Needles in tiny people

My little monkey is 2 months old, and with that milestone (along with cooing and focusing) comes the necessity of the first round of vaccinations. I am aware that vaccination is a controversial topic these days, but having thoroughly sized up the risks vs. benefits situation, off we trooped to the Portland clinic at 11.30am this morning to see the community nurse. Babies used to die of pertussis, polio etc, -so in the interests of public and monkey-health, I wheeled my little one up the hill to have him stuck full of needles for his own benefit...

We were 20 minutes early for the appointment. This will not surprise anyone who knows me. 20 minutes early is 'on time', 10 minutes early is 'running late', on-time is 'late' and 'late' is unthinkable. We sat in the comfy little waiting room until he decided that the pram had stopped moving and that was a BAD thing. He was removed forthwith and we played 'wheeee!' (new game in which he pushes off my thighs with his little legs and gets swooped into the air...always results in BIG smiles and giggles), sang songs ('Where is Love?' and 'Who will Buy?'...an 'Oliver' mood had struck. apparently), and finally, when all else had failed, settled in for a nice session of mummy-juice. Typically, just when he'd settled into his familiar 'sighing with pleasure' moment...SHE arrived to usher us into the clinic rooms...(insert JAWS theme).

We had to undress the monkey for his routine weighing/measuring...this was approached with some trepidation on my part as the monkey had started making 'poo-face' 5 minutes earlier...and LO! We were quite messy in the nether-regions..which was fine, except that I had made the rookie mistake of leaving the nappy-bag at home (.."it's only 5 minutes up the road...he won't need a poo in the next hour...surely?"). So, Gabe endured the indignity of being cleaned and re-nappied in a (shock-horror!)  girls nappy. His head was  held, his legs were stretched, his little testicles were palpated and he submitted to all this by blowing dignified bubbles and beaming at the nurse. Indeed, so perturbed was the little mite, he promptly fell asleep in my arms as we fulfilled the 'questionnaire' bit.

The next bit (well, OK, the entire entry) is recorded purely as therapy...for me!. The nurse warned me as she was prepping that 2 of the three vaccinations would hurt him. A lot. She gave him the oral dose first, which he sucked down gleefully, while my stomach unknotted and reknotted itself in anticipation of what was to come. The problem is that mothers are a lot like grizzly-bears, -prone to violence when their baby is threatened. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to grab the needles and stick the nurse in retaliation when his little face screwed up and he screamed with his first dose of pain. Until now, he has known only comfort and cuddles and warmth. Until now, everyone that smiled at him and talked to him only meant good things. The first dose done, he relaxed quite quickly and started a -sucking on his little fist. This is usually Gabe-speak for either 'mumma, -my tummy hurts' or 'mumma, -I'm hungry' (he has yet to distinguish between the two!). The nurse then explained to me that the last shot would really hurt. In fact, she mentioned that she often had to go home after a days vaccinations and self-medicate with wine...it's no fun causing babies pain all day, even if it is "the best thing for them".
Quick flip over of the monkey (who, bless him, was already smiling at me again) and the second shot into his unblemished, fat and perfect little thigh. His face went beetroot red and he SCREAMED and wouldn't stop screaming. I lost it. My precious boy was bundled up to my breast as I shed helpless tears at my little one's pain. Like a near-death experience, everything was flashing before my eyes. His implicit trust that had been betrayed, his dear little legs and perfect skin, now bleeding and sore. His trusting smile and happy cooing for the first 15 minutes of the appointment...unaware of what was to come.

I suspect this is the first of many 'firsts' for me. I can't help romantically wishing for a world in which the person smiling at you engagingly isn't about to stab you in the back (or leg, as the case may be). Hard lessons to learn, but as I have discovered, infinitely harder for mumma watching on helplessly. All of this trauma lasted approximately 5 minutes. It was a lifetime.

Within 1 minute, he had settled down and was back in his pram. I've never walked home so fast. He was whisked into the lounge room and onto the breast with near Olympic speed and again began his happy sighing. I turned on some soothing Bach, and within minutes he was blissfully asleep. I retreated to the study for another weep, and at the solid advice of friends, a rather large slice of double chocolate mud-cake.

1 hr later, he is talking happily to his owl ( a much beloved lamaze toy from grandma), and fighting his droopy little eyelids. I have given him a dose of baby-panadol as a prophylactic to ward off fever and am now heartily glad I have 2 glasses of wine for this evening.

Bitch #1: The nurse said (post).."He did VERY well!"...I know you were being 'nice' and all, but seriously, what do you say to clients who have babies that scream and won't stop?..."he did VERY badly! what a BAD baby!"...

Bitch #2: The nurse (pre) suggested I put him on the breast for the injections. I asked if it were possible that this might create a negative association for him re: breastfeeding (and as a mumma who's had trouble with it...I thought it a reasonable question). Her response: "Oh, that's always the first question from women who over-think things". Did I come back with a pithy retort? Nup. I hung my head and admitted that yes, I did have a habit of 'over-thinking things'...Luckily (I think), he didn't want to suckle, so it was decided that I would wait until afterwards to feed...GRRRAAARRGGGGHHH!!! Why do I always back down with this woman????

Anyway, another 2 months in blissful peace and then we have to go back for a further round of torture. I am quite serious in the fervent wish that Brett take him next time. My heart can only take so much breaking.

Winter Wamers

I recently read an entire book about the potato. Yep, I'm that much of a food-dag! As you can imagine, the book was also heavy on Irish politics and agriculture throughout the centuries. It was actually a marvellous read and I highly recommend it to foodies and historians alike. Anyway anyway, the point of telling you about my spudly literary foray was that the book reminded me of one of my favourite dishes of all time. Colcannon. That hearty and nutritious peasant dish of yore that I had somehow neglected to include in my regular culinary repertoire. On these freezing winter nights, nothing is as comforting as a mess of fluffy creamy spuds laced with nutty cabbage and onion (and if you're a meatavore...bacon). The fact that this dish kept many an Irish peasant family alive and kicking is not that surprising, -potatoes are the unsung hero of the food world!, and cabbage isn't far behind. If you were a lucky Irish peasant you'd serve this with a hock of bacon or a side of mutton, if not, you'd still get plenty of nutrition from the Colcannon alone.

It should possibly be mentioned that my version of Colcannon is as 'hearty' as they come, but possibly a little higher in calories than the original peasant version, and as such should be treated as a 'sometimes' food..(unless you regularly indulge in peasanty activities like the plowin' o' the fields, the boilin' and thrashin' of the linens or the walkin' of the 5 miles into town..).
You can use a normal cabbage, a savoy, or a mixture of oddness (including broccoli greens) from your garden. It's also great with kale, but be careful of cooking times etc as kale needs a bit more blanching and carrying on than normal cabbage and you don't want to be ruining my chefness with horrible stringy kale-bits.

Ingredients


60g butter
4 tbsps plain flour
1/2L Soy Milk
4 tbsps onion flakes
1 tsp garlic powder

7-8 medium potatoes
1/2 a cabbage head
1 cup random extra greens (young broccoli leaves/kale/brussels sprouts)
1 1/2 cups grated tasty cheese
1/2 cup grated parmesan/romano

salt and pepper to taste

1. Make yourself up a good white sauce with the first set of ingredients. You know the deal, roux and gradually add milk blah blah, when you've got the desired consistency (a bit thicker than usual because cabbage is quite the watery old vegetable), add the onion flakes and the garlic powder.
2. Boil 'dem spuds in salted water until they're smushable, then add the cabbage and greens for 5 minutes until just tender. You could do this seperately, but I just remove the greens with tongs before draining the spuds and smushing them.
3. Smush spuds with a spud-smusher (no need to be all Masterchef about it, -just smush' em good), then mix through the greens. Pour the white/onion sauce over and mix like a peasant until everything's good and slushy.
4. Spoon most of it into a pyrex or ceramic baking dish and top with grated cheese and a drizzle of olive oil (especially if the 60g of butter just didn't seem like quite enough fat...)
5. Bake at 180 degrees for 30 minutes until cheese is all golden and bubble and a bit browny and crunchy on the sides.

Now, if I were a meatosaurus, I'd serve this with sausages or corned beef. As I'm a vegetable, I serve it with  Fry's patties and gravy, or good ol' Sanitarium soy sausages and gravy. And now I must be off. Blogging doesn't sit well with 6 week old babies who wish to be fed NOW!!

What it's like (being a mumma)

As I write, I'm sitting up waiting for the little monkey to wake for his next feed. It's as usual here. Sleep-deprived mumma desperately wanting to go to bed. Sleep-deprived daddy already in bed and promising to do the 'early' shift...but it seems that Wombat has decided to screw up the schedule..again!
So, what's it like? Being a new mother?
Well kiddies, it's a bloody hard slog most of the time. I used to be a person that "had" to have 8 hrs sleep a night or i turned into a raving lunatic. The trick is, I am still that person.
When the little wombat wakes and starts his coughing-crying combo, needs must be met! This incredibly exhausted woman drags her sorry carcass up and feeds.
Luckily, it's school holidays right now. This means that Brett and I can "share" the load...although there doesn't seem to be a magical solution in which at least one of us gets a full nights sleep...
BUT...(and it has to be said), This little person is never too much trouble. Oh yes, I get cranky and frustrated (particularly at about 3-4am), I get annoyed at him, I get to the point of tears almost every night. This is my precious son. This is a $35K baby. This little one was the ONLY surviving embryo from our last IVF cycle, This little man has made my heart swell like it never has before. He didn't ask me to be born. He just is.

Yes. He snuffles for the breast (hence 'wombat'), he yells in his sleep (every night), he rarely cries and when he does a deep switch gets turned on in my soul. I cannot bear the sound of him in distress, -even for a minute.
I love watching Brett's amazing tenderness and protectiveness towards his son. I kid you not when I say that he does EVERYTHING! I just adore that Brett has endless patience and love for his baby boy. At least once a day he spouts forth with "I love my son!". No particular impetus, just emotion that bubbles up and spills over!
Like every new parent, we've had our 'issues'.  I have had to come to terms with the fact that I can't produce enough breast milk to satisfy him. Our baby is on a "mixed feed" deal. he always has the breast first, but then a bottle of lactose-free formula. This killed me for weeks. I cried and cried at my inability to feed him.
His little tongue-tie didn't help in those first few weeks. He couldn't latch well and I ended up with seeping blood-blisters on my nipples. This (and the fact that my breasts just didn't develop enough lactation tissue) made recovering from a horrible birth doubly difficult.
I "failed" as a woman (to give birth naturally) and then I "failed" to feed my son. Add that to sleep-deprivation and body-image issues and you get the general idea.
I still hate the 'pouch' of fat and skin on my tummy. I was happy to be "abdominally abundant" when he was in there, -now it's just revolting. However, I'm all set to exercise it away once I get the 6 week doctor's clearance!

I have a renewed and healthy respect for all mothers. I still feel that I'm the worst one in the world. I cannot get over my son's beauty and gorgeous nature. I only hope that someday soon things will "balance out" and I'll be able to enjoy being a mum more. Don't get me wrong, -I adore him every second I'm awake and asleep, but I have no idea who "Cath" is or when (and if!) she'll ever return.