Archives for posts with tag: health

What type of present does Santa bring indi? Do I really want to be in competition with that dude for years to come? Pfffft, I could take him any time. Hang on, I shake like a bowl full of jelly now with my baby pooch. Note to self get fit before taking on Santa.

I really shouldn’t use the tv as a baby sitter. But if I don’t I won’t get anything ready for Christmas. Five more minutes, oh yay I haven’t seen this episode of Angelina ballerina.

Could I make it to Albany with only a nappy bag for indi? I’m sure she will end up getting enough presents to cover clothes and toys and stuff? Ok maybe I’ll just pack light. *1hour passes* a suitcase full of crap for a baby of 10 months for just five days. I don’t think ‘pack light’ is in my vocabulary.

7pm: I’m totally going to get up at give and go for a run tomorrow morning.
2.30am: indi wakes and grizzles for 5 mins then goes back to sleep.
5am: I am soooooo tired, the baby woke me up last night. I couldn’t possibly get up now.

6.30am: I’m up before the baby, better stay in bed and check Facebook before she wakes, that way I don’t have to during the day.
7.30am: Indi stop grizzling, I’m trying to check my Facebook.

At 28 I still get pretty excited when the letter if the day on Sesame Street is C.

Testing new recipes justifies eating nothing but chocolate all day, right?

Why can’t the baby nap on time? Doesn’t she know I need to space out on the couch, not achieve anything and in the last five minutes rush around cursing that I don’t have enough time to do everything.

Crap, she’s pooped on the bricks in the courtyard. Oh well at least she won’t poop in the bath tonight. Should probably clean it up. Crap she’s stepped in it. Yeah, should probably clean that up now.

I promise these biscuits are for friends gifts.
I promise I will only eat one.
I promise I will only eat a few.
I promise I will make some more biscuits and not eat them.

Why do they make Christmas m&ms? As if I’m going to give them to anyone besides myself. Merry Christmas Cass *eats handful* and a happy new year *eats another handful*

What am I going to make for dinner? Not much in the fridge. Probably should have brought vegetables instead of chocolate.

Why do babies get all the cool presents?

Is today really worth putting a bra and pants on? Nup, didn’t think so.

Is 28 too old to sleep under the christmas tree?

They should warn you that certain ‘noisy’ toys may cause parents to have momentary lapse of sanity resulting in said toys being thrown out of windows.

I’m trying to be super healthy and fit for 2013. Why didn’t anybody give me chocolates for christmas? How rude!

Seriously, why do they even make kids clothes in white? May as well sell them with a bottle of tomato sauce, a pack of napisan and a note that says ‘hahahahah, good luck sucker’.

I wish I had enough money after christmas to do the post christmas sales. Unfortunately I spent all my money on buy the people I care about chrsitmas presents. Note to self, screw everyone else, I want new shoes.

Much love peeps xxx

I wont lie, getting pregnant wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever done. My heart ached for so long till I saw those two little pink lines.

Finally pregnant, I began to hear the horror stories. You know the ones, told by the bitter woman and passed on in the hopes that you too will suffer the lack of comfort that they had endured. These included: ripping of the fan-wah, helium boobs (a personal dread due to a bad case of boobus ginormus), tree trunk legs, loss of bladder control and toilet hugging. More hilarious stories included: squirting nipples at inappropriate moments and pooping during labor.

Prepared for the worst, I stepped into the crazy world of lady + bump.

But the worst seemed to pass me by. I became the preggo that other preggos hated. No morning sickness, limted weight gain, and my cravings were limited to steamed vegies and fresh fruit. I was pretty damn blessed during the whole period.

I did however, experience walrus syndrome. Any one that had gone all the way to or past full term (past 36wks) will understand and secretly wince as they read this and have a little flash back to that oh so special time. Walrus syndrome is when your whole living, being and doing resembles that of said water based mammal. It starts off simple, a little bit round and feeling slighly more sleepy/tired/lazy than normal. Then you find your self beached on couches and using a rather large amount of energy trying to get up and off. The groaning and moaning becomes more vocal and seems to scare off the wildlife (aka husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, family and neighbours). On top of these incredibly attractive characteristics, we as completely insane human beings attempt any and every tried and tested labor inducing act/food/drink/event. Yeah- that was fun (not).

When she finally arrived (40wks, not burnt but cooked well) we went from thinking we knew what to expect, to knowing that we had absolutely no idea. An incredibly healthy little bubba with a more than healthy appetite, we were feeling super lucky and loved up.

But then the “baby karma” kicked in.

With a healthy appetite from the get go, tiny human when first introduced to the food source (boobies) went in for the kill. Blood blisters and meat missing, her healthy appetite lead to an infection. Then furthered on the become a gigantic breast abscess. About the size of a tennis ball (remember boobus ginormus), I was admitted into hospital when Indi was just 7 weeks new. That was a super fun experience. But it didn’t stop there, I had a drainage bag attached to my boob for the next three weeks. So.Much.Fun.

Next came the declining milk issue (the breast abscess may have something to do with this). When we were first feeding, I was told I had enough milk for twins. Indi was thriving. Fast forward two months and I could barely fill her tummy. I tried everything. The worst thing in the world is thinking you cant provide your child with what she needs to develop. After a month I gave in. My own worst critic, I hated myself for turning to formula. My saving grace was that you could automatically the difference in Indi. Much more content. It allowed me to continue mix feeding her up until just recently. I’m bloody proud to have gotten to 7 months. Many others would be jealous of that. *A message to my fellow mammas. I will not judge you on the decisions you make about feeding your child. If you do what is best for your child, then you have always made the right choice. Do not let anyone make you feel other wise.¬†

The hair loss is a personal favorite of mine. Prenatal vitamins combined with AMAZING baby baking hormones during the pregnancy gave me such lushious full hair. Fast forward again to 4 months post baby arrival. There were tumble weeds of brown curly hair all over the house. What looked like drowned animals in the shower and rouge strands on every surface you could see (including the bubba).

I have also had the pleasure of another medical drama that is still in the process of healing. Not the thing you really want to tell people about, uncomfortable, irritating and leading to another hospital stay. This time on my butt (Yes you can literally say a pain in the butt, if it were someone else I would have a million jokes at the ready. Instead I have perfected my evil glare when others begin to giggle). Its called a fistula. I wont bore you with the details, its not a lovely explanation anyway. Just know this. You don’t ever want one. The result is a 4 day hospital stay away from my babes and the risk of losing continence. Steer clear peeps, well clear!

Then there is the physical changes. Boobs that need to be rolled up like the top of a sardine tin to be placed (or jammed) in to a bra. A waistline that WAS the width of my sholders, but after the 12 wbt is now more recognizable. A special baby belly pouch, loose enough and comfy enough for baby baking later on in life. A few tiger stripes and a grey hair or two. Add to all this the following : a spine that for the first time in my life decided to show me pain, increased/decreased/increased/decreased boob size, eczema, a couple of really cool scars and a raging appetite.

I may have had a dream pregnancy, but I think the “baby karma” seems to have balanced me out. I must also note that although it may sound like I’m whinging, I’m not really. I’m thankful. I’m thankful that its me and not Indi. I wouldn’t be as ok with it if the tables were turned. There are many others that are not as lucky as me. Many people who would give anything to switch places. Take the pain for their kids, take the burden, be the sick and be the hurt. So I am thankful. If baby karma needs to throw a few more horror’s my way, I’ll take them. My super human mamma strength run strong.
Much love peeps xxx

Should you ever require a butt operation, I highly recommend my hospital. With the luxury of private health cover (due to the stupid taxation department and the insistence of parents), I have spent quite a bit of time here at St John of God Subi. I had Indi here almost 8 months ago, a five day stay post emergency c-section, with not an ounce of pain, gorgeous nurses, yummy food and a queen size, yes queen size bed. 7 weeks later I had an over night stay due to a breast abscess (my child was a messy eater from the get go), once again it was pretty dang comfy, they even brought in a cot for Indi, who stayed with me because I was still breast feeding*. This time its a three day stay, the loveliest nurses, DELICIOUS food and a room all my my lonesome. The place is pretty sweet.

I must admit that I have been slightly disappointed with the play by play of my latest stay. My expectations were a tad grand. In my head an operation on my cheeks (technically its just one) involved a bucket load of pain and me being limited in my range of movement due to my butt being in the air (think- scrubs style comedy sketch with patient in randomly placed casts, strung from a series of pully systems- my brain is a comedy show gold mind). It was all a bit lack luster in reality.

I woke from my drugged up nap, only to have a little spew (always classy) and discover that I was laying on my back. The only thing hooked up to me was an IV, which was removed after the first night. As a bonus, I had full range of movement and could do as I pleased with in the room **. They kept offering me pain relief, of which I found I didn’t need. Not really the horrible, painful, humiliating hospital stay I had planned.

Oh and I’ve learnt a few things being here too. They have a butt ward. Yes a butt ward. I’m on the butt ward. When I discovered this today I was pretty chuffed. I’m hanging with my homies over here. I didn’t have to stress that the nurses were all gossiping about me behind my back “no you go and change the dressing on the crazy ladies butt, I want to hold the newborn”. Yes, I worry about people trash talking my bottom. I’m only human. And to my great delight I am some what a novelty on my ward. By far the youngest, with a not so hard core bottom issue. One day I will get that put on a badge.

This evening I asked my lovely nurse ‘Kerri’ how it is one comes to be on a butt ward. I know if it was me I couldn’t imagine being in a room and jumping up and down saying ‘pick me, pick me’ when asked who wants to deal with the poo end of a human. Kerri explained that the nurses on the bottom and vagina ward (yeah I said it, I’m a health teacher, I can totally say vagina) –insert gasp VAGINA AS WELL– are some of the most skilled nurses due to the level of the complications, pain, specifics, delicateness and embarrassment of their clients. Translated, that means I have some of the best nurses tending to my hiney.

The stay isn’t horrible, most of the time I’m left to chill by myself because I am the least demanding patient. I like that. I actually napped today. I read a book today. I may have eaten a small block of chocolate today. If I could get a pedicure, it could almost be classified at a holiday.

So this is a shout out St John of God Subiaco. As much as I have ‘loved’ hanging out, it would be real nice if we didn’t see each other until I pump out some more tiny humans.

Much love peeps xxx

Side notes:* Yes I am a freaking mamma machine. Child first. My only motto. **Tempting as it is, I resisted the urge to do yoga with an open arse wound.

Fyi I’m a bit bored. Missing my little girl and wishing my tookus was a little less sore.

St John of God Subiaco Hospital is super lovely (its the only hospital I’ve ever been admitted to, and I’ve been here 3 times in the last 7 and 1/2 months). Movie channels and 3 course meals, lovely staff and private rooms. However, I’m not used to still, or quiet or slow. So I get bored. And I take photos. This is my stay so far.

Pretending I’m on holiday












waiting, waiting, waiting…












in the matrix
























I’d pack you if I could chick pea












After this point there was a whole lot of waiting (wearing some killer disposable undies big enough to fit a gorilla, and no I am not gorilla sized), about an hour in surgery and a fairly restless night.

Visits from a very wriggly (tiny) wonder woman












my loves












wonder woman got super duper excited












my current entertainment (yes I did steal somebunny for my own attachment issues)













Not exactly a party up in my room at the moment. But Aidan brought chocolate, I have books and magazines and the telly, so I’ll get by. Funny enough though, I’d much rather go for a walk?! Oh well. Best rest up while I can.

Much love peeps xxx











We all come with a set of body issues. The harsh reality is that we judge others so badly (either in our heads or out loud), that we turn out to be our own worst critic. As we build our opinions of others, we are creating a nearly impossible level of perfection to live up to, we bully ourselves so harshly that the result is a vicious cycle of dissapointment.

I’ve never really been super proud of my body. I’m a tad bit shorter than other people, with a bad case of boobus ginormous, hair that has its own idea of style and a weight that seemed to only know how to go up not down. I’d never really though of it as an issue, it was more ‘we don’t talk about that’ and change the subject. But once Indi was born, my body changed, and so did the way I saw myself. It was getting harder to sweep my opinion of myself under the rug, it was becoming more of a serious thought process, more of a internal worry.

With a smidgen more time on my hands, my focus on my health became one of my top priorities. When I imagine the things I want to do in the future, the things I want to do with my kids, I can not help but get excited. But the idea of giving up on those dreams, due to my health? Well it just makes me angry. I am in control of my future, I am the only one that can pave the path that I want follow, so therefor I am the only one that can kick my arse in to shape. So I signed up for the 12wbt.

The program makes you set your weight loss or toning goals and supports you with your journey with the following:

– A meal plan each week. The meals are designed for 2 people and are delicious.

– A shopping list to assist you with your meal plan.

– A exercise plan that caters to your choice of venue, including options for exercise at home.

– Support blogs and forums if you need more help.

– Motivational Advice from Michelle Bridges weekly.

– Fitness tests and re-measuring every 4 weeks to track improvements.

– Weekly weigh in’s to chart your success.

The first week we started was a bit of a shock to the system. Mostly because after having Indi our eating plan revolved around comfort food, re-heatables and take away. Eating nutritious, healthy and delicious food was like learning to ride a bike again. But straight away, even in that first week we couldn’t help but notice the difference. We had more energy, we slept better, digestions was smoother and of course the scales were showing smaller numbers. It was hard not to be excited.

It was hard staying focused though. The exercise started to dwindle and snacking got a bit out of hand. Our weight started to plateau, and with no real results visable we were definatily riding the lazy train. Luckily for me, I had made a deal with Aidan when we begun. If we don’t reach our goal weight by the end of the program, then we sign up for another 12 weeks. The idea of no cake for yet another 12 weeks was not one that appealed to me. So I gave both of us a kick up the bum.

Last week was week 8. We did our 3rd Fitness test and measurements. I can happily say that I have improved on pretty much everything. I can run for more than 1km with out stopping (or couching up internal organs like I did prior to the progrma), and managed to cut over a minute off my time. My flexibility is at an all time high, and my abs (they’re in there somewhere) are starting to improve. I’m actually starting to like my body (which would be the first time ever).

With less than 4 weeks left and a slightly ominous number still left to lose, I can see the advantages of having a personal trainer. The bonus of having someone with you, charging you on, pushing you further and harder, for that last burst to the finishing line, it would come in handy right about now. I’m sticking to my guns, staying as focused as I can (a new found love of champagne is not helping) and hopefully in 3 weeks and 3 days I will be at my goal weight. If not, be prepared to hear a whole lot of bitching and moaning about wholemeal pasta, tuna and tofu.

Much love peeps xxx

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