Category Archives: Thoughts

Ryler’s birth, 6 years on

I can’t find an account of Ryler’s birth. Maybe I’ve told the story in my head so may times I’ve convinced myself I’ve jotted it down, but while sharing my birth stories with a new friend recently, I couldn’t find his. So, today seemed like a good day to wrack these old brand cells and get it down on ‘paper’.

I was 40 weeks and 3 days and we were getting anxious. My husband had what was possibly the most prestigious speaking engagement mere days away. He was the selected student speaker for his 2014 graduating class at Regent College. He was speaking the Friday. Today was the Monday. He had told me that he was not going to miss the honour of speaking to his graduating class, and so we needed to get birth a-happening. I still question him on the authenticity of that statement, but he sticks to it.

So we did. If my memory serves me correctly, I had an appointment with my midwife that morning, who performed a solid stretch and sweep, I had induction massage, induction acupuncture, ate a crap load of pineapple, took evening primrose oil (both ways!), went for walks, ordered curry from the takeaway spot across the road and had sex. Comeaaaaaan cervix. We wanted this baby OUT. The induction acupuncture included burning Chinese herbs by my toes – we weren’t messing around.

The following morning I woke up at 4:30am with a sharp pain in my back. YES! Things were happening. I jumped up, grabbed my lower back mouthing a silent ‘OW!’ and made my way to the bathroom, thinking that I’d let Theran sleep, because labouring moms are awesome like that. 2 more sharp contractions frighteningly close together and I realised that, nope, aint no-one gonna let Theran sleep. So I woke him up.

I remember the next hour in a blur of: calling my friend Amy to watch our sleeping Clayden, calling the Doula to meet us at home, I think I hopped in the bath and chatted to an on-call midwife (a locum who I hadn’t met) telling her things were happening. Important point to note in the story: the locum asked us to call her back when we decided to head to the hospital. (Which, spoiler, we didn’t). My Monday of desperately wanting labour to get going was coming thick and fast. As if all our labour inducing techniques were about 12 hours delayed and then hit at once. BAHM. No time to breathe, no time to think, and no break from INTENSE back labour.

What followed, was something about Amy arriving, knowing this was FULL BLOWN labour, a TENS machine on my back, our doula arriving, coffee in hand and eyes wide, her holding me while Theran packed the car, and her following us to the hospital. My contractions did.not.stop.

Bad baaaaad words came out my mouth as Theran raced through red lights. My membranes ruptured spontaneously in the back of the car at 45th and Cambie. In my Lululemon pants no less. And this was not a waters-breaking ‘trickle’ situation. No, no, the word gushing comes to mind – pouring, streaming – a real bold waters-breaking experience.

Theran screeched up to BC Women’s and I waddled into Emergency as if the baby was half out already. A first time mom was being admitted and the staff taking one look at me yelled ‘multip?’ and I screamed ‘YES!’ (as in, not my first baby) and I was ushered ahead, straight into a curtained off section, and a nurse rushed in to check me. I begged her not to check how far I was dilated and promised her I was 10cm. Promised. I may have even offered her some bribe to send me straight to delivery but, I knew she had to check. Shoes kicked off, and pants pulled down and fully dilated I was. To this day I have no idea how they (my shoes and pants) made their way back to me (I’m presuming my doula had eyes on it all).

10cm dilated, with my doula holding my hand and Theran still in admitting, I was wheeled up to delivery. I remember VIVIDLY, gripping the rails on the bed SCREAMING while the elevator climbed floors slower than a snail could’ve crawled them. The car trip, the 10cm, the elevator pinging in slow motion – this is the stuff movies are made of, man.

Into the delivery room I was wheeled and my doula ran the bath (ah, doulas). I was GBS positive so needed an antibiotic drip. (CONTRACTION). Also, where was Theran and my midwife? (CONTRACTION). A little lady walked in, (CONTRACTION) saying she was going to cover for my midwife until she arrived (CONTRACTION), and that she specialised in premature babies and I could hop (CONTRACTION) into the bath (CONTRACTION) once my midwife had arrived. (CONTRACTION)… you get the idea.

Side note: we now refer to contractions as surges (hypnobirthing-style) but back then these bad boys were full speed, cranked up, non stop, knock you over CON-TRAC-TIONS.

Theran ran into the room, I squirmed on the bed through what seemed like a never ending stream of relentless back stabbing; up, down, squatting, lying, standing, squatting, all 4’s, squatting, groaning, moaning, screaming… contraction, contraction, contraction. The concentration of oxytocin was overachieving that day. Finally, my midwife ran in. She slid behind the foot of the bed with her hands open as if to catch the babe. I saw her and in my not-so-finest moment yelled “WHERE the HELL have you been!?” (something we laughed about after, considering we were the ones who forgot to call her back). She chuckled (we love midwives). I hopped in the bath. With a nurse trying to put the antibiotic IV in my hand to distract me (she kept asking me if she should and I kept asking for the distraction) within minutes he was born, in water. This perfect chubby little boy. Our Ryler Cael Knighton-Fitt. At 6:30am, Tuesday 29th April at BC Women’s in Vancouver, Canada.

At that very minute, birthing Ryler was the most knock-the-world-off-its-axis moment. I had so much adrenalin pumping through me. I felt like an absolute hero. I loved Clayden’s birth – it was, after all, what inspired me to become a doula – but this was so different. A wild ride of raw hormones, emotion, disbelief and massive, MASSIVE adrenalin. And within (what felt like) minutes, I was up, showering, breastfeeding, calling family, having mates arrive, enjoying a hot coffee (post birth request – a good coffee) and then I took a nap. Ah, I was in post-partum heaven. I was so proud of US.

We made it to Theran’s convocation, as a family of 4, with a 3 day old on my chest. As you might know, that 3rd day is quite something. With milk coming in, and hormones peaking, emotions POURED out of my eyes, as I watched my husband speak to his graduating class, graduate with a double major, and receive 2 awards we did not know he would be the recipient of, chosen for him by his professors and Regent faculty. I don’t think I’ve EVER cried as much as I did that night (oh no wait, maybe during my marathon, I may have cried as much during my marathon).

And that, my little Rylie pops, is how you were born. Damn, your birth was epic and you made me feel like a champion – that car ride to the hospital is something I will never, ever forget. I’m also really grateful for your super speedy arrival. Thanks for that.

I love you my little bud. Thanks for joining our family.

x

Who wouldn’t want black things floating in their drinking water?

My first introduction to charcoal was back in Vancouver (many of my interesting ‘green-introductions’ took place there). My colleague and I made homemade mascara – with activated charcoal tablets and egg yolk. I mixed it up and kept it in an old mascara bottle in the fridge – to this day it was one of the best mascara’s I’ve used – no racoon eyes and no nasty chemicals. Simple as.

Then the words activated charcoal moved amongst the gut-health circles. My littlie, with her ‘me me me’ 3rd child tendencies, likes to chomp on the activated charcoal tablets when she sees me taking them. Mother-daughter bonding – black teeth and all. I’ve never tried the charcoal for whitening teeth – but should I find an extra few hours in a day I’ll be sure to give it a go.

Last year, after putting it off for sooooo long (and with 4 minor, but major-enough-to-be-anxious-about health concerns demanding my attention) I went for a check up. I found the BEST Women’s Wellness Holistic doc who is a Homeopath & Integrative GP. She BLEW MY MIND (but that’s another post altogether). In the waiting room at  White Lotus Wellness Center on Kloof Street Cape Town, I spotted a branch of charcoal swimming in a beautiful vase of water. I LOVE finding myself in spaces where there is more than one connection. Awesome Wellness Center – beautiful space – charcoal filtered water – salt lamps etc. It really is affirmation of my inner greenie. Naturally, I poured myself some water because I’ve always been intrigued by the benefits of charcoal filtered water and wanted to try some.

To be honest – it tasted like regular water, but JUST BETTER. But that’s the thing with nature and health and enabling things which bring life – often it isn’t a HUGE BIG DEAL. It’s normal, and it’s awesome.

I know there were concerns about bugs creeping into our water systems due to the low water levels in our dams around Cape Town over the last few years. I don’t know if this is true or not, but buying bottled water became the go-to. I researched water filters but never got around to getting one because they’re pretty pricy and, urgh, I don’t know, it just seemed like a pretty big investment and with the impending 3 x school fees I was about to pay it just kept getting nudged down the list of priorities.

Then KURO-Bō sent me my own pack to try. Like a gift from the Heavens. KURO-Bō is a 100% natural water filter, and it was easy as pie to get going. You simply boil the Kōins on the stove for 10 minutes and then pop them into your bottle of water. Ideally you let it sit for 3 hours (for maximum effect) but it’s good to drink immediately too. I need to boil these Kōins every month for 3 months and then replace them.

HEALTH & ECO BENEFITS

This innovative ancient natural water filtration technology, used for centuries in Japan (“Binchotan”), is unlike any traditional filter available today – both in terms of health benefits, as well as its incredible eco-friendly credentials.

Essentially nature’s own toxin magnet, KURO-Bō is a unique 100% natural, recyclable and plastic-free filter made of pure activated charcoal. KURO-Bō Activated Charcoal has undergone rigorous scientific testing (by SANAS), affirming its successful capacity for:

  • toxin, chemical and bacterial adsorption and removal from contaminated water
  • balancing an acidic pH of spiked water
  • enriching tap water with beneficial essential minerals.

Then today, I popped into Nourish’d Cape Town and there again – was the Kuro-Bo charcoal sticks in a big glass of water looking all earthy and awesome. So guys, get on it. Naturally filtered water on the go, any place, any time – try it!

 

Remembering Clay’s Birth… 6 Years On

My eldest turned 6 today. Remembering my kids’ birth consumes me. I find it so hard to go through the day without reminiscing moment-for-moment how those days unfolded and what took place, in the minute that corresponds.

I remember reading a friends account of her first baby’s birth. She is not even a ‘journal-type-person’ but she jotted it down. I’m sure I’ve written about Clay’s birth somewhere, but moving across the world and the emotions of wrapping up a life you loved to journey into a future of unknowns encourages the losing of such things. So, here is my feeble attempt, 6 years on, to recall that day. The day I became a mother.

It was the Scotiabank half marathon and I was 39 weeks pregnant to the day. We had friends running, so got up early to support. I was extremely whale-like but I love half marathons and was envious and wanted to support our friends. I remember STRUGGLING to keep up, dashing in the car, driving to the next spot, trying to find parking en route, hopping out the car, rushing to the street to track the guys, running back to the car – I was aching at every move. I literally could not MOVE MY LEGS fast enough. At one point I kept the car running while my friend went to spot her hubby because it felt like a baby would drop out of me if I wasn’t careful. It was cruel – my body was just not managing.

Fast forward to lunch with my cousin and her kids, chatting over cake and imagining a baby and how long it would take for him to arrive (suspecting, like ‘most first borns’ he’d be late)…

Later that evening Theran was watching Battle Star Gallactica (a series I had no interest in watching), and I was watching some other series – each on a laptop in bed. Around 11pm, I got up and went to the bathroom. In the bathroom, my waters broke. After the shock of realising what had happened, I noticed that there was meconium in my waters. I breathed, walked back to our bedroom and waved at Theran from the bedroom door (our room was carpeted, and he had his headphones in). After about 5 seconds of frantic waving and anxiety building, I caught his eye, and told him my waters had broken. He jumped up.

I went into adrenalin overload. Shivering. Naked. More waters, more meconium.

Theran phoned the midwife. We’d meet at the hospital in half an hour. Sitting on the edge of the bath in a gown. Prayers on the couch. Calmly we packed the car. Excitement. More adrenalin.

We Skyped my parents in South Africa in the car on the way to the hospital. We knew meconium meant things would be moved a little faster, and more than likely a baby was going to be born in the next 24hrs.

I remember arriving, checking in and being hooked up to a monitor and watching my contractions (which were totally manageable so I was stoked). I had to pee in a cup, and was then induced. My midwife leant down and in my ear she whispered “Sweetheart, 9 out of 10 women will take an epidural when induced like you’re about to be, go easy on yourself”.

I laboured for 7 incredible hours. 7 undeniably life-altering hours. On the toilet, on a birth ball, squatting, standing. Walking, groaning, the induction smacking me across the face with peaks the size of mountains and the depths the size of puddles. The chemical version of oxytocin my heart was furiously pumping through my body was unlike anything I could have imagined. We called the anaesthetist. A mere 15 minutes later, I was numb. And I came back to life. Seems my body was fighting itself, and I dilated to 10cm almost as instantaneously as the epidural took effect (that’s pretty instantaneous in birth time).

I remember Theran adjusting the video camera (he’s a filmmaker). I remember it was calm, it was dim, it was quiet. It was 7 in the morning, we were chatting, and the staff shift came. I said goodbye to my nurse Hazel (who felt like a sister – I think I may have offered her money to stay with me she had been so incredible) and hello to Michelle (who I didn’t know what the time, but who was equally as awesome).

I pushed – for hours, maybe? Eye-ball-popping pushing. The OB on call was ready to catch.

Clay’s position was head down, but, posterior. He was otherwise known as sunny-side up. Preferably a (first time birth) baby should be anterior. And his heart rate was dipping.

In the calm, quiet of 7ish in the morning, at the announcement of the posterior positioning about 8 medical staff entered the room – in symphony like precision. Tables were moved, cloths were pulled revealing shiny apparatus, doctors faces were in my face explaining things to me, papers about potential emergency c-sections needed to be signed: Clay had to turn for me to push him out.

It was like I somehow flew into the OR, and on the next contraction, with the help of 6 (I’m not kidding) of the team, they turned him. Blood, waters, bold moves by the medical team. I remember praying that he’d turn. I was stunned to hear he did – as if my prayers needed to play catch up with what was happening to me. On the first go. He had turned. The next contraction, I was told, would be when I needed to push him out. Push. Him. Out.

I so so very clearly remember grabbing the waists of the women on either side of me – my midwife and Michelle, and as the contraction grew, and the team encouraged, I pushed with EVERY-SINGLE-PART-OF-MY-ENTIRE-BEING. Still focussing on breathing in for the 2nd of 3 pushes per contraction, a baby was handed to me. A beautiful, healthy, safe baby boy. Caught off guard, I looked up at the paed anticipating him taking this vernix covered being away, and he looked at me and said  – “he’s perfect, you keep him”.

(Meconium babies often need to be suctioned immediately after birth to clear the meconium from their airways – but Clay was breathing perfectly).

Theran cried, I cried. We had our beautiful baby and standing around us was a team of about 8 people who, for the 5 minutes we were in the OR, focussed every ounce of themselves on me. It was then, feeling so encouraged and so supported and SO loved, that I knew I wanted to make women feel the same when they birthed – so supported – so known. That level of intimate care and love. That, coupled with my new baby boy – changed everything.

Clayden – I will forever, and ever and ever be changed by you and because of you.

Oh, the Fathers love for us…

Day Zero Survival Checklist, Naturally…

Guys. Remember when I wrote this post yeeeeeeeeeeeeears back on using 10L of water a day? And how funny it was because, really, it was so very unrealistic and so not real, and I could laugh about it because I had a gazillion liters of water in my taps and under my house and water was life and, well, I had plenty of it…

Well, how the tables have turned. Cape Town now finds itself in this real-life nightmare. This real-life nightmare which has gone from shock-horror scare tactics, and overracting about how bad it all is, to genuine scare tactics, queueing for water at the shops while trying to wrap our minds about lining up for a daily ration of water. Where? Who knows. How will it work? No one can quite tell us that either. SABC News keeps playing this segment highlighting how some rural communities have lived on a trickle of water for centuries, and while it is eye opening and inspiring, THIS IS CAPE TOWN. Wealthy, on the international stage, leading in arts and culture, Table Mountain, V&A Waterfront, best coffee shops in the world CAPE.TOWN.

So here we are: 

So, here’s my humble 2c on how we can defeat Day Zero. #defeatdayzero.

Firstly, I’ll gently nudge you into OBEYING the freaking rules set out by the City of Cape Town. In point form:

  • Amongst the most obvious…
  • Please don’t shower every day. You really don’t have to. If you smell good all the time we will start to judge you.
  • Collect grey water for EVERYTHING. (Please also store this safely! I have a toddler around the house so we are really careful about where and how water is stored).
  • Flush once a day (with grey water from the dishwasher or washing machine).
  • Wash your clothes and your dishes on ECO cycles. Test them and see which cycles use less water.

Secondly, my ECO-POINTERS:

My personal choices for the checklist below would be Nu-Eco hand sanitizer, Pure Beginnings biodegradable wet wipes (as well as mozzie spray, because those mozzies like water collection spots it seems!) and EcoPack‘s biodegradable bowls and cups for your home.

Also, as Wellness Mama suggests, you can use arrowroot powder as a dry shampoo alternative for bonde hair and Cocoafair cocoa powder for dark hair. I kid you not.

Also, go with a buddy to collect water at the spring, day or night. Consider it bonding time – turning a crisis into a standing coffee date (literally, standing).

Finally, some extra thoughts courtesy of EcoPack:

  1. Make a Stay Soft & water solution to spray clothes and hang up to dry
  2. Clean counters with disposable wipes
  3. Wash yourself with wet wipes
  4. Throw toilet paper used for urinating in a lined bin instead of the toilet – add sawdust or bicarb to control odor
  5. Fill toilet cistern with water instead of straight into the toilet
  6. Use microfiber cloths rather than sponges as they become unsanitary faster
  7. Ladies can extend the life of their underwear by wearing panty liners
  8. Use store bought water for drinking only
  9. Use biodegradable & compostable disposable cups, plates & bowls where possible to save water
  10. If you have to wash dishes, wipe as clean as possible with paper towels first
  11. Buy food that requires no water during preparation
  12. Wear fabrics like cotton that breaths to avoid odors from developing due to sweat & bacteria
  13. Use a bicarb & coconut oil mixture as deodorant as it is more effective than traditional store bought deodorants
  14. Use vinegar in a spray bottle for cleaning surfaces.

We’re in this together Cape Town! We really are. Let’s live like it.

Pic credit: www.ewn.co.za, www.msn.com, www.businesslive.co.za, www.ecopack.co.za, City of Cape Town.

Reflections on Christmas, by a Doula (me), and not a Theologian (the hub).

I love Christmas. There is so much to love about it – the food, the festivities, the giving, the joy. Only this year did I calculate exactly how many family traditions (or events) we shmoosh into this beautiful period of celebration. There are many.

Between my husband and my family, I could count over 10. From baking our own mince pies, to acting the nativity scene (dressed up and with specific roles!), to Uncle Paul’s Christmas Party and Carols at Kirstenbosch. This season is full – and wonderful.

And so full of WONDER. For so many years we celebrated Jesus’s birth – in the manger, with angels and shepherds and that all important star – all so neat and tidy and lovely sitting in the church pew thinking ‘let’s hurry home now and open presents’ (a firm childhood memory of mine)…

Only after having my own kids (and falling in love with birth) have I begun to imagine that birth differently. I love to imagine how hard it must’ve been for Mary and Joseph to (physically) escape to Bethlehem. (If you’ve had those STABBING pains UP your vajay-jay as if you’re about to give birth there and then can you imagine what that must have been like for Mary). I wonder how often she thought she might not make it – with the bobbing up and down on a donkey and Jesus most likely decending into position, pushing on her bladder. I imagine her fear and desperation not finding a place to stay, and then the mix of relief and discomfort finding a stable, a place to finally sit down, and then ‘prepare for the birth’. I wonder how long her birth was, how long did she push for (birth-nerd talk), and how the baby was delivered? At what point did her waters break? Was he breach? Was he posterior? How did Joseph handle it all? Did he freak out? Had either of them seen birth before – they were young… What did they do with the umbilical cord? Was there a moment of divine intervention from heaven above, or was it all really… human. This is BIRTH. Real, raw, scary, beautiful, empowering BIRTH. Yet the birth of a King.

Was there a split second of Peace on Earth? I doubt Mary was wearing white cloths neatly wrapped around her body (for one, there was no Aerial or Omo back in that day). If you’ve seen birth, nothing remains white. The cloth Jesus was wrapped in must have been covered with amniotic fluid, vernix and blood. This was the very messy, very real, very on-the-run birth of Christ. The Christ, the Saviour of the World. I wonder how long Mary and Joseph stared at Jesus wondering if he really was their Saviour.

And so as I reflect this Christmas, I think what I’m realising is that things often don’t look ‘right’. Surely Jesus should’ve had more to wear than swaddling cloths and a more comfy bed than a used animal trough? This picture is nothing like immaculately wrapped up gifts under the tree and the perfectly roasted gammon presented on a Pinterest worthy dining room table. There is nothing wrong with those things – I too love to celebrate WELL – but it seems the picture of Jesus’ birth and the deeper truth sometimes don’t seem to match up in ways we might imagine. This messy birth, and our Saviour on earth. This confusion leads us to Trust; to have Faith – two things it seems we need to possess in larger and larger quantities nowadays, in a world spinning off its axis and one in which we control far less than what we like to believe. Life is hard, and life can be scary; there are unknowns, and mess seems to be everywhere. In our humanness, we cannot understand it – well, I sure can’t.

Luke 2:12: “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, Glory to God in the Highest and on earth, peace, good will toward men.”

Wherever you find yourself currently… It’s coming. He is Hope. Be it in your heart, or here again in his Creation, we await his coming. We sit in the labour pains of the mysteries to come.

It’s almost time. Keep pushing, keep breathing. Behold, He is coming soon.

Image Credit: Photo by Jaimie Trueblood/newline.wireimage.com, https://brandonacox.com/advent-always-hope/.

The Annual Parental Boast

It’s the most wonderful time of the year – right? The madness of nativity plays and Christmas shopping, decorating, holiday biscuit making, red nose reindeer foot-printing, credit card maxing, food, festivities, and EXTREME BUSY-NESS. You see it everywhere.

Parental boasing hits an all time high this season (well-meaning boasting of course 🙂). The “here’s Johnny’s graduation day in Gr 000”, and “Awwww… Polly is a reindeer hoof in the school play” and “look at how beautiful Sammy’s homemade Christmas toilet paper angel is”, and and aaaaaaaaand. I can understand why these pictures can be a bit irritating for those without a reindeer hoof, toilet roll thingy-magig or Grade 000 graduation certificate. I mean I’m a parent, and I feel bombarded by FB’s plethora of random kid accomplishments.


DIGRESSION WARNING: Let me stop here to say I have numerous friends who are longing for children. LONGING to the point where communities have prayed and pleaded with God, and where I have physically and emotionally ached for them. Friends who have blessed MY family and MY children more so than I have ever properly acknowledged. Many are still walking this journey. This post is NOT for/directed at you. Please forgive our ignorant slapping of pictures onto Facebook which, I can only imagine, may cause a deep sting. May we all open our hearts, minds and homes to those who we know are walking this road… You are loved. May you feel this deeply this Christmas.

Back to the kids and their random kids accomplishments. Oh friends, they’re not. THEY ARE NOT.


You moms and dads out there: you’re Heroes. The relentlessness of parenting and the never-ending need experienced day-on-day… there are not many appropriate words to describe it, other to say that parenting is by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done. There are not enough adverbs, both good and bad for how unbelievably intensely, beautifully, damn-bloody difficult it is. From the mental strain of remembering every single tiny little thing (darn you ‘show and tell’, why do you ALWAYS sneak up on me), to the physical exhaustion of a baby on a hip, broken sleep for the rest of our lives, the driving to and fro, sheltering your kids so you can get caught in the rain, the stepping on LEGO, to the emotions around playground talk, to emergency hospital visits, a scary diagnosis, indescribable fears…

Guys, the reality is that kids are insane. “They are tiny little dictators with unpredictable mood swings afraid of the most absurd things and cry for no apparent logical reason whatsoever”. How are you supposed to appropriately deal with that? It is like that ‘putting a jersey onto a octopus’ analogy. A bit like breastfeeding the baby while you’re on the toilet explaining to the sibling why you can’t butter their toast simultaneously. No wonder parenting is a big fat guessing game to which we all question whether we’re doing it right? There is no easy answer, ever, and we’re left wondering if all our impatient screaming has undone all the nail-bitingly difficult intentional “let’s make homemade Christmas paper with these potatoes and paint” moments. And I have a theory.

Those moments; when your kids eyes light up seeing Father Christmas, or when that Donkey (who is a kind, gentle, introverted thinker) actually sings a solo on the stage in front of 100+ people, or that ‘i love you’ they’re able to scribble for the very.first.time – that’s it. That’s the affirmation us parents are CRYING for. For the every-day, never-stopping, never-giving up day-in and day-out thing we do called Parenting. That’s it. That’s the glimpse of beautiful BRIGHT HOPE that we’re doing something, maybe very little, but something… right. They are it. It’s in these kids, and these moments that we see it. There is a tiny voice whispering from that graduation certificate/toilet roll angel/reindeer hoof performance proclaiming “well done mom/dad, you did okay, in fact you’re doing freakin’ awesome”.

Fellow (parenting) Comrades, You are PHENOMENAL. Post those end of year pictures everywhere you possibly can. Bombard us with them. Lock in those seemingly-absurd achievements… those joyful memories.

Celebrate loudly, celebrate richly, celebrate well. Because, man alive. You deserve it. 

 

That harsh (necessary) stab of reality

It has taken me a while to process, exactly what I saw on that Sunday afternoon. It all happened too quickly. All of it.

I drove from my plush neighbourhood in the Southern Suburbs to Mowbray Maternity, a hospital I chose because of my connection to it – the place I was born. I remember at one stage, feeling so connected to BC Women’s where I had my boys in Vancouver, that I considered getting a tattoo of the geographic coordinates. It was figuratively imprinted into me, that place. Such a significant part of my story.

Arriving at Mowbray, impressed with the cleanliness of the 100 year old building and the friendliness of the hospital staff, we shuffled into a lift, to the first floor, and out onto the ward. “24 women, 3 second trimester miscarriages; some 4th time moms, some 1st. Some alcoholics and some drug addicts”, we were told. Just like that. Normal life for many outside of the ‘burbs. And this was the low risk ward.

A new friend, Kirsten (I think her name was), and I grabbed the pre-packed goodie bags jam filled with nappies, wipes, toiletries, snacks etc. and headed for the waiting room. The room was small, in it squished 10 woman and their quiet no-more-than-a-day-old babies most of them nursing. Like this was an every day occurance. They’d just given birth. No less than a day before. And there they sat, ready to leave. Babies BUNDLED up so tight that you could barely find their faces amongst the thick blankets.

I walked in. I saw these 10 women, and I froze. Now, I’m a doula. I love birth and labour and waters breaking, and placentas and gushing all over new moms. But this was an unknown. How many of these babies were planned? How many of these moms were scared? What were they returning to? How would they get there? How were they feeling physically, emotionally, mentally? It was all a jumble. A cultural mismatch which took my breath away and left me stumbling over words to somehow show our them love and bring them hope that Mother’s Day.

We spoke with new moms, we celebrated brand new babies. We watched tears fall from mothers who had miscarried, one mother as young as 15 years old. But all those tiny baby faces. I can’t forget those tiny baby faces – bundled in blankets, and beanies.

It all happened too fast.

We obsess from the day our period is 1 day late, and the second we see that positive test, we go into overdrive: planning, dreaming, longing, researching, preparing. The baby showers, the hospital authorizations, the scans, doctors appointment, prenatal classes, breastfeeding workshops, the baby bag, the reserves of sugar for the birth bag, the 12 hospital worthy outfits and the stockpile of anything and everything a new mom could ever possibly want (and not want). We go ballistic. We are off the charts. Self obsessed North American inspired culture at its max. We book the prenatal photographer and Pinterest the latest gender reveal ideas. We hit it hard.

But these babies. As one mom shared with me “labour at 10pm, baby born at 3am, 12pm and it’s time to go home”. Just like that.

There is nothing comfortable about removing yourself from your cuture and exposing yourself to something completely unknown. It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, that it is VITAL for growth, maturity and necessary humility.

Thank you Cape Town Embrace for the opportunity.

 

This Whole Nanny Thing (Part 2)

Last week I wrote about our journey of finding a nanny and how it has changed my life – yes, yes I should’ve known how amazing it would be, but it was hard for me, and I know it has been hard for others.

A lot of this thinking began after I had some really good chats with a blog reader-turned-lovely-friend about this exact topic. After the birth of her first child came the whole work/mom/nanny/stay-home/work-from-home line of thinking (all too familiar for most moms). Now given the enormous responsibility of undoubtedly the most precious thing/s in your life – how do we navigate forward – in a healthy, balanced, financially viable and sane way? Often the idea of hiring a nanny enters the picture.

Besides all the nitty-gritty admin of very important things to consider, such as paying them a LIVABLE wage and not just a minimum wage (come on), to registering for UIF, nanny agencies and placements, referrals, interviews and interview questions… when it comes down to the actual one-on-one TIME with your CHILD – training is KEY. This is why I sent our nanny on Nanny Training with Super Nannies.

Super Nannies has been supporting families and empowering nannies since 2006. They offer nanny training in Cape Town, Johannesburg, Durban and Pretoria.

The team consists of a group of moms who understand the value of empowering nannies and how important it is to find the right support for your home. They are passionate about upskilling nannies not just within the homes where they work, but in their larger community as well.

While my experience with them has been about nanny training, they also offer nanny placements as well as CPR and First Aid for parents.

So what did my nanny learn? How has she been upskilled? What exactly was discussed?

This is what was covered in the lessons my nanny attended:

  • The role of a nanny.
  • The importance in following a mother’s routine
  • Child safety – Being aware of the hazards in and out the home.
  • Understanding the implications and precautions of HIV and TB.
  • First Aid, CPR and handling childhood emergencies.
  • Essential infant care – sleeping, bathing, nappy changing, burbing, crying.
  • Nutrition and weaning
  • Hygiene and sterilization of bottles
  • The importance of play
  • Gross and Fine Motor Stimulation
  • (read the full breakdown here)

The nanny training comprises of four training modules. Three hours one morning a week over a four week period or two modules a day for two full days to cover all four training modules (we did the two full days).

And… How did it go? 

While I think my nanny was a bit hesitant (and nervous) when I’d told her I’d like her to attend training – I reassured her it was not because she was doing a bad job, she was doing a wonderful job – but I wanted her to feel valued, appreciated and to be given the chance to learn. And boy, was she chuffed arriving at work with her Super Nannies Certificate. 🙂

As recommended, I dropped her off at the training venue myself so I could meet the trainer and make sure my nanny felt comfortable and settled. After each day of training I received email updates about what was covered and what homework my nanny was given, and what I should check and follow up on – and where I can help her myself. Initially I felt a little ‘motherly’ checking up on her ‘homework’ but it could not have been more different. We engaged with what she had been doing well, what could be done differently, and it really gave us a safe platform to communicate well and discuss without judgement and awkwardness. And while the results have been wonderfully obvious in some ways, it is in the small things where the change is really happening: baby stimulation, confidence in cooking and which food to give our little one, the balance between cleaning and caring, and safety at home. One day while I was at work, I remembered I’d collected a bucket of water in the shower and I’d forgotten to pour in the toilet (water restrictions you know). I called my nanny in a PANIC about our little one crawling and possibly falling in (and drowning – I shudder at even typing the word) and my nanny had already done it. I’m certain it would have been the discussions on safety in the home and drowning that would have immediately alerted her to the danger.

We now have an up-to-date medical aid kit, I am able to give instructions without feeling bossy or demanding, and while I am rushing around the house in the morning our nanny is closing doors behind me so bunk bed ladders are not climbed and small Lego is not swallowed. Emergency numbers are in plain site on our fridge. Our nanny is more confident – as am I. (You’d think after 3 kids I’d remember to cook on the back plate, or get plug covers for our plugs – but it was my nanny who gently made the suggestions…)

My recommendation is to really partner with your nanny in this process. The outcome will be a hundred fold. It’s easy to ‘outsource’ the training as if your nanny now has the ability to read your mind a bit clearer. But that is not the case. Discussing everything with your nanny, going through her manual and making your lists about what to ‘clean’ and what to ‘tidy’ (I hadn’t even thought of the difference before, and my unspoken expectations around it…) – that is where the change happens. My floor is now always clean, because she knows it’s important to me. And it makes me so, so happy.

Something that I read on the Super Nannies website before we interviewed our nanny, was:

– It’s important to prioritise your family’s needs and then look for a nanny with the right skillsThere is no such thing as the perfect nanny.

– Qualities to look for are a good attitude, honesty, reliability, shows initiative and a willingness to communicate and do the tasks the mother’s way. Her work ethic and attitude. Skills can always be taught. Remember to trust your gut instinct when making your choice.

Good Luck as you walk this road. Know it can be a generously beautiful one.

If you have any other questions, or are interested in nanny training, placements or CPR/First Aid courses, please contact Super Nannies
(t) 0861 462 669
(e) info@supernannies.co.za
Web: www.supernannies.co.za

This Whole Nanny Thing (Part 1)

It was at a Baby Shower the ‘school moms’ threw for me right before Brea was born where one of the wonderfully well-meaning moms asked “but you’ll have help right?” It must have been the months of staring into my terrified ‘I’m about to have 3 kids’ face every morning at the school gate which had her ask the question. “Yep, totally. I mean, my mom is right there”, I replied.

You see, I never grew up with help. My gran lived next door (as does now my mom and dad) and helped around with lifts and laundry, babysitting and walking the dog. My mom only worked a few days a week and so we didn’t need it.

Having had the boys in Vancouver, there was no option for a nanny so you ‘man up’ and figure it out. And it was totally manageable. Maybe it’s the Canadian Childcare tax benefits, the year long paid maternity leave, ‘free’ healthcare and the unquestionable safety (even if it is only perceived) which allows you to just relax about, well most things.

So with a then 4.5 year old, 2.5 year old and a newborn, we ‘manned up’. We brought this precious new bundle home and it was wonderful and hectic and more wonderful and more HECTIC (read about it here), but over time, hubby and I realised we were slowly but surely moving closer and closer to: survival mode. And we weren’t surviving in survival mode. Our options were limited, but the most obvious was to just get help. Thing is, I didn’t want a nanny. It was foreign to me. I didn’t want someone in my space, I didn’t want the cost, I didn’t want to ‘not manage’, I didn’t want to worry about this ‘stranger’ and more importantly I didn’t want to seemingly outsource my parenting. I was also a little nervous of nanny agencies (I’d heard horror stories), and knew that if we invited someone into our home, we were inviting her into our life. So it was a biggie.

Looooooong story short, on the Easter weekend this year we hired our first (and hopefully life-long) nanny, who has CHANGED OUR LIVES a million times for the better. Cue the champagne! Now I know many of you reading this will be all “duhhhhh, we could have told you that light years ago”, but it was a struggle for me. It’s a big deal inviting someone into your home and entrusting them with your most valued little thing/s EVER. So give me grace, will you?


So if this was it, and if she was the one, surely I must do everything I can to make sure she is loved, well-trained, that she understands us, that we understand her, that there is mutual trust, appreciation and open communication – because why wouldn’t you? So last month I sent her on Nanny Training with Super Nannies.


GUYS!

GAME CHANGER.

I loved our nanny before, but, our relationship has BLOSSOMED since she went on the training. She is still not perfect – and that’s okay. Because, am I? Heck no.

I feel like Super Nannies has helped me flesh this whole nanny thing out: our relationship, expectations, roles and responsibilities and, it has made for such a wonderful home environment. I feel like it is my role as an employer to not only treat my nanny well, but to pay her well and respect her (as a person and human) and to do what I can to lift her out of the previously disadvantaged position in which she was raised, and give her a voice and purpose and value. And going on a course like this has done just that. She feels empowered, known, communication is open, and we can discuss things without me feeling like ‘white privilege giving instructions’ (my issue I know) to feeling like a team sharing a common goal and working together to achieve it.

All those things I was previously scared of have dissolved: she shares my space in such a humble, unobtrusive and safe way; I manage better because she creates the space FOR ME to BE A BETTER PARENT; she is worth every cent I pay her; she is no longer a stranger but a team member and I am less stressed, more patient, less busy, more able to spend one-on-one time with the kids and the hub is super stoked he no longer has to clean the kitchen way into the night while I fall asleep on the couch.

A gift. She is a gift. My eyes have been opened to how massively beneficial this shift has been for us as a family. Hang around for Part 2, where we discuss what miscommunication we have overcome and what exactly she learnt and how is has benefited us all. x

 

 

How to Survive the Morning with 3 kids ON YOUR OWN.

Most mornings are a nightmare. ‘A MAAAARE’ as my Australasian friends would say. If it’s not hard enough to drag yourself out of bed each and every morning, imagine doing it on your OWN with three smaaaaaall children? No guys really. It’s full-freaking-on.

So a few months back I had this on-going whats-app dialogue with my girlfriends about how UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE pull-your-hair-out I was finding ‘the mornings’. The hub (bless him) heads to work just after 5am which leaves me with no other option that to drag myself out of bed at the first whimper of any child. (He does return earlier than most and then ‘takes over’ so we can’t resent him too much).

We’ve been through the ringer – moaaaaaaaaaaaning about eveeeeeeeeeerything – from not wanting to put on shoes, to underpants, to rain coats and not wanting to eat breakfast and demanding the breakfast I don’t have in the cupboard. I understand getting out of a warm cuddly bed with your luscious down duvet (lucky kid!) is hard (TRUST ME), but let’s just mentally prepare ourselves to do this for.the.next.18.years.

I hold my breath, I bite my tongue. I scream, I whimper my pleas, I bribe, I convince, I threaten. It’s not great.

I’ve put music on (to lessen the moan), I’ve sent them to school with their pjs UNDER their clothes. I’ve even left them sleeping (so that my dear mother can manage the chaos) and I’ve raced off to work.

Throw in some wet beds, some breastfeeding, some vomiting, some screaming (by all involved – we each have our turn), a toddler whose Lego just.broke, a 5 year old who can’t put on his socks (because they’re about 17 sizes too small), a baby who needs 7 drops of probiotics 30 min before she has food (ha ha ha), and a stubborn 3 year old who boycotted his (now soggy) weetbix for mint vanilla toothpaste as their before-school snack. Shoes and socks, on and off, jackets and beanies, on and off. And then the nappy you never changed, explodes. Poo everywhere.

You name it, I’ve done it. I’m finished.

I hate screamy-mommy, so something needed to give. My options were to a) run away or b) tackle this head on. Obviously a) is not a real option. So somehow, I’ve managed to rise above it all (in glorious fashion) and here’s how I’ve done it:

  1. Get up early. This is the hardest thing you’ll do all morning – but it’ll be worth it. If not for anything other than allowing yourself the time to MAKE THAT COFFEE. Always make more than 1 cup. Have it on the ready. Because 1 is never enough.
  2. Hide your phone. Once you’ve switched your alarm off – hide it. While I’d much rather be chatting to my girlfriends about the upcoming 3rd royal baby, DON’T allow yourself to get distracted. This will be your downfall.
  3. Lunch boxes. No matter how many matchsticks you need to keep your peepers open at night – make those lunch boxes the night before. Kids don’t care about brown oxidized apples.
  4. Dress them at night. When times are tough, I dress my kids in their (play) school clothes the night before. No shame. You gotta do what you gotta do. Hopefully we’ll have this morning thing under control before we hit the school uniform stage. 
  5. Buy them the cereal they want. And I don’t mean cocoa pops/fruit loops. But pick your battles. I can’t handle the constant fight over oats or weetbix – so muesli it is. The cost is worth it. Trust me.
  6. Feed and nappy first. If there is a baby in the household, at first peep, get to them. Breastfeed/bottle feed and then change their nappy. In one swift motion. Don’t hesitate. Then hand them a Hip Organic Rice Cake – that’ll keep them happy and entertained for a good 3 minutes.
  7. Warning, warning, warning. We’re going in 10min, we’re going in 5 min, we’re going in 2 min. Boom. (Parenting 101)
  8. Chorus line: “What day is it today?” “Tuesday!”, “What do we need to remember on Tuesdays?” (Think think think think think: School t-shirt? Dress Up? Fruit for the bowl? Money for something-or-other? Show and Tell? FitKids t-shirt? Extra clothes in school bag? Extra murals? Play date? Grandparents for the afternoon? …( And together we think of the answer.)

And off we go to school. Tra la la. You might have noticed that we do not allow TV or iPad in the mornings. That’s just a no-go. Once we head down that path – we’ll never return.

And most mornings, we’re doing okay. Yes, we forget Show and Tell (often) and yes, there are still glares and talking through gritted teeth and raised voices and the usual parenting coping mechanisms. But we’re getting there… and we’re much, much happier.

Those of you with more than 3 kids – I have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA how you do it. No idea. Nada. You’re super human. You must be.

What do you do to make mornings easier? Pray tell?