Posts tagged #pmh

Holidaying with Kids

"It always look fun in the photos"

"It always look fun in the photos"

My mum and I were just talking about the Google guy and his multi-billion dollar fortune.  We were discussing the impact that having that sort of money would have on your state of mind.  What sort of goals would you set yourself (you wouldn’t need to save for anything and you could get first class training in anything you wanted to learn)?  How much would it impact the things that money can’t buy…like love and contentment?  What we would spend it on?  Travel - that’s what I’d spend my money on.  Traveling the world and experiencing as many different cultures as possible.   I’ve got to admit, that’s probably the only thing I really wish we’d done more of before having kids.

Holidaying with kids is a whole different kettle of fish.  We took our first son to Bali with us – twice.   The first time went pretty well – the Balinese love little babies!  The hardest part was packing.  We survived on carry-on luggage whilst he required two full sized suitcases to accommodate nappies, formula, shelf stable foods, and about 35 spew rags and clothing changes. 

The second time we went back I was pregnant with my second child.  Looking back I do wonder if I was not actually temporarily insane at that point in time. Well, if I wasn’t then, I can tell you that by day three of the ‘holiday’ I certainly was. 

My son was (still is) a terrible sleeper, so we were up half the night, then from the crack of dawn trying to keep him quiet (impossible) in a hotel with adjoining walls.  Every outing had to be timed to coincide with his sleep times, which meant by the time everyone else woke up, we’d walk down the street only have to start heading back to the hotel again.  He was walking...Bali streets… need I say more?  He got really sick with a fever two nights in…resulting in ear syringing, strange medication, and one million rupiah less in our pocket.  Two days later he runs full pelt into the ocean and gets slammed by a wave landing us back in hospital.  The next day he tried his hand at concussion, slipping and slamming his head on the concrete floor.  He got eaten alive by mosquitoes despite every effort to protect him.  He wouldn’t eat the food, he wouldn’t sit still in the restaurants and whenever we tried to let him run free he’d take off full speed in the opposite direction.  It was a nightmare – made worse by the fact that I was painfully sober, pregnant, hot and (put honestly) FREAKING OUT!  We returned home to wind up in PMH a week later with our son being tested for malaria. 

At that point I vowed never to travel with children under the age of about 8 years old EVER again.

Consequently my husband and I haven’t been on a proper holiday together for a long time…so when the opportunity to travel over east for a few days presented itself recently, my husband and I were just a little excited!  Our wonderful family has offered to look after our babies for us so that we can get away for an extended weekend.   Imagine, dinners at restaurants – on our time (not at 5pm) and at our choice (not HJs or a child-friendly venue).  Imagine actually being able to eat your food whilst it’s hot, talk to each other (rather than the constant diatribe “sit still, just a minute, I’m just cutting it up for you, it’s a bit hot, it won’t be long, don’t touch that, sit down, put that back, leave your brother alone, get that out of your ear!”).  Imagine being out after dark, strolling down the street, contemplating a casino visit, or a late night cuppa.  Oh, and shopping, markets, tram rides, theatre shows, SLEEP-INS…yep, this is sounding like heaven!

I really wish I could be all Angelina Jolie and travel the universe with my boys…but I think it is just going to have to wait (until I win the lottery and can afford private jets and live in nannies) or at least until they are a little older!  In the meantime, let’s hope this getaway is a success so that we can get our little travel fix every once in a while!

What have your travel experiences been like?

Trading Places

At 19 weeks pregnant, my husband and I were told that our baby’s foot had not formed correctly. That, combined with low fluid levels and not so great 12 week blood results, meant there was a much higher chance of a chromosome disorder…in particular, one that has a very short life expectancy.

We were given the option of doing an amniocentesis or adopting a ‘wait and see’ approach. 

This was one of the hardest decisions we’ve ever had to make.  I was so conflicted.  Was doing the amniocentesis selfish?  I knew I was putting my child at risk, but for what?  To ease my own worry?  And what if the results that came back weren’t the ones I wanted?  What then?  But if I didn’t do it how would I cope with the not knowing, the waiting?  The not being able to prepare myself?  How would this stress affect my baby?

After a great deal of agonising we decided on doing the test.  Waiting for the results was the longest wait I’ve ever experienced.  I must have checked my phone three times a minute, every waking minute, for those few days.  When the doctor finally called it was like the world stopped for a moment as he told me that there was no evidence of any disorder.  My baby just had “Clubfoot”.

I remember reading about Clubfoot (Talipes) for the first time.  The doctor had diluted it for us in his explanation, so when I read what was actually involved I remember everything around me going blurry, there were only words and pictures on the computer screen and a horrible, twisted feeling in my stomach. 

I am painfully aware that in the grand scheme of things we are extremely lucky and blessed, but to stay true to my pledge of honesty I will continue...

I think we all want our children to be ‘perfect’ and I don’t mean that in an offensive way.  I’m not talking pageant pretty or child prodigy…I mean it in a sense that we want nothing more than for our children’s lives to be as uncomplicated as possible.  We don’t want them to suffer any more than any other child, to feel pain, to struggle. We want them to be healthy, happy and able.  The thought that they might face challenges that the majority do not is a really scary, sometimes even crippling, thought.  When I was reading about the treatment of Clubfoot I thought of many things…but mostly it was the inconceivable thought that he would be in pain and uncomfortable for potentially the first four years of his life.

In a lot of ways I wish they’d never told me about my son’s foot at my 19-week scan.  I feel it robbed me of some of my pregnancy joy.  Instead of spending my precious moments thinking about what colour to paint the nursery or what cot set was the sweetest, I spent the next five months wondering whether he’d fit into a standard car capsule with his foot brace, trying to work out how I’d be able to nurse him properly, how I was logistically going to travel the 2.5hr round trip each week to PMH with a toddler and a newborn in tow, how much pain and discomfort the treatment would cause him.  I wasn’t thinking about the beauty of pregnancy or the miracle of having a little baby growing inside me.  I was distracted by the what ifs, and the unknowns, and the fears associated with something being ‘wrong’ with my baby, something that I had no way of fully comprehending or understanding until after he was born.

Soon after my son’s birth the paediatrician visited to officially diagnose his condition.  I had been holding onto a vain hope that his clubfoot would be “positional” (requiring only physio) rather than “structural” (a genetic condition that requires treatment with the Ponseti method).  I remember how I couldn’t stop my tears as she attempted to manipulate my son’s foot into position.  The world shrank in that instant and all I wanted to do was punch her in the face and wrench my child out of her grasp.  He screamed (a high pitched blood curdling scream) as she promptly diagnosed “Structural Talipes Equinovarus”.  I tried to hold my head up high, I tried to be strong for him, I tried to remind myself that this was nothing, this was ‘fixable’, this was a blessing compared to the struggles of other parents and children…but it was really really hard.  I felt scared.  I felt overwhelmed.  I felt like I must have done something wrong. I blamed myself.  I felt responsible.

I remember giving our son his last bath before he went in to get his first cast at 9 days old.  I watched him looking so beautiful and relaxed, his little legs gently kicking and I felt cheated.  For at least the next two months of his life he would need to be sponge bathed.  It’s such a small thing, but sometimes it’s these types of things that can hit you the hardest.  Bundling them up in big fluffy towels all freshly washed and sweet smelling, this is a precious moment I missed out on.

After the castings he moved to wearing a foot brace 23 hours a day.  For the first couple of days in his boots he cried almost non-stop.  It was awful.  The pain he must have been in.  To watch him and not be able to do anything felt like having someone literally rip your heart out of your chest.  It also felt like I was failing him.  I’m supposed to fix things.  I’m supposed to stop the pain.  I’m supposed to make his world feel safe and comfortable.  I’m his mum, that’s my job…

At times the cast and brace felt like a wedge between us.  I couldn’t hold him snuggly, I couldn’t nurse him comfortably and he couldn’t hook his legs around me like a little koala.  I was plagued with worry that this would somehow impact our bonding.  I have such a love/hate relationship with the boots and bar.  Without them my son wouldn’t walk, but having to put them on him every night and watch as he struggles to find a comfortable position on his back or every so often hearing him say “no” and vehemently shake his head and push them away makes me hate them.

My son is now nearing his second birthday and he’s down to wearing his brace about 11 hours a day.  This will continue until he is at least four years old.  I’m sure that we will face further challenges, but ultimately he is a beautiful, fit, resilient little boy with “a world to be born under his footsteps”.  He has taken it all in his stride with such strength and acceptance.  He rarely fights it, he smiles so full of sunshine and light, and he walks and runs with a swagger that makes us laugh – proud… uninhibited…joyous laughter.

No matter what your situation, it seems there’s an overwhelming (sometimes aching) want to trade places with our children when they are suffering.  Wishing you could take their pain away, ease their distress.  The “I’d die for you” mentality that comes with being a parent.  Then there’s the scary realisation that this mentality has no end.  It’ll come up again the first time they get their heart broken, or injure themselves, or fall short on a dream, or feel teenager peer pressures.  Even when they’re as old as us with kids of their own and sitting down feeling like I am now. We’ll still want so desperately to take their place, to take away their pain, to suffer through it for them.  But that’s all part of the gig right?  Sure is…but it’s certainly not one you can prepare yourself for, even when you’re right smack bang in the middle of it. 

But hey, there’s a flipside. In order to feel such an intense desire to trade places we must first experience love at its purest and most powerful.