Harvey Weinsteins are everywhere...

I've been raped twice.

Wow. Saying that out loud still makes me feel so dirty. One of my rapists, is now happily married with children. The other, I have no idea. Hopefully he's in jail rotting like he should be.

I didn't report either of my rapes. For the exact reason that Rose McGowan didn't report hers. For the same reason that thousands and thousands of women don't report theirs.

I was ashamed.

I thought it was my fault. I didn't have the emotional capacity to go through the courts. How do you prove yourself? If I hadn't have drunk as much, if I'd been more assertive, maybe it WAS my fault. Then I had the wonderful wise words, of the man I used to call my father, tell me "well when you drink as much as you do, what did you expect to happen?"

Women - it's never your fault. NEVER.

Here's a handy image I've prepared, of everything that causes rape.

Alcohol doesn't cause rape.

Clothing doesn't cause rape.

Leading a man on, doesn't cause rape.

RAPISTS CAUSE RAPE

If you are a man reading this right now here's some hints on how not to rape someone.

KEEP YOUR FUCKING DICK IN YOUR PANTS.

If she's drunk - keep it in your pants.

If she says no - keep it in your pants.

If she's underage, keep it in your god damn, fucking, disgusting pants.

To all these women coming out against Harvey Weinstein right now..... THANK YOU. Thank you for paving the way for all the other women (like me) that didn't have the courage to say 'what you did was wrong'.

To all the men, supporting the women.... THANK YOU. Thank you for showing us women that's it's ok to say 'what you did was wrong.'

To everyone else, who is saying things like 'they're just in it for the fame', 'they were probably asking for it', or like our famous Oompa Loompa, mysoginist prick of a USA President 'they were too ugly for me to rape'..... YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.

Stop it.  STOP BEING THE PROBLEM. 

Cheers,
Qld Nurse.

Mindful Mummy

I had a big plan this morning to spend possibly my last day with my toddler, just him and me. I head back to work soon, either casually or full time depending on whether I get my dream job or not, so I figured there wasn't much time left to enjoy just us time. He gets a bit neglected sometimes, the poor little guy, what with the infant needing constant supervision to stop him killing himself, so I really wanted to reconnect with him.

I thought we'll head out for breakfast, go to the aquarium, spend an hour or two there and then have some lunch somewhere to finally come home for him to nap.

Well.....

We went to Maccas for breakfast where he peed on the floor (with a nappy on & without wetting his shorts - proud moment!) which resulted in a glare from Fit Mum in her Active wear probably drinking her triple shot decaf soy half foam low fat mochachino. I shot her an 'Eat a Dick' look of my own whilst cleaning up the wee and then we went to play in the playland for a bit.

We then drove half an hour to spend a total of 10 minutes in the aquarium before having a sensory meltdown & demanding we go home. It was 10am and my plans were down the toilet.

Now even just 6 months ago, this would have ruined my day. No, my WEEK. I mean, the plan man. THE PLAN! I'm a list person. I need to tick things off my list to feel accomplished. I need to stick to the plan and if not the plan, then the back up plan. I mean, how else do you fend off the chaos ffs? People that 'just wing it' are freaks who should not be trusted.

Oh and the judgement from that random person whom I'll probably never meet again? Well that probably would have tipped me over the edge. I would have come straight home, cried, and told myself that Fit Mum was going to write a letter to the Department of Child Safety to have my children removed being that I was clearly an unfit mother.

But today, it actually didn't bother me. Instead of the plan - on the way home he calmed down and asked to go shopping. I had a lovely day with him sitting in the trolley laughing and trying on the $1 shoes I bought him, and me appreciating what an awesome kid I have.

A little bit of mindfulness seems to be working for me. I've been working pretty hard on being mindful and 'in the moment'. I'm trying not to dwell on the 'what ifs' and the 'should do' and instead focus on the 'is'. My plan, is to realise that plans and toddlers generally don't work. My plan is to be accepting of the fact that we may aim to do something and it won't work out because one or both of my children will wake up that morning screaming "NOT TODAY SATAN!!" My plan is to accept that some days I'm Mary freaking Poppins, and some days I eat chocolate for breakfast and we don't leave the house.
Sure, the plan today didn't go as it did in my head. My toddler didn't read his emailed itinerary obviously. But I've gotta say that relinquishing a bit of the control has been very uplifting.

I've also had to let go of the GUILT. This is a scenario I'm sure many of you are familiar with:

ME: I'm going to clean the house today.

CROTCH NUGGET: LOLZ! *power spew*

ME: FML.

CN: I'm a koala bear today! Pick me up! WAAAAA!

ME AT 4pm: Jesus! Is that the fucking time? Well paint me green and call me gumby. I'm the worst housewife in the world. I haven't even done the dishes. How do all the other woman nail this? Like, 100% of all the other women nail this. I know for a FACT that every other mother in the world is able to look after the kids, and clean the house, and have a career, and they even do it with lipstick on. And they probably have play dates planned weeks in advance. I haven't even brushed my HAIR today! My children are going to grow up and hate me because I can't get my FUCKING SHIT together! What the fuck is wrong with me?! Why is everyone else far more superior to me at this? God I need a drink.....

Me today:

My kid was happy. He was fed. He fell asleep in the car. We went out, and nothing blew up. Happy fucking days my friends. Happy. Fucking. Days.

I got home and saw a post about a mum struggling with the whole not being able to make plans because of her kids. And I thought - I hear ya sister. But let me let you in on a secret - if you make plans with friends and have to cancel because your kids have turned into Chucky - your friends will understand. And if they don't understand - you need new friends.

All of my mum friends have cancelled on me with short to no notice and I have done the same. That's how it goes. Sickness, tantrums, sleep times and logistics - it's pretty much a military exercise to line up schedules to catch up with people and when you do, guaranteed there'll be an outbreak of hand foot bloody mouth at kindy which will ensure you're quarantined for that week.

Give into the chaos. Expect the unexpected as it were. As every mother's good friend Elsa says - Let it go. Let it go.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Eat a dick Mummy Guilt

Lately I've been struggling with thoughts that I may have depression again. I've not been enjoying being a parent - mostly because my 7 month old has multiple food intolerances & my 2 year old with sensory issues has hit peak terrible 2's.

When bub eats food that doesn't agree with him it manifests in a grumpy child that doesn't sleep. When my 2 year old is having a day, it starts at 5am with him screaming because the next door neighbour's chickens scared him. Basically we don't sleep. My husband is literally the best, and will get up to both children during the night and help with the housework. He also doesn't complain when on the weekend, when he also deserves a break after working all week, I go full mental and run away for a few hours and leave him with our kids.

We have 2 children under 3. We have 2 children under 3 with quirks that make life harder. We have 2 children under 3 that don't sleep through the night.

Shit is hard, most days. My house looks like Toyworld threw up, most days. I feel like there is never enough hours in the day, most days.

Just to add a shovel of shit onto the pile, on the weekend we saw our paediatrician who assured us it wasn't drastic, but both our children are malnourished. #Yay!

Our eldest because his sensory issues ensure that 70% of the food he eats is carbs - anything even resembling normal food will send him into a meltdown including (from what I hear is a staple with toddlers) spaghetti bolognese. So he needs to keep having formula, a multivitamin & now an iron supplement - oh and obviously we need to get him to eat. Obviously. Because everyone knows getting a toddler to do something they don't want to do, is a piece of piss.

Our youngest, is because he's on a prescription formula and has about 5 safe foods that he can eat without a reaction. So we need to introduce solids a bit faster than what we are doing to try & get his gut used to them. Despite the fact he reacts to just about everything & it takes 3 days for him to get back to 'normal', we then have to repeat the process over and over again thereby ensuring we never fully regain sanity & spend 5 gazillion dollars on wasted food in the meantime.

My world crumbled & I felt like I had failed as a mother, yet again, even though I thought I had been trying my hardest. Obviously I needed to try harder. Because I'm a mum, and we all know there is no way 100% is ever good enough when you're a mum.

I was reassured this morning that I don't have depression, when my darling husband gave me the night off. I took a (totally legal & prescribed) pill, and I passed out from about 930pm to 5am this morning. And when I woke up, I could tolerate the world. Normally when our youngest wakes at 430 because before the sun is up is an awesome time to start the day - I wonder why the hell I did this, and start Googling 'phenergen for kids'.

This morning, it wasn't so bad. This morning I woke up and didn't feel exactly the same as I did before I went to bed at 930pm the night before.

So I realised I'm not depressed - I'm fucking exhausted.

Making decisions when you are running on empty is exhausting. Running a household when you are running on empty is exhausting.

We are taught as mothers that we should be able to to handle anything that is thrown at us - even when sleep deprived. But don't you dare take some time for yourself you selfish bitch. How dare you bring life into this world and then want any time away from it! There are women who would give ANYTHING to be as exhausted as you are right now. Don't you know how LUCKY you are??

Well guess what? Mother guilt can go eat a big fat one today. Sancti-mummies all over the world can sit on my middle finger & rotate. Because I don't give a flying fat duck fuck today.

I'm doing the best I can.

I put myself last, like, a LOT of the time to make sure my family is happy. Today has taught me (again) that I cannot give more than I have. If my cup is empty - so is my family's.

Sometimes I'm Supermum. Sometimes I'm not. But I figure that on average I'm Supermum maybe 50% of the time, and P's get Degrees right? 

So if you're like me, and the world is getting you down.... before you gulp down that Zoloft - stop. Take a look around you, and make sure you're not just fucking spent. Make sure you don't need to sit down, grab a glass of wine - it doesn't matter if it's midday - and tell the kids to fuck off for a while. 

You're doing the best you can, and that's all you can ever do.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

RUOK??

It's RUOK day and this day always stirs up stuff within me and when I get stirred up I need to blog.

So I'm going to bare my soul here..... *big sigh*

I have not been OK. I am OK today, and I wasn't too bad yesterday. Tomorrow I might not be. But in the past, I have not been OK.

I've been quite open with my struggles with Post Natal Depression after the premature birth of my son. It took me a while to admit that I was depressed and not coping because I like to minimize shit so that I feel better about it. I do this, because dealing with big issues is, and has never been my forte and I like to make jokes instead of facing things that make me feel uncomfortable. Basically, I push the feels down into a tiny little box deep inside me, that is probably a tumour getting bigger and bigger as we speak.

I feel like I should be able to do things all by myself and I hate relying on other people. This is probably most of the reason why I've struggled with depression my whole life and a lot of people never knew until I ended up in Emergency after overdosing on sleeping pills, or was drinking myself stupid and calling Lifeline at 2am in the morning.

Just before I get too carried away and my family & friends reading this get the men in white coats on the line - I don't currently have post natal depression. I've been very proactive with my mental health this time around and see a therapist as well as a parenting coach regularly. I practice mindfulness daily which seems to be the only therapy that has had an effect on me, ever. I've all round been a little bit kinder on myself this time, and as the saying goes, forewarned is forearmed. But it's not been easy.

Anyway, having had another little baby, everyone close to me was terrified that I was going to slip into that dark room with the black dog again. No one was more terrified than me. Believe me. Being depressed as a teenager or a 20 something with no real responsibilities, is nothing compared to being depressed and responsible for a life that you are terrified you have passed a mental illness onto. The thoughts you have with post-natal depression are not something that I want to experience ever again. I've blocked a lot of memories out that my therapist says I should probably try and unlock at some stage, so hopefully that gives you an idea of how terrible PND is. My brain literally shut down because it was too awful to deal with. But that's another story.

For anyone that's had depression, you know it's not something anyone would want to have. No one enjoys being depressed. I'll try and describe it for you. It's hard to understand if you've never been visited by the dark companion, so bear with me.

Being depressed, is like being stuck in a well. You can hear people enjoying the world above you, but you have no idea how to get out of the well and join them. Actually, you're not even sure how you got stuck in the well in the first place. You try and convince yourself that you're not really stuck in the well; maybe you're just taking a break from trying to be like all those happy people when you know you're really not like them at all.

You try every now and then to get out of the well but it's exhausting to be constantly battling to get out of there. The walls are slippery and you're a little bit embarrassed that you fell in the well in the first place so you don't want to ask for help. But somehow, every time you think you're getting closer to the top of the well, a bit more water pours into it. Sometimes it's just a glass and you don't really notice it falling into the well; other times it's a bathtub and it chokes you as it pours over your head. This happens over and over again and before you realise it, you're struggling to keep your head out of the water. But you're so tired from battling constantly to get out of the well, that you think that maybe drowning is the best option. No one would really miss you anyway, because you've been down in the well so long that they've probably forgotten about you anyway.

And this is where there are two outcomes....

Some people, continue fighting to get out of the well. If they're lucky, someone might throw a rope ladder down so they can climb out. It's hard climbing and takes them a while, but they get there. Unfortunately, there are wells wherever they go in their life. So sometimes they fall into another well, but they are fortunate enough to have someone who can throw another ladder down. Sometimes the wells aren't as deep as the first one and they can just pull themselves out; sometimes they are deeper and require a bit more effort. But they always climb out of that well and never drown.

Other people, unfortunately, they're exhausted, they're so tired, the water is so deep, they've fallen into so many wells. They just can't fight anymore, and they drown. They don't have someone that notices them down there in the well, so noone stops to throw down a ladder. People just keep walking past and never know there's a person seconds away from giving in to the barrage of water that keeps filling that person's well up. In 2014, there was around 8 people a day who drowned in the well. And that number keeps getting bigger and bigger. 

I was extremely fortunate to be one of the ones who climbed out the well. I have been up to my nose and my arms are cramped from treading water, but I haven't drowned. Sometimes I've needed antidepressants that acted like a little box for me to stand on, because even though someone had thrown me a rope I still couldn't reach it to pull myself out. Some days I feel like I'm running around in the sunshine and there are no wells to be seen. Some days I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a well that has come out of nowhere. And some days I'm embarrassed that I've fallen into another well and I don't know how to get out. The shame of not being able to stop myself from falling is probably what stopped me seeking help last time. 

Because society tells us, that we shouldn't be falling into wells. If you fall into a well, it's probably your own fault, it's not like someone pushed you. People say things like - 

'Can't you just get out of the well already?'

'I slipped in a puddle once so I totally know what you're going through.'

'I'm so sick of pulling you out of wells, I think you like getting wet'

'You're making everyone around the well feel bad so we're going to go to a different park and you can meet us there when you're ready.'

'You have no reason to be in a well in the first place. You had such a nice life up here in the sun.'

And even though we are moving towards getting rid of the stigma, there are still people trapped in wells, trying to pretend that they're okay, when the reality is, that most people can't get out of the well without a little help.

And that's why RUOK day is so important.

Depression isn't anyone's fault. It's not the fault of the people walking by the well; they are entitled to enjoy the sunshine and beautiful weather. It's not the fault of the person in the well; they can't help that they fell in. I'm so lucky to have people that will hold onto me when I'm teetering on the edge of falling into that well, and not leave me there so they can continue running around in the sunshine without me.

Asking someone 'R U OK?' can literally save a life. You popping your head over someone's well could mean the difference between them asking for a rope ladder, or them being unable to tread water anymore. Every time I've been so close to letting myself drown, I can honestly say that another person has been the only reason I have kept swimming. A friend, a family member, once a girl who I worked with who I never thought even noticed me. I can't thank them enough for stopping by my little dark well, when they could have kept enjoying the sunshine.

It's an uncomfortable conversation. I'm uncomfortable writing this. There's still a part of me that wonders how many people reading this will blame me for constantly falling into wells. Or wonder if I fall into wells intentionally. But if I can help one person today to yell from the water, or throw a rope ladder down someone's well, then my discomfort doesn't even compare.

So friends, I'm OK. But RUOK?

https://www.ruok.org.au/

https://www.lifeline.org.au/

http://www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/

https://www.thehappinesstrap.com/mindfulness

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Parenting - the ultimate 'no returns' policy.

I just re-read my last post. Fuck I'm a cocky idiot aren't I? I take it all back. ALL OF IT!

My bub is now 3 months old, and the sleep deprivation well & truly won the other day. I was sick, crying and ready to put both children on the floor of the living room while I ate my way through a double pack of oreos & large chicken crisps. I wanted to return my child to place of purchase and exchange it for one that works. This one is broken and does not sleep the way it said it would on the box.

I'm breastfeeding this little cherub, something that I wish I'd be able to do with my 1st born, but was unable to. I always felt I was missing out on something by not breastfeeding him and I have realised that I was in fact missing out on something.

FUCKING SLEEP.

The benefit to bottle feeding is that when you've had enough and think, you know what, I'd actually like to take a shit by myself for once or maybe get a solid block of sleep, you can handball that screaming little pink thing to a friend/Grandma/neighbour/random stranger who looks trustworthy, give them instructions on how much the bottle should be, and fuck off for an hour or two, without having to worry that your child's screams of hunger will be mistaken for an army of banshees raining the 7th level of hell down upon the world.

The other benefit is you know how much they've had exactly. No juggling the jubblies around thinking 'yeah it feels lighter, but he still looks hungry, is he hungry? Does he just want to suck for comfort? It's only been an hour, surely he can't be hungry again? Do I have milk? Is he hungry? He must be hungry?'

It's cruel really, to not only be responsible for a small human's life, but to have to do it sleep deprived, whilst they are literally sucking the life out of you. Making decisions while having the mental capacity of your drunk Uncle on Xmas day is not cool. So not cool man.

So the other night, as I looked at my husband sleeping soundly, over the hair of my wonderful little womb nugget that had been up every hour since 10pm, I thought...... fuck this.

Fuck. This.

So I woke that snoring fucker up and told him that I'd had enough and I handed him a screaming baby and I marched into the kitchen and I made a bottle of formula. And you know what happened? My gorgeous blue eyed cherub, wouldn't..... take.... the.... fucking.... bottle.

Anyway, long story short it turns out you can't survive on extended periods of 45 minute blocks of sleep AND look after a toddler AND not have a diet consisting of pure caffeine AND be like, completely sane or something. So the next day, I did what I'm sure every mum does or wishes they could do - I called my mum. She came over, let me lie down for a bit and then my husband and I came up with a plan of attack to get our little baby sleeping longer periods that didn't involve me leaving him in a cot to scream his heart out whilst ripping mine out. On a side note - how stupid are babies? They need to be taught how to sleep. Fuck me, if someone told me I got to sleep for over half the day, shit myself and have someone else clean it up whilst drinking from a bottle, I'd be all over that like Oprah on a baked ham. 

But anyway, after almost a week of 'sleep training' he's up to 2 hours of sleep at a time now, but we've got him sleeping longer than 10 minute periods during the day too. The thing that sucks, is we did this all with the 1st one and I was so naive I thought we'd have this shit down pat. We do not. I keep thinking that I've got this mother hood thing down and they keep changing the rules. Kids are like the ultimate way to test control issues. I fail the test. Like, a lot. No seriously, A LOT.

But I'll be damned, if the little bugger looks up at me, with a big gummy grin, and I think to myself - I would do this every night for the rest of my life if it means he will grow up happy and healthy.

Ok, not every night. But like at least maybe 5 or 6 nights a week. 

Cheers,

(A very sleep deprived) Qld Nurse.

2 under 2 - I'm invincible now just so you know.

As of a couple of months ago I became a mother again to another gorgeous little boy making me a mum of 2 boys under 2. Now, this time, things went a little more smoothly and he was born at almost term. We both weren't close to death, we didn't spend weeks in hospital, and he has a lot less health complications than our first son. I'd like to say he's an easier baby, but the truth is, he's just a baby born almost when he was supposed to be and didn't weigh less than a litre of milk. He's just a normal (ish) baby.

I thought having one baby was hard. But my eldest goes to daycare a few days a week so I could work, and now I'm on leave I see no harm in continuing his routine. Which leaves me with just a baby 3 days a week and wondering what the bloody hell I did with all my spare time when I only had one child, and even more so for when I was childless. Seriously. I get a shit tonne more done in 15 minutes now than I ever have!

If you're one of those mums that manages to get your baby into the same routine as your toddler, and can have them both clean at the same time, and in shorts that match the shirt that has absolutely no boogers or stains on it, please send me a link to your book because you're obviously a fucking genius and a way better person than I am. My house is in a constant state of organised chaos now. To the point that I've made a mental note to make sure I wash my hair on Sundays, because I forget when the last time was that I had long enough in the shower to wash it, and before you know it there's a clump of jam in it and I'm wondering if people notice the smell. #MILF right??

I've given up hope of ever having a fully clean house ever again and the best I can hope for is at least one room to be cleaned a day & the dishwasher on....on a good day. But I'm honestly OK with it. It's how I'm coping and my mental health is right on track, unlike last time. So I figure if my house is a mess, but my mind isn't, it's pretty much a fucking win. Happy mum, happy everyone!

I didn't join a mother's group with my first born, mostly because I was hating on anyone that didn't have it as tough as I did, but also because I didn't know that Queensland Health runs free information sessions for new mums, that, as a result, often end up in a mother's group. I have with my new bub, and I went along with an open mind, hoping the mother's in my group were not anything like the judgemental thundercunts that I met when I joined some online mother's groups. Luckily, they aren't! I see myself becoming good friends with a few of them. I mean, anyone that casually drops fuck or shit into a sentence within 2 hours of meeting me, is pretty much guaranteed a place in my heart. Unless they say they're a vegan Scientologist as well, then all bets are off.

Anyway, meeting these brand new mums, with these brand new tiny people to look after has reminded me of myself when I was them. I forgot how shit scared I was. How unsure I was. How I was so worried that at any moment, someone would see through my smile and jokes and realise I had no fucking idea what I was doing and was barely coping with this huge new responsibility. I saw so much of myself in these mums - the strain behind the tired eyes but smiling mouth; the off the cuff comment about sleep deprivation; the questions that are asked slightly in jest, but not really; the strained laugh at the shit explosion hiding the exasperation that it's the 4th time that morning and you've really had enough; the second guessing everything from whether you should have put socks on to whether the formula is gonna screw up their brain cells.

Now, I am by no means mother of the year, but the 2nd time round I'm not as hard on myself. I don't need to be mother of the year to love my kids and raise them to have good morals. My good enough, is good enough. I am now aware, that having a bad day, does not make me a bad mother. Wanting some time away from my kids doesn't mean I love them any less. There are a million different ways to raise a child, and none of them are necessarily the 'right' or 'wrong' way. I've screwed up so many times it wasn't funny. But my toddler is still alive. He's a happy, relatively healthy (bloody daycare viruses/toast & jam is a balanced meal right?), friendly, social, smart, frustrating kid and he still loves me even though I didn't get it 100% right 100% of the time. I'm not telling myself that I should be doing something or that my baby should be doing something, because the truth is that there IS no should. Kids are really awesome in the fact that they give you a fair amount of leeway in the amount that you can cock up before they start eating chicken hearts & sacrificing goats to the sun god. It's cool to admit that you don't know everything; it doesn't mean Child Services are gonna come knocking.

I wish I knew then what I know now. So I want to tell my new mumma friends this:

Chill.

It won't always be this hard - some days it will be harder, and some easier, but you will survive, and so will your kid. Every day your child will present a new challenge to you and you will have days where you think you can't do it anymore. However you feel, it's ok to feel that way. Whether you think it's silly or not, talk to someone about it and don't dismiss your feelings as stupid or wrong. It's completely fine, and highly suggested to ask for help when you need it. You help no one, especially your child, trying to be a martyr and do everything yourself. What's right for your kid may not be right for mine, or hers, or his. Just do what works for your family and don't apologise for it. Fuck the haters man.

I guess I'm writing this after having such a long time between drinks because seeing new mums like deer in the headlights reminds me that I'm doing ok. I just need reminding sometimes. So hopefully this helps you too. Or a friend of yours. 

Now go and have a glass of wine and put your feet up. You deserve it. You made a human!

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

My failings as a mother. Well so far anyway.

I saw this post today and it really resonated.

I have a coming up on 17 month old child who many describe as 'strong willed' or 'determined'. I have some other choice words that I use occasionally to describe him, but I won't write those down....

He is at the developmental stage where he has realised that he CAN be disobedient if he wants to, and boy, does he want to sometimes. He's smart enough to be manipulative - so much so, that my husband hasn't quite figured out that he's the 'favourite' parent because my child knows exactly how to push him right in his feels which results in my husband giving my child whatever he wants. Amateur. Other times he is the sweetest, cutest little shit in the whole world and you forget that he just jumped on the dog and pulled the dirty nappies out of his bin after the 10th time you've told him not to play with it.

Anyway, my point is. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I told some of my workmates yesterday that my epic fear is that I'll be sitting down to watch the local news in 18 or so years and see my child's house surrounded by a SWAT team and wonder if that time I put him in time out to calm down turned him into a serial killer. They looked at me like I had some seriously big kangaroos loose in the ol' top paddock.

Look, I definitely do have a few loose, but the thing is, I just know those fuckers are thinking the same thing. Probably not to the same extreme, but don't all parents at some stage just think 'who let me be in charge of raising a human?!?!'

So I'm coming out, and I'm letting all you mums and dads know that I do in fact, not know what I'm doing as a parent. I have some good days, where I feel like my shit is mostly together, and then I have other days where the PJ's are firmly on all day and ABC kids is on non-stop on the telly. I try to make all my decisions with love. My husband and I have an agreement, that if we're having a problem, I google some shit, we decide on a plan of attack and we try it for a week. If it doesn't work, we go back to the drawing board & try something else. So in order to make all you other parents feel a shit tonne better about yourselves, here are some of the ways I have no doubt guaranteed that as an adult my child will be using some sort of variant of this....

I 'sleep trained' my child and yes there were many tears. One of us was in the room patting his back and 'shh'-ing him while those tears were flowing, but if you believe the 1950's articles about the cortisol levels of neglected children in war-torn countries' orphanages, I have irreparably fucked my son's brain & he will blame me for that when he ends up in jail. No doubt. But hey, he's always in bed by 7pm & I'm getting some sleep now so....

I let him eat crap food sometimes. He was bordering on a food aversion most likely due to his time in the NICU from having a tube down his throat, and his milk protein allergy that took months and lots of screaming to diagnose. We were struggling to get him to eat. Like REALLY struggling. Like having an endoscopy for vomiting/seeing a speech therapist/spending lots of money on rare weird food in an attempt to find something he would eat struggling. He likes hot chips. Some days we let him eat as many hot chips as that tiny little human can fit into his tiny little stomach. This will indubitably lead to a lifetime of obesity and a stroke at 40. My bad son, my bad.

I make him wait sometimes. I love my son and he makes me smile. Sometimes he has to wait to be played with or picked up or even taken out of his cot after a nap because I have my arms full of shopping, or I'm making him something to eat, or I've gotta pee. Sometimes I'm just mummied out and want an extra 5 minutes to finish my game of Candy Crush. He's always safe, but those extra 5 minutes where he's lying in his cot babbling happily to his stuffed koala mean I've probably screwed the attachment thing and the trust do-whats-it and that bit that parenting guru said that time. Oops.

Day care. I send him to daycare while I work. Sometimes, if I'm sick, I send him daycare while I rest at home. I know, I know. There's 2 schools of thought on this - one is that a parent should always be present with their child and sending them to daycare/care of some sort will ensure they take drugs as a teenager and coward punch someone because they weren't hugged enough or something. The second is that seeing both parents contribute financially to the household will help them realise the partnership of marriage and see women as equal. My theory is, that poverty REALLY fucks a kid up. So I'm fucking him up less by ensuring he can do swimming and when he gets older karate, or soccer, or IV drug use. Whatever.

The point is, no matter what you do as a Mum, that Mummy guilt will follow you everywhere you go. There are thousands of theories on how to raise your child, there are thousands of others that contradict those. The only thing that I can guarantee is that no matter what problem you think you're having, there is another Mum/Dad out there somewhere who is going through exactly the same thing. They are just as exasperated as you, and they feel just alone as you because their Facebook feed is full of Pinterest Mum's over achieving kid's colour coordinated lunchbox & outfit and she never has snot on her shirt. It's the toughest job you'll ever do. And if you ever feel like you suck at this parenting gig, feel free to tweet me and I'll tell you about my day when I let my child eat the potato stick that the dog had chewed on, because I figured he'd already stuck it in his mouth and the germs were already there. Yeah I seriously, don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Can we please stop the hate? Or at least hate the right people instead??

When the photo of little Aylan Kurdi went global, I took a break from social media for a while. Every time that photo flashed up in my news feed, my stomach dropped and I had to fight back tears. I donated to the UN Refugee Agency and I encouraged all my friends to do what they could. I signed a petition to urge our PM to increase his intake of refugees and I held my boy a little tighter knowing I was raising a child in a world where leaders are willing to let children die in order to maintain the illusion that they are powerful.

But not everyone had the same feelings I had.

I saw numerous people posting about how our Government should take care of our own before we start bleeding cash to these criminals trying to jump the queue. How Australia's homeless and disabled are so hard done by, that we should spend the money on them instead of helping these 'could be criminals'. I had one 'friend' post that our unemployment rate was already so high that letting these 'can't even speak English' people in would just mean they would take jobs that are rightfully Australian jobs.

And I thought to myself.....

People are LITERALLY risking their lives and the lives of their children in an attempt to leave their homes. Let that sink in for a minute. They have the chance of death and leaving, or the likelihood of death and staying. Aylan isn't the first child to die, and you can bet your arse he won't be the last. There are many, many Aylan's dying daily.

This is a picture of Syria today.

With a drought, a corrupt government, a FUCKING WAR happening and no way out, they are definitely just using this opportunity to come and take over Australia. #FFS

I paid extra money to have a private car with a baby seat take us from the airport on holiday, because I didn't want to hold my child on my lap in a taxi for fear of his safety. So in order for me to get on an overcrowded, rickety ship that could sink at any stage, with a lack of food, thousands of strangers, no knowledge of where we would end up and no guarantee of safe arrival anywhere, shit would have to be pretty fucking desperate.

I am in no way saying that the disabled and unemployed people in our country have an easy time. I  DO think our Government should take better care of it's citizens. I DO think that the Government should get it's priorities straight when it comes to spending money. But I DON'T think that the priorities should be a choice of helping Australian people in need, or helping other people in need.

I think they should cut money to politician's 'golden handshake' pensions. I think they should reduce their expense accounts. They should be banned from spending tax payer money on propaganda campaigns to help them get re-elected in order to continue to spend tax payer money on luncheons and private jets and inquiries that only benefit their agendas. I don't agree with working my arse off to pay taxes in order for Joe fucking Hockey to claim a living away from home expense when he's staying at "his wife's house". It's YOUR FUCKING HOUSE JOE! YOU'RE MARRIED YOU FUCKWIT!!

If we're going to be outraged, why aren't we outraged at that? Why aren't we outraged that our government has somehow managed to convince us that we can't help people who are being bombed and drowning at sea trying to escape a country where you can get shot on the street? Why aren't we outraged that our politicians have convinced us there's no money for that, and yet can travel around the world with their families paid for by us?

When did we suddenly get this us vs them mentality? We are ALL people. We all bleed the same blood. We all have a mother, a father, a family, hopes and dreams. We are all struggling in this fucked up world to do the best that we can. How have we been convinced that only one demographic can be helped at a time? "Gee, I'd love you to help you out Mr Blind person but I just donated to the deaf community. Soz." That's such fucking bullshit.

It's more likely your next door neighbour is a psycho who beats his wife than the father escaping a war-torn country is an arms dealer. "We don't know whether they're criminals or not" is the most piss poor excuse to leave people to die. 2 women were killed by their partners in the last two days and guess what they weren't? Refugees! With some of the comments I have heard lately, I'm more worried that the people in THIS country are psychopaths, when they see a picture of a dead child and think "oh great, the bleeding hearts will milk this one for all it's worth!"

Since when does a child not born in Australia, deserve less love and protection? Why do we have to make a choice of whether we help the Australian homeless or the homeless refugee? It shouldn't be a choice. We can do both. A person in need of help is a person in need of help. Regardless of race, country of origin or sexual orientation.

If you genuinely believe that helping refugees means that we can't help our fellow Australians as well, there is something seriously wrong with you. If you genuinely have no sympathy for the family of a dead child, you are just as callous and heartless as the people dropping the bombs. Because you know who else thought that their way of life was more superior than others? Hitler. You are basically Hitler if you are willing to let women and children die because you don't want to share your toys.

When the going gets tough, the true character of people really shines. If you want to continue on hating, then at least hate the right people. Hate the rich, old white men running this country, who've never had to worry about whether today will be the day that people with machine guns run into their house and kill their family.

I guess the downside of living in the lucky country, is that we don't actually appreciate how lucky we are.

Just think about it.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Mother or career? Because apparently in the 21st century, you still can't have both.

Nurses work extremely hard, long and unfavourable hours. Nurses eat their young and have less compassion for each other than the patients we look after. Nurses are hard arses who really shouldn't be messed with. I know because I'm a nurse. And my husband knows because he's married to a nurse. Which means that unless you stubbed your toe due to the fact you couldn't see.....because there was a carving knife in your eye, then you really need to calm your farm because it's probably not as bad as you think it is.

Mothers are also a force to be reckoned with. I underestimated this force until I had a child of my own and I cannot even describe to you the thing inside of me that will protect my child until my dying breath. Don't mess with my child. Seriously don't.

I had a rough time bringing my son into this world. I had a terrible pregnancy; I was sick several times a day, sometimes to the point that standing up made me spew so I carried a v-bag with me everywhere; I developed severe carpal tunnel at 25 weeks where I had to stop work at 27 due to safety; and then at 29 weeks I developed severe early onset pre-eclampsia and HELLP syndrome. I gave birth to a 900 gram little boy, almost 3 months earlier than I expected to, we both came close to death and it was traumatic for both my husband and myself. Then I spent 9 weeks in hospital, 12 hours a day, where I was limited in the time I could hold my child, where every single gram he put on mattered and the waiting game of what problems he would have due to his prematurity began.  When we got him home, he screamed most of the day and I had many health professionals dismiss my concerns as a neurotic first time mum with post-natal depression. For. Six. Very. Long. Months.

For 6 months my child didn't sleep, didn't eat, didn't poo, and cried non-stop for hours on end. For 6 months I exclusively expressed breast milk for a baby that couldn't breastfeed, because I trusted specialists who told me that 'breast was best' and his gut problems would be worse if I put him on formula. It didn't help that said baby would only sleep on me which made pumping harder which made the stress higher thinking I was failing my son if I couldn't make enough milk. For 6 months, my husband and I fought, cried and took shifts to deal with a baby who we thought was going to cry until the end of time. I lost friends who didn't know how to help, my hair fell out and I didn't even know who I was anymore.

A little time has gone by, I can laugh about it now. Well not laugh, but sigh, somewhat. At the time I seriously considered running my car off the road. Not to die. No, I just thought if I could be intubated in ICU for a little while, the sedation would mean I could catch up on sleep. Just for a day or two. That seemed rational to me. I have no idea how my husband coped because he actually had to leave the house and communicate with real people. He has a fabulous boss.

To compound the issue, my father in law lost his brave battle with Leukemia so in the throws of a sick child, a mentally unstable wife and sleep deprivation, my poor husband had to somehow deal with the death of his best friend as well. To say it wasn't the best time of our lives would be the biggest fucking understatement in the world. It sucked royal donkey dick and I don't know how we  both survived.

Then after thousands of dollars, countless tests, a general anaesthetic and a baby chiropractor for fucks sake (because when you're at rock bottom you'll give anything a crack! Get it?!?!) - we discovered that 'breast is best' isn't necessarily true with children that have a cows milk protein allergy. That's why my kid wasn't well. There was something wrong. Which he could have probably been tested for during the 9 FUCKING WEEKS WE WERE IN A HOSPITAL THAT HAS A LABORATORY THAT TESTS THINGS! We put him on an allergy formula. And hours of my time freed up because I wasn't strapped to a pump. And he didn't cry so much anymore. And he slept for longer than 45 mins at a time. And he started to smile. And laugh. And my husband and I realised that parenting was actually not supposed to be as hard as we had it.

My point of this long background story is to give you some understanding of where my priorities lie. I have discovered that having the nicest of the things is not nearly as important as having time with those you love. I have discovered that having the nicest of the things doesn't give you protection from losing people that mean the world to you. I have discovered that although I have to work to gain money, I don't need as much money as I thought I did, because getting the plastic cups and bowls out of my cupboard and bashing the shit out of them until my son laughs so hard he's breathless, well that is free.  And also doesn't require me to have the nicest of the things because they get the shit bashed out of them. Would I like to give my son the nicest of the things? Sure, what parent doesn't. Do I think he's better off having the things instead of quality time with me because I've had to work half his life in order to afford said things? No. No I don't. 

So here we are, almost 11 months down the track after having hell on earth for over half of that time.  For the last 4 months we've had this adorable child who we love with all our soul and I've finally had the time to bond with him and he loves me and I love him. We have a routine, the fogs of depression have lifted and we have our shit sorted. I have only just figured out how amazing it is to be a parent.

And now I have to go back to work. Don't get me wrong, I want to go back to work. I want my son to see his mother and father both contributing to the finances and the housework of the family. I want him to have a good female role model. I want to work at times that will work for my family. My anxiety is sky high thinking about not the actual returning to work, but the politics of having to request shifts that work for my family. The fact that I'm going to be made to feel like i'm in the wrong for trying to put my family first is literally making me feel sick with worry.

Now, I expected that being a nurse and working in a mainly female workforce, this would be one of the things that wouldn't be a problem and as women support women (stop laughing), we wouldn't be made to feel like an inconvenience for having children.

I know. How fucking naive can one get? I should have clued on that there was a clause in the Nurses award SPECIFICALLY for women returning to work post maternity leave. The fact that there NEEDS to be a clause should have been a flag. The fact that my boss was one level above me in the hospital but didn't even phone to see if I was alive when I told her I would unexpectedly not be returning to work because of the possible death thing, well that could have been an indication of times to come. Now I've been informed, that me returning to work on a set roster instead of variable shifts because I have to you know, find times where someone is available to look after my child is a bit of a pain for rostering. Well....

I've been informed that some experienced nurses have not returned to work post maternity leave because they are told that their requests cannot be accommodated. I have to sign a stat dec stating when I will be returning to my full time hours and have that approved by upper management. Well you know what, I don't know when I'll be returning to my full time hours. Because my child might not do well in a child care centre for 3 days a week. Because I might not WANT to put him in child care 3 days a week when I really only need to put him in for one if I have the flexibility to do shifts around when myself or my husband can look after him.

Why the FUCK are we even still having this conversation? Why is having to accommodate people who choose to have a family such a big deal? Your job as management is to MANAGE it. That's why you get paid a metric fucktonne more than I do. You know what a pain in the arse recruitment is? Because that's what's happening when experienced people have to choose between family and work.  They leave. They find somewhere that will accommodate them, or alternatively the profession looses out on awesome people. Is it really more of a pain in the arse to try and work with some staff for a couple of years than hire new people continuously because the former have left? It means the public suffer. It means the graduate nurses don't have a wealth of experience to learn from. It means that specialty areas are becoming less specialised because there may only be one or 2 senior nurses left because others have been forced to leave.

Personally for me, it's not a choice. I am a nurse and can get a casual job anywhere I need to. I like the area I'm in from a learning perspective. I'd like to stay. But if I'm made to choose I will choose my family. Hands down no regrets. I will make it work. It will be a piece of piss compared to this last year.

I won't apologise for wanting to spend time with my son over working. I won't be made to feel guilty for not wanting to go a whole day without seeing him at all. In this day and age I won't be told to 'deal with it' and 'make it work'. I find it despicable that women can be and continue to be so ridiculously harsh towards other women. What has happened to me this last year, has meant that the size of my balls have supersized to 'just to try me' proportions. I almost died, I watched my child struggle to cling to life and I had to fight for over 6 months to get anybody to believe that my child was in pain. Anything else pretty much pales in comparison. I'm flexible, but I have my limits and I won't be made to feel inferior for wanting to be in my child's life more than I want to be a cog in a system.

What really sucks is that some women don't have that option. They're not in a profession where there's a shortage. They do have to 'deal with it' and 'make it work'. And that frankly is bullshit. It's fucking bullshit. For all the advancements that have been made with equality and positivity this just goes to show that not much has really changed. The attitude of 'I had to do it years ago so why shouldn't you' is fucking stupid. Why should I have to do it? Do you remember how fucking hard it was for you? Why would you want to inflict that on someone else when it doesn't have to be that way? Maybe the reason you are so bitter is because you were forced to work hours that meant you had 2 hours sleep in 48 hours because you had to look after your child after a night shift and before another one. Things in the world change because it's not working. And this isn't working.

Maybe if we had a government that actually supported women instead of electing a cumwad fucktwat who will appoint himself as a Minister for Women when he clearly isn't a woman, society as a whole would start changing it's view. Maybe the fact that one woman a week is being killed in a domestic incident shows that women are still seen as pretty far down the food chain. Maybe being forced to choose a family or a career is tip of the iceberg in a culture that hasn't changed much since a time when men used to club the women over the head and drag them back to their cave.

If you want to work full time, and you don't have a problem being away from your child, then more power to you. Go you big red fire engine. You shouldn't be shamed any more than I should for your choices. But should your choice make it harder on mine? No. The fact that there is even any angst about coming back to work when you have small children is just so 1950's. It shouldn't be a battlefield. It makes me angry. Really angry.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

What I've learned in a year.

It's my birthday!

Fuck yeah!

This time last year I was spewing my guts up and upset I didn't get to have a birthday party because a tiny terrorist had set up camp in my baby box. I feel like I have aged about 20 years in the last year. This time I get to drink some rum and have a sleep in. And blog. 

So here's some things I have learned in the past year.....

1. When your parents say 'you'll understand when you have kids of your own', it actually genuinely means that you will only really understand when you have kids of your own. Parents say a lot of shit that you think 'yeah whatever, you're talking outta your arse'. I know - I'm a parent. I talk outta my arse a lot. No seriously, they give you a 'talking outta your arse' handbook when you give birth. True story. I didn't understand the statement 'you'll understand when you have kids of your own', until I had a kid of my own. If you don't have kids you won't understand. But don't worry - you will. When you have kids of your own.

2. Older actually does mean wiser. The time in this last year, has somehow morphed me into this weird person that doesn't really care too much that I'm missing the 2 for 1 drink specials at the local bar. I suddenly understand that eating well and exercising makes me feel better. Getting a full nights sleep will help my mood. Or that bitchy chick that did that thing that one time that was super bitchy? Who gives a fuck?! Not me, that's for sure. Because I'm like super wise and shit. Yeah.

3. Money matters for a whole different reason. When I was 18 and earning like $500 a week (it was a lot back then you young whippersnappers!) I should have bought a house. They were like $150,000 for a massive house. It was so much money back then. But I had fake nails to buy. And 2 for 1 drinks. Oh my goodness how I wish I could smack my 18 year old self upside the head. I would have had such security now for my child (hopefully child/ren). I wouldn't have to work so much to pay off the amount of debt I have. Debt from buying fake nails and 2 for 1 drinks or whatnot. Which brings me to my next point....

4. You really need to find a job that you love. You need to work in a place you feel valued and that you feel contributes to your soul. Otherwise, you will realise that leaving your child/ren for a whole day simply to earn enough money to pay for whatever you bought when you were 18, is really not worth it. You can make it work for less. You'll sacrifice something in order not to work. Not because you don't want to work, but because you'd rather spend time with this tiny human creation that you created. You can cut out x, y, or z in order to work less in a job that you hate. You will find time to go to a job that you makes your soul sing. You'd do it free actually.

5. Life is way too short to put up with shit people. Do you have a friend that you 'should' see? Fuck them right off. Does phoning your sister give you heart palpitations? Well fuck that! Surround yourself with people that make you feel good and you want to make feel good. The good people die young. They don't have enough time. The shit people will live through a zombie apocalypse. You never know when the last time you talk to a person will be. So talk to the people that matter and forget the people that don't.

6. Words of wisdom are for suckers.  No seriously. Stop reading this. You're being a sucker.

Well, it's past 9pm and I'm old now. So I'll let you go and make a warm milk and honey or whatever. Tomorrow I plan on studying bath aids and safety grips.

Because I'm old.

And wise.

So there.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.