My boys

When I was pregnant with Lukan, strangers would always be asking me whether I was having a boy or a girl. And of all these people, only one - ONE - said oh how lovely, two boys. For the rest, at best I'd get something like that will keep you busy. And at worst, a look of disappointment and an oh well, that's nice too. I grew to expect it, steeling myself every time someone asked. I knew that if we were having a girl, all these strangers would have been delighted for me. It pissed me off.

Then Lukan was born, our second perfect, beautiful child. And those fucking strangers, they still had the nerve to deem him not right.

The worst was an old woman in the bus when he was two months old. I was with both boys, with Lukan in the Baby Bjorn, and she asked me if he was a girl. When I said no, she replied oh, what a shame. I was OUTRAGED. But my response was limited by shock and my French - all I could say was no, it's not a shame at all. But I was furious, and hugged my boys tight.

I can't remember the number of other people, all old women and actually, all also mostly on the bus, who have also expressed disappointment. It's died down more recently - I am guessing because now he's a happy baby smiling at them from his stroller, rather than an abstract bump either in my belly or asleep in the Baby Bjorn. But still, last week, after smiling and cooing at Lukan, yet another old lady looked at Téo and said two boys? and when I nodded yes, I could see the judgement pass in her eyes that we fail to be the ideal family.

It's true that had I been given the choice before Lukan was conceived, I would have chosen a girl. Not because I think that a family should be mum, dad, a boy, and a girl, but because, well, why not choose something different the second time? And I guess I am curious to know what it would be like to have a girl. But that's in the abstract. The reality is Téo and Lukan, and I don't want anyone else as my children. Their being boys is even a bit beside the point - they are them, and I love them.

And as lucky and blessed as I felt each time we knew we were having a healthy baby, it's nothing to how lucky and blessed I feel now, with the kids I have:



How is this not ideal??

And yes, I know, we have a problem getting Téo to wear trousers.

The elephant upstairs

We used to have a family living above us, with a boy the same age as T-boy. Whenever he crawled, and then heavily walked, toddler-style, we'd hear thump thump thump across our ceiling.

C told T-boy the noise was a little elephant living upstairs. So then when we'd hear the thump thump thump, T-boy would cock his head to the side and say shhh, hear? P'tit l'elefant.

The family moved out above 18 months ago, and things became a little quieter. Now we have a student living upstairs... and sometimes, in the middle of the night, there's a new kind of thump thump thump.

The other day, apropos of nothing, T-boy said to me Yesternight I heard bomp bomp bomp and I said to myself, what's that? What's that, I said. Le little elephant is back?

My how you've grown

Today Little-L is 9 months old. Good grief, how did that happen so quickly?

Faulty recognition system

I'm not very good at recognizing faces, especially out of context. Once, about 6 months after moving here, I ran into C's aunt in town. Only I thought it was C's mother. I was completely tongue-tied by my lack of French to say much - which she must have thought very odd since she speaks perfect English. I've had people come up to me to say hello and not had a clue who they are, even though we have been introduced and may have seen each other a few times. I also have a regular job where I have to identify people in a crowd based on a photo (so that I can interview them) - I usually end up just paging them.

This is fault is obviously a little socially awkward and sometimes embarrassing, but lately it's entered the realm of alarming: more than once when I've gone to pick up Little-L from his daycare, I've had a moment of confusion wondering which baby is mine. Today I saw a baby sitting at the table, dismissed him as not mine, looked around for Little-L, and only realised when one of the carers said to the baby at the table Oh look Little-L, here's your mum that this child was in fact my son. And even then, I had a momentary thought of Really? Is that really what he looks like?

Crikey.

Clothes and poetry

We started packing this weekend. I started with the clothes that I still can't wear - most since Little-L was born, but some since T-boy was born. I'd put them in bags to have cupboard space for the maternity clothes and the bigger sized clothes, so it's been over a year since I've seen them. It was a bit sad ... I love some of them and I don't know when or even if I'll wear them again.

I also came across a box of old letters and poems, some by me, some by C, and some by a boy who loved me despite me only liking him and so not being very gentle with his heart. I also found a book signed by my friends and classmates when we left school. And it was very weird reading all these things - especially those by people who are no longer in my life, and some who I don't even remember very well. The school one particularly struck me - some people wrote so much, but I don't remember being close to them. So who were they writing about? And why? I have no memory of writing pages and pages to anyone - I'm pretty sure the best I mustered was "good luck for the future".

Little-L was sitting on our bed while I was going through it all, and I wondered what he'll make of it if he ever finds it after I'm dead. Will he read it? Will he wonder about me as a young girl? Or will a daughter-in-law who's never liked me just snigger?

I don't know where I'm going with this, it was just a strange and melancholy moment.

The Tao of poo

Yes I know it's not a very appetizing subject for a cuppa, especially for this first one, but poo is a big part of my life these days. Téo's poo in particular.

We're going through toilet training, and it's driving me a bit crazy. We bribed for pee ... lollies, Thomas books, other presents. It worked pretty well ... well, except for the time at his creche where he was asked if he wanted to go to the toilet and replied no, I already have enough Thomas books. After several months we're almost there - there's no more rewards and he only has an accident when we're out and I forget to make him go in time (which, sadly, is often enough).

But the poo. I am really losing my patience there. One of his cousins gave himself constipation by refusing to use the toilet, and I really wanted to avoid this. And guess what, I have! He's not constipated! Instead, he poos in his undies. Like clockwork, every second day. Only when he's with me. Always at inconvenient times.

Today he pooed at the park, just 5 minutes after I'd taken him to the toilet and asked if he needed to poo. Often it's while we are walking home from his creche. Once it was at a picnic. Another time at a birthday party.

It wouldn't even be so bad if he deposited nice solid logs. But instead they're mushy - at best. I'm a little tired of hosing him off and cleaning out his undies.

The thing is, he has done a poo in the toilet! It was two weeks ago, and he was so proud of himself. He got a heap of praise and rewards. Phew, I thought at the time, that's it then. We're nearly done with toilet training. But 14 days and 7 soiled pairs of undies later, clearly we're not. The last time, I even took away the tractor that was his reward and said he could have it back when he did another poo in the toilet. This morning he told me I'm going to do a poo in the toilet today. I pwomise mummy. Then I can have my tractor back. But no, he went in his undies.

I know I'm not the only person to go through this, and that he'll get there eventually. What I don't get is - how did our mothers get us toilet trained at 2? Why is our generation having so many problems? It can't be just the pull-ups and super-absorbent nappies - Téo is not wearing nappies anymore, except for sleeps. I even asked my mother and mother-in-law what they did, but got no useful advice.

So taking my inspiration from the Tao of Pooh, I'm trying to achieve the Tao of poo: accept that things are the way they are; appreciate, learn from, and work with whatever happens in everyday life; and from this way of living find happiness. Although, happiness is a bit beyond me ... I'll be content with just learning how to stop getting increasingly cranky.