Back at work: Day One

It was with mixed feelings that I grabbed my notebook and tape recorder and headed back into the Herald Sun today for my first day back at work.
I'm working 2 days a week on general news, which means I could be doing absolutely anything. Afer working as an entertainment journo for a few years, that's more than a bit daunting.
I felt like the New Kid. I had no desk of my own. I didn't have email. I was very nervous. But it all worked out and I really enjoyed a day at the office. It was great to talk to adults and do a professional, paid job.
I missed Ari very much - but saying goodbye wasn't the hard bit. It was coming home and knowing I'd have only about 20 minutes of hanging with my boy before he went to bed.
I held him for a long time and kissed him a LOT.
One day down, I feel okay. But it's going to take some getting used to...

Ari profile: an update

Name: Ari Murdoch Danaher-Flavell
DOB: January 25, 2005
Age: 11 months
Hair: Gingery brown
Eyes: Hazelly-brown.
Favourite food: Mango, cheese, bolognese, yoghurt.
Hobbies: Pushing his little trolley around, swimming in his paddle pool, trying to walk.
Likes: Pulling Mummy's hair, tummy raspberries, "Open, shut them" (the song), pulling books down from the bookshelves.
Dislikes: Being in his highchair (most inconvenient), when Mummy leaves the room (ve-ry inconvenient), being dressed and having his nappy changed (really bloody inconvenient).
Music tastes: See "Open, shut them" above.
Current fashion trend: "wife beater" Bonds singlets and a nappy, nude pool swimming.
Favourite book: The Eye Book.
Personality traits: Charming, funny, enthusiastic, happy.
Most commonly heard comments about Ari: "Gee he looks like you, Rob" (STILL), "He's very good" (ah, but you don't see the high chair action), "He's a big boy" (My oath he is).

Back to work

Tomorrow I return to work 2 days a week after a year's maternity leave, so today I'm feeling lots of things - nervous, anxious, frightened, excited.
Rob will look after Ari until he goes back to work and after that, my Mum and Dad will take over the reins.
I have missed work terribly, there's no doubt about it. But now that it's just around the corner, relinquishing the job of looking after Ari is proving tougher than I'd imagined.
It's a time of change for our boy. Nothing happens for months on end and then everything happens at once. As well as me returning to work, Ari is tantalisingly close to walking. I'm weaning him onto cow's milk and off formula. It looks like he's moving from 2 sleeps a day to one sleep. He's forming weird little mumbo jumbo sentences. He's incredibly, heart-swellingly cute (yesterday he crawled up to Rob and kissed him on the nose).
And I won't be here to oversee all this 2 days a week. Which sounds insane. But it's kinda like organising a major event and then not seeing the final result.

With Nanny and Poppy

Highway to the danger zone

Dealing with a crawling baby who is desperately trying to walk has turned our lives into a daily casualty unit.
The laws of gravity insist that what goes up must come down. Ergo, baby who pulls himself up on everything = he falls down a lot. And hits his head on the way down.
Every day Ari has new bruises, scratches and bumps. He woke up from a sleep the other day with a massive red bruise on his forearm. We have NO idea how that one happened but we suspect Ari's done a few rounds with his cot in his sleep and come off second best.
Which brings up another safety related question...when can you put those cot bumper thingies on to prevent such bumping injuries?
The tough thing about being a parent is that for every small fear about injury (cot bruises), there's an even greater fear (cot bumpers = SIDS fears).

Feeding time at the zoo

After several unsuccessful attempts, last night the Family Danaflav sat down to our first evening meal together.
The result?
To quote a famous 1980s ad, "Oh Mr Hart...what a mess!"
We had spaghetti bolognese and in a brief moment of insanity, I decided to let Ari feed himself his bolognese sauce.
He proceeded to smear it all over his high chair and throw it everywhere. Thank goodness Ari's trusty Ikea Antilop (high chair) is completely and utterly hose-downable.

Boring! Boring! Boring!

Parenthood is lots of things. Rewarding (though I'm still waiting for that), difficult (absolutely), joyous (in lots of ways).
But I find being a stay-at-home parent is more often than not one overwhelming thing....BORING.*
Not that there's any shortage of things to do at home with a baby. It's just that most of them are really, really dull.
Like the excitement that is coming up with new meals for Ari that mostly get thrown back at you. Scintillating.
Or the dishes. Mmmm, fascinating.
How about the washing? Well, choosing which cycle to use on the machine IS challenging, I guess...
I know what you're thinking. How about catching up with friends for coffee/lunch? Nope. They pretty much all work. Hobbies? No time, unless you count snatches of Sex and the City over a wolfed-down sandwich at lunchtime a hobby...
Going for nice walks? Yes, well that might seem like Luna Park to some people, but not to me. Especially not in the fascinating suburb that is Thornbury, with its wonderful shopping, which ranges from the finest guns the northern suburbs has to offer to the most exquisite martial arts uniforms this side of the black stump.
So what's left?
Apart from trying to keep a 10-month-old from pulling heavy objects on himself all day, there's:
1. Having a shower
2. Listening to the rumour file on 3AW (what am I going to do without you over summer, Ross and John?)
3. Blogging.
4. Having 10 minutes with Rob in the morning while Ari throws porridge at me.
5. That's it.

*This does not mean I think all stay at home parents are boring people. It means I find the job boring for much of the time. We're all different.

Xmas farce

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy some aspects of Christmas. Coming together for a meal is my highlight.
The thing that bugs me most is that every year I have to sit down and come up with ideas for presents for people who've already got everything they could possibly need.
The other night Rob and I were racking our brains trying to come up with present ideas, when I pointed out how absolutely immoral it all was - there are people in the world who don't have food, water or medicine for their children and here we are trying to figure out if so and so would be happy with a new cookbook or DVD?
My immediate family has at least done something to curb the madness of it all by doing a Secret Santa or Kris Kringle for presents - we all buy something for one other person, so everyone gets one gift.
But it's still crazy, if you ask me, because all this gift buying is done out of obligation, nothing more.
Rob and I feel compelled to buy something for Ari for Christmas, even though he has everything he could possibly need and doesn't know it's even Christmas. Are we a pair of Grinches?
And what really brought it home was getting my first letter from my sponsor child in Rwanda last week.
We are far too rich for our own good in this country.

Freaky new toy

Oasis! Oasis! Oasis! (chant loudly in Manc accent)

We are in the midst of Britpop fever.
Last night Rob, Loz and I saw Oasis at Festival Hall and we're all off to see them again tonight.
Are we mad? Hell no.
It's been a few years since Oasis were in Melbourne and we're making the most of those fabulous Gallagher boys while they're here.
The last time we saw them was at the Forum in 2002 - a superb gig because it was a rare opportunity to see a stadium band perform in an intimate (and arguably Melbourne's finest) live venue.
While the 2002 gig certainly boasted a better venue (and the amazing feeling of standing only metres from the band), last night's set was miles better and the band sounded (despite Festy Hall's notoriously shocking acoustics) in fine form.
It was stiflingly hot and the crowd was so incredibly mixed. We were surrounded by Fitzroy rock chicks, Chapel St pill-poppers, middle-aged Mums and Dads and, of course, a fair sprinkling of Triple M-listening, graffiti t-shirt wearing blokes who only knew Wonderwall.
While last night we braved the Festy Hall floor and it's beer splattered mess, tonight we are up in the balcony - undoubtedly the best seat in the house.
A lot of people rib us for loving Oasis. Although (despite what Noel thinks) they can't match U2, they are the only band I can think of (besides the Stones) that have two bona fide, swaggering, swearing, drinking, boasting rock stars. Who needs soppy Chris Martin or tryhard Pete Doherty when the Gallagher boys are the real deal?

Watch out lady...I'm on the move

Who said stripes were out?