A mother of a problem

Giving birth is little more than a set of muscular contractions granting passage of a child. Then the mother is born.
-- Erma Bombeck

In my case it took a little longer....

I sometimes wonder if there was anybody less prepared for motherhood than me. I did not have a whole lot of exposure to  "little people" and the thought of changing a nappy did not exactly seem terribly inspiring. Not only that, beyond peeking into a pram and making appropriate noises to mollify the mom, I actually had very little contact with babies.

Even if I did have the best part of 7 or so months to get used to the idea, falling pregnant under less than perfect circumstances (ummm being unmarried) still did not inspire me to find out all I could about babies. If truth be told, I think I tried to ignore the burgeoning belly and afternoon sickness (in my case) as much as I ignored the whispers, side-ways looks and other less savoury comments from the residents of our small town.

Lydenburg (a small town in Mpumalanga) in the late 70's was not exactly the most congenial place to break one of their staunchest taboo's. I am not claiming to be the first young woman to "get into trouble" in the town, just the first one who did not go off to "university" for a few months and then return due to "homesickness", much subdued and with a sense of sadness that could never quite be explained away.

Perhaps it was the fact that I was mostly English speaking in a predominantly Afrikaans community - but needless to say, I kinda stuck out like a sore thumb. Being 6' tall and with a monstrous dose of self confidence did not help matters much and  I could not do the part of a shy and retiring wallflower even if I tried.  I seemed to be the source of much speculation: how could this have happened and who was the father??

I soon learned that attack was the best form of defence and answered pretty blatant questions with quick, sharp responses which soon had the questioner backing off stammering some excuse or other. But the message did get out that I was not going to share the details with anyone, no matter how hard they tried to find out. The fact of the matter is simply this - it happened!

Ignoring the pregnancy part worked so well that I landed up in hospital at 7 months due to a raptured amniotic sac. Lying in bed with my feet raised was an absolute nightmare to contend with but at least it served to slow me down enough to learn a whole lot about the birthing process from the nursing staff. They seemed to delight in telling me the stories of difficult births and the comic results of ignorance. One story in particular comes to mind; that of a youngish girl who came in to deliver her baby and beyond an episiotomy, the birth was quite normal. However the girl cried incessantly and no amount of questioning, coaxing or prodding could reveal the cause of her great distress. She finally broke down, woefully bemoaning the fact that the doctor had sewn her up "down there" and that her husband was going to leave her because of it!!! A mirror was promptly brought in to show her the exact extent of the doctors needlework and she quickly recovered her sunny disposition.

Perhaps due to the coaching and other general bits of information gleaned over the two month period, going into labour was not a terribly scary business. I walked the corridors of the hospital hoping to chase things along until they eventually made me lie down in a delivery room where they could keep an eye on me. Whatever dignity I may have thought I possessed was completely thrown out the window with total strangers coming in, diving under the sheet for a feel and proudly announcing the width of my dilation to anyone in earshot. I know they phoned my doctor at some stage to tell him I was in labour and he brushed them off saying I would take forever. A little while later a nurse was sent running down the road to go fetch him from church as the birth process was accellerating really fast.

He barely made it in time to catch my son who weighed in at 9lbs 12ozs!

They placed my son in a crib close by while the doctor did his little sewing trick and I gazed at the red-faced, angry little person furiously beating his fists in the air, yelling at the top of his little lungs at being pushed out into the world on a cold Sunday morning. I remember thinking to myself that he was such an odd little creature and what on earth did he have to be so annoyed about?

When they later brought him to me all cleaned up, pink and shiny - the first thing I did was unwrap him and literally inspected him from top to toe. Everything that needed to be there was present and accounted for and following instructions, I dutifully breastfed him. The little blighter latched on and sucked so hard I was thought he was going to drain the marrow from my little toe!! This enthusiastic suckling resulted in an overabundance of milk which he could not consume, my breasts swelling up to the size of watermellows, furious expressing of milk and then 3 days later - nothing, nada, not an ounce! So he was introduced to a bottle.

When I took him home a week later, our very first visitor was the new young priest from our parish. He was highly enthusiastic about his brand new parishioner and insisted on taking photographs over my shoulder while I was trying to change my son's nappy - and of course got pee'ed on for his efforts! I cannot remember a whole lot about the next few weeks beyond being very reactive to my son - if he squeeked, I responded. I had the drill down to a fine art .... feed, burp, change nappy, bath, change nappy - or anything else that needed to be done to make him happy. All of this was accomplished on autopilot.

Then very late one night after I had fed and burped him, he lay looking at me with a very serious expression on his face. He was holding onto my finger and looked me straight in the eye as if he was wondering who I was and how I fit into the greater scheme of things. It was only then that it hit me like a ton of bricks - I was responsible for this little creature and how he turned out would be entirely up to me! A range of emotions swept over me like a veldt fire as I dealt with pure terror at not being equipped to handle this kind of responsibility; panic at not having the foggiest idea how to go about it; protective insinct that nothing in this world was going to harm this little fellow; the most amazing, fiercest love I have ever experienced and finally a sense of acceptance that it did not matter, I would do the best I could and somehow we would make it.

Oh how I wish we had the internet 33 years ago! Back then we had books and magazines and that was our sole source of reference material. Now you type a question on Google and get a few million views, articles, personal experiences and related articles which leads you from one topic to another, and you find answers to stuff you did not even know you needed!

Looking back now, I realise I made a whole lot of mistakes, did not follow prescribed guidelines on what makes the perfect mother and in some cases actually made the same mistake more than once! But in spite of all those horrible times, angry retaliations, unfair treatment and financial restraints - he grew to 6'4, is an active sportsman, received a good education, makes a great living, is a honourable and law-abiding citizen and achieved all this in spite of me not having a clue!

My son is now a grown man with a wife and daughter of his own. How he got there remains a source of wonderment and fascination as I believe he became a wonderful human being, a great friend, a loving husband and a wonderful father with very little help from me. 

PS. I still dont "do" little people. But somehow, with some weird quirk of fate, a few of them determinedly "do" me - whether I like it or not:)

The 8 best kind of friends

Edna Buchanan wrote that friends are the family we choose for ourselves and lists the five friends every woman should have as The Uplifter, The Travel Buddy, The Truth Teller, The Girl Who Justs Want to Have Fun and The Unlikely Friend. Although I agree with most of what she says, my list encompasses much more than she imagined and honours the people who are most important to me.

In my universe I would rather categorise them a little differently and their roles, influences, friendship, encouragement and support through some interesting times have greatly contributed towards the person I have become.

Here is my list of the friends every woman should have:

Elegance and Grace

A woman older: the woman you aspire to be. In most cases very different to you, behaves with utmost grace and charm, has an answer to those difficult questions and willingly shares her wisdom and outlook on life with you. Allways immaculately groomed and elegant, her home is stylish and comfortable. She has incredibly good taste and remains her own person under the most trying circumstances. Tough when she needs to be yet loving and kind to those who need a bit of TLC.

A woman younger: the woman you in turn teach what life has tought you and in the process learn a little more about yourself. The one who comes to you with life's little drama's and expects you to know the answer and you find yourself thinking what is best for her, and not necessarily what you would do in the same situation. Because let's face it - the way you dealt with the same problem last time did not work out so well, did it?

The women in my life 2003

A woman who knows you best: the one woman in the world you do not have to impress or hide from, she has seen you at your worst and best and in spite of everything, still remains a part of your life - even if it is just because she was there at a time when you not even vaguely human. Sharing the trials and tribulations of raising kids and life in general, she is the one who laughs hysterically when you share a sad story - because it is what the situation demands!

A woman to be giddy with: the woman who will drive all the way to the Drakenberg with you just because there was a rumour of snow on the mountains. She is the one who will have fish (marshmallows) and chips (potato crisps) for dinner and call it a balanced meal. Will spend the entire weekend watching disaster movies with you and would help you bury the body instead of just hiding it.

The Grouting Blow-Job

A woman to share your passion with: the woman who understands your obsession with something, in this case mosaic, and not only shares her knowledge but offers suggestions and a sympathetic ear when your clever plan does not work out. She understands what your addiction is about and will don her ugliest clothes and destroy her nails to help you install a mosaic - and in the process help you create a new undiscovered technique.


A woman who drives you nuts: Okay, so maybe not a friend but the one person in the world who knows exactly which buttons to push. No matter how hard you try to ignore her, she stays a constant irritation in your world and even if you imagine her most hideous demise - she has a role to play. She is the one who will point our your flaws, shortcomings and mistakes - real or imagined - in the harshest way which does force you to look at yourself and wonder if she does have a point after all. In the end you realise that she is nothing more than a mirror-image of your worst self and when you can stand up to her, you are much stronger than you imagined.

None of these women are slotted into little boxes and required to only perform their allocated roles. They overlap in the most delightful and surprising ways as I discover new aspects of their personalities and how they share their worlds with me.

A very popular poster of the seventies stated:

A friend will know you better in the moments you meet

than an acquintance will in a thousand years

and therein lies the beauty of our friendship. They are all so very different and yet they provide me with magical little pieces of love, understanding, support and guidance when I need it most and I love them dearly.

A gay male: I have no idea what is the basis of the magic in this relationship and why a man's sexuality should even be a criteria, but it just is! Whether it is their instinctive kindness, their amazing listening ability, their patience and understanding of the slightest nuance of any situation - or all of the above! All I do know is that they are not a social accessory as some of the meaner tabloids call it - they are wonderful human beings who enrich the lives of the women they befriend and are an amazing source of inspired conversations.

A lover, partner and friend: If you are lucky enough to find a very special man who "gets you", understands where you are coming from and what you hope to achieve, encourages you to try new things, is happy to let you potter around doing your own thing, is not narrow-minded or possesive, does not avoid discussing difficult topics, supports your efforts and is basically your biggest fan, loves you in spite of menopause, raging hormones and whacky biorhythms - you kinda consider yourself landed with bum firmly in butter.

Ian & Cher 2008

Besides the obvious benefits of having a man in your life, being in love is only a part of it - the other part is communication - of all kinds, nothing is too simple or too technical. Ian is a scientist which means his world is constructed in black and white. I on the other hand am an avid student of human nature which means in my world there are a gazillion shades of grey, yet there is no subject we cannot talk about, from our passion for Sci-Fi to his keen interest in real scientific stuff, (half of which I dont understand, true, but love hearing the sound of his voice) from the quirks and foibles of our doggie children to the collapse of the Africa he grew up in.
When we first met, I was very much at war with the world and could go from zero to Bitch in less than 0.02 seconds if I felt my world was been threatened in any way. But he somehow changed that - he put the Bitch out of business by surrounding me with his love, support and complete acceptance. And at the end of the day, he is the most important person in my world and my bestest friend.

Essential Service

About 10 years ago the universe decided to throw the book at me! I am not saying that it was undeserved - I had done some pretty weird, wonderful and sometimes questionablel things and perhaps it was time for a reality check. Either way, Murphy, bio-rhythms, horoscopes and whatever other force out there that influences our lives, had all come together in the same time period to drop a whole bunch of bad things on my head.

I was going through a divorce, fighting to save my business after my major shareholder had done a bunk down under and in trying to keep a lid on everything, went to a therapist to help me deal with some anger issues. This was not a good move, as before I knew it, some hypno-therapy was applied which scratched open a whole other world of weird stuff from my childhood! So instead of getting better - I had to deal with residue rejection, intimacy, abuse and a myriad of other issues as well. I was definitely not in a happy place:(

Having never had to deal with depression but considering myself pretty tough, I got through every day by doing what needed to be done, nothing more, nothing less - without giving too much thought about what I was doing or why. The sense of failure and uselessness pretty much pervaded my sense of self and I did not think too much about tomorrow or the next day. Right now and getting through the next task was all that mattered.

What began as an absolutely inconsequential event soon escalated into a weird fixation. I walked into the office bathroom to discover that the toilet paper roll was empty, so I replaced it. Later that day I went to a friends house, went to the bathroom ... the toilet paper roll was empty, so I replaced it. Not thinking - just doing what needed to be done.

This happened a few more times over the next few days. No matter where I went - home, office, client, friend, casino, restaurant, movies, garage restrooms - it did not matter. When I got to the loo, the toiler paper roll was empty, so I replaced it, this time adding a deft little fold to the end!

And so it began - this was my message from the universe! That I was not entirely useless and that I could provide this essential service to my fellow human by ensuring that there was plenty loo paper available! From then on it was a case of actively seeking out the toilets in public places to find the stall with an empty toilet roll. If I did find one with an almost empty roll, I will happily use up the last bit so that I could provide my little essential service.

I then started to notice that not all spare toilet rolls were kept in conventional holders. I became pretty adept at dropping the spare rolls on the tower holders in shopping centres and some contraptions were a tad more challenging. There were the expected crocheted balloon dresses on Barbie Dolls in office bathrooms and some quirky ones in private homes too.

Gradually, without much fanfare or major epiphanies, my sense of humor returned at the pure incongruity of the whole situation. As my attitude improved and became more positive, the incidence of empty toilet rolls seemed to decrease, until they became the exception rather than the rule. I found myself having to work harder at finding those empty toilet rolls and in the process started laughing at my ridiculous pursuit of them.

It is something that I find a bit difficult to explain to people. Everytime I change a toilet roll I smile remembering those dark days and how this simple task was the beginning of restoring my rather battered self esteem. And how in the process I discovered that it does not matter how dark and dismal things appear, if you look hard enough ... you can always find something to do to keep you going while you heal.

My gift to you (with many apologies to the Irish)

"May you always find a full toilet roll"