The Contingency Plan

I'm semi-obsessed with news coverage of the disaster, but it's not an obsession that controls me in the pure and open daylight. I'm staying up in between long feeds, spending hours flipping from station to station in this time when things are silent, black and confusing. My heart feels raw and I hold Hugo so tight to my chest. My tears and grief seem useless, I pray but my faith in a powerful and merciful God is confused.

I hope you all have a fabulous day!

xx

I had my hair cut yesterday. My aim was to get some amazing do that would transform how bored and frustrated I've been with my looks, but I walked away with something similar to what I walked in with. Just a lot less of it.

Anyhow, after a restless day today, Hugo's just fallen asleep and I'm reflecting on the conversations I had while I was at the hairdresser - yes you can tell the cut wasn't inspiring as this is the after-thought. I'd normally say something to the hairdresser, but the experience was smothered with so many high expectations that I thought I'd cry if I did. And falling into the stereotype of the emotional wreck of a mother who feels/looks like shit around all those pretty people would've have helped.

But back to the story, one of the conversations was with the apprentice who washed my hair and the other with the stylist who cut it. The apprentice, Jenny, was really young, pretty and very much a party animal and Jon, is recently married and lives nearby with his wife.

It may be disasterously obvious, but I realised my life has entered its next phase. Although I enjoyed both conversations, I was more comfortable with Jon's chatter. I guess part of me always thought I was a still a bit of a party girl, especially as I was 6-7 months ago, but then I thought I'm in an established group of friends and we have dinner parties, picnics and BBQs far more than we party. In fact, most are in a committed relationship. A couple of have their own business or kids, most have a mortgage and nearly all of us are working seriously hard to get somewhere with a career.

Damn this looks so boring in words, but it's not. We laugh a lot. We still go out and have known each other for years so there's a binding joy, comfort and history in each other's company.

Anyway, I'm happy with my life but have noticed I've developed some not-so-good habits. Like serious procrastination (especially with housework) and emotional eating. I lie in bed at night getting down on myself for not cleaning and make plans to get my shit together tomorrow and do that most night. Wolfie's stuff is a different case though. That has to be spotless.

My body has also dramatically changed and it's disheartening. I find myself hoing Oreos and ice cream to numb the reality of it. Chloe called me today and I thankfully heard she's also wearing the same clothes everyday, that her stomach has also lost its structure and firmness and that she doesn't even step near her old clothes. My boss put on 10kgs in the six months after she gave birth from midnight lamingtons and milk. I could easily do this but don't want to. But it's Christmas and I think it would be foolish to employ a stricter eating habit around the festive season.

Damn. I have to do my Christmas shopping tomorrow. Yep, I did it again. I have a list of what we're buying everyone, but I've waited until Chistmas Eve to do it all. Unbelievable. Nothing better than a Christmas shopping rumble! Lucas and I have a plan though - he's going to drop me off at the mall after I give Wolfie his mid-morning feed. My aim is then to buy everything in the three hours I have until his next feed. This saves trying to find a park and if I don't get the shopping done (which would be surprising as I have 'the list'), I'll give the baby another feed while covered up in the car, drop the goods off for Lucas to offload and continue shopping.

Sounds good to me...

I've been thinking today that I've become a bit uptight as I've grown older and because of that, have less fun. I was a bit of a loose canon when I was younger. I don't mean verbally, but if I was dared to do something, I'd definitely do it. Whether it was dancing in the middle of the main street to the music blasting from the 'doosh doosh' cars to taking the 'Cowboy and Indian' theme of a work place Chriatmas party too far and dressing up as a cow with Gordon (udders and all) to the amusement and horror of all the half naked cool kids there, there wasn't much I was too afraid to do.

As I've mentioned in previous blogs, my family had a fun, loving and dramatic existance before my parents got divorced a few years back. My folks are both a little eccentric and have a great sense of humour and we all reflect their craziness, as much as my siblings and I would hate to admit it.

We were having one of those perfect summer nights where we were happily hanging out, listening to music, eating, talking and laughing when it came time for me to pick Natasha up from her very first high school dance party. Natasha and I were very close growing up and she considers me to be a second mum so this was a bitter-sweet occassion, but doesn't mean I had to act maturely.

Perhaps it was due to the warm weather, perhaps because we were reminising funny times with Mum's clients or maybe I was just plain hyperactive, but for some reason we thought it would be hilarious for me to dress up and embarass the shit out of Tash. My parents didn't think I was up for it so I had to prove them wrong.

So I started off with my look - teased, dishevelled bed hair, an old pair of tracksuit pants that had a thick elastic band on the top and bottom and sat way too high on both accounts, a short midrift singlet (oh the days when I could wear those!), a bad ass 80s tie from my Dad's bad ass 80's wardrobe, a pair of my Mum's old, naff Asian slippers, and Natasha's favourite dressing gown from when she was around four - it's bright fire-engine red, furry and just fitted.

And the moment I was dressed I was in character. So with my brother in tow as proof, I sped off in my 20-year old poo-brown Honda to our local high school, parked on a 45 degree angle out the front in the bus stop where everyone hangs out and proceeded to run around like a mad-woman, cross-eyed in the direction of the hall, yelling in a deep rain-man voice, "Tasha! Where are you Tasha? We miss you! Tasha come home!" I'd then stop and rock back and forth, hug myself and ask the kids walking by if they'd seen her. This proceeded for the five minutes it took for word to get back to Tash that her crazy-ass sister was outside looking for her.

By this time I was near the hall and could see her running from the building in my direction. After recovering from shock and embarrassment, she laughed and escorted me back to the car while I continued to rock and say, "You're not allowed to go again Tasha. We missed you. My Tasha." Lucky for both of us she has a good sense of humour.

Anyhow I'm hoping to unwind a lot more now that I'm not working so just imagine the grief we can potentialy put Wolfie through...

I've just put Hugo to bed. The morning is still and I'm sitting on my comfy couch with the crisp smell of freshly washed clothes and the sea wafting through our tall white windows. With my feet up on our ottoman, I can hear birds in morning conversation and the synthesised sounds of insects in the bush. Bliss.

I really love our apartment. Sure, there are certain drawbacks like the nearby theme park, no secure parking and all those stairs (nine flights to be exact), but we have the best views in Sydney and nothing beats that. The apartment also holds things that remind me of my childhood home: old fashioned windows; the patterns of the plaster-molded-rendered ceilings (I don't know the proper name); and lights you can dim. These aspects make it feel like home. Plus the neighbours are nice.

With the arrival of Hugo, Lucas and I have been looking at other apartments to move to. And I've hated nearly every moment of it.

Yes, I'm in denial.

Another drawback of living here is the space is now a little too small.

Although we have two bedrooms, Hugo will soon need to use the second one as his own, so the office and music studio will have to find somewhere else to go. Lucas has started his own company so an office space is a necessity.

We found an apartment last week that ticks all of our main boxes. It's a great brand new three storey townhouse that boasts three bedrooms and three bathrooms, a double garage, two lovely couryards and ducted air conditioning. It's within our price range and despite the narrow winding stairs connected the three floors, I could see us living there. The only problem is I absolutely loathe its location - its right next to a highway. And there aren't many trees. Lucas doesn't care much for surroundings, but I want a place whose windows I like looking out from as I'm home all the time now. Is this too selfish?

The need for us to move isn't pressing. We still have space. We're moving things so Lucas' parents can stay with us next week. But maybe this townhouse is as good as we'll get - you can't get everything you want... or can you?

Lucas and I started out together with nothing and have worked so hard for what we have so I want to enjoy where we live. I've negotiated some time with the boy to consider this new place, but just so you know what it's up against, this is what we have now...

Left hand side view - Luna Park and the North Sydney skyline...

Now turn your head a little to the right

And past the Harbour Bridge and Opera House is the Sydney city skyline

And this is our building looking up from the garden

All we can see from our side windows is bush

And this is a cute little frangipani tree in the middle of the garden

Hugo smiled at me for the first time on Friday. It was pure heaven.

It happened while we were playing one of our favourite games. I propped him up so he was seated upright on my legs, and then moved my head out of his line of sight. I then said, "Where's mummy?"

He then moved his little head in the direction of my voice and when he saw me, I enthusiastically said, "There she is!"

I know it sounds corny, but he smiled twice when I said, "There she is!"

They were big toothy grins and I felt happiness so intense I thought I was going to burst.

Last night was my first night out away from the Wolf. I was reluctant to go but thought a small break from my current day-to-day would be a refreshing breather. So in the middle of expressing milk, bathing the baby and smothering it in six hours worth of kisses, I found something sexy and sparkly to wear and ran, late, to the taxi.

The evening started when I met the crew at Rose Bay. Everyone had had the afternoon off and looked radiant, and even more so when we saw a small sea plane waiting to take us to our mysterious location.

The social committee takes these events very seriously. Christmas parties are particularly important and are carefully planned in secret with lots of teasers in anticipation. Last year we had corporate box tickets to a Robbie Williams and Duran Duran concert. The year before we went on a posh pub crawl through six of Sydney's most sophisticated bars and in our drunken state ended the night with a scenic and delectable meal at Aqua Dining.

Anyhow by this time, we were high in the Sydney sky on a 20 minute trip up the Northern Beaches, through the Ku-Ring-Gai National Park to a hidden paradise called Peats Bite. The whole experience of being on the plane made the location seem like a holiday destination. Peats Bite is so secluded (you can only get there by boat or sea plane) and in a garden of palm trees surrounded by national park wildlife, we were greeted with divine cocktails and yummy finger food while a small band played some funky and layed back tunes.

My expectations of the night were rather low. The company had recently employed some annoying new people, it was the last day of my rude and lazy Group Account Director who I didn't care to see again, and after declining Kirsty's offer to do some part time freelance work on Monday, she'd emailed me on Tuesday with another proposal regarding a new business opportunity. Although I was flattered, I felt they were trying to push me back into work way too soon.

But despite this, I had a great time. I remembered people from other teams whose company I enjoy, I connected with all the other mums, I had a cigarette (not as good as my cravings had thought), I reminisced and laughed a lot.

I also had a candid chat to Kirsty and explained I needed far more time off before even considering anything work-related. She understood and said she'd keep me in the loop but wouldn't expect me back to work for at last another 6-12 months. Oh the relief! I'm happy her expectation of me are more grounded.

So after eating, dancing, eating and bonding, we all boarded a water taxi and traveled through the bush down the Hawksbury River in complete darkness to Sydney's version of Brooklyn. From there a mini bus returned us to the city.

And around 20 minutes away from home, I received a call from Lucas. Hugo was screaming in the background, he'd vomited and Lucas wanted to know how far away I was. So I hurried as fast as my taxi could take me and was soooo happy to see my frazzled and tired boys. Being out was fun, but in spite the vomit, dirty nappies and long nights, being home again is so much better.

Following yesterday's post, I further contemplated and had a thorough chat to Lucas about work to make sure my decision wasn't rash and based on personal bitterness. But we both agreed it would be foolish to take on extra responsibilities when I haven't established a routine with Wolfie yet. So I called Kirsty, but she wasn't there. I have a feeling she already knows the answer as she's usually responsive but hasn't called back. Oh well.

So with this decision out of the way, I felt quite relieved and out of curiosity found myself ego-surfing to see whether 'I' came up. My name's pretty damn common yet after 0.30 seconds, I saw myself at the second, third, tenth and fifteenth place. I beat a doctor, architect and even an author. Looks like work has done something for me lately. Ok back down to earth now... ;)

Life with Wolfie has vastly improved now that he's properly breastfeeding. He settled, there's no need to express milk, sterilise or heat bottles and we've been out and about nearly every day this week, which has built my confidence and helped me to stay sane.

Anyhow, my MD, Kirsty, knows that I've been active, online and adjusting well so although I left work five weeks ago and had the baby just four weeks ago, I received the following email last Wednesday night:

Got a proposal for you.
How would you feel about doing some freelance from home on Client X with me and Anna?
It would be for two of their upcoming campaigns. In fact we need to write a program for campaign one – but I’m sure Anna can do that – though you could do some solo baby feed time self brainstorming I suspect. All billable!
Now – it might just be too soon and inappropriate or not what you want, but I thought it was worth asking in the first place. Have a think and let me know how you feel.
If you want to do it, it’s important that you think it’s actually practical and possible because we will rely on you to do your bit and as Katrina is away on leave and Jane is only just back on deck we will be short handed so better for us to know if this is a dumb idea or if we can actually count on you both mentally and physically.
Think about it over the weekend – get practical about it and let me know on Monday how you feel about it.
K

At first I was excited (that's the workaholic in me), but now that it's Sunday afternoon and I've had time to really contemplate it, my mind has changed.

I like the 'working from home factor' and am flattered they want me back so soon, but am equally disappointed as it's just way too soon for me to start working again - it's only been a month! I actually visited the head honcho of the company on Friday (she was dying to meet Wolfie) and she joked that if they had it their way, I'd be back to work now and they'd take turns looking after the baby (they naturally love him). Like all businesses, I know they keep their best interest in mind, but didn't think I'd have to push back so soon.

But there's another factor preventing me from going back. I've been extremely loyal to my boss over the years and am considered one of the most dynamic and creative people in the company, to the point where people actually schedule important brainstorms and new business meetings around my diary, so in an industry where ideas are everything, I'm a huge asset to the company. But despite my ideas and results, I've had to aggressively fight for each of my promotions, all of which were about a year too late.

I'm not opposed to hard work and a good challenge, but was shocked when I received word on Thursday that one of my juniors, Katrina, was promoted to the same position as I'm in after being in her last position for a mere six months.

Now although I'm competitive by nature, I'm not a bitch and would happily congratulate anyone who's awarded credit where it's due, but unfortunately I don't think it's due in this instance. And I sincerely don't think that's just my ego talking.

I've worked very closely with Katrina, in fact I helped to hire and train her and although she's very hard working and persuasive, she lacks experience and maturity. My MD positioned her as a junior manager, but as far as I'm concerned she holds the same full title as I do so she's in the same position. And it makes me mad as although I've won lots of business for the company and have run half of the consumer technology team for nearly two years, I was still put on a three month trial for a manager position when I went for it. Katrina has done none of this, she doesn't even know how to effectively write a full proposal, and was just handed the position.

So I'm thinking this company doesn't really appreciate me and all I've done for it so there's no way I'm going to put myself out for them. I know I sound personal and bitter but I am bitter and it's taken me a long time to admit that I don't feel valued there.

So tomorrow I'm going to call Kirsty and I'm going to decline her offer. In fact, I'm evaluating whether I actually return as I've thought about what they offer me and it's no longer inticing. And I'm worth more than that.

Hurrah! Hugo turns one month old today! Although sleep deprived and a little hazy, our little family has survived its first month together, yay!

So in celebration of this momentous occasion, here are just some of the things I love about him (in no particular order):

• He was born with a full head of hair that stands straight up in a mohawk
• To the amazement of the midwives at the hospital, his eyes focus on you when you hold or talk to him. They've done this since birth
• Although they may change, he currently has all of Lucas' traits - same eyes colour (blue) and same hair colour (brown, light brown in the sun), despite the fact that I have dominant brown eyes and black curly hair. I hope they don't change
• He'll settle whenever I sing 'The Nearness of You' to him. In these moments he'll look me straight in the eye until his slowly close for sleep
• He sleeps with his feet crossed and in the air and often with both of hands raised straight up next to his head
• His favourite place/way to sleep though, is on his chest on your chest
• And although he sleeps in a bassinette, there are times he won't rest unless he's cuddled or close. When I'm too tired, I clear the pillows and blankets and make a safe little spot for him to lie next to me. And despite the gap I leave between us, he always wriggles his way so we're touching. It melts me
• The way he smells
• He can tell when Lucas is in the room and will instantly move his head in the direction of Lucas' voice
• Like all boys, the only time he really looses it is when he's uber hungry
• He scrunches up his face whenever he first gets on the boob or you put a bottle in his mouth and has an expression like, 'What the hell are you trying to feed me here people?' (I hope this doesn't mean a bad thing)
• He guzzles milk as if he's never eaten before
• He still gets the hiccups (he had them every day in the womb). I'm sure this is because he drinks so much so fast
• After a feed, I often put him over my shoulder to burp and whenever I do this, he tilts his little head to face mine and falls asleep with his soft, short baby breaths on my neck
• He's ours

Cake time... Double yay!!

One Month Old Hugo

I'm not sure if I've previously mentioned it, but a friend from work, Chloe, was pregnant the same time as I was.

The whole experience was very coincidental. We literally live five minutes apart, would waddle together to work in the same car and although she was due exactly a month before I, we had our babies (both boys) a day apart.

And our co-workers loved it. They had a sweepstake to guess whose baby would come when, how heavy it would be, its sex (we both left it as a surprise), threw a combined baby shower for us and chipped in for the BEST baby bag that doesn't even look like one. Mine is black with big, funky charcoal spots and the inside is bright green with a matching change mat, bottle thermos and nappy wipe holder and Chloe's is the same but plain black on the outside and leopard print on the inside.

Anyhow, Chloe didn't have a good time straight after her birth. Her son, Louie, wasn't sleeping, wasn't feeding, her nipples were cracked and bleeding and she was well over it, and I felt terrible as I was having a good time with Hugo.

Now two weeks later it seems we've swapped places. I'm telling you (and Chloe agrees), it's all about the feeds - once you have those sorted, the baby sleeps soundly so you can, which eliminates the crazy mother syndrome you've developed in the meantime from sleep deprivation.

So today Chloe called me and I although I tried to stay strong, all she had to do was ask how I was and I was instantly in tears. We spoke for around an hour, sharing our experiences and frustrations, and it was such a comforting and supportive conversation. Not many of my friends have babies (neither do hers) so we decided it only makes sense to band together and support each other to get through our great and not so great days.

And I think the comfort and relief made a big difference to the Wolf and I as for the first time he fed straight off my breast - no expressing and no nipple shields. He still fusses a little, but the fact that he's now fed properly has given me tremendous hope.

i'm not sure if anyone's picked up on it, but I'm a fairly positive and optimistic person. I know life can be shitty and even when I'm fucked up and don't want to, I tend to think seasons will pass and know my perspective influences how life affects me.

But it's 6.20pm and I'm still in my pajamas. I haven't had time to shower as Wolfie's been hungry every two hours, I've been peed on (twice), my breasts have leaked through three tops and breast pads and I've just finished crying. For two hours.

This week has been a shocker. And I use 'week' loosely as I have no concept of time. I just know I've been down for not just one but for days now. Even sleep seems pointless as I'll have to wake in 1-2 hour's time.

It's so hard for me to admit it, but I've been feeling like utter shite. I'd like to focus on something else but want this to be an expression of what I experience, think and feel. And I often don't express these feelings because I don't want pity or sympathy and have trouble asking for help - in fact, I hate asking for help.

So it's now 7pm and despite my tears and lethargy I've dragged my tired frame to the shower. I've tried to wash away days of exhaustion, pain, confusion and frustration. I've sobbed to my mother and am listening to one of my favorite songs, 'To Sheila' by the Smashing Pumpkins. And Hugo is in my arms again and just smelling him and rubbing my cheek softly against his forehead soothes me. And makes me cry.

I don't want to focus on tomorrow or next week. And for once I'm not thinking the glass is half full, or half empty. It's just half.

In a culture that treasures an individual's right to choose above all, sometimes I think we've gone too far as the most simple of choices have become too complex.

Take purchasing a pair of jeans for instance. Something as regular as choosing a trusty pair of denims can take hours, if not days to find the right colour, the perfect fit, straight leg, bootleg or wideleg, retail stores have denim walls, denim floors, a plethora of brands, and require a picture perfect assistant to make you try on fifty pairs to decode the mess and 'help' you decide.

Even every day toilet paper and soap can become high pressure situations - do you choose the organic variety, do you go with a trusted brand or the most average in price and then there are the fragrances... No wonder grocery shopping takes such a long time. Sometimes I think 'brand loyalty' occurs just because people don't want to go through this rigmarole each time they shop.

So when bombarded with these menial options each day, I wonder why I still struggle when it comes to the life impacting and far more interesting decisions that come my way. I seem to have fallen in the habit of randomly choosing an answer, or better yet, wanting the decision to be out of my hands.

Take university for example, I chose my course by haphazardly opening the course guide with my eyes closed and pointing to a degree. I did this until I found one I liked (Communications) and even once I was at uni, I 'fell' into PR as a hated my journalism classes.

Now that I think of it, I was even relieved when the choice of whether or not I have a baby was made for me. When my friendship with Sophie was dying, I waited for her to make the move instead of cutting things off myself.

Is it the change I'm fearing or the responsibility for the choices I make? Or is the variety of choices and their repercussions too overwhelming?

Chaos always seemed to be the outcome of whatever was out of our control, but now it seems within how we control our lives. The chaos is trying to choose just one option when we're presented with so many.

And with decisions to be made concerning my career and some of my relationships, perhaps it's time I stopped fearing this (and any) chaos and started to embrace it, otherwise I'm going to be in that denim store forever.

After living in a bubble for the past three weeks, Lucas and I had the opportunity to spend a couple of hours on our own as Mum and Natasha were looking after the bub. So instead of visiting a museum, going to a restaurant or even seeing a movie, we went straight to our nearest shopping centre for a good injection of consumerism.

And how the shops have grown! You leave them for a month and BAM!, the staff have changed, a new season of stock has arrived, and lo, Christmas carols are playing and decorations are decking the mall.

I had no idea the festive season was upon us.

In our usual spirit, Christmas was a time my family's traditions broke that bon bon in a loud and unruly nature.

The tree went up in early November and usually stayed there throughout January (our record was June), Dad left the wreath on the door throughout the year to save re-hammering it (such a tedious job really), I wrote my shopping list months in advance only to complete the whole lot in a Christmas Eve shopping frenzy, presents were opened Christmas Eve if the folks were in a good mood and Christmas Day if they weren't, and lunch was an open invitation for whoever wanted to come. And they'd always come.

Mum would cook for days beforehand. She'd bring Elaine, Nicky, Ian and Jason (Mum's worked for the same four people with down-syndrome for the past ten years and our family welcomed them more than their own) and the house would be full of around 30-40 people who'd stay past lunch and left-overs for Dad's drunken banjo sing-along at night. The crowd was always a mixture of old friends, friends of those friends and strangers. The thing we all had in common was none of us had family here - this was the closest we got.

And we would eat a huge Asian banquet that would be served alongside spag bol, potato salad, fresh seafood and pasta Mum would include for those who didn't fancy the spicy stuff. The day would be a scorcher and we'd sit in our air-conditioned goodness, gorging, talking, playing loud music, calling overseas relos and enjoying every moment. We'd all sleep in the next day, go to the beach and eat left overs for days.

The divorce of my parents is always harder to take over Christmas as all of this disappeared and nothing has replaced the people and memories we shared.

Although they mark significant milestones, Lucas and I have never been traditionists. We've never celebrated an anniversary, hell, we don't even know when it is, and for years were in such a financial spot that birthday presents weren't an option. Yet walking through the shopping centre on Wednesday, I decided Christmas would now become our little family tradition.

So Lucas and I bought some decorations, a cute little outfit for Hugo and even a little tree that sits in the corner of our living room, glowing in anticipation of the presents that will sit underneath.

The serenity of 3am has me captivated.
That and the smell of Hugo. The folds of his chubby legs, his neck, his baby breath.
He hasn't been as restless so I've had two good days in a row.
I'm working on things to help me with this transition.
I'd like to cut my hair but want to be happy with how I look first. I put on a pair of old pants today and was sorely disappointed when they didn't fit.
I'm desperate to loose weight, but am often more desperate for Oreos.
Mm. Oreos.
I'm watching Lost in Translation for the second time and could easily put that movie on repeat.
My life feels like it's on repeat.
I guess that's why I like 3am. I get to press pause.

It's 1am. Today was 40 degrees (celcius), it's still hot and I can't sleep. I've been getting to bed at around 4am (due to my insomnia and the Wolf being unsettled) and have been feeling displaced, anxious and depressed. It's apparently normal to feel like this a day a week.

Despite my efforts and expectations, I'm exhausted. I feel like I've had no rest or time to come to grips with every thing - three months just wasn't enough. There's no way I want to change anything or feel sorry for myself - I just feel a loss for my old selfish life. I miss sleeping, I miss my old functional body and hate to admit it, but I even miss work.

I haven't done any personal laundry in three weeks and am running out of clothes. Having my sister stay over for the night stresses me, so I can't imagine having the inlaws here for three weeks, and I'm starting to cringe at the constant visitors too.

Listen to me blah blah blah. I feel like I'm the baby and need some comfort and care. I should be stronger than this as I do have support, and for this reason, I feel like a horrible mother.