Meet old man Zinzan

Remember Bobbi Dog? Well she now has a friend! 

We've adopted another bitzer, this time a boy-dog. Or rather, an old-man-dog, as he is at least eight years old and has some very distinguished grey whiskers. 

His name is Zinzan. Named after the kiwi footballer, apparently. We inherited him from a kiwi colleague of Frenchy's who has moved back to NZ and couldn't take Zinny with her. 

He's a mixed breed, no purebreds for us out here in the sticks. He's adorable. He may need to lose some weight, which will happen quickly with all the playing he does with Bobbi. They get on very well and keep each other company, and suddenly Bobbi has stopped digging up the garden, which is great. 

They are fantastic with the toddler. Although Bobbi did send her flying the other day, to the shock of all involved. She's a bit boisterous but she does mean well. One of Ish's most heard sentences these days is "No lick please, Bobbi! Googirl! Googirl." 

And they love her, and her cuddles. And her sand showers. And the rocks and bark she 'feeds' them. I think.

Yellow gumboots

Late one night last week a huge gust of wind travelled for thousands of kilometres across the desert, funnelled dramatically through the gap in the mountain range near our house, rattled our windows and blew Summer away. 

And just in time too. I was fed up with the heat and ready to no longer be pregnant in it.

Ish was forever requesting her yellow gumboots and I was forever trying to explain that they were not really the ideal footwear for 40 degree temperatures. A singlet, undies and gumboots is pretty darn cute on a two year old though. 

A few light showers on Friday got us excited and on Saturday morning we headed out in search of mud at the clay pans. There was no mud, and no more rain, but it was under 30 degrees, so we stayed. We kicked the soccer ball for the two dogs (yes, TWO dogs, more on that soon) and made hand prints in the sand. We ran (okay, the others ran), laughed, took photos and then, once the flies got too annoying and the toddler fell over and got mightily upset about it, we dropped the dogs home and went to a cafe. 

I've been working on Saturday mornings (from the crack o' dawn too!) for the past year, so it was lovely to enjoy a lazy one as a lazy little family of three before we become four.

Ishi's Birth Story : Reminiscing

 
As I approach the impending birth of this second bubba of ours, I find myself reminiscing, reliving, the birth of Ish.

It was a wonderful birth. It hurt more than anything I have ever experienced or even imagined - and no, you don't forget the pain - but nothing went wrong. It was natural, complication-free, and left me on the highest natural high there is. I'd spent much of the pregnancy fearing the birth but once labour set in, it just happened and I didn't fear it at all.
 
A week after her birth I wrote out the birth story and sent it to loads of friends and family. I guess I was still high on hormones and I felt like the most powerful woman on earth, so figured why wouldn't everyone I know want to hear about it? I was proud of myself. Not because I had a natural birth, but that I managed to grow her, birth her and survive the experience. Birth, however it is done, is just so big.  

So here it is. Her birth story.

Our story begins last Friday night. We went out to the local botanical gardens (yes botanical gardens in the desert) for a low key musical night. There is a local saying that if you're pregnant and you climb the hill at these botanical gardens you will have your baby the next day. I didn't climb the hill because it was hot and I was bothered...but I looked at that hill, I considered it. 


That night I didn't get a lot of sleep. I was feeling uncomfortable and wondering whether something was perhaps happening, but I didn't want to get my hopes up. 

On Saturday I was up early and went to some garage sales, with mildly uncomfortable contractions coming and going, and from mid morning I had an overwhelming urge to just stay at home. Frenchy went in and out and each time he came home I would tell him I was having contractions every x minutes now but that I still didn't think it was real labour starting.


At dusk we went for a walk in the beautiful and rare light rain and I found I had to stop every now and then as the contractions took over. We went home and Frenchy set me up in the living room with some dinner, music and some different things to sit on/lie against as I was getting pretty uncomfortable. 



The midwives at the hospital told us it sounded promising but to stay at home as long as possible and that it would probably take a good few hours before we were ready to come in and be assessed. They also said they were very busy. We were happy to stay home and I think all of this kept me very relaxed and let my body just do what it needed to do.

 I went to the bed, then to the bath.

I have no idea how long I was in there for but the pain got worse and worse and soon - about 11pm - I was demanding to go to hospital as I was feeling like I had to push. I was also getting frustrated at how small our bath tub was, and was craving the big birth pool.



At this stage my contractions were three minutes apart so poor Frenchy struggled to get me out of the bath and in to the car between them. Eventually we were on our way to hospital, me with my head out the window in the wind, screaming through a contraction as we sped through the salt bush marshland. Luckily the hospital was five minutes away. 

When we got there I jumped out of the car and promptly had another contraction on all fours in the carpark. My entirely not calm screams caught the attention of a kindly young African security guard who opened the day-time doors for us for a short-cut to maternity and took our bags as Frenchy tried to get me inside before the next contraction started. The guard later got in trouble for doing this, which mortified us.

We just made it and I found myself squatting and screaming on the floor of the empty corridor. We got in the lift, where I had another one. The security guard held the doors open as Nomusa, a Zimbabwean midwife I'd met a couple of times before, came running, saying ''oh my god I could hear you coming from your house!''.

 She took us straight to the delivery suite, checked me out and said ''ok we are having the baby!''. 

I was so relieved. As it was my first labour I had no idea how to judge where I was up to, despite that urge to push. She'd examined me on the bed, and despite having decided I wanted an active birth and wanted to be anywhere BUT on the bed, once I was on it I couldn't bring myself to get off it. I birthed her lying on my side, with Frenchy by my head and Nomusa and a female Iraqi doctor at the business end saying encouraging things that I could not hear over my own racket. 

Two and a half hours after leaving home our girl came into the world, in her waters, at 1:26am on Sunday morning. As was her habit in the womb she kicked one leg out with an almighty strength and burst the bubble on the bed. 

Happily there was no time for drugs and everything went so very smoothly. I was high as a kite on the birth hormones and I do believe I actually told Frenchy I wanted to do it again. 



We were taken to our room at 4:30am and told to sleep but I absolutely couldn't. I was buzzing. We had our baby, she was perfect. I've never felt so powerful, or happy. 

Plus, my nine months of nausea was cured with the birth and I had some catching up to do. I promptly ate the best nutella sandwhich of my life and waited for the sunrise and for my little family to wake up together. 

14/52

So I missed a few weeks. I have no excuse, there's no newborn in da house, I'm just being lazy. Last week we got a bit of a cool change here so this week's portraits reflect our time spent outdoors, comfortably for once.

Ishi: It's been a big week of asserting independence. A lot of "That's mine," "No, I do it, by myself," and, well, a fair bit of whinging. On the upside there have been wonderful toileting successes and a lot of glorious cuddles too. 

Bump: 38.5 weeks and persevering with clothes that don't fit. I just don't care! I did go to the effort of getting to the hairdressers for my annual cut. I hope you appreciate it.

Linking up with Jodi.

11/52

Ish: On a rare patch of green we sat and watched gallahs, busy bees and, sadly, the omnipresent drinkers emerging from the dry river.

Bump: 35 (and a half!) weeks, reclining whenever and wherever I can. It really feels like the bump is right under my chin these days. And those sandals...too hard to buckle up or undo now!

Linking up with Jodi for the marvelous 52 Project.

10/52

Ishi: She loves to sit on the floor and 'catch the sun'.

Bump: 34 weeks, looking at the clouds that brought no rain. It's still too hot (38 every day).

Linking up with Jodi for the 52 project.

two

TWO is wonderful. Hilarious. Cheeky. Independent yet oh so snuggly.

 Two is questions, endless questions. "What's Ishi doing?", "What's Mummy doing?", "Where's Ishi?", "Who's that?", "What's that?", "What noise it makes?"  

We celebrated two by having a little party that was just right. It was hot, too hot to have an afternoon party or do anything outside. So we decided to just invite two couples who are close friends, who each happen to have babies who just turned two too. These littlies were born within about 6 weeks of each other and are good buddies.

I didn't want to serve cake, so we had a crepe brunch - a stack of crepes with two tea light candles made a perfect birthday cake for a two year old. There was fruit salad, yoghurt, music and wrapping paper. She was thrilled to have everyone sing for her, and had the best day. Every day since she has said 'happy birthday' to herself.

Two is the best. So far, anyway.