On the aftermath of pregnancy

C section scar starting to fade in parts, and stretch marks?  Hardly.

I just realised I haven't really written about this yet, and with Etta being almost one thought it was high time that I did.  Given that I walked you through the horror that was my pregnancy and labour (a fairly standard horror I'd say), I thought it best I should warn you about what comes next.

And this warning may be messy as the first, and probably most consistent thing, is sleep deprivation.

There is a reason why this is used as a torture technique - lack of sleep actually hurts.  There are still days where I cry simply because I am exhausted and can't rest, and there is no end to this torture in sight.  Because while I have a wonderful, thoughtful, cute and amazing child she (not unlike her mother) is yet to unravel the mystery of consistent sleep.  I can't hold this against her as sleep patterns are hereditary and I'm a pretty awful sleeper.  So her inability to sleep is mostly my fault really*.

Lack of sleep physically hurts, and also hurts your brain.  My brain is still in a post-pregnancy fog, and Etta is almost a year old!  The only reason I am writing this blog today is because I got 5 HOURS OF SOLID SLEEP LAST NIGHT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 9 MONTHS!  And that was probably only because Etta has a cold.  I applaud all mothers (and fathers) who return to work early and manage to not get fired or have a nervous breakdown.  I have just started working part time in my old-old job (yay for Video Ezy), and this is going ok.  But it's only because it's a job that I did for years that requires little of my brain and I don't have to take work home with me.  I don't know how people manage to teach, write novels or do surgery when they have a small child.  Those people need trophies.

Back in my early 20's, friends and I who were (and still are) a pretty un-PC bunch used to refer to post-baby lady bits as 'train-wreck vagina' or 'wreckage cunt'.  And although we were yet to experience the wonder of parenthood ourselves, I have to say, we were not far wrong.  Even though I didn't quite make it to a vaginal delivery (almost!) I did manage to wreck my vagina.  Sex is only just now becoming not painful.  It took nine months to get to that point.  Nine months people.  No one tells you this stuff!

Etta got stuck in my vagina, so even though she didn't and up exiting that way, she messed it around some when she attempted to come out face-first.  I've retrospectively discovered that both myself and my mother also came into the world in this fashion, and Etta's entrance was by far the least traumatic - Grandma almost died and my Mum, after several hours of pushing was snipped big time by Dr's to help 'get me around the corner'.  I don't need to go into details of Mum's gynae health subsequently - I'll just say it's been tough times.  So even though things have been bad in my lady parts, I suspect they could have been much worse had I not lucked into the conservative surgeon who opted for C Section.  Makes no-sex-for-nine-months seems like a present.

Please don't let this freak you out too much!  My body has always been a little slow to heal, and I know a bazillion other people that never had a problem (hello babies with 16 month age gaps, what?)  But this problem is fairly common.  And in all honesty, the post-baby hormones were screaming for me to not have sex (probably cos it didn't want to be wrecked further by another baby).  I had no libido until recently.  None.  And I was (and am) exhausted.  So I was (unsurprisingly) not super keen on sex (poor Murray).  So if you don't want to have sex straight after having a baby, try not to beat yourself up about it.  It's pretty normal.  And if you do want to then go you!  You (and your partner) are lucky.  Have fun with the sexy sexy times.  Just beware that the old wives tales lie - you can get knocked up while breastfeeding.  So if you don't want to get knocked up, use some kind of protection.

With the slow healing plus Caesar came other post Etta complications I was not expecting.  The first being that the C Section scar really, really hurt for a really, really long time.  The reason it was common to find me in my jim jam pants at home is because wearing proper adult pants rubbed my scar and hurt.**  I wore those gross, giant-K mart-a-size-too-big-pregnancy-knickers for about the first six months so my undies didn't rub on the scar.  It's pretty good now, and the scar is slowly turning into that normal white line, and I am glad.  Trust me, this isn't about looks -  I think scars are cool, but I don't like being hurt by clothes.

In the looks department the biggest change has been that I actually started going grey!  I thought Murray was wrong (he thinks there are only four colours) so completely ignored him when he first told me, then I checked, and it was true!  Surprising for me cos I still don't even feel like an adult, and I still get IDed when buying booze and scratchies.  How can someone forever young get grey hair?  It's sleep deprivation I tell you.  I am glad to say that pregnancy affected me less than puberty in terms of stretch marks.  Maybe it's cos I already got my allotment, but I only have a few on my tummy, and not much more on my boobs than was there before.  So that's nice.  Again, no biggie to me anyways - stretchmarks are just like scars, and scars are cool in my book.  Make up a story.  Shark attack, bus accident, conjoined twin - it'll be sweet.

One thing I wasn't expecting was more due to the C Section being my third abdominal surgery in a short period of time - my core strength was screwed.  This seems like a small complaint until you experience it.  Going from being a normal, healthy person with pretty good strength and balance to someone who can't stand up from a crouch feels weird.  And it's also dangerous when learning about carrying babies - I nearly dropped Etta from becoming unbalanced a few times.  I am kinda grateful my back was so bad during pregnancy so I had a change table - I would have been pretty screwed without one.  The best way to fix this was through light exercise - walking and running with the pram (when I finally had enough energy/motivation) got this to come right pretty quick smart.

 Physical changes aside, the biggest change has been in my outlook.  I will never view the world the same way again.  My priorities are, and will always be, different to what they used to be.  I will never judge another person's parenting again as I've learned that an ideal, and what is practical are two very different things.   I can never live up to my former expectations of what a parent does.

I am learning to live with letting people down.  This is hard as a former people-pleaser but I know I need to put my daughter, my family and my sanity first at all times.  This often impacts on my broader circle of people.  It doesn't mean I care for those people any less, and I am grateful that those closest to me know and understand this.  But I still feel bad.  Not only for them, but for me.  Because I miss being social, and going out, and eating food, and drinking wine and feeling like a separate human entity.  But if I'm worried about my child, or exhausted, I can't enjoy doing those things anyway, so I'm better off at home.

And in spite of all these changes, I don't feel like a different person.  Because I am still myself.  I still say really inappropriate things at inappropriate times.  I still love cooking and animals and bad TV.  I'm just a tired me with a different job which is all encompassing.  Yes, the subject matter I talk about has changed - but my job has changed.  And it's not like my old job where I could avoid checking my emails - I'm at work 24/7 every day for the rest of my life.  I can't just switch it off. 

And I love it.  It's seriously the best thing that's ever happened to me.  Because nothing else will ever teach me as much as becoming a parent has and will.  And because we made the coolest person.  She's smart, cute, funny and really social.  She is a little different (mega tall, Wolverine style healing abilities, super bendy and will be late to walk) but pretty much every baby is in one way or another, and it makes them all the more awesome.  Bum crawling is hilarious.  I laugh every day.  Pregnancy and sleep deprivation are a bitch but so worth it for the life I have now.

Our first Mothers Day (with Etta on the outside)

* If only she had inherited sleep from her father - he can fall asleep mid conversation.  Frustrating at times, but a pretty awesome skill nonetheless.

** This no longer hurts, but you will still find me in my jim jams because I can.  And why wouldn't I?  And if you find me in PJ pants it means that I like you - I am comfortable enough with you not to even put pants on.  That means you're pretty cool.  Go on, give yourself a hug.

On Meeting Murray

 Back when we were young and Murray was yet to learn the power of the beard

To celebrate our three year (leather?) anniversary, I thought I'd write about how it was we came to meet and form the awesome partnership that is us. 

Firstly, yes, we did go to High School together.  But no, we were not friends.  I didn't know Murray other than a recognisable face (he worked at the tuck shop and was on the cycling team*).  It was a big school, and while we did work on a school production together, he was stage crew and I honestly don't remember him.  Apparently, he thought I was hot and enquired with a mutual friend as to whether he should ask me out or not.  She said not, as I had a boyfriend (which was true) and I continued through life completely oblivious of that High School crush.

Because New Zealand is small, and Auckland even smaller, we shared a mutual friend.  So first met (in my mind) at an exhibition of friends at Unitec.  I recognised him from somewhere, told him 'I know you from somewhere, and this isn't a line', realised it was high school and then proceeded to tell him that he had a terrible haircut in high school (he did).  I was not interested in him romantically. This was a standard, inappropriate Hannah-meeting-someone-for-the-first-time type incident.  That's just how I roll.

After a few conversations I realised this Murray person was pretty cool.  I hoped I'd get an opportunity to hang out with him again at some point, but just in a friendly way.  I was headed to the UK to stay with an ex who I still had feelings for, so wasn't entertaining the possibility of a relationship.  Over this time I saw him a few times at Poetry Live type things, and thought him to be a bit of a snob.  Many times I tried to talk to him, and was ignored for someone more important in poetry.  I thought he was a bit too cool for school.

And life went on.  I went to the UK and came back in time for our mutual friend's wedding.  I was helping set up, and doing a few bits and pieces to help out.  On arriving home, my ex told me he wished I hadn't left.  I told him he should have said something before I left, and didn't rush back into his arms, but stayed in NZ despite feeling a total wreck about it.  I loved him madly, but we didn't seem to be very good for each other.  It was a hard situation.

I saw Murray again at our friend Micky's wedding - we were sat at the same table (the awesome friends table) and were even paired up for a photo.  I still thought he was choice, after calling him on his snobbery and having it explained, but that was about it.  I was a heartbroken wreck.

A few months later, and Micky, myself and some others from Poetry Live were deep into organising the first Metonymy collaboration - a pairing of visual and literary artists culminating in an exhibition (and later also performance).  Like many of our artsy friends, Murray was also involved.  It was around this time we started properly being friends.

What I didn't know, was that my version of being friendly, was being taken as a come on.  Murray thought I 'liked' him and he 'liked' me too.  I can, in retrospect, understand why.  I took him out West to meet my friends, saw him bark like a dog in a crazy exhibition and was in regular contact with him.  Anyhow, around this time I'd also moved in with our mutual friend, and she invited Murray, and some of their other poetry friends for dinner.  It was a total set up.

Realising this totally freaked me out.  Nonetheless somehow we ended up drunk with Murray confessing his feelings to me and we ended up making out, and he stayed over awkwardly in my single bed.  The next day we woke up hungover and dishevelled.  I suggested what I usually suggest for a hangover - an outing.  We ended up at some bird collectors conference in Western Springs looking at doves.  It was a terrifying experience, but did help combat the hangover and make for a fun story later on.

I guess this commenced us dating.

Because I was not intending to date anyone due to still being a bit of a mess about my last relationship I did the second most sensible thing and told Murray the situation.  I thought Murray was a nice guy, and I didn't want to hurt his feelings so wanted to be straight with him from the beginning.  Murray didn't mind.  Before this, he'd been properly single some almost seven years, so he was happy with whatever.

I spent the first six months of seeing him thinking it was nothing serious before I realised how different our relationship was to any I'd ever had before.  It was just easier.  I didn't really fall in love with Murray, I just fell more and more in like with him.  When my ex returned to the country I was pretty anxious about how I would feel, and while I still had 'feelings', being with Murray made me realise how stupid they were as despite having been madly in love with him, I didn't really like him nearly as much as I liked Murray.

I know it sounds boring but Murray and I above all things, have always been friends and always made a great team.  Both of us are amazed at the speed in which the last three years have gone by, as while it hasn't been effortless, most of the time it's been pretty easy.  I think that because above all other things, we respect and care for each other.  That tops crazy in love love any day of the week.  Because it doesn't fizzle out.

And a mutual love of board games helps.  Even though we have different playing and learning styles (and I am horrible to teach new games to) we are worthy adversaries at most games.  This means playing board games never gets dull, as they are always challenging.  Playing board games regularly encourages co-operation, sportsmanship, healthy competition and above all else, communication.  How can this not enhance an already awesome partnership?

The last three years has mostly gone so fast because we've had fun.  Yes, we've done some boring grown up things like had jobs, bought a house and built a tiny human, but we've also played a lot of games, been on holidays and continued being our silly selves.  Being with Murray balances my serious side and helps me not just plan for the future, but plan for a fun future.  Murray is the difference between us having a financially secure future and a financially secure future plus a collection of board games and robots.  That's an important difference.

I am so glad to have such a fun adversary and partner in life.

Us today: still silly serious but with better beads.

  * If you went to Massey High School, you'll get it.  For most people who did not, our cycling team were national champions and touted at pretty much every weekly assembly.  So many of our cyclists faces are imprinted forever on my, and probably others, memories from having to stare at them getting some recognition or other on an almost weekly basis.  Our cyclists were on par with our First 15.  That's crazy shit.

On remembering Huckle

Where else is it appropriate to write a memorial of your cat if not in a blog?

Sadly, our thirteen year lovely ginger cat Huckle was hit by a car on our shared driveway, and died at the end of February.  It was a horrible way to die, and came as a very big shock though I am grateful to have been with him when he went.  All I could do was stroke his head and say 'You've been a good cat Huckle, you can let go now'.  But rather than remember that last day, I thought it'd be good to remember the rest of the days before.  Because Huckle was a most excellent cat.

When I was about 20 I lived alone in a flat in Helensville above a shop.  I liked living alone, but having never done so before felt a little lonely.  So when my Aunt and Uncle's cat had a litter of kittens I chose one to come and live with me (Tanith).  Whilst living here a lot of crazy stuff happened and my anxiety got the worst it's ever been (I couldn't leave the house and had to leave my job) so I moved home.

We'd decided to let Tanith have one litter of kittens before getting her spayed and, cats being cats, she was knocked up before we knew it and gave birth to two sets of twin boys (two separate sacs).  Two were a pale champagne colour, and two were ginger and stripy, one of which was very, very small and didn't make it.

  

But his twin did and my boyfriend at the time decided he wanted him, so he named him Huckle.  Apparently we told my Mum and brother it was Chinese for orange.  Huckle is not 'Chinese' for orange, although Vincent would have said that, and I would have backed him up, thinking (like him) it's funny to pretend he knew about his Chinese heritage.  Many children from the 80's will recognise Huckle Cat as a character from the books of the beloved Richard Scarry.  Richard Scarry was American.

Huckle never went to live with Vincent as his parents wouldn't let cats in the house and he would have had to be an outside cat, which I disapproved of (we are very much bed-cat people).  So he stayed with Mum, along with his brothers (one of whom was promised to a cousin, who also couldn't take him).  When I moved out again, I took Tanith with me as post-kitten she'd become a total bitch cat.  We decided to keep the boys together as they had never lived apart, and relieve them of their bitch mother.  Sadly (for them), at a point in the future I moved home and we decided Tanith would stay at Mum's regardless as she didn't cope with change well.

So Huckle grew up in Helensville with my Mum and his Mum and his brothers.  Sadly, his brothers were not so nice to him.  And when Mum got other cats (by accident), the other cats weren't nice to him either.  We decided it must be because he was too pretty and they were all jealous.  Only one of the cats was ever nice to Huckle, which was sad because Huckle really wanted to be friends with everyone, and was very affectionate toward animals and people alike.

I loved Huckle and he loved me and he would always play with me differently to everyone else.  I'd taught Tanith to jump up and rub her face on my fingers when I clicked them.  I taught Huckle the same, but instead of rubbing he would grab my fingers with his paws and try and bite them.  Sounds rough, but it was very, very cute.  Huckle was obsessed with cheese and would turn up whenever the fridge door opened to beg for it.  Mum coddled her cats, and he was allowed cheese, and she bought pet milk (no lactose) regularly for him.  Huckle was very playful and played with cat toys right up until he died.  He preferred woollen toys he could hook his claws through so he could toss them up in the air.

Mum had lived in the same house for a long time, but eventually had to move into a small one bedroom flat.  At this stage she had seven cats.  Seven cats  is a LOT of cats, and was certainly too many cats for her new smaller space.  We decided to take Huckle as he never fit in with the other cats, and my brother would take his cat Duffy to make things slightly less cat mad.  Mum ended up with only four cats, as shortly after shifting Tanith went missing and we've never seen her since.  I like to think she's still alive, terrorising all those who cross her path (she was a bitch cat, but a cool bitch cat).

So Huckle came to live with us in Pt Chev with our flatmates and our other inherited cat Roux and Wellesley (our rabbit).  Having never moved house, it was pretty scary for him initially, and took him a long time to settle in.  Once settled though, he was a pretty happy boy.  Living with so many flatmates meant meat treats, which was very exciting for him after living with a vegetarian his entire life.  I was surprised he knew what meat was, but he was obsessed with all meat, especially chicken, and would do anything he could to get it.  He really wanted to be friends with Roux, but Roux (having been an only cat his whole life) was not interested.  However, Roux was seldom mean to him like other cats had been, and, on occasion, even let Huckle lick him.  He did find a nemesis in our neighbours cat Sebastian, who would often come into our house and pick fights with Huckle.  I don't know what it was about Huckle - I wonder if maybe he had a very strong cat musk?

When we bought in Sunnyvale, Huckle settled in much quicker than Roux*, and was ready to explore after just one day of incarceration.  He found a new nemesis in our neighbours big ginger cat Dash, who in one fight ripped Huckle's ear in half.**  It would have been ok, but being pregnant and hormonal and seeing Huckle restarting the bleeding every time he flicked his ear, and meowing in pain, we took him to the emergency vet.  All he could do was give him a sedative to calm him while it healed, but we learned (randomly) that ginger on ginger violence is common in cat land.  Although Dash and Huckle continued to fight after this incident, it was never as bad.

When Etta was born both of the cats adjusted very quickly, and Huckle the best.  He wasn't afraid of her and would often come to play with us, which Etta really appreciated.  Despite being a rough playing cat, he was always good with her, and only made her cry once when they reached for the same toy at the same time and he accidentally scratched her.  He realised being around Etta meant extra attention (and sometimes food) so he was happy to have her around.  After Etta was born the cats became more of a team (realising their attention was being usurped by a small interloper) and even almost formed cat ball.

Huckle was also a pretty good hunter, right up until his last days.  One of the funniest things I've ever seen was when Huckle caught a small mouse.  Murray got me to come and try and relieve him of it.  When Huckle saw me coming to take it away, he put the whole thing in his mouth and swallowed.  He then spent half an hour looking for the mouse!  Our neighbour Brian told me he saw Huckle jump straight up on our driveway and snare a bird out of the sky.  Not bad for a thirteen year old with arthritis in his back legs.

Huckle was a clever, hard case cat.  He had some bad habits we don't miss (scratching carpet and sometimes spraying certain places despite being neutered), but on the whole he was pretty damn awesome.  Don't tell Roux, but he was Murray's favourite pet - which is high praise from someone who said he didn't like pets.  We are so sad Etta didn't get to spend more time with him as he was the perfect family cat and she would have loved him as much as we did.

Every time I cut up chicken or cheese, I smile and think of Huckle.  He was a fantastic ginger who is sorely missed.

*Roux hid under the toilet, then under the bed for a week

** Dash's owner is such an animal lover that when we told her what happened she cried, and later Huckle received a card in our letterbox from Dash apologising for his actions.