Is There Life After Mine?

With all the controversy flying this week after Senator Eric Abetz spruiked the thoroughly discredited line that abortion causes breast cancer, I threw this up on Twitter today:

It got a few favourites, no one attacked me over it, the internet seemed entirely untroubled by the implied revelation I've had an abortion. I don't regret what I share, but it's not just me I have to think about anymore. The internet is forever, as the Melbourne University Young Liberals are the latest to find out. How will what I've shared online affect Baby G in the future?

I've recently locked my Instagram account for similar reasons; G is about to turn three, and is now more recognisably a person instead of Infanta Generica, and I don't want classmates or anyone other random person able to freely access pictures of him. But what happens in future if classmates - or their parents - stumble across my blog? Will parents be wary of sending their kids to play at "that strange woman's house"? Will there be judgement and bullying over the PTSD stuff, or what I've written about living on welfare, or simply for our political beliefs? Would - my heart breaks - G be teased in the playground over something a six year old has heard their parent say about me?

How do other parents deal with this? If you share personal or controversial stuff online, how do you feel about your kids finding it? How do you feel about your child's friends, or friends parents, finding it? Have their been any issues? I'm keen to hear of people's experiences.

Feminist Birth?

It amazes and depresses me that feminism, with it's (hoped for) support of a woman's bodily autonomy and right to choose, still has so very far to go when it comes to birth. As this piece from New Statesman points out, 100 years ago feminists were fighting the notion that a woman must give birth in pain to atone for original sin, and for the right to anaesthesia in labour. We've now come full circle. Google search "feminist birth", and you will see dozens of links to sites advocating "natural birth", without medical intervention or pain relief. Pain is how you get in touch with your inner warrior woman! Pain is empowering! Pain is GOOD FOR YOU AND YOUR BABY!

And god help you if you want an elective caesarean. Her body her choice - unless you want a c-section without medical indication. Then you're just anxious, or a victim of the medico-industrial patriarchal system, or, you know, selfish ("it's not as good for baby"). Not only does feminism not support the notion that a woman has the right to choose the birth she wants, even if that's a caesarean, some pro-"natural birth" advocates actively hector caesar by choice women about just how damn wrong they are.

Websites which purport to have a feminist agenda, to empower women to make the right choice, have already decided what that choice should be. Take for example this Australian site with the stated goal "Birth can be beautiful. Learn here how to have the kind of birth you wish for". But you're only allowed to wish for an unmedicated "natural birth", apparently. Like so many of these sites it is packed with horror stories of c-sections. Well I'm happy to go without the tears and cuts and stitches and fistulas and painful intercourse and fecal incontinence thanks. Does this happen in all vaginal birth? Of course not. But neither does the c-section horror.

I fell for this rubbish myself, I'm sorry to say. As someone who'd been through trauma, I gratefully accepted the notion that a healing, empowering natural birth was just the thing. And when I realised it wasn't what I wanted at all, that I'd been sold 50 cents of bull plop in a ten dollar bag, I couldn't get out of it. My doula told me I didn't really want a c-section (frankly, I'm still mad that we didn't ask for our money back; she was useless). The birth centre thought I didn't really want a c-section and sent me for counselling instead of to see an obstetrician. It was the worst and most disempowering experience of my life, and I've had self-described "feminists" tell me "well, that's unfortunate, but caesarean sections are major surgery, you know. Bad for baby". There is nothing empowering or respectful - nothing feminist - about telling a woman she's too misinformed to know what's good for her.

Can we stop valorising "natural" birth? Listen. Unless you gave birth to a Cabbage Patch Doll, YOU HAVE HAD A NATURAL BIRTH. A feminist birth is the birth a woman asks for, after discussion with her care provider. If you want to give birth in a stream in a rainforest with panpipes and incense, go for it. If you for whatever reason want to give birth by c-section, I will support you in that too because your reasons are NONE OF MY DAMN BUSINESS. It's your body, not mine, and I can't understand why feminists who  wouldn't conceive of forcing a woman to continue with an unwanted pregnancy think it is just fine, in everyone's best interests, to force a woman to give birth vaginally against her will. Feminist birth is bigger than a bath tub. Can we all get along with this?

Edit: I read this comment on the Skeptical OB and had to share it:

NCB ideologues ARE the handmaidens of the patriarchy.

1) They trivialize the pain of childbirth and claim that pain relief is unnecessary or even morally wrong.

2) They discourage and deny access to the best medical care on the most dangerous day most women have experienced since they day of their own birth.

3) They listen only to women who say what they want to hear, and deny the validity of experiences that do not fit their narrative.

4) They judge women by their fertility and other biological functions rather than by the work of their hands and minds.

What is remotely feminist in any of that?

I concur.

Do We Really Just Hate Kids?

More of the "trouble with kids these days" from an acquaintance on Facebook, and whilst I've blamed the problems of kids these days on economic rationalism, this thread on Reddit made me wonder if the problem with kids these days is that we hate them. For a society that claims to venerate children so much, we sure show in so many ways that we don't actually like them.

Children and parenting are the other; to be kept marginalised and out of sight until the messy, unpleasant business of being a kid is done. It starts early, with complaints about pregnant TV presenters and public breastfeeding; graphic depictions of motherhood should be kept out of the public eye. Then there's the rise of the parent-shaming websites, attacking people for oversharing their parenting experiences. Whilst I wouldn't post about my child's poop myself, early parenthood does involve a great deal of the stuff and you do get a little obsessed (and that's me, who prior to having a baby became wildly embarrassed at the slightest indication that anyone had a digestive system). Parenthood can be very isolating especially those early days when you're largely stuck at home with only a non-communicative creature for company, and it's natural to use social media as a way to connect with people - especially at a time when you're so vulnerable to post natal depression. But the sites promoting mocking and judging of parents perpetuate the message that the messy details of parenthood are something to be ashamed of, and parents should just shut up about it all. It's all right to complain about things at work, or that jerk who cut you off in traffic, but not about the daily routine of caring for a baby. No one wants to hear about that.

If parents get it bad, kids have it even worse. Childishness is not permitted; children must restrain their childish behaviour at all times for the comfort of the adults around them. Children are spoken to in ways we'd never speak to an adult. Notice your partner is grumpy on an outing? Decide to ignore it till they cool down. A grumpy child? They're a spoilt brat, ruining the whole day, and we're going home right now. I've seen teachers on school excursions barking orders and insults at kids worse than anything in the army. It's not all teachers that are like that of course, but a few are. I saw a little boy hauled over the coals for forgetting his bus pass, in tears in front of the entire bus. Parents who want to toughen kids up. You have to show them who's boss. Kids are not seen as future adults to be nurtured, but wild animals to be restrained and trained. (And some of the parent shaming sites feature parents shaming their own kids - not okay). 

 And teenagers. If we don't like kids, just look at the narrative on teenagers. They're running wild, disrespectful. God help them if they leave home to escape abuse - they're being handed money by Centrelink because they're out of control and can't follow the rules. (Incidentally, I planned to write a term paper on teenage abuse last semester, but couldn't, because I couldn't find enough academic sources for a 2,500 word, first year essay. How sad is that?)

Anyway, enough of the child and parent shaming. I'm going to stop feeling marginalised. Children are messy, loud little creatures and I won't feel I should hide my son away. Oh, I'm still going to be a respectful person; quieting him if he's shouting at the top of his lungs, not changing him on food court tables, and so on. But as I said in my last post, respect goes both ways, and it's pretty disrespectful to hide away and shame a great chunk of the population simply because we find their childishness offensive. 

A Story of Birth Trauma, PTSD and Other Fun Stuff

Trigger warning: contains discussion of abuse, medical procedures and birth trauma.


So, I've shared a lot with my readers...from the year long quest to conceive Baby G, through to my dreams about pornographers. Probably I over share. But now I'm going to tell you a very personal story I've not shared even with people I know...a tale of medical incompetence and the not-so-delightful lead up to the birth of Baby G. And I'm telling you this because I want to add my voice to the brave women who say birth trauma is real, it does matter, and because what happened to me should never happen to anyone, if I have to shout a bit to make sure that happens.

When I was pregnant with BabyG back in 2011, we were still living in inner Sydney, so I booked in to go through the birth centre at an inner city hospital. I have had some very bad experiences at the hands of doctors, so I thought the most natural birth safely possible was the best, least traumatic way to go. We had a doula, and I practiced breathing exercises and visualisation, and took natural birthing drops, which I didn't even believe in but thought I'd try...you get the idea. Also in preparation for making the gory parts of the birth as smooth as possible (are you still with me? This is where it starts getting nasty) at 38 weeks I hopped in the shower to try perineal stretching. Very gently to start with.

The second I tried it, my blood ran cold; I nearly fainted and threw up at the same time. I was horrified. It instantly brought flashbacks to a disturbing incident when I was young; I came out of the shower sobbing. There was no way - no way in hell - I could have a vaginal birth. The stretching was so horrible, I feel sick even now thinking about it. Fuck the birth centre. No one - no doctor or midwife - was touching my hoo hah. Pass the scalpel.

So the next day, I reported to my regular appointment at the birth centre, and explained the situation. Sorry guys, you've been great, but I can't do a natural birth. So they referred me to the clinical nurse consultant, and I went through the whole situation. I've been abused; preparing for a natural birth has triggered flashbacks, I can't face a vaginal birth and I want a c-section.

She said no.

Can you believe that? I can't, still. I've spent the last five years in the community sector, advocating for people. I'm at a loss, shocked, by how someone could lack the basic human compassion to allow an assault victim to have a c-section on request. She was really, really rude actually - told me I should have thought of this before, that if I wanted an obstetrician I'd have to go privately because it was too late now. If I knew then, what I know now, I'd have made a massive scene, demanded to speak to someone, anyone else - but I  didn't.  I meekly said that's fine, I understand. Be nice. Don't give anyone any reason to not like you. And I went home and cried and cried.

As it happened, BabyG went overdue. Really overdue. By day 10, I was overwrought with anxiety - about the birth, about the baby, as another overdue baby a couple of months before had not had a good outcome, and the precious little angel was born asleep. I was terrified, and would have gotten G out with a garden fork if I had to, and I stupidly agreed to an induction. Into hospital we went on Tuesday, 30 August. They shoved cervadil up me, which was fairly fucking horrid. I had been told in advance that once the cervadil was in, I could go home until contractions started. Oh no, I was told now. You can't leave. At all. Not allowed to walk up the street to get my head together. I was already starting to lose it, but they gave me a valium and off I went to sleep in the hope labour would start and this would all be over.

Wednesday morning. No labour. Nothing has happened. No dilation - he wasn't even engaged. Okay, said the midwife with her hand rammed up me (sticking her finger in my urethra on the way in) - the next step is to put a balloon catheter in your cervix.

Everybody out of the goddamn pool, I said. I'd had enough being nice. I'm not proceeding with the induction. Get him out now - I want a c-section, if you won't give me one I'll go home and freebirth. And by the way, being in the hospital in pretty fucking upsetting, considering I'm not even in labour can I just walk up the street and get some food? They told me they'd get back to me. Do you know how long they made me wait? Thirty fucking hours. Thirty hours of me crying, begging for the c-section, not allowed to leave, and having midwives continually giving me cervical sweeps "to see if anything is happening" and pressuring me to go on with the induction.

Finally on Thursday afternoon - 48 hours after arriving at hospital - they gave me the c-section, and BabyG was born. And whoops, no one picked up on that he was 4.5kg with a 40cm head, which should have qualified me for a c-section if I wanted in the first place.

I've lived with this for two years now, and I'm still angry. I'm angry at what I've missed out on - my one experience of birth, and it's just such a horrible, horrible memory. I'm angry that it has taken such a toll on bonding with G. I'm angry at the effect it's had on my marriage. I'm angry at the lack of agency, the disempowerment. Being treated like an object, a piece of meat. I'm angry it was all so damn unnecessary. I'm so angry and I don't know what to do with it. I've complained to the hospital, which was semi-helpful, I guess - but they said I "slipped through the cracks" in the system. No I didn't. It was that damn nurse's cruelty and complacency that allowed this to happen - and you know what? Apparently she didn't even have the authority to refuse or allow a c-section and should have referred me to the head obstetrician. Why didn't you ask to speak to an obstetrician when the nurse said no, the hospital asked? Um, cause I don't know your chain of command. And what about the 30 hours I waited? I was asking everyone by then.

I've also lodged a complaint with the Health Care Complaints Commission; that's still going through the process. I've thought about suing, I haven't decided yet. I've seen a counsellor for PTSD, but I've never been a great fan of counselling; it doesn't work so well for me. I'm on anti-depressants. I've recently started going to the gym and that's nice, but it won't take the need for the medication away. Where to from here? We are almost certainly not having any more kids - a drawback of starting your family after 30 is not having oodles of time to think about it - so the prospect of a "healing birth" is out. Anyway we're looking at moving back to Sydney, back into the catchment of that hospital. Give birth there again? I'd rather burn the place down. Even passing a bus on George St, with the hospital on it's destination board, is upsetting.

So there's my birth trauma story. I was chewed up and spit out by the public hospital system, and I know I should be grateful I have a healthy kid and I gave birth in a safe modern hospital but fuck it, I don't think availing yourself of those services should mean you have to put up with whatever non-compassionate, incompetent treatment they mete out. And I'm furious whenever I hear wails about the c-section rate being too high - I suffered weeks of psychological hell, and 48 hours of physical hell, because a public hospital wanted to keep it's section rate down. I've changed. I no longer meekly accept things to not make waves; I scream, I shout. I'm not a nice person anymore. I used to think I was, but now I'm a furious old boiler who will always speak up. And if what I've said here makes someone think they're not alone it's been worth the pain it's taken to write it down.

A Plan To Save The Nation - A Plea For Lefties To Breed

Much derision in the media this week over Tony Abbott's claim that his paid parental leave scheme will encourage women of calibre to breed. Abbott's plan is to impose a levy on the biggest corporations in Australia - how's that for a great big tax on everything? - and use the money to pay parent's up to six months parental leave at the mother's wage rate. This, he hopes, will encourage high income earners - those he dubbed the "women of calibre" - to breed. You'd expect this would alienate his base of aspirationals - the low and middle income earners from outer suburbs - but they still adore the guy. Now, Tony Abbott is a fetid piece of distended monkey rectum on epic scale and should he be elected prime minister, we'll be an international laughing stock...more so, but he has pointed the way to an interesting solution to all society's problems (although Bill Murray got there first).

It's often been said that society is becoming more conservative, and there's definitely some truth to that. Michael Moore has called Richard Nixon the last Democratic president. Malcom Fraser has quit the Liberal party in disgust at it's shift to the right. Conservatives hark back to the days of the 1950s, leaving out the part where one of the reasons society was kept in smooth running order was a top income tax rate of over 90%. Australian history points to a more open and tolerant past. We had great nation building projects such as the Sydney Harbour Bridge and and the Snowy River Hydro Electric scheme; we accepted with open arms boat people fleeing Vietnam after the war. Nowadays we can't even get a decent national telecommunications system without people wailing like stuck pigs about the cost of it all; we're an international laughing stock due to carrying on like a bunch of scared, spoiled, selfish children over a relative handful of asylum seekers. Why is this happening?

We can blame some of the shift to the right on the Howard years - the Howard government left this country with moral wounds from which it may take decades to recover, an culture of greed an entitlement which shames us as a nation. But it's not just that. Perhaps the nation is becoming more conservative because there are...more conservatives. Conservatives, as a sweeping generalisation, tend to marry younger and have more kids, who grow up listening to rants about illegal immigrants and dole bludgers, before marrying at 24 and having three kids of their own. Lefties aren't keeping up. We're breeding ourselves out of existence. In order to save society from the lurch to the right, lefties need to acknowledge the problem. And we need to have more kids.

It's a generalisation, sure. I know many lefty, feminist, kick butt families with 3, 4 or more kids. But in general, lefties marry late, or not at all (many because they're legally prevented from getting married to their partner of choice), and are far more likely to have no or only one child. It's completely understandable. We're busy, and we understand the costs to the planet of overpopulation. We ourselves were planning on leaving it at Baby G - babies are expensive, and a lot of work, and I'm the family breadwinner for the time being, and I don't do pregnancy well. When your first child nearly kills you, you're not rushing to go back for more. But perhaps I need to revise my view. Australia needs more kids growing up in lefty houses, going to marches and rallies, knowing that 90% of what's published by News Ltd is rubbish and the rest is the ads, that the belief "I work hard for my family, why should I pay for other people's welfare?"just makes you sound like an asshole. Now, I'm not rushing into anything yet - DH is yet to warm to the idea, and Baby G needs so much work right now I can't imagine adding to the load (and he's an easy kid) - but I feel I should add to the effort. If not for us, to have a baby for a same sex attracted friend. I'm still aware of the environmental concerns, but look - we're being outnumbered here. If we don't have the kids, they will. Lefties, you need to get breeding. Have just one more. Bear a child for a same sex couple. Fill the planet with concerned, responsible citizens now. I believe we are in danger of being swamped by racists. This mother's day, couldn't you go just one more?

Peter Costello famously exhorted us to have "one for Mum, one for Dad, and one for the country". I would ask you to have one to spite the IPA, one to stick it to Rupert Murdoch and a third to annoy Joe Hockey. Playgrounds full of little lefty kids wearing t shirts that read "WHITE AUSTRALIA HAS A BLACK HISTORY" and "THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE" whilst their two dads look on adoringly and sip chai lattes. What a great future for the country. Let's all have more babies.

What's Wrong With Michelle Bridges

I used to just feel a bit sorry for Michelle Bridges. When she sprouts nonsense like "nothing tastes as good as thin feels" - a triumph of the inane - all I could think was "lady, you need better recipes. Acitvated almonds and sprouts are not a meal". But it's okay. Her view on the world is different from mine. I believe enjoyment of good food is one of the very best things about being alive, she believes having a good body is more important than availing oneself of such pleasures. That's fine.

But then, in this piece on Daily Life, she decides to apply her wisdom to parenting as well. Helicopter parenting produces fat kids, she has decided. And I got to thinking about what, precisely, is wrong with Michelle Bridges' view of the world. Now, I don't fall into the school of thought that people without children are not entitled to an opinion on raising them. But I rankle at the idea of Michelle Bridges doling out shame and guilt on how others raise their kids. What makes her so perfect?

Nothing. Nothing at all. I find her entire worldview glorifies shallowness and aesthetics. Bridges offers a hugely popular twelve week body improvement course which is all about "building a better you". But her better you is not achieved through introspection, volunteer work, activism, or being a better family member or neighbour. It's all about going to the gym. The person you are is defined by the body you have. Fat is a sign of weakness and shame, to be eliminated. I can only feel a vague sense of sorrow as I read of people proudly boasting of getting up to go to the gym at 5:30am. If only all that effort was put into really improving themselves and the world, instead of just physiques! I'm sure they'd say "well if it makes me feel better, what's the harm?". And I can understand, a bit. I had a horror birth with BabyG, and jogging was an important part of my recovery that helped me feel my body was "mine" again. But I understood it was not making me a better person. Just a person who went running. (And if we're going to get into aesthetics here - I'm sorry Ms Bridges, but heavy exercise is ageing. And you are no exception).

Like I say, I'd live and let live. If people are going to spend time on themselves, exercising is surely better than playing poker machines or watching DVD box sets. But I'm sick of all this "best version of yourself" crud applied to parenting. Sorry, but I think Ms Bridges' values are so skewed that she's no right to decide how others raise their kids. And am I the only one who's pretty bloody disturbed at the idea of children being subjected to an "arduous training session"? If your kids could do with a bit of exercise, get out and play a family game in the garden. If they're old enough, take them along to volunteer for a neighbourhood regeneration program. But keep them away from the insipid, shallow values of Michelle Bridges.

Breastfeeding - The End of the Road

BabyG started daycare yesterday. As DH fretted about facing the days without his little friend, I was completely fine. It didn't bother me at all. It was just a step forward in his life, another milestone to be marked off...until that is, I bought some labels to sew in BabyG's clothes. And there, in the haberdashery section of Big W, it hit me. "Oh my god", I thought, "he needs labels in his clothes because he's starting his life without us!". It begins, I thought, first daycare, then school, and then he'll start going out with friends and learn to drive and go overseas and move out. Our baby! (Freaking out over major life events in retail establishments seems to be a habit of mine. I had a panic attack over my upcoming wedding in the Salvation Army store in Marrickville. "This wasn't supposed to happen", I thought as I struggled for air, "I was supposed to OD at 26, not get married and have kids").

In our hearts though, we knew BabyG would be fine, and he was. He's such a feisty, fearless kid it's hard to really worry, and sure enough, once he was in the door he was off at a great pace, running around meeting people and playing with the toys, wiggling free when we tried to hug him goodbye. No tears all day, we were told at pick up. We all knew he was ready for this. As an only kid, it's time he learnt to socialise a bit. He gets bored at home. It's time to put away the baby things, and BabyG has lead the way, taking this time to wean himself.

It's been coming for a while. For the last two months or so BabyG would only take a feed every couple of days, and that under sufferance, when I pulled him on to my lap, or if he woke in the night. And for the last two weeks or so - nothing. He won't take a feed at all. If I offer, he laughs, shakes his head, will even pull my top up to cover the bosom whilst giving it a "there, there, sorry, but it's over" pat. He's as affectionate as ever - he particularly loves sitting on my lap, just because he likes to be there - but he don't want no breastfeed. He's done, and I'm glad he chose it this way himself. The only part of our breastfeeding journey which was easy and natural was the end. I've written here previously about our huge difficulties breastfeeding, and that given our time over, I'm not sure I'd do it again.

But we made it to sixteen months, and I'm happy and grateful we had that; I'm not as suffused by warm maternal glow as the media would like to portray mothers, especially long(ish) term breastfeeders. It was lovely to have that bond, and once I made the decision at around six months to just keep going with this thing and see how long it lasts, I did wonder how it would end. We broke every rule in the "how to establish successful breastfeeding" book; BabyG had formula in hospital, and I expressed feeds so I could go out for a bit when he was three weeks old, and we comp fed from 6-12 months, and he had a dummy...and without any of those things, I doubt we would have made it this long. Wisdom also goes that kids don't wean themselves before age two by choice. Nonsense. I can assure you this is completely BabyG's choice, and I'm not pregnant, and haven't done anything differently to affect the milk, and offered, and he refused.

I wondered how it would feel when it ended. Slightly nostalgic - the TTC/pregnancy/birth/breastfeeding part of my life is over. But we are ready, really - I'm ready to move on to the next stage of my life, getting my career on track; and so is he, ready to be a big boy, not a baby anymore. He'll always be our baby, of course; but not one that needs or wants bosom anymore.

Selective Schools The Magic Button?

I was recently moved to read a twitter friend's account of her experiences with her ten year old son, a sensitive, intelligent boy who was being bullied at school. They worried what to do, met with the principal, eventually made the difficult decision to move their son to a new school. One point that struck a dark note with me is their prior hope that they and their son would be able to wait it out until he got to high school, or specifically a selective high school, where he would be amongst children like himself and the bullying would stop. The reason this caught in my throat was I experienced the worst bullying of my life at a selective high school. I'm dismayed at the perception that bullying doesn't go on at selective schools, and that they're the answer for intelligent, bullied kids.

In my case it made festering problems worse. I arrived at selective high school age 11, young for my cohort, and with the manifestations of Asperger's Syndrome that would not be identified for another almost 20 years. In addition, there were problems at home, and I was, basically, an awkward, oversensitive, emotional wreck. It was hoped that after a friendless primary school experience, selective school would be where I "found my place". But even at a selective school, kids are still kids. They can immediately spot the outsider, the weak one. In this case I became the target, and the target of kids who had not only the streak of nastiness that bullies can show, but the intelligence to make their attacks all the more personal, insightful and vicious. The things I did "wrong" - from wearing an official school hat (I quite liked them) to reading the encyclopedia at lunch time - made me a target for physical and emotional bullying that has left me with scars to this day.

But no one would believe such things could go on. Smart kids were good kids, right? For me it was a dreadful time. My academic performance suffered, inevitably. Therein lies another issue with selective schools - someone has to be at the bottom of the academic rankings. Kids with a history of academic achievement, who would be the star pupil at a comprehensive high school, find themselves at the bottom of the pile with all the disincentive and damage to self esteem that entails. For some it is a spur to work harder; others never recover. Some of my former classmates are human rights barristers, TV personalities, academics, surgeons. Others have disappeared into the same pit of despair I languished in for much of my life.

As for my education though, by the end of Year Nine, I'd had enough and refused to go back; the school, with me marked as a trouble maker and failure, wasn't so keen to have me around either, so by everyone's agreement, I transferred to a comprehensive high school, repeated Year Nine, got heavily involved in drama and debating (it had a good performing arts program), and did well academically, and my teachers liked me, and if there was any bullying I was older and smarter and able to handle it.

I'm not a fan of the selective school system. I know it works well for some children, but it drains resources from comprehensive schools, and can have a terrible effect on the kids who go there who don't do so well there. I don't know what I'll do if BabyG wants to go to a selective school. And they're not the magic cure for bullying. If only something was.

The Next Chapter

Well, after four hellish months of applications, I've finally gotten a job. Hellish is little exaggeration - I applied for over 100 jobs in that time, none of them outlandishly beyond my qualifications and experience. In the vast majority of cases, I received a form email of rejection ("the quality of applications was very high...except for yours, so no") or heard nothing back at all. About fifteen times though, I was invited in for an interview. Gah. So you get your suit dry cleaned, iron your shirt, pack spare stockings, do your hair, nails, and make up, Google map search the location, turn up, sit awkwardly in reception staring in to middle distance, then are invited in to face interviewers who, rather than discussing your skills and work history, want to play with the recruiters' toy of choice these days - behavioural questions. How I came to loathe these. Incident - action - outcome, you'd try to remember as you gave your response, but the slightest deviation from the formula and it was all over. So you'd go home and wait for the phone call of doom - I could tell the outcome from the interviewer's tone as they said Hello, without having to wait for the "unfortunately on this occasion you have not been successful. Also can you help us settle a debate we've been having in the office - what is that peculiar odour of yours?" - or else hear nothing back at all and know you've missed out. Now, I know it's a recruiters market. I know there are a lot of applicants. But if someone reads your ad, customises their resume, answers your selection criteria, sends the lot off, completes your telephone interview, then takes a stressful half-day to prepare and come in for an interview, AT LEAST TAKE 90 SECONDS TO SEND THEM A FUCKING EMAIL letting them know how it went. One job I applied for was as a youth worker with a very well respected charity. I had to prepare a workshop presentation for young people. I spent hours working on the damn thing, but felt really pleased with how it went when I presented it for the selection panel. They seemed like lovely people. But after all that effort, I never heard back, and yes I'm still angry.

Still though, in the end I have gotten a job. It's...well, there's no shame in honest work. It's in an office, and the hours are good, and I can't ask for much more than that (and in Newcastle, if you can't drive, you really can't ask for more than that - it is impossible to find work in either advertising or community services without a car and licence). It'll give me a chance to sort out my long term goals, anyway. But I'm wary. Being unexpectedly retrenched is a little like having your house robbed, I imagine - you never feel quite safe again, the security you once took for granted replaced by a fear that one day, any day, the manager will call you in to their office and apologetically explain that they will have to let you go. There's nothing I can do to prevent it; I'll just have to live with it, and yearn for the days of lifetime employment.

So the next chapter of our family's life begins. I'll become the primary breadwinner, and DH will take over the role of stay at home dad for the time being, whilst we sort out babysitters and childcare (the childcare crisis is real, and nationwide - I really wish the successive governments who pressed our wombs into duty for the sake of the nation had made a little more provision for the care and education of those children down the track. Nationalise the childcare sector already!). This will be interesting. I don't have much time for the stupid battle of the sexes, men are clueless idiots when it comes to household tasks rubbish, but it remains that for most of the four years we've been together, I've done most of the domestic management. And I'm a bit of a control freak ("DH, don't sweep like that! You're just dabbing the broom on the floor. Put some shoulder into it!"). He's fabulous with BabyG, but the housework...we'll have to see. I'll have to restrain myself from coming home from my first day of work then checking to see what's been done. Then there's the constant comments. I've been told more than a few times how lucky I am that DH looks after BabyG so much, and that I'm lucky he's willing to stay home with him. No, if we won lotto and no one had to work, we'd be lucky. This is just our reality - after moving cities, we can't find childcare, and I have the harder time being home all day, so I'm going off to work. Will I get resentful, though? Will I, deep down, think of the money I earn for the family as really being "mine"? I don't know, I've never been in this situation before. It will be a learning experience for us all, a chance to grow as a person. At least all the growing I've done as a person in the last few years is a better excuse for the weight gain than potatoes in sour cream, wine and cookies.

Breastfeeding - A Case for Middle Ground

So BabyG recently turned one, and I achieved a milestone I never thought I'd reach - one year of breastfeeding. I never thought we'd make it, and according to conventional wisdom, we shouldn't have. We've broken every rule in the "how to establish successful breastfeeding" book. BabyG had a little formula in hospital when my milk didn't come in and he was dehydrated (astonishingly, there are mothers who would prefer, if their milk was slow to come in and their child was dehydrated, an IV drip to formula); I regularly pumped breastmilk which he was given in a bottle so I could get out for a few hours from the time he was three weeks old; and most damningly of all, at six months and at the end of my rope with exhaustion and PND, I decided to start comp feeding with formula, only doing one or two breastfeeds a day, figuring "if he weans...what the heck, we've had a decent run". Well, now that BabyG is one, we've stopped the formula according to feeding guidelines for a child his age...and he's still enjoying breastfeeding. In fact, without the formula he's having a few more feeds a day. None of this has done him any harm. He's never had more than a slight runny nose, he's slightly ahead on his milestones, formula has failed to damage him in any of the ways reputed.

So why am I telling you all this? As I've said, I've gone against all the conventional wisdom on breastfeeding - and without doing so, I doubt very much I would have stuck with it at all. The conventional wisdom advocates an all-or-nothing approach. Turn to the Australian Breastfeeding Association, or a lactation consultant, or the breastfeeding section of most parenting forums, and you will receive the same advice - any formula will cause lasting damage to the baby's gut bacteria; bottles and dummies will cause nipple confusion and breast refusal; pumping and giving expressed milk interrupts the establishment of feeding; and, most damagingly of all, that breastfeeding is a natural art practiced by all mammals until lost to us in modern society - almost any woman can breastfeed successfully as long as she has enough support and just wants it enough, does all the right things, tries hard enough. (And surely any loving mother would be willing to try hard enough?). Interestingly on the idea of breastfeeding being something instinctive and natural that only modern women have lost the knack of, in hospital as I desperately tried to feed BabyG I wondered aloud why I was struggling when female mammals do it automatically. The midwife replied that it's not always easy or natural, and in the wild, lots of baby animals die because their mothers can't feed them. And in the pre-formula days, without a wet nurse or family member who could breastfeed, so did a lot of human babies.

Anyway, faced with such a rigid and exhausting list of rules, it's no wonder so many mothers give up and decide to drop breastfeeding all together. It's one thing to know in advance of having children that you'll not have time to yourself for years, quite another to have been stuck in the house for weeks and feel unable to leave the baby with your partner for a couple of hours whilst you go to the gym or get your haircut. Let alone to feel your body is no longer your own (coming off the back of a possibly difficult pregnancy) or even come to secretly resent your child for the constant demands on your body and soul. And it's even harder when you hear of the mothers who smugly boast they breastfed their child on demand until 26 months and if you loved yours, surely you could do it too. So they give up, and turn to full time formula feeding in a fit of guilt and resentment. All of the choices I made - early EBM, comp feeding - I could find no information on, no support, only a sense that I was doing a terrible thing for my baby but I had to for my mental health. It turned out, however, that what I was doing wasn't so bad for him at all.

Surely we can find a middle ground. It doesn't have to be all or nothing. Health authorities promote exclusive breastfeeding till six months as the golden standard, and it is - we can all agree that breastmilk is the better nutritional option for babies than formula. But surely any breastmilk is better than none? In the current climate of the dos and do-nots pitted against each other, considering that the majority of women want to breastfeed, surely it is better to create a climate that supports women to achieve a level of breastfeeding they feel comfortable with, rather than pursuing the all-or-nothing mantra? As I've written previously, the current guidelines aren't working in terms of increasing breastfeeding rates, and the usual reaction of doing more of the same is not a helpful one. Women and babies (and their stressed, supportive partners and family members) deserve more practical, real world support than this. I can't be the only one who's broken the rules and breastfed to tell the tale. It can be done.