's Up?

It's no secret that I don't particularly enjoy pregnancy. Nonetheless, I've made it to 22 weeks with a lot less moaning this time. Actually, this pregnancy has comparatively flown, compared to my pregnancy with Max. I guess that's probably due to the fact that I'm so damn busy and I have a lot less time to feel sorry for myself.

Life has been hectic over the last few months and it doesn't look like changing anytime soon. On a good day, I'll tell you that everything is fine. On a bad day, I'll probably say the same thing. On a really bad day, I might admit to how I'm really feeling. The truth is, I'm struggling.

A few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, Rob lost his job. For the last 3 months, I've been working 50-60 hours a week to make ends meet. I love my job and I love my colleagues, but I miss my son so much. These are the last few precious months I have with him before his little sister comes. I'm really angry that this time has been taken away from us.

This year, our washing machine died, our dryer died, my car got towed because I couldn't pay my fines, my phone died, my car died, Robs car died, the phone & internet have been disconnected (several times), I got taken to VCAT because I couldn't afford the Rent and we both drove unregistered cars for months before I could afford to pay both rego's (I copped a $724 fine). Slowly, I'm getting on top of things but I'd be lying if I said, I don't despise my partner a lot right now. I've never aspired to the 'happily ever after' thing, but sometimes, just for one day, I'd love to be a princess.

Max had Round 3 of Botox at the end of May. This time, he only had the 'happy gas' and (true to form) he fought it, the entire time. It took 6 of us to hold him still and one play therapist trying to distract him with a video of Thomas the Tank Engine. Afterwards, he screamed so much, he puked all over me. It was our most successful Botox to date.








We're 5 weeks into an intensive schedule of post-Botox OT, we've been having sessions 3 or 4 times a week. Late last week, I realised I was dead set fed up with therapy sessions and cancelled one, just so we could go to the Zoo instead. I'm tired of spending what little free time I have, going to medical or therapy appointments. But, the gains he's made this time around, have been nothing short of amazing, so it's all been well worth the effort. Yesterday, one of his OT's said his right hand was now functioning at 'an advanced level' and I spent the most part of yesterday afternoon feeling incredibly gloaty about that.

Last month, our landlord gave us 4 months notice to vacate the house we rent. I suppose if I were a camel, this would be the straw. We can't afford to move until I get my tax return, and I'm not sure we'll have much luck getting a place whilst one of us is unemployed. I know the move is going to happen just as I'm entering third trimester and just as I'm starting to feel revoltingly uncomfortable. I know that I'm going to wind up lifting shiteloads of boxes and holding up the other end of the three seater couch as Rob swears and we struggle to squeeze it through the front door.

I'm trying not to dread the coming months and I'm trying to remain optimistic, despite the pregnancy hormones which make me wanna sulk like a teenager. Most days I laugh, some days I cry and everyday I'm grateful to work with such an amazing group of people, who probably don't realise how much they're carrying me right now. And then there's this face.......






.....which continually reminds me of everything I have to be thankful for. I think back to the time when I didn't know if he'd live or die and realise that the problems I have now, are trivial. I do still dabble in self pity from time to time (I'm only human, not a cyborg) but I refuse to wallow in it. Someday, we're gunna reach the top of that mountain and there's gunna be one hell of a great view when we get there.

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans"

In November 2014, Max is going to be a big brother. Surprise! So, in anticipation of all the questions I suspect people are asking, I've prepared this post. 

I thought you weren't planning on having more kids. The key word there is 'planning'. No, I wasn't planning on having more kids. It wasn't in my 1 year plan, my 5 year plan or my 10 year plan. But here we are. I never planned on having children full stop, but I fell pregnant with Max, and believed it was fates way of telling me I was meant to be a mother. Now, fate is telling me I'm meant to be a mother of 2. I don't exactly understand why right now, but I know it will make sense in time. How can I not trust fate when it's already given me the greatest gift in the universe?

Am I happy about it? Yes. Deliriously happy. You wouldn't guess it, I'm a moody, angry pregnant bitch and I'm so tired, I'm struggling to conjure up any facial expressions at all, let alone a smile. But I am happy. I wouldn't have chosen to follow this path, so I'm glad it chose me. Having said that, I suffered from depression when I was pregnant with Max and this pregnancy is already rapidly heading down the same path. I'm not depressed about the pregnancy, I suppose it's just a hormonal issue I have little control over. I know this dark cloud will lift once the baby arrives, for now, I hope people can cut me a little slack if I seem a bit mopey. 

How are you going to cope with another child, when you already struggle to cope with Max. I suspect most people will discuss this issue amongst themselves, rather than ask me directly. The simple answer is, I have absolutely no friggin' idea. But I'll cope. 3 years ago, I wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me everything we'd go through with Max. I coped with that, and I'll cope with this. Interestingly, Max's behaviour has settled quite a lot since I found out I was expecting. He's already had to cope with a few changes, like "Mummy can't do x,y,z with you right now, Mummy is going to throw up". Initially there were tears when I selfishly puked instead of playing with him, but he's quickly adapted to his new, lazy Mum. I'm actually really darn proud of how well he's adapted. 

Are you scared that this child will have a stroke too? Not exactly. I'm not scared of another stroke, but I am scared of 'rare, uncommon & unlikely'. Three words which would probably bring most people a certain degree of relief, frighten the bejesus out of me. Maybe only those who've lived it, could understand what I mean by this. 

Boy? Girl? Doesn't matter as long as it's healthy right? Wrong. Of course I want my child to be healthy, what parent doesn't? But what happens if it's not healthy? Will my world end? No. Will I love it any less? Of course not. I would be upset and angry and hate on the world for awhile but life will go on. Boy? Girl? It doesn't matter 'as long as he never feels pain I have no control over', and 'as long as she always knows how much I love and want her'. Everything else is a bonus. 

A friend of mine, who has a child with extra needs, says of her second born ('normal') child "she has healed me in places I never knew I was broken". This is how I view this pregnancy. It's (hopefully) my chance to end my child bearing days on a more positive note. It's made me realise, how angry and resentful I feel about everything we've been through. I suspect I'll need to write about some of these things as the pregnancy progresses. But for now, I'll leave you with this picture of our precious little munchkin v2.0

Mummy can't wait to hold you sweetheart xxx