Puppy vs Toddler


I’ve been feeling a tad clucky lately. I blame TV. We were watching my fave show Bones the other night and the main character is pregnant. Not sure if it was the baby references or the thought of me her having Booth’s baby that got me all weak at the knees.


Dan is adamant there will be no more babies and was under the impression that the recent addition of our puppy would be sufficient to temper any procreational urges I may have. In fact, he went so far as to say that he would prefer to have EIGHT puppies before any more offspring.

Which kinda got me thinking. Puppies and babies/toddlers really do have a lot in common. I mean, apart from the obvious vulnerability and need for love, shelter, yadayada, there’s also the common elements of destructive tendencies, toilet training, boundary testing and a knack for being easily distracted by bright shiny things.

However, if one was to truly look at the pros and cons of having puppies versus small humans, puppies are sure to win hands down every time. For instance:

  • You can lock puppies outside when the pee on your carpet.
  • No one will ever ask if your puppy was breastfed, co-slept, had a dummy or used cloth nappies.
  • People get funny about children on leashes. Even purpose built child leashes get frowned upon by some.
  • You can smack a puppy on the nose with a newspaper if they bite you without the risk of the neighbours calling DoCS.
  • A running chain is a socially acceptable option for puppies.
  • A “beware of the toddler” sign is not as effective at scaring unwelcome visitors away.
  • A puppy will never ask to borrow the car when its older.
  • You can desex a puppy and let it roam the streets knowing you won’t become a grandmother before your time.

And of course, the most appealing thing about puppies in my books, this is always an option if you are desperate:

So what say you? Puppy or toddler?








Image from here


I know Kegels keep it real

Boy do I know I should have done more Kegels.

In ante natal classes they teach you how to strengthen your pelvic floor. Kegels may sound like a funky type of breakfast bagel but really are the secret weapon in a woman’s post pregnancy arsenal.

Needless to say, I didn’t pay much heed to the lovely but rather batty midwife who tried to steer me onto the path of lifelong bladder control.  Sure enough, karma came and bit me in the arse (close enough) by blessing me with 2 rather large babies who took great pleasure in trampolining on my pelvic  flaw floor.

I did squeeze in the early days. I even accepted my OBG’s invitation to trial their new fandango machine that would vibrate my floor back into pre-pregnancy shape. Unfortunately, the experience was akin to spending 20 mins sitting on a church pew that was being pummelled from underneath by a Jack hammer.  With 2 smalls in tow and a hefty fee per session, I gracefully declined further sessions. I can squeeze for free after all. The DIY job can be done all day,  anywhere. Sssshh – no one will know!  Unlike some of the very interesting contraptions I found on google this morning after a “Kegel” search. I won’t elaborate. I get too many dodgy hits on my site already.

Anyway, it’s a shame I’m no good at follow through. Now as I sit here, suffering a horrendous cough, I’m wishing I’d made the investment in the jackhammer-floor-saver. Imagine the money I could have saved on the millions of boxes of Tenas I see stacking up in my future.

I'm here all ready!!!

Young ones take heed and squeeeeeeze! Do what your midwife says and do those Kegels.

Linking up with Yay for Home’s Things I Know.




Images ( & some actual sensible tips on Kegels) from Daisy Chain Maternity

Grateful for… my humble home

Lately I have been feeling quite negative about my home, my neighbourhood, my suburb.

It’s been a feeling that has been growing for a few years but has really escalated with the saga of getting our little boy into school.  You see, we live on the outskirts of a suburb that has a very mixed demographic.   When we moved here 10 years ago our little cottage was the last house in our sleepy street. Our big block is at the top of a hill. We had a wonderful view, a neighbouring farm and an environmental park across the street.  We had lovely neighbours whose kids would play cricket outside our house, scaring away the wallabies who would come to eat our grass. It was bliss.

But our neighbours have moved, the farm is now a development and the wallabies have found a new home. Things have changed immeasurably.  Our plan was to move before our first child went to school. Enter the GFC and its devastating effect on the building industry. My husband’s industry.  Enter anxiety about money, weeks without work, plans put on hold.

We are far from destitute (fortunately as being frugal is not my strong point) but committing to a large mortgage when our financial future is uncertain is not a situation we want to be in.

So here we are today. Not in the catchment area of the school we want. Anxious about the prospect of sending our baby to a school with a somewhat questionable reputation. (But perhaps I’m a school snob? Possibly a concept that needs to be explored in another post).

All my emotions – confusion, resentment, anxiety, disappointment – have been directed at our house. If only it was 2km down the road!  We can’t sell. We can’t buy. Trapped.

But then I took the time to look, really look, around our house, our home. 

Every significant event in my life in the last 10 years has a memory associated with this house.  I remember when we first joked about the idea of getting married in Fiji, sitting in the dining room of this home. I can tell you the exact spot I was standing in the hallway when my doctor phoned to say was I pregnant with Will. The living room is the backdrop of a vivid recollection of sitting, heavily pregnant, sobbing as my mum told us my grandfather was gone. 

And most importantly, all of my boys firsts – rolls, steps, words, all happened here. In our home.  A place that echoes daily with their cheeky laughter, mischievous play and raucous rough-housing.  

Yes, there’s the daggy kitchen, total lack of storage (think golf clubs living in the laundry) and of course the horrid retro red and black bathroom that I can never get 100% mold free.  But there is also the magnificent bottle tree, the pool and of course the brick fireplace that I fell in love with the moment I walked in the door.

How can I resent such a special place?  This house is our first family home.  It is a place my boys will remember and treasure their whole lives.

I can’t resent a place like that. I can only be so very, very grateful.

Don’t forget to visit Maxabella loves…for more thankful thoughts.

Little Big Man


This little man has it all sorted out. He reckons he knows what life is all about. When he grows up he wants to:

  • be a brick layer like his daddy (over his parent’s dead bodies)
  • be a rockstar (that’s more like it!)
  • get married and have his own kids so he can be the “boss” (obviously his father’s delusions of grandeur are rubbing off)

This afternoon on the way home we were discussing how one of  his pre-prep teachers is going to have a baby soon. It’s always rather enlightening discussing the pregnancy/birth process with Will. It’s not a new topic, having had several pregnant carers at daycare and of course having a baby brother. For me it’s a discussion fraught with peril as my rather astute little boy can tell when things don’t add up and is very good at asking hard-hitting questions. Forget being a rock star, I foresee a career in journalism.

As a result, I’ve been fairly candid in telling him about the facts (leaving out the actual copulation part, of course) and this afternoon’s conversation hit a few of his most favourite highlights – the egg, the baby eating and pooping “inside” and of course how the baby eventually “pops” out.

I still have scars from the discussion that surrounding the grand finale. I will never forget him asking “If girls bits do that, then what is my willy good for?”

Oh good lord. Luckily he let it rest when I told him he’d find out when he was bigger.

Today he declared that he had a “daddy tummy” which is apparently pretty useless as opposed to a mummy tummy.  This really got him thinking and the rest of the conversation went something like this:

Will: When I get bigger and find a mummy of my own to marry, I’ll miss you (also a common theme)

Me: I’ll miss you, too but we will still see each other

Will: I promise I’ll tell you where we live so you can come & have sleep over holidays

Me: I hope you live near the beach then

Will: I hope so, too. But maybe the mummy I marry will choose somewhere else to live…

Me: speechless!

How does he come up with this stuff? And why didn’t I get the memo that the mummy gets to choose where we live? Pack your bags kids we are moving to the beach!!

What little gems do your kids come out with? What do they want to be when they grow up?

Spit it out!

Courtesy of stylehive.com

I did a brave thing  last night. I took another step in saying bye-bye to my baby and threw away the dummies.

This was a hard thing to do but probably more so for me than for Nick.  The Man has been keen to get rid of them for ages and has managed to wean him from them for night sleeps. Mind you, he is also much better at managing at tired, cranky BamBam and being firm with him when needed.

Me… well, I’ve probably mentioned before that when it comes to Nick, I’m a bit of a pushover. Let’s call it a preference for the path of least resistance!  Will was pretty easy when it came to sleep and we said goodbye to the dummy with no fuss at 18  months.  However, it was a long hard road training Nick to put himself to sleep for naps WITH the dummy. Now that he’s got it down pat I’m not so keen to revisit nap time hysteria. Of course if the antics are dramatic enough driving me to capitulate and give him a dummy, he’s asleep in minutes and I can relax with a cuppa!   This little repertoire has of course created a self-fulfilling prophecy and hence the reason they had to go – to remove the temptation from me as well as Nick!Courtesy of stylehive.com

In my own defence, I must say I’ve held out so long in consideration for his other carers too. My poor mum & his daycare teachers will no doubt struggle for a while as well. I really didn’t see his dummy “habit” as an overly bad thing. He only had it for naps and to calm him after a particularly horrendous meltdown (which he’s quite prone to at present, unfortunately). I do not however, want him to get to a stage where he demands it constantly and I can see that this is where we are heading.

The Man reminds me it will only be a week or so of discomfort for all until “dum-dum” is a distant memory, but I have my doubts. Nick is a very stubborn little man.  But the deed is done and we will find out soon enough.

As a parent is there something you’ve been reluctant to give up in favour of the path of least resistance? I’d love to hear your stories!

Bye-bye Baby

Where has my baby gone? Did I pick up the wrong child from kindy? Because surely there has been some mix-up. This blonde, blue-eyed creature in front of me certainly resembles my baby boy but it cannot be him. Who is this talking, tantruming toddler who all of a sudden no longer likes a stroller and wants to sleep in a big boy bed. Where did my baby go?

Nick at 3 months

I know the answer, of course. My baby is gone forever because Nick has turned two. On the day of his birthday it was like a physical change came over him. One of the most noticeable things was the words that started popping out of his mouth. For months we have been growing equal parts concerned and frustrated as Nick seemed to refuse to talk. His handful of words were used rarely in favour for loud yelling and pointing until the dim-witted adult in question (usual myself) managed to guess what he was demanding.

“Water, milk, banana???”

 “No”, “no”, “NO!”

Until eventually we hit the jackpot… “YEP!” 

But all of a sudden the words are coming more easily. Although predominately one syllable and still used sparingly, punctuated with his trademark yell, his language is certainly progressing.  The word that brought this home (& cracked us up) came one night when I dished up something he found undesirable for dinner. He pushed his plate away, climbed down from the table and pointed at the pantry. As clear as day he demanded, “WEETBIX!”.

Celebrating his 2nd b'day. Brimming with attitude & cuteness!


My baby is definitely growing up and will have no trouble at all making his way in this world.

Time flies…

I find it amazing how being a parent really does make time fly.  So all consuming is the business of being mummy that I seem to lose days, weeks & even months of my babies’ lives.  Not babies. Not anymore. I am keenly aware of this fact as we embark on the next stage of my boys’ lives – room sharing. I have been so eager for this co-habitation to happen in order to maximise space in our small house. However, on reflection it has occurred to me that I have been subconsciously wishing the time away when in fact I should have been cherishing all the “lasts” associated with this transition. The last night my “baby” spent in the nursery. The last midnight soothing cuddle without fear of disturbing his brother. And the last morning of having at least one child sleep past 7am!

As each milestone passes there seems to be more precious moments that have slipped through my fingers. But as much as I regret the imminent passing of the “baby days”, I eagerly anticipate the days of freedom that having preschoolers brings. Roll on those nap-free, pram-free and NAPPY-free days!!

I just hope whilst looking forward to the future I can also learn to live in the moment and break the cycle of wishing away the days.