kleinealp-blog

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Word of the Day: Monticule

monticule mon-ti-kyoolnoun 1:a small mountain, hill, or mound. 2:a subordinate volcanic cone.

As a child, my parents, sister and I spent every summer in Switzerland, shuttling between various extended family members I barely recognised from the previous summer. The trip involved long car journeys, endless repeated conversations, and a whole lot of dinners with people I cared precious little about. It was, as a whole, not my favourite way to spend the warmer months.

But there were a few days ever year that made the trip worth it. Every year, our car pulled us and an unnecessary amount of luggage along thin country roads, past typical Swiss chalets, and a log pile that spilled out into the road during a storm one year, and which we helped to rebuild, up to my grandparents’ farm on a hill.

Those days glitter amongst the dull litany of my childhood summer. We spent sticky, hot hours helping out on the farm - cutting hay by hand, feeding calves and stroking their wet noses - before dousing each other with buckets filled from the traditional fountain. We built forts in the forest surrounding the farm, carving steps into the steep hill to lead to our castles. We wandered - barefoot, carefree - through overgrown fields, home to llamas and mice and an array of barnyard cats.

It was, in short, perfection.

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How not to kill your plants (and other wishful thinking)

Guys...it’s happening. I am actually managing to not only grow plants from seeds (everything except the parsley and chives) but also keep them alive for the first time in my life. Which shouldn’t be surprising - I keep another human alive every day, for crying out loud - but is, and I am so proud.

Here’s what I think I’m doing right:

I planted the seeds into small planter pots (or eggshells, as it were), and only give them two teaspoons of water a day. Thus, says the Internet, I am preventing the phenomenon of overwatering. 

I also repotted them with the supervision of my master-gardener mother, and have been moving the pots indoors overnight because, according to aforementioned mother, plant sprouts are more sensitive than newborns and can’t handle just being left outside without warning.

Also, I let my toddler water them now they’re in bigger pots. This goes against my previous concerns about overwatering, but now they have more soil they (logically, to anyone but me) also need more water, and she doesn’t hold back.

And that’s it! My balcony garden is growing (and gaining more plants regularly, to my husband’s absolute horror), and I am excited to levels that border on insanity. The question now, is, whether or not they will survive life after the birth of our second baby...we’ll have the answer starting any day now. Cross your (green or black) thumbs!

[kleinealp-blog]

SMM: Hiding Vegetables … Newest Mom Sin?

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

Food: isn’t it just the most ridiculous source of ‘mom guilt’? It starts from the moment your kids are born, with #breastisbest being thrown across social media, and snide comments about different brands of formula milk made at Mommy and Baby clubs.

Then your kid gets a little bit older, and judgement starts over which type of solid food you started your baby with, and whether it was in pureed or solid form. Do you give your babies sweets? How much fruit do they eat? Are their meals made from scratch using organic vegetables sourced from your own garden?And now I’ve come across a new one: do you hide your children’s vegetables?

Honestly? Yes. Of course I do. Don’t you? I am yet to meet a toddler who is consistently happy to eat carrots and broccoli, and frankly I understand them. There are so many more exciting foods out there.I hide vegetables wherever I possibly can: pasta sauces, curries, heck, I even buy things that look like pasta but are actually made from lentils and chickpeas. And do I feel guilty about it? Nope.

Look, I’m 25 years old. I know that beetroots are good for me. I do. But I can’t stand the sight of them after many torturous childhood meals where I was forced to eat them. Hidden in vegetable lasagnas however, beetroots are delicious and I love them. I am 25 years old and I successfully hide vegetables from myself. Why wouldn’t I use this method to sneak them into my toddler?

All this to say: hide the damn vegetables. Sneak them onto pizza if that’s what does it for your kid. Who cares! Did your kid get some healthy food inside them today? Great! High five! You have my full permission to feel like an awesome parent, and a vegetable ninja at that.

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How not to kill your plants (and other wishful thinking)

Here's a somewhat lesser-known fact about me: I have an incredibly black thumb. Two incredibly black thumbs, to be precise.

I love plants and flowers, and they're stuffed into ever corner of my home, but the only ones that have lasted are the three plastic plants in our windowless bathroom and a cactus in my daughter's room that miraculously loves me. Everything else has at least one predecessor, even the apparently impossible to kill succulents.

Here's another lesser-known fact: our apartment has a huge balcony. Ginormous. But few people know about it because it's rammed full of junk and never gets used.

This year, however, I'm on a mission to rescue this wasted space (space which we're paying rent to waste, I should add) and turn it into a space where I can hang out with my girls, or have a glass of wine with my husband. And, in typical fashion, that means filling it with plants and flowers.

In a bid towards accountability, I'm involving the whole family. We've received balcony flowers as gifts (some of which have already died - I'm sorry!), and my daughter and I are diligently watering them every day (we googled this, they need that much). 

We're also endeavoring to grow plants from seeds so she can see the process of dirt and seeds to flowers and herbs. Call it toddler science, if you will.

I'll keep a running commentary of how it's going on here. I hope it won't just be a recurring eulogy to primroses and basil. Who knows, maybe I'll even have some tips to share with my equally black thumbed friends.

Here's my first, based on past experience: make friends with your garden centre. Prepare to buy replacement plants often. Hope that no one notices.

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SMM: Why We Bother Travelling With A Toddler

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

Whenever I go on a plane with my daughter, I am guaranteed to get the same question. After the niceties and admirations of her cuteness (trust me, she is freaking adorable), someone will always ask, “Is this her first time flying?”. I can understand their curiosity: she’s only one year old, after all, and traveling by plane is something many people will never get to do. The actual number of flights she’s been on in her short life so far is 13 (I just counted).

I have other mommy friends who tell me we’re crazy (probably true), or that we’re so brave (I would argue masochistic, but okay, I’ll take it). Plenty have commented that they would never travel as much with their child, and I totally understand that: traveling with a small child can be phenomenally shit.

First there’s the actual journey: airport queues, lugging 800 travel distractions on your back while chasing an over-energetic toddler (why the heck are they so fast?!), and fellow passengers who are less than thrilled at the sight of your screeching child don’t exactly equate to fun. Even less so when your kid is an expert at waking sleeping passengers with a swift pat on the knee while you’re not looking…

Then there’s the general day-to-day of a child. Alongside general sleepless nights, we’ve enjoyed a night of screaming and vomiting after catching a bit too much sun, and the realities of being stuck in a hotel room from 8pm every night because, you know, bed time. Then there’s taking your toddler on a beach holiday only to discover that her love of water doesn’t translate to the ocean. We’ve had it all.

Of course there have been times when I’ve wondered if it’s all worth it. When I’ve considered staying home and saving the money for a house with a garden, or some new clothes, or maybe even just a haircut. I’ve thought about how much healthier our carbon footprint would be.

But then there are the good moments that shine through all of the crap: our daughter running through Berlin Zoo, head thrown back in uncontrollable giggles; splashing in countless marble fountains in the gardens of the Alhambra; napping under a parasol in Ibiza, covered in sand and smelling of sunscreen. And in those moments I forget about the airport. I forget about our ludicrously early nights in hotel rooms that all look the same, or waking up before the breakfast buffet opens. We live in a beautiful world, and – in our family’s case – we’re lucky enough to be able to explore it. Sure, it’s not always pleasant, but those standout moments more than make it all worthwhile.

Our next adventure involves over 16 hours of driving, most of which I can guarantee will be filled with screaming. It’s not going to be pretty, and I’m more than aware of that. But when we arrive to see a beautiful Italian lake, and some of my best friends, I know that my eardrums will stop ringing – at least eventually. And it will be good. It will be so, so good.

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SMM: Post-Partum Hair Distress

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

Raise your hand if you know the feeling: you’re standing in the shower for the first time in maybe a week, finally enjoying a minute of peace and quiet, when you run your hand through your hair and pull half of it out in the process.

Are you with me?

Post-natal hair loss has to be the cruelest of jokes during the already exhausting newborn phase. Luckily, I can tell you from experience that it does get better! But for now, here are some of my favourite tips to help you through:

First of all, don’t panic. Breathe. Repeat after me: It will grow back. I know it doesn’t feel like it at this time, but it’s true!

I’ve heard that cutting bangs (a fringe) is a good way to hide fall-out around your hairline. I never did, but looking back at photos of mine and my husband’s matching bald patches, I’ll definitely consider it next time!

Using eyebrow gel to smooth back the shorter regrowth when tying your hair up has to be the weirdest and best tip ever! I use a gel that cost less than 2 euros, so it’s a budget-friendly tip as well.

Tie your hair back to prevent your baby from pulling out even more hair. I love a good youtube tutorial for quick and fun buns,  when you’re feeling like more variety.

Hats! Beanies, floppy sun hats, baseball caps…there’s a hat out there for everyone, and they’re the easiest solution there is for those balding days.

Learn a couple of quick tricks to make your hair look ‘done’ – and, more importantly, to make you feel a little more put together. Whether it be a quick braid, a new bun, or a fun way to clip it, anything you can do in a couple of minutes that makes you feel good is game.

Make the most of your efforts. If I wear braids one day, I’ll sleep in them and wake up to curls the next. Or I’ll sleep in a bun to keep the hair out of my face. Basically I sleep in almost all of my hairstyles.

If you feel like none of this is helping, don’t panic. Make the most of what you canwork with. Put on an outfit you love, or a fun lipstick that makes you smile. Forget about your hair and just do you.

Above all else, don’t forget that it’s just hair. Enjoy your baby and this precious time together – your hair will figure itself out in the long run.

[kleinealp-blog]

SMM: 10 Things I Learned in My First Year of Parenting

Originally written for and published on Suburb an Misfit Mom.

I'm still a relative newbie parent, I grant you, but this first year has taught me plenty of hard-earned lessons in parenthood. In honour of my daughter's upcoming birthday, I thought I'd share some here for you. Veteran parents: I get you now. Upcoming parents: prepare yourselves – it's a crazy, beautiful ride.

You're the worst looking person at your kid's birthday party. Between running after a child and baking a Pinterest perfect cake, who has time for things like brushing hair?

Every item of clothing you own has a stain on it. Every. Single. One.

...and you put together outfits based on likelihood to incur stains throughout the day. White shirt for a day babysitting a friend's toddler alongside your kid? Erm, maybe not.

Eating a sandwich equates to basically just eating crusts. Seriously, who told kids that only the middle bit is worth eating? And who told you you could share my sandwich anyway?!

You always sit on the backseat of the car, squeezed between car seats, because your littles can't handle a car ride without Mom entertaining them the whole time.

Children's stories seep into real life conversations. "Oh man, I've eaten more junk today than the Very Hungry Caterpillar on Saturday."

If you ever get accepted to play Mastermind, the names of building site vehicles could easily be your specialist subject. Or animal sounds, just as long as they don't ask what noise a giraffe makes.

You've never played a musical instrument before, but you've developed a real talent playing the xylophone.

Never has a toy felt as valuable as when it becomes your child's favourite, and the thought of something happening to it sends shivers down your spine. Although, let's face it, you've probably got three spare hiding in the cupboard, just in case.

Despite all of the madness, you miss them as soon as they're asleep. I know everyone says it, but it's something that I, for one, didn't believe was true until I found myself scrolling through photos of J after a gruelling bedtime and wishing she would wake up just for one more quick snuggle...

Ahh the first year of parenting. It's been an adjustment – that's for sure – but I wouldn't change it for the world.

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SMM: Swimsuits and Bikinis...Summer, We’ve Got You.

Originally written for and published on Suburb an Misfit Mom.

OMG, I texted my friend on the first day of my daughter’s baby swimming class. All of the other moms wore bikinis!

Maybe it was the fact that – despite having a baby the same age as mine – they all looked like Amazonian godesses, or maybe it was the fact that I was still squeezing my less-than-toned body into a swimsuit I distinctly remember my mother buying for me in my early teens, but something about this made me feel deeply self-conscious.

Last summer, at the height of my pregnancy, it was a different story. I spent any moment I could trying to cool off in a tiny bikini next to a body of water. Okay, I mainly wore the bikini because I didn’t want to spend money on a maternity swimsuit, but I felt good in it. My body was growing a human – an incredible feat however you look at it – why wouldn’t I be proud of it? And those thirteen extra kilos I was packing? All baby.

Imagine my surprise when, a few days after birth, I stepped on some scales (not advisable) and realised that those extra kilos hadn’t, as I had expected, left my body when my daughter did.

So there I was at the swimming pool one Tuesday, self-conscious about my appearance next to these bikini-clad women. But you know what? The minute I got into the water and saw how much fun my daughter was having splashing about with the other babies, I stopped thinking about stretch marks or extra rolls. I stopped caring about my old swimsuit. The swimming class wasn’t about any of those things, and the person I was there for – my baby girl – didn’t give a crap about what I looked like.

We still go swimming every Tuesday. I’m still the only one wearing an old swimsuit (which I seriouslyneed to replace). And no, I haven’t had some kind of miraculous recovery from self-consciousness.

For my own sake – for my health, above all – I can’t consider the post-pregnancy weight as a badge of service forever. But I’m also not going to sit around worrying about it for as long as it’s here.

I know I’m not alone in these feelings, so let’s make a pact together. – right here, right now. This summer, we will throw on our natty old swimsuits instead of bikinis, or maxi dresses instead of short skirts, or whatever it is that helps us feel comfortable in our new bodies. And we’ll go out and enjoythis summer, and let ourselves forget for a second about whatever it is that’s bothering us.

Let’s do it for our kids. Let’s do it for ourselves. Summer, we’ve got you.

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Rainy Days and Watercolours

On days like today when level 3 thunderstorms are battering our windows, there’s nothing we like more than cracking out the watercolours. We like them so much, in fact, that J has definitely thrown a few tantrums when they’ve been put away again in the past. This particular green page has been turned into flower stems on a piece of artwork that we gave her Papa for Father’s Day this Sunday (a week early because my brain is fried lately and I don’t know why), and a shamrock to decorate her best friend’s first birthday present. I’m always cutting up her paintings because, really, who has the space to store 8 million pieces of semi-identical and indecipherable baby art? Sorry, J - please don’t hate me when you’re older.

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One of my favourite things about where we live is how close we are to the Alps. I want nothing more than for baby J to love these mountains like I do, so this is where we go when the sun is shining. Although she didn’t love spending so much time in her carrier, J pointed out every tree (and there were a lot of trees) and babbled excitedly, so I’d like to think the Alps were a hit with her, too.

[kleinealp-blog]

Getting Your Kids Outdoors in the City

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

As a country girl turned city au pair (and now mother), I’m always looking for ways to get little ones outdoors. But what do you do when you are surrounded by roads instead of fields, and you don’t have a garden to make mud pies in?

Now that we’re starting to get some of the warmer spring weather, I thought I’d put together a list of my favourite outdoor activities for the little ones, right in the heart (or sometimes outskirts) of the city. Why not grab your sunscreen and some snacks, and see if you can get even your tiniest ones outdoors today!

Head for the nearest park. Pack a picnic, a football, and a blanket to throw on the ground and you’ve got yourself a full-day outing. This also works as a great half-hour energy release if the park’s nearby or you pass by one on your way to/from other activities.

Go for an impromptu treasure hunt. Give your kids a list of things to find – colours, animals, or letters, for example – and don’t come home until you’ve ticked everything off the list.

Let the kids loose at the playground! Even the littlest of (sitting) babies can enjoy swinging on your lap or running their fingers through the sandpit.

Find some water. Whether that be an outdoor pool, local lake, or even a splashpad. Bring a change of clothes and be sure to keep an eye on the little ones.

Go traffic spotting. Look at the different trains going in and out of the station, go plane spotting at your local airport, or count the buses as they drive past. Great for little vehicle enthusiasts!

Stop and smell the roses – literally. Kids are so great at noticing little things that we miss amongst the hustle and bustle. Ask your kids to point out things that interest them the next time you walk somewhere together, and then really stop to look at it. You could even look for things to point out to smaller children yourself. You’ll be amazed at how interesting your neighbourhood is!

Look for local spots with animals. Some cities have zoos, petting zoos, or even inner-city farms. Head down to your nearest spot and work on those animal sounds with the little ones!

Make the most of your balcony. If you have the luxury of having one, don’t let it go to waste! Depending on the size, you could set up a paddling pool, do some (possibly vertical) gardening, or just set up a nook to read in. Every little bit helps in the name of Vitamin D and fresh air, after all!

Don’t step on the cracks! Did you play this as a kid? Silly games while you’re on the move are great fun, good motivators, and encourage little ones to keep going just that little bit further. Why not get off the bus one stop early and see who can hop the furthest, or race to the nearest streetlight?

Take a walk around the block. Breathe. Check out what your neighbours have got hanging off their balconies. Splash in the puddles. Just be outside. It doesn’t have to be complicated, and even the smallest stroller-bound babes can benefit from a little fresh air and sunshine.

Don’t forget to hit up Google for more specific suggestions for your area; chances are, you aren’t the only parent looking to get their kids outside. You might even find a group of like-minded parents and children to head outside with!

[kleinealp-blog]

SMM: 8 Totally Reasonable Times I Wish My Child had a Sleep Button

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

It’s typical, isn’t it? You watch your newborn for any signs of movement, willing them to just dosomething already, and then all of a sudden they’re rolling and crawling and nothing is safe and you wish they would just hold still for one damn second.

Never fear, parents! I have come up with a completely plausible solution to this problem, which only requires a minor adjustment to human biology: A Sleep Button! Like the snooze button on your alarm clock, this would offer a few minutes of peace and quiet from your child, exactly when you need it most.

Here are eight totally reasonable times that I would use it every day:

Nap time. You’ve been rubbing your eyes and pulling at your hair for the last half hour. I knowyou’re tired. Hell, even the next door neighbour’s cat can see that you’re tired. So why won’t you just admit it and go to sleep?!

When I need the toilet. If I leave you alone you’ll either cry or find some kind of unimaginable mischief to get up to. If I bring you with me, your stares will put me off, or you’ll lick the toilet, or try to climb into my pulled-down underwear. Can’t you just snooze for a couple of minutes?

Diaper changes. Hold still for a second. No, don’t eat the wipes. Would you stop rolling over? Seriously, how did you get your foot in your poop?! I’m done.

While I’m eating lunch. No, I don’t want you to snatch the food from my plate, especially if you’re just going to throw it on the floor. Why don’t you have a nap instead?

While getting her dressed. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to pull an arm through a sleeve if that arm wasn’t moving? Or put two socks on if there wasn’t a little hand pulling them off as you go? Is this what anyone else’s dreams are made of?

On public transport. I know it’s boring in your pram and you want to move, but if you cry everyone will glare at me and someone is bound to make a sarcastic comment. Please, please,please don’t start.

While tidying up. What exactly is the point in me putting things away if you’re going to follow me and take them back out again? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather, you know, nap in the corner for a second or something?

When she’s supposed to be eating. Okay, maybe an energy dimmer switch would be more appropriate here, but wouldn’t it be amazing to feed your baby without them flinging food on the walls and attempting to escape their highchair? Yeah, sounds like heaven to me…

…now who do I have to talk to to get this set up?

[kleinealp-blog]

SMM: Letting Go of the Toybox

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

Being a parent is a wonderful thing, no doubt, but there are plenty of aspects that I’d categorise as ‘not so great’. Poop blowouts at the zoo? Not ideal. Food flung up to the ceiling? No thanks. Fine-combing what goes into your child’s toybox? Nightmare.

We have a nine-month-old, and as all parents will know, a new baby means a lot of well-intentioned gifts, many of which being toys. I try not to be too precious about what our daughter, J, plays with – she loves nothing more than chewing on kitchen utensils – but there are a few rules governing our toybox. Namely, nothing wildly gender-specific.

When J was three months old, she was gifted her first ‘best friend’: a multi-textured sheep with a shock of ginger hair named Lydia after my equally red-headed mother. Let it be known that I love that sheep. And, at first, our daughter did, too. She loved to tug on the sheep’s hair or chew it’s long arms. It has tags to be studied over intently and J did just that, for hours. That sheep came everywhere with us, and I loved the little bond the two were forming.

Somewhere along the line, our daughter was also gifted a little white bunny with flowery ears and a bright pink outfit. Her name is Susie Hopsalot, and she is the epitome of girly. As it happens, she came from one of my best friends (sorry, Jen), and I didn’t have the heart to get rid of her, so into the toybox she went. I didn’t think much of her at the time, and neither did J. That is, until the day J learned to crawl.

For whatever reason, Susie Hopsalot was the toy that motivated J to move forwards. She did, grabbed Susie, and our whole household cheered her success. Then she dropped Susie and did it again. More cheers. And, through the cycle of grabbing and cheering, Susie Hopsalot became the new hit of the toybox.

Almost two and a half months later, the first thing J does in the morning is crawl over to her toybox, pull out Susie, and hold her up in the air, awaiting her cheers. This happens again and again throughout the day, and during most of the time between, Susie is in her hands. In fact, taking Susie out of her hands leads to so much screaming that no one dare do it anymore.

In the meantime, my beloved gender-neutral Lydia has been left by the wayside. At first I did everything possible to rekindle their friendship. I sat her down next to J (and Susie). I put her in the pram every time we went out. There was even that one time when Lydia and J shared a nap…all in vain. Lydia is out, and Susie Hopsalot has firmly taken her place.

While I’m still holding out for a return for Lydia, I’ve gotten over it. Susie may be every inch the girly item our family has been avoiding, but she brings so much joy to our daughter. And really, she brings us joy, too. It’s impossible not to smile when J swings Susie over her head in the morning, or struggles to shimmy along the floor because Susie in her hand is holding her back. And I couldn’t help but laugh when my husband sent me a text exclaiming “Susie is naked!” with an attached picture of J proudly holding Susie’s removed skirt.

Okay, she’s not the toy I would have chosen, but she’s the toy our daughter loves. I guess that’s more than good enough reason to remain in our toybox.

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Why I won’t pierce my baby’s ears

It's midday and my daughter's nap means I have a moment to myself. I post a rare picture of her to Facebook – we have international family who like to stay in the loop that way. A few minutes later, my picture gets a comment. Instead of “She's grown!” or “So cute!” it reads “Where are her earrings?”. Soon after, another comment pops up: “I agree – get that girl some earrings!”

A couple of nights later, I'm out for a drink with friends. They both have babies that are similar ages to mine, so I ask their opinion about piercing babies ears. Both enthusiastically say that they would do it.

“But it's changing their bodies without their permission,” I say.

“You cut your daughter's hair,” answers my friend. “And she didn't give you permission for that.”

“Her hair will grow back,” I counter. “Those holes would be there forever.”

Our conversation continues a while longer when I ask why they haven't pierced their babies ears, given their positive response to the idea. “We have boys,” they both answer immediately.

This bothers me. Why does my daughter need earrings when their sons are perfectly fine as they naturally are?

“She'll look like a boy if she doesn't have earrings.”

So? It's true that I'm forever responding to compliments about my 'little boy' with “Thanks, but she's a girl.”, but who cares? My daughter doesn't know that she's a girl yet, as much as their sons don't know that they're boys, so what does it matter what other people think? Babies look pretty unisex at first anyway.

“But she'd look so pretty with earrings!”

And that's what floors me. The child in question is mine, so of course I think she's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen, pureed carrots smeared in her hair or no. But beyond all of that, what is this attitude teaching her? Before she's even old enough to roll her eyes at the idea, piercing her ears would show her that she's not good enough. That she needs something more than what nature gave her to be socially acceptable, while her male counterpoints don't. And I'm not about to get on board with that.

So no, I am not going to pierce her ears – at least not until she asks me to – no matter how many Facebook comments I get trying to convince me otherwise. I am, however, going to continue dressing her in bright blue 'boys' clothes just as often as in pink dresses, because she's beautiful regardless of what she wears. And I will tell her every day of her life that she is enough, because she is, with or without earrings.

[kleinealp-blog]

SMM: 10 Signs You’re the First Parent in your Friendship Group

Originally written for and published on Suburban Misfit Mom.

I’m lucky enough to have a great group of friends, most of whom I’ve known since the schoolyard. They’re smart, sassy, successful women and men. They’re the kind of people who keep me on my toes, are unwaveringly honest and loyal, and who openly claim to be ‘more hilarious than sexy’. In short, they’re everything I could hope to find in a friend.

There’s one thing I have that they don’t, though: A baby.

Here are ten signs I’ve picked up on of being the only parent – and the only person ready to parent – in your friendship group. This one’s for you, Pioneers!

One of your friends asks you if your baby is crawling yet…when your baby is six weeks old.

They literally offer no advice at all. Ever. Which is a breath of fresh air when even the stranger sitting next to you on the bus feels the need to chime in on your parenting.

When you finally do crawl back out of your baby nest in search of a night out, they know all of the best new bars and restaurants. Thank goodness, because everywhere you used to go has either closed or is full of teenagers.

You just can’t believe that they’re still bitching about the same crappy partners/jobs/apartments. I mean, you’re a parent now, you clearly have both newfound wisdom and bigger issues (or so you think).

They say things like “I hope your husband is doing lots of night feedings!” despite knowing that you exclusively breastfeed. I’m still waiting for mine to start lactating whenever our baby cries…

They genuinely celebrate every developmental milestone your baby hits, no matter how delayed, and they never point out that their baby has been doing x, y, or z for months now.

Every Instagram photo they post captioned “Nails done!” or “Ready for tonight!” feels like a personal insult. Excuse me while I sit unshowered on the sofa on Saturday night because I don’t have the energy to move after my kid falls asleep.

They don’t insist you sing ‘Old McDonald’ every five minutes. And, more importantly, they don’t sing ‘Old McDonald’ every five minutes. Even if they did, at least they would get the words right.

You are constantly introduced as the parent. “This is Martina – she has a baby!” I also have, you know, a dog and a degree and a pretty killer book collection, but that’s okay.

You know that they’ll come knocking at your door for advice the minute they find out they’re expecting. And you can’t wait to be there to help them through it all.

[kleinealp-blog]

In defence of our postpartum bodies

Is it just me or are there too many post-baby workouts out there? I mean, yes, my body could absolutely do with a bit of exercise, but do I really need to be doing lunge-squats while balancing a day-old baby on my head?

Let’s just stop and look at the bigger picture for a second. If you’re researching post-baby workouts you have recently birthed - or will soon birth - a baby. An actual human being has - or will soon - come out of your body - the same body that has been growing and housing said human being for the last nine months or so. That’s a feat that half of the human population is biologically unable to achieve. Just stop and let that soak in for a moment. 

I came out of the hospital after giving birth to my daughter physically larger than at any other point in my life (other than while still pregnant, of course). My body was soft, heavy, completely drained of colour, but I felt immensely proud of it for the first time ever. I felt strong. My body provided a safe home for my developing daughter. It was her passage into this world. My body.

I’m not going to pretend that that sense of pride hasn’t faded. My body has achieved incredible things, yes, but did they really have to come at the cost of stretch marks etched across my stomach and extra rolls on my sides? I mean, next to growing a human you would think that maintaining a svelte figure wouldn’t be too much to ask.

And so I’ve turned to Google, like many others, and found countless methods of returning my body to its pre-baby state. But while searching for the precise tricks and tips that would suit me I’ve realised something. It took me nine months to grow my daughter. Nine months of stretching skin and shifting organs led to the person I love most in this world. How can I expect my body to ‘go back to normal’ in four? Moreover, how can I possibly berate it for its appearance when what it has given me is worth so much more?

Those stretch marks across my stomach? They’ll probably be there forever. And while I hope those side-rolls will eventually even out, I know they’ll be with me for a little while longer. Sure, they don’t look so cute in a bikini but they were put there out of love, as yours were, too.

This is not to say that post-baby workouts are bad, or that we should all just give up on ourselves now we are mothers. Of course not. But cut yourself a little bit of slack. Recovering from birth should be a marathon, not a sprint, and it’s perfectly okay to love yourself at every stage along the way - stretch marks, wonky boobs, and all.

You’ve done an incredible thing, mama. You should be so, so proud.

[kleinealp-blog]

A Solemn Vow

Here’s a confession: I used to read. I used to read before bed, during breaks at work, on the tram, on the toilet if I had to. My bags were constantly weighed down by books, the lives of their characters occupying my mind even when their pages were closed. 

Then I had a baby. Now the time I used to have for books is filled with wet nappies and dummies that need to be put back into my daughter’s mouth (and spat back out again by her so the game became an endless in and out). Even when I do have a moment my eyes are too tired and my brain too full of ‘Old McDonald’ and 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider’ for books and reading.  But, honestly, I have another confession: my day really isn’t too full for books. It’s not. My daughter - thankfully - belongs to that rare group of 'good sleepers’ and my evenings are usually free to do whatever I feel like. And I really don’t feel like watching 'A Place in the Sun’ as often as I currently do.  So this is it. A solemn vow to make a little space for the reader in me. To turn off the TV and pick up a book that’s not about babies or for babies. To finish the story that was interrupted - quite literally - when my waters broke.  Just don’t ask me what I’m reading next. My brain is far too fried and my eyes are far too tired to look into that.