How to protect them

I write this in the quiet hours of the night. Willow has just had her 11pm feed and I read this from the Australian:

Welfare authorities failed a seven-year-old girl who starved to death on a urine-soaked mattress...Ebony's room at Matraville was boarded up and the house smelt of urine and faeces. During the last two agonising years of Ebony's life, whose body weighed just 9kg when she was discovered at her home in November 2007, the dying girl received not a shred of assistance from official agencies...The NSW Supreme Court last week sentenced Ebony's mother to life in prison for murder and Ebony's father to 16 years behind bars for her manslaughter.

I don't know why these reports always shock me. But they do. I know that some people are screwed up and have big issues, and these same people have children. But the thought that someone would leave this poor girl boarded up in a room to starve and defecate in until her death totally sickens me, as I think it should sicken everybody, Christian or not.

The article is obviously taking a dig at DoCS for their poor handling of the case. I'm happy that the Labor Gov. has given them a huge funding lately. So it should. But I'm sure that DoCS probably needs about 15 times that much to handle every case properly (as we would deem "sufficient").

I've heard the following details from friends that work in the system. If there were 2 cases and in one case the child is being beaten and in the other the child is being sexually abused, usually they only have 1 willing family to take a child. The spot will go to the child that's being physically abused. Because the former child's needs are greater than the raped girl. The physically abused child is more in danger of dying, that is. Is this a good means of assessment?

Regardless, the point I really want to make is that there should be the 2 homes for the kids to enter into. DoCS shouldn't need to prioritise like that. In a world where children are almost idolised, I find it an anomaly that there aren't more foster carers. Is our society so selfish that we only truly care about those who share our blood line?

I hope that one day Craig and I will be at a stage of life where we can use our stable home to care for the neediest children in Sydney. Maybe God will give us a child to care for through the state. I'm sure my expectations of that child would be different to my own, but how different? I understand that a child coming out of imprisonment in their own room for years would have special needs. But what? How different would they need to be treated from my own children? Would a child that has been through so much abuse for so many years be able to cope with schooling? Would they speak? Would they still urinate in their bed at 7 years old? To get an idea of this girl's state, Ebony (alias) weighed 4kgs less than Avalon does at 2 years of age.

I can't even type out my raw emotions at the moment. I'm overwhelmed. The darkness of this world gets compounded by the day. I want to help these children. Somehow. One or more. Who knows, but I want to put it out there that each of us in a loving family should think seriously about sacrificing our picture-perfect family for these children. They are the downtrodden of this world. They are the helpless ones, who don't even make the choices to wind up in these horrific scenes. They just become the headlines. And sometimes DoCS isn't even aware of them. They suffer for the mistakes of their carers. Their parents should have protected them. DoCS should have protected them. But we can't just hold these cases out at arms length as it's so easy to do.

We need to protect them.

Read the full article at http://www.theaustralian.news.com.au/story/0,25197,26176011-5006784,00.html

Accepting the inevitable

It's 'mediocre' virus time at the Hamiltons. You know the types. The ones that appear as a sore throat in the morning and a headache and progress to the stage where you notice it all the time, but it's not bad enough to get antibiotics for? Yeah, I know that you knew what I was talking about.

Craig fell sick, then me, then Ava, then Willow followed by the dog (ok, so i'm embellishing a little there).

I know what this means for me- lots of water (if i remember), lots of sleep (if i can get it) and some fruit high in vitamin c (breastfeeding makes taking medicine virtually impossible). I know what this means for Craig (I forget he's even sick because he doesn't like to mope, so he ends up being sick for weeks on end.)

But what does it mean for the kids? Well, Ava's now one and a half, so it just means she's even more sensitive and clingy than normal (can it be possible???) and I've just discovered what that means for a newborn. Back to feeding every 2 hours! Just when you get a little more sleep and a little more "me" time, they snatch it away from you again...

It's a good thing that God makes them too cute to ignore in times like this. =)

And can I say, that I'm missing my Mum, too. If she wasn't visiting my poor sister in Qld who never gets regular help with her toddler like I do, then I know that she'd look after the kids for me so I could get some kick-'a' day sleep.

=) At least Mum taught me that it's nice to 'take turns'. And Alexandra, this weekend is all you're getting! (just kidding, gorgeous Alex, you're amazing!)

I knew it

It's entirely my fault. Avalon had a sleep today for 2 hours, and after waking this morning with a sore throat, i took the opportunity to have a long sleep.

I've learnt before that if I want her to go down at 7pm with minimal fuss, I can't give her more than an hour and 15 during the day in nap time. But I broke the rules. Caus I was tired. And, I mean, how often is is that both girls sleep at the same time so that I can indulge in this lovely afternoon nap? Answer- not often.

So at 7.45 when I was learning some great Masterchef recipes (mmm... scones), Avalon was still awake in her cot and asking for "Mummay more tuggles" in between sobs.

I went in and she's there with her dummy in her mouth, and clutching the spare dummy in her other hand. She immediately stands up.

A little frustrated, I say to her "Avalon, I just want to sit down and watch my tv show. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yep" came her reply.

I wonder when kids start to learn when a question is rhetorical.

Showering alone

Another thing that nobody cared to warn me about when entering motherhood.

The showering experience is redefined.

No longer is it a chance to spend time with your thoughts and the water. No longer does the beating of the wet drown out the cares of the world. Because now, those cares in my world are there with me. In the bathroom. With little hands that pull out shaving cream from drawers and toothpaste tubes off benches.

Those cares are also staring at you with interest while you tell yourself that you shouldn't let your own kid make you feel self-conscious. I mean, one look at them naked and you can tell they haven't given the shape of their curves a second thought.

Those carefree shower days are mostly gone for now, and replaced with singing hi-5 songs and encouraging them to play alone with the various toys you have chosen to occupy them with for the duration of shower time.

It's definitely not a time for me to relax with my own thought. For days where I have ventured to do so end in disaster.

One time, I came to and noticed that the cupboard was not locked, and Ava had fished out a shaver to play with. I thankfully launched out of the shower, saturating her and the floor as I narrowly prevented it from entering her mouth.

But I tell you what, struggling to keep them occupied is still better than waking up 15 minutes earlier than them to chance a shower alone.

Oh precious, precious, ever elusive sleep....

Unexpected stay

Craig and I have had a hospital tour on our "to do list" for a while now. Seeing as how the tour is held on a Sunday at 2pm (terribly inconvenient for Church Pastors), this task has stayed on the list for a while, awaiting a Sunday afternoon in between services where Craig has no other responsibilities or meetings to attend to.

So when we went for our tour last Sunday, I was feeling under the weather. Fainty and nauseated, and with painful braxton hicks, I thought that I should probably just mention it to the midwives after the tour.

Needless to say, I was a little surprised when our "checkup" turned into an overnight stay, with me hooked up to heart monitors and a saline drip. They thought I was probably dehydrated, because sometimes that can cause labour like symptoms and increased heart rate. After being forced to drink 2 litres of water (which really helped the nausea!) and 2 litres of intravenous saline later, that idea was replaced with another. 

Maybe I have a virus?

The quickest blood tests I have ever received (40 minutes) later, and they are none the wiser. Nothing showed up. Healthy all round. Except that my heart rate was over 100 and little bubs was over 210. The midwives shared concerned, meaningful looks amongst themselves.

They deliberated for hours. Should we cut her open and get this baby out, or shouldn't we?

Being a couple of days over 37 weeks, they kept passing the buck. Superiors and then superiors to superiors were sent into my room, each time standing beside my bed and pouring over the 4 - 5 hours of trace that had been pumped out of the machine beside me.

It was a frightening place to be in. Firstly, because I wanted to scream to them "you're not cutting me open without my approval!" and then realising that they were the experts here, and thinking that there is a possibility that they could save my daughter's life. How did I know what was best for my child at that point?

It was a daunting few hours. For someone like me, who loves answers and research, and well thought through decisions, it was excruciating.

I prayed many times. Not just about the baby's health, but also about accepting whatever was in store for me. What comfort it brought to me, knowing that there was a reason to all of this happening, and a God who is orchestrating all of this for my good. To better me somehow. To  stretch me and force me to rely on him in the unknown.

The specialists decided to wait a little longer till they assessed my situation again. A few hours passed and whatever was ailing me subsided. Our heartrates were lowering to a more "acceptable" level. They scheduled 2 ultrasounds to check for placental bleeds (of which none were found), and I got to see my gorgeous baby at 37 weeks for free. Twice!

Once my fainting episodes subsided, I enjoyed some alone time in the ward (which was well needed) and also some mandatory bed rest, which despite the rock hard beds, could still be counted as a blessing from the Lord. My parents looked after little Avalon till well into the next day, and despite throwing up the breakfast, I did get to enjoy and keep down a rather delightful "cooked" lunch which I didn't prepare myself.

So the bottom line- they let me go. Hooray! I thought they may keep me in there for weeks after being "double checked" a thousand times before releasing me.

And all in all the hospital extended visit was a real bonus for me. God helped me to deal with my fear of a caesarean, I saw my already chubby 3.4kg baby twice, received a cooked lunch and free babysitting, and several hours of uninterrupted time with my husband (which was the best gift of all. He's altogether lovely!) With the added bonus of now feeling very comfortable at the hospital, which I now know won't stall my labour heading in.

My God really does know how to give me good gifts- even when on the outset it looks like a nightmare. 

So now I'm home and happy and feeling very connected to this second life God's placed inside me. I can't wait to see her for real.

Guilt

I don't think there's anything I've ever experienced that brings me greater guilt than when I can't fulfill my duties as a mother.

I'm writing this while I listen to Avalon with hysterical tears dripping down her face. I've patted her for long enough to get a severe case of heartburn and aching legs that feel as though the veins will explode if i don't give them some time out. And unfortunately, 10 minutes patting and rubbing her while leaning over the cot is the best I can do with my pregnant limitations at the moment. It's such a shame that this is a repeat scenario every Friday and Sunday night when Craig's out and can't assist. It's almost as though she knows.

So I'm sitting here, trying to regain some type of strength so I can head back in and do some more stroking before my legs and arms give way under the strain of carrying another child.

I guess it's times like this where I sometimes think it would be so much easier to have a 3 year old and be in this situation. There's much less guilt when they're fully aware of what is required of them and they have the developed mind to understand what is meant by "it's time to sleep".

Needless to say, I've had a straining day today and I'm feeling more than a little sorry for myself, as Ava has only had 20 minutes sleep all day, and myself, 10. 

Ok, I'm gonna head back in to the zone and try to permeate calmness out of my pores despite feeling like I've been listening to nails down a chalkboard for the last month. (deep breath)

Glimpses of a life once known well.

Tonight, Craig and I enjoyed a rare night out alone.

Sure, it was just a movie, Subway and a coffee, but to me, that spells bliss and romance.

I think when we first got engaged, this is how I imagined our entire existence as a couple would be. Nights out and about, dinners with friends. City adventures. Things like that.

And for a lot of our relationship, we've had that together. And it's been liberating and enjoyable and refreshing.

Now that we're in baby-making mode (see exhibit A), our time together and out as a couple has changed hugely.

Thankfully, we've been able to adapt so far to accept the loss of freedoms. Our adventures are much more localised, though still fun to the same degree, and our friends have had to adapt to the changes, too. Not everyone wants to sit around on our lounge all night/day and call it an "outing". But I can put into perspective this stage of life and see that, whilst limiting, is also just another season in the ebb and flow of our existence.

I have to remember that as long as Craig and I are still maintaining a relationship, it doesn't really matter what setting we're a part of. We can be at home having some nice chitchats or at a fancy restaurant looking over the harbour, but essentially, we just have to talk and listen.

If we can do both of those things, God will continue to enrich our relationship together.

So, tonight, under a starless sky, i looked over at my husband. A man who amazes me everyday. He can preach God's helpful words to teenagers and yet still find the headspace to answer my convoluted doctrinal questions at night. He can wake up in the morning with energy out of sheer will to entertain our beloved daughter while I get some chores done, and then go on to spend the rest of his day and night trying to be helpful to people in their friendship with our Lord.

I'm totally in love with him still, and with this new parenting stage of life, I see further into the depths of his character and my breath is taken away all over again. I am very blessed to have him as my husband, and as he grows in love to God, I reap the benefits of God moulding his mind and heart. 

Two looks like so much more.

In the whole spirit of "spending money to keep the economy strong", we've invested this week in a double pram.

I use the word 'invested' loosely, because obviously, once you've bought a good, it depreciates in value. But we're investing in the well being of Australia! 

This new spin on consumerism does my head in, really! Never before has the whole of Australia or the Government been backing my spending choices in such a whole-hearted fashion. It almost makes me feel good about myself. Consider this- I spend money, not just to satisfy my own desires but also as a noble move to better the people who live in my country. But seriously, what ludicrous propaganda. Even if it has an element of truth to it.

So anyway, back to the double pram. It certainly looks like it will do the job of hiking 2 kids from point A to point B, but the proof will be in the pushing. I used to think a pram is a pram, until I bought my very nice current 3 wheeler from the trading post. It looks good, and it does push a variety of things (kids included) but the issue lies on whether you're pushing on a perfectly horizontal surface or whether you're on a slight incline. I spend my time pushing this pram around Glenmore Park, counteracting the force of gravity to try to push it over on it's side by pushing and leaning with all my weight on the opposite side to counteract gravity. Needless to say, this pram is going as soon as more than a 10kg baby is up in this pram, assisting gravity and working against a poor, struggling Mum. (That's me in this scenario).

So I'm anticipating with great joy the years of use from this new $800 pram. Spread out between 6 kids, that's only like $133.33 dollars per kid! Bargain! (Please note the sarcasm)

So along with a new bassinette that holds a kid up to 10kgs (Avy's weight now) and a borrowed carseat from Craig's helpful parents, the house is fuller, the car is looking a lot more like a family vehicle and my life is looking a lot more full with a lot less spare time again. But I can't wait! Just a whole house worth of cleaning to do first in preparation.

Realising that life works better with kids when it's structured, I've written out schedules for every week for the first 8 weeks of the baby's life to structure feeds and work out how I'm going to keep a very active toddler entertained during these tedious stretches. It's certainly chaotic, but I think if i can get them both into as much of a routine as possible early on, then at least my nights will be more restful than if they run on their own schedules. Thankyou Gina Ford!

The routine worked more or less with Avy, and she slept from 10.30pm till 7am with a sleepy middle of the night feed in there somewhere. So it's worked once, let's hope for two co-operative kids! Less than 6 weeks to go in the countdown to Willow's birth...

Be as ordinary as you may be for the rest of forever.

As I was reading about Mary and Elizabeth in Luke's gospel, a realisation crept over me. How strange it must have been for these two women to have been told that they were carrying children of vital importance to God's saving plan for the world.

Elizabeth, falling pregnant in her old age to a son. Moreover, this news of a son was delivered by an angel! How crazy must you have looked, telling people that your son was going to "make ready a people prepared for the Lord".

And then take Mary as well, getting the news from the same angel that her son would be given everlasting reign on the throne of David! It would have been a lot to accept, coming from an angel's lips. I'm sure they questioned their sanity a lot, as would have others. But at least these two women had eachother to talk to. Their children were indeed special. 

One was John the Baptist, whose task it was to prepare the people for their Lord Jesus' coming. And the other- God himself incarnate, who assumed the physicality of humanity in order to free it from slavery. I don't think these two women really understood who their children were and how they were integral to God's plans for the whole world by raising these kids. But it gives me comfort to know that they probably didn't understand just how important their kids' were. It would certainly have been hard for Mary to not play favourites when Jesus was in amongst his regular brothers if she really knew that Jesus was the third person of the trinity of the Christian Godhead. I'm sure it would have been hard anyway, having the most perfect of children in amongst brothers and possibly sisters with regular human sinful actions.

But I digress. My thoughts just wander when I think of how these women were given news of their pregnancies by an angel. Would it have made the pregnancies even more filled with anticipation? Would the women have felt superiority over other friends who just had "boring ordinary" children? Would they have struggled with pride? I'm guessing so.

It also seems so funny to put these children alongside Avalon and other kids I know. No angel has visited me or my friends as far as I'm aware. Our kids will grow up to be ordinary people. Just regular, everyday, run of the mill type adults (most likely). And in this day and age, I think many parents would be quite upset to think that their children wont 'excel', 'succeed' or be in a higher plane of achievement than their peers. And that makes me sad.

Avalon, all I want for you is that you know your maker and King and that your life reflects your awe and thankfulness to him. Avy, all I pray for you is that you are in his flock. The good shepherd's. You can be a toilet-cleaner, you can fail at reading or writing at school, you could be all in all very unimpressive to others, and it won't matter one bit. Because you, my daughter, will be the daughter of a King. And when this King assumes his throne completely, it won't matter what your day job was or how well you 'succeeded' with worldly endeavours. What will matter though is whether you have a friendship with that King. And if you do, he will continue to lavish love on you for all of forever.

Please, no noise!

I never took offense to people with noisy cars before I had children. 

They were certainly unimpressive. Flaunting their powerful engines as they took off down the street. But now I get so incensed by our neighbours revving their engines in the driveway during baby sleep times that I feel myself get hot. That's a frightening level of anger. Especially towards someone who has no idea that there is a baby in the house near them. 

They don't realise (and neither did I until Avy arrived) that kids are quite sensitive sleepers. If they wake up and it's too hot to get back to sleep/ too noisy/ they're hungry/ they see an interesting toy, then that's it for the day. You can be assured that the remainder of the day is filled with a tired Mum (from little rest) and a grumpy child whose body begs for sleep, but who won't go back, no matter how much patting, milk bottles or shushing you do. This often leads to injury from tired little legs plodding around the house in an uncoordinated way, several tantrums from Mum saying 'no' to things they know they're not allowed to do and a general misery fills the house for the next 5 hours.

Then another attempted sleep time starts and this tired child is now over-tired and will not go to sleep unless you cuddle their heaving, wretching and shaking from sobs body almost to sleep. (This is not something I practice normally and am not keen to start accustoming myself to being 5 months pregnant.) A tired Mum, a tired baby and a very drawn out sleeptime leaves the whole house in a shambles for the rest of the night. Once she's finally asleep at 8.30, there's no way I have energy to do much healthy cooking or any cleaning to prepare myself for the following day.

These boys have no idea how their lives have collided with mine. I've never spoken a word to them in my life, but their actions have caused me suffering. And they'll probably never know it.

It makes me wonder whose lives I've impacted on negatively without ever having met them. If you're reading this and you think I might be that person- I'm sorry!

Sin starts early

I've been convinced over my life that sin is found in us from birth. We enter into sin and it becomes one with our thoughts and hearts.

So I'm not ultra surprised when I see Avalon's impatience break out. Now that her mind is developing sounds to communicate these thoughts, Craig and I have been bombarded with many angry grunts a day. Grunts when she's sick of waiting for her food (it takes all of 15 seconds, but 15 seconds too long), grunts when we say "no" and close a poisons cabinet that she's just opened (we're working on building up her immunity to pestisides and cleaning products), grunts about anything she finds dissatisfying. Really, angry grunt about many things she dislikes in the day, the regular one being nappy change time.

It's good to see this, I think, because as we get older, we get cleverer about hiding our sin. Clever thoughts may try to persuade you- "I wouldn't say that I'm evil,  I'd be happier with you saying that parts of me are evil, or that parts of me are swayed by evil, but I'm not evil from my own volition. Evil is something that's done to me, that corrupts the good in me. After all, God made me in his image. So deep down, I must be good." And as soon as you've finished the thought, you hear it as if someone's said it to you. And then you realise how stupidly sinful you are. 

We can't even think properly, we're so sinful. I'm sure most  (if not all) of my thoughts are incorrect, or if not incorrect, then definitely driven by evil motives. The more I see sin, the more I see that Jesus was the only way to free us. 

As a younger Christian, I thought God may have overshot the sacrifice. Surely enough spotless goats would do it. Or maybe if we gave him grainfed beef. But, no. God sacrificing himself makes more and more sense each living day as the effects of evil permeating our very essences is made clearer to me.

The joy of motherhood

Tonight I am tangibly filled with such a deep love for my daughter, Avalon. She touched my heart.

After crying for a little while, I decided to go see what the problem was because she hadn't settled herself back into sleep.

As I walked in she said "mumm." and then sat down.

My heart totally melted right there in the darkened room. To be called Mum by my own daughter for the first time was a special moment. She grabbed my hand as I lay her down to sleep and she held it against her cheek for a little while. Then sighed as if she just wanted to see me again, and turned her head to sleep.

I would do anything for her. Anything.

My thoughts go out to those pierced by the curse of this world. To those who have lost children. Either early or later in life. Their grief must be unbearable. And of course, the moment made me think of how high and wide God's love is for us. His own son, pierced for our wrongs. The only way to bring us together with our heavenly father eternally. So we aren't lost forever. What an admirable God! My love for him expands with each new experience of life as I understand him more.

The loss of an exceptional day…

 

Do you ever have an exceptional day? One of those days when your brain is working properly, and you feel inspired and like you could solve the worlds’ energy crisis with the power of your mind?

This is one of those days for me. Sadly, I know that in less than 15 minutes, my 8 month old daughter will awake, refreshed from a heavenly daytime sleep and require all of my energy to entertain her little growing mind. Here are some things I will not do this afternoon;

1. Solve the world energy crisis with an inspired regenerable energy source
2. Write a paper outlining exactly how the energy crisis will be solved
3. Ring up a parliamentary member with my idea and convincing them of said idea

 

Instead, I am aware that this rare day of brilliance will instead be filled with the following;

1. Dishes
2. Singing as many nursery rhymes as I can recall
3. Wrapping poo up in supposedly biodegradable (at some point in time) nappies
4. Possibly taking a crying child for a walk in the frickin’ freezing cold and picking up some more milk for when Craig returns from a conference, keen for a decent coffee tonight
5. Bathing a baby who has only been indoors all day and has still managed to get onto her hands and face every piece of filth in my house

In a sense, I’m relieved. Maybe I would have solved a part of the world’s energy crisis this afternoon (lets face it- it was a long shot) And it means that all this brilliance cannot be used on anything most people would see as worthwhile and brilliant. But, instead, it’s surrendered to helping someone else become brilliant. And I’m coming to accept that, no matter how frustrating it can be, becoming a mother truly must make you a better person.

This leaves me with two options- I could hate it and struggle through it and fight it every step of the way or accept it early and learn to love the sacrifice. And when I look to the cross of my saviour, I see my sacrifice really isn't that much of one anyway.