Author: Veronica

  • Walking, oh my god, someone hold me please because WALKING

    Two nights ago, Evelyn took her first unassisted steps, walking two steps between the coffee table and couch. She looked incredibly proud of herself and while, two days later, she’s not running around the house, she is moving easily between furniture that requires only a step or two to reach.

    She’s 14 months old, and taking her first steps months ahead of schedule.

    I am so proud.

    Yes, we still have challenges, but she walked, you guys. She WALKED. By herself! Without help! SHE WALKED.

    Yeah. I’m pretty thrilled.

  • How much fat does an apple contain?

    pediasure

    Do you know that a lot of yogurts only have 4% fat?

    Gippsland Dairy is better, they have 6.5% fat. Ski Divine has 7.8% according to their website. Danone is even better – less sugar than Gippsland and Ski and 8% fat. But Farmer’s Union Greek Yogurt has a total amount of 9.7% fat and no sugar at all.

    Unfortunately the lack of sugar makes it almost unpalateable for Evelyn, unless I add things to it, which negates the fat percentages. If half the yogurt eaten is actually applesauce (made from pure apples, high in vitamin C, containing carbs and energy, but not enough nutrition to live on), then it’s less beneficial than 4TB of plain Danone yogurt.

    This is not a sponsored post. This is just where my head is at lately, while keeping a food diary for Evelyn and trying to add Pediasure to all the things. This morning I made whole egg custard because Evelyn both enjoys the taste and can swallow it. I added Pediasure to the end product and voila, there was three tablespoons of highly nutritious food for morning tea.

    I cheered because she managed 5 tablespoons (FIVE, count them, FIVE) of thin porridge with yogurt and pediasure this morning for breakfast.

    Why yes, I am going a little insane, obsessing over everything Eve puts in her mouth. But that’s my job. I’m her mother and a toddler cannot live on breastmilk alone as our (new, lovely) dietician pointed out to me the other day. So I’m keeping a food diary, writing everything down and trying to replace day feeds with pediasure bottles.

    You wish you were me right now, don’t you.

    Mothers of toddlers everywhere are attempting to get their special snowflakes to eat sandwiches at lunchtime. I’m feeding my child ice-cream and custard. It’s a big perspective shift for me, who originally felt that toddlers should survive on everything that isn’t sweet, unless it’s fruit and then, go for your life.

    Welcome to Reality, Veronica. Here, have a cookbook, a list of fat percentages, and a can of nutritional supplement. YOU’RE GOING TO NEED THEM.

    We’re lucky. Evelyn enjoys food still. She likes to taste everything, even if she cannot swallow a lot of it. This is a good thing, I’m told. She’s just as likely to eat a piece of steamed cauliflower, as a spoonful of ice-cream (even if the cauliflower doesn’t have nearly enough fat), and she adores cheese cubes (better) and rice crackers (eh, practically empty nutrition).

    So here we are.

    Bottles of partially tasted supplement litter my kitchen sink and I’ve taken to wondering if syringe feeding pediasure would be easier than giving bottles. I make them up in 50ml lots now and throw out 45 ml when after two hours Evelyn has had three sips. Maybe it’s the bottle, maybe it’s the taste, maybe it’s that Evelyn doesn’t seem to get hungry.

    Who knows?

    It’s complicated.

    Until something changes, I’m making custards, ice-cream and bottles in equal measure.

  • My creativity well runs dry

    If you walk out through my kitchen door and keep walking, down to the end of the semi-enclosed barbeque area, you will find a shed. Full of odds and ends – old shelves, Christmas decorations, kittens – it is the perfect size for an office, and I spend long minutes dreaming of the day when it’s cleaned out, revamped and mine (MINE!) to write in. There’s a small window, looking towards the poppy fields.

    I want to write. I wake up and I juggle fiction around breakfasts and school lunches, showers and dishes.

    Shush children, Mummy is writing.

    I wonder if I’m doing them a disservice by keeping this small part of me intact, unsullied by motherhood. But I think I’d be doing myself a disservice if I give everything I am to my children.

    I have projects on the go everywhere, and nothing is getting my full attention.

    Before Evelyn, I used to write best of an afternoon. Now we start our days at 5am and by 8pm I am dead on my feet.

    But isn’t this the refrain of tired parents everywhere?

    Children are demanding, housework is insidious, creativity drips from the end of our washing up gloves until we’re dried out and used up, unable to do much more than read a bedtime story and fall into bed ourselves.

    Yesterday I sent all three of my children outside to frolic in the mid-afternoon sun while I locked myself in my bedroom and wrote the things I needed to get out of my head. Writing is like that. I can’t ignore it, even as I procrastinate around it.

    NaNoWriMo is looming on my horizon and I’m torn between wanting desperately to participate and knowing how good it is for me, to dreading feeling the pressure. But then pressure is good. I work best under pressure, right?

    Right.

    Basically, to summerise: My life is hard, fiction is hard, children are hard; I wouldn’t change a single moment.

    Stamen

     

  • Beating my dead horse

    (Which is better than beating a live goat, just for the record)

    And in case you haven’t read enough of my dramatics and opinions lately, I wrote a satirical piece about Tree People and how we ought to deal with them in an ideal world. You know you want to read it.

  • Whoops, sorry, did I express my disappointment?

    that's what I meant

    What I obviously meant to say was:

    “Hail to our New Liberal Lizard Overlords. I bow down before you, a humble servant.

    Please don’t report me to the Internet Police for daring to hold an unfortunate minority view.

    I welcome this new age of hating everybody equally.”