Parenting | Lifestyle | Food | No F--king Idea

The (Oblivious) New Mama

The (Oblivious) New Mama

Parenting | Lifestyle | Food | No F--king Idea

Recent Posts

My Tribe

My Tribe

I have a new tribe. Hunter has brought with him a whole new way of life, an entirely new lifestyle and, rather unexpectedly, some of the most beautiful friendships with the most incredible women. One of us is a champion breastfeeder. One of us couldn’t […]

Not the post I was going to post

Not the post I was going to post

I had another piece that I was going to post today (or three days ago, actually) about how wonderful I think it is that Instagram is trialling the hiding of ‘likes’. I had a whole spiel ready to publish but now, it all seems irrelevant. […]

Do Something

Do Something

I recently read Mark Manson’s book The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A Fuck. It should be noted that this is the first non-fiction book that I have ever completed. When I eventually get around to typing up all of my book reviews, this one will be a good’un; until then though, I want to focus on one of the principles that really resonated with me.

The do something principle.

Before I dive headfirst into this post, there are a selection of quotes from the book about this principle:

“Don’t just sit there. Do something. The answers will follow.”

“Action isn’t just the effect of motivation; it’s also the cause of it. Most of us commit to action only if we feel a certain level of motivation. And we feel motivation only when we feel enough emotional inspiration.”

“Inspiration > Motivation > Action > Inspiration > Motivation > etc.”

“Your actions create further emotional reactions and inspirations and move on to motivate your future actions.”

“If you lack the motivation to make an important change in your life, do something, and then harness the reaction to that action as a way to motivate yourself.”

“You can become your own source of inspiration. You can become your own source of motivation. Action is alway within reach. And with simply doing something as your only metric for success – well, then even failure pushes you forward.”

As a writer, I have always used the excuse, “I didn’t/can’t/won’t write today because I’m not inspired/motivated/in the right frame of mind.” I cannot tell you how many days (years) have passed me by, my page remaining blank, my heart riddled with shame and guilt. Over the past couple of weeks I have written several blog posts, none of which have made it onto the website. Some of them I completed writing, only to have them lay dormant in my notebook; others I didn’t even bother finishing because I thought they were utter rubbish.

Right now however, I am breaking that pattern. Instead of handwriting my post first (I always handwrite everything first) and then judging my work and then curling up and crying in the corner, I am choosing to simply DO SOMETHING. For me, that something is to simply type. I am going to finish this blog post and press publish even if I could have written something far superior, something far more meaningful, something far deeper.

As much as I don’t like the term (nor the connotations that come with it) the fact of the matter is, is that I am a stay-at-home-mum. I have the absolute privilege to be able to devote all of my time to Pete’s and my beautiful son; while, on the flip side, all of my time goes to Pete’s and my beautiful son. When I was at work, I was able to see the results of my hard work in a very literal way. Now, I have to remind myself that I am doing one of the most important things a human is able to do – raise a child. Even when my day seems mundane and all I have done is clean the house and entertain Hunter, I need to remember that there are the results of that, even if I don’t realise it. Hunter has learned how to grab, how to roll, how to put himself to sleep, how to bounce in his bouncer. His two front teeth have already erupted, he can almost sit up unassisted, he can stand extremely well (while I hold his hands) and he is eating solids like an absolute champion. For the most part, I taught him that. And that is pretty special. That is me doing something.

What else have I been doing, I hear you ask?

Well today, for instance I baked a batch of pistachio, oat and white chocolate biscuits from the Wholesome Pattiserie. A couple of days ago I baked a big batch of cookies for a beautiful friend of mine, packaged them and sent them to her office. I also practised baking and decorating Madeline cookies for a friends’ daughter’s first birthday that is coming up. Not only that but I also have another first birthday that I am catering, as well as a baby shower. So, I mean, that’s super exciting!

I have also been doing all of the laundry to have ever existed ever. No one tells you that when you have a kid you will go from doing 1-2 loads a week to like, 57 loads of washing a day. So, yeah, that takes up about 45 days of my week, every week.

My ‘To Be Read’ pile is looking healthier than it ever has – which is exceptionally exciting. At the moment I am reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s City of Girls. If there was any book that was going to be able to follow up with how I felt when I read The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A Fuck, it is this one. It has been a very, very long time since I read her debut book Eat, Pray, Love, but the voice behind City of Girls is one of a different writer (I mean that metaphorically, of course). I liked Eat, Pray, Love don’t get me wrong, but it didn’t have the lingering affect on me that in had on so many others. But it was her non-fiction book Big Magic (okay, I just realised that THAT was the first non-fiction book that I completed. My bad.) that really got me paying attention to Elizabeth Gilbert as so much more than an author. She is just fucking spectacular and remarkable and wonderful and all different kinds of intelligent. City of Girls is in a league of its own. I am about halfway through it and I am happy to report that it is one of those books that stays with you even when you aren’t reading it.

See, right now, in my head I am saying, “that whole paragraph was useless, no one cares what book you are reading or what you think about Elizabeth Gilbert.” But, I AM PERSEVERING ANYWAY.

My son is a chatterbox who has learned how to repeat his actions when they make us laugh – he’s a regular comedian. It took him two days how to self-settle without his dummy in his own bed (yes, I am bragging about that because he is obviously a genius). I got up early to watch the Matildas play their matches in the FIFA World Cup which is the first time I have watched women’s sport – something that I am very upset about. I hadn’t realised how much I missed it nor how much of my identity it formed; sitting on the lounge in the wee hours of the morning with my gigantic mug of coffee and my snoring baby boy lying next to me – well, I felt more like myself than I have in a long time. It was nice to rediscover that part of me. I was looking at old photos when I came across one of me in New York. I was slim, I remember feeling really confident in my body and I was on the other side of the world with my best friend. It has taken me a while to be comfortable with the fact that my body will never be the same as it was before I gave birth. It wasn’t until today, however, that I really started to appreciate my new body. I’m still getting used to it, don’t get me wrong; but there is something that I love about the skin on my belly that is still stretchy. I jiggle in places that I have never jiggled before. I choose to look at those parts of me as a reminder that my body is capable of. Whenever I see a woman’s body that is curvaceous and wobbly and uber feminine, I swoon. I think female’s bodies are absolute works of art. Why then, I wondered to myself, is it so hard for me to turn that very same gaze and feelings towards myself?

Anyway – this post has taken me about five hours to write. Not even kidding. I have had my laptop open since midday and have been typing in between feeding Hunter, bathing Hunter, folding washing, dealing with the fucking cat, receiving a delivery, feeding Hunter again, getting him to sleep, preparing dinner, making biscuits, putting more washing on.

So here we have it, me simply doing something.

Struggle City

Struggle City

I always feel such a desperate need to apologise when I haven’t posted in a while. I have written three or four separate posts since my last one and have either deemed them unworthy, or haven’t had time to type them up and post them. […]

I’m a Mama

I’m a Mama

The last couple of weeks have been pretty smooth sailing, really. There have been no major screaming sessions, little man is sleeping well and, even when Pete went away for four days and Hunter and I both had the flu we both managed just fine. […]

Why people need to stop asking me whether I have a ‘good baby’

Why people need to stop asking me whether I have a ‘good baby’

Guaranteed, at least once a day someone will come up to me and ask me, “So is he a good baby?” I cannot tell you how sick of that question I am – not just because I get asked it so often, but because when you think about it, it is a completely ridiculous question.

What constitutes a good baby? And what, if you have an unsettled child who cries a lot they are to be considered a ‘bad baby’? I never know how to answer that question, what do these people want to hear? Of course I think my child is ‘good’, doesn’t everyone? I generally assume that the general nature of the question is leaning towards whether my child sleeps well or not. So, with that in mind I shrug my shoulders and generally answer, “Yeah, he is great.. only waking up once or twice during the night.”

For the last week or so, Hunter has been sleeping like an absolute champion. He goes down at about seven, will sleep through until two-thirty and have a feed and then sleep from three until six. It has been incredible.

But then last night happened.

Hunter slept all day yesterday – ALL day – before going down at six-thirty. He slept soundly while Pete and I were still awake but as soon as he and I hopped into bed, Hunter stirred and woke. And that was it. We were awake. Even after feeding Hunter, he lay in bed wide-eyed and bushy-tailed ready to start the day before the last one had even finished.

At three-thirty this morning, I gave up trying to coerce him to sleep and took Hunter out to the lounge room. At four-thirty, he and I fell asleep for twenty minutes. Huzzah.

The reason I am telling you all this is, just because Hunter didn’t sleep last night, doesn’t make him a bad baby. We had a tough night, sure, but he doesn’t know that. He did nothing wrong, he just wasn’t tired. When Pete was a baby he had colic until he was one. His mum told me that he had an underdeveloped bowel and with that came really bad reflux. Pete was in pain until he learned how to walk. Does that mean that Pete was a ‘bad’ baby? If anything, it would be the opposite! The poor thing was in pain for twelve months and still managed to learn and thrive and develop and grow into an even more beautiful boy. (Also Louise, you’re a champ.)

You get my point.

Stop asking me if Hunter is a good baby. In fact, stop asking any mother if their baby is good. Instead, try asking, “How are you?” Because the other thing that happens when people ask me if he is good or not, is I start to question myself as a mother. If he has had a restless night or he has been grumpy and then someone asks, “So, is he a good boy?” a million thoughts run through my head as to what constitutes good and whether or not I am ticking those boxes (but then I realise how ridiculous it all is and pour myself a bourbon).

Furthermore (yes, furthermore. I am really feeling the need for a good rant today – probably because of the not sleeping thing), if you have a child that is older than Hunter, please try and refrain from saying things like, “Oh, enjoy him while he is this age. Once they get to THIS age, they are a bloody nightmare!” Or, “I would have heaps of kids if they never grew up.” I hear these exact phrases and numerous variations of these each and every day.

You know what? It really upsets me.

I am all for sharing the experiences of motherhood and definitely feel like there should be a healthy dialogue about those really difficult and testing moments, but I don’t have time for outright negativity. Parenting is hard, and there are moments when I feel completely defeated and like I can’t go on, but I would never blame Hunter for that. He is just doing his thing, much like toddlers and teenagers and adult children are doing theirs. It also makes me sad because whatever child that the parent is referring to is generally within earshot, if not right next to them when hey are complaining and calling them nightmares and wishing that they weren’t exactly who they are.

On top of that, why are you projecting all of that onto me? So when Hunter is, say, three years old, what? He is going to become a terror and I am going to wish he was a baby again? I know that we haven’t got there yet and Hunter is only three-and-a-half months, but I know in my soul that I would never, ever say things like that about him, no matter what the age. Every single child is different and no two parenting experiences are the same, so why do so many mothers (because it mainly is the mothers) think they know what I am going to go through?

I don’t mean to sound judgmental and if that is how I am going across, I apologise. I am just speaking my truth, and whenever people say these things to me it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. And the interesting thing is that these two things are what people ask me the most. Why is that?

The (Oblivious) New Mama is all about sharing the experience of being a mother; it is about supporting mothers and fathers and partners and letting you know that it is totally okay to make mistakes, to forge your own parenting path and to say no to the status quo. Whether you have a baby that sleeps through the night, or one who is restless and unsettled and a very good crier, they are perfect. Can we try and work together to eradicate the idea of a good baby?

Alaric Alexander John Powell

Alaric Alexander John Powell

Samantha Michelle Fishburn and I went to high school together. We were in the same Maths and PDHPE classes together. We crossed paths regularly, saw each other every day, but we were never close, we were never friends. We both sat with different groups of […]

Coffee, please.

Coffee, please.

If you were to ask me how my nigh was with Hunter last night, there is no way that I would be able to tell you. I don’t remember it. All I know is that at some point in the early hours of the morning, […]



I will admit that before I had Hunter I did hold some judgment around parents who fed their babies formula. Further still, I did nothing to help the stigma of bottle-feeding babies, even if the bottle was filled with breast milk. I don’t know where that judgment was born from, and I would like to take this moment to apologise for those ill feelings; how stupid and naive I was.

My brothers and I were breastfed and I have grown up around women who have been all about the boob. Mothers breastfeeding their babies is all I have ever really known, it is all that has been celebrated around me when it comes to feeding ones child. Not only that, but I have always found breastfeeding to be one of the most beautiful things any human could do. There is something so magical about a mother nurturing her child. It should come as no surprise then that I have always wanted to breastfeed.

A few weeks before Hunter was born my colostrum came in. From the get go I wasn’t worried about my supply, I was born for this.

When Hunter was born at a tiny 2.8kg, the midwives and I quickly realised that his mouth was teeny tiny as well. Over those first few hours he was able to latch, but he struggled to draw my nipple far enough towards the back of his throat to be able to stimulate the flow. To ensure that he was getting enough to fill him up, I expressed (squeezed my boob really fucking hard) into one of those little plastic cups you pee into when you take a urine test and fed him with a plastic syringe.

After a few days (with a few home visits from my midwife) I got him latching better and I cannot explain how it felt to look down at my son and know that I was able to provide him with everything he needed. My boob was about fifty-seven times larger than his perfect little head, but we managed. Until we didn’t.. Randomly, he started having difficulty latching again. I started to get stressed, which of course didn’t help anything, and called my midwife. When she came over and watched Hunter trying to latch, she produced a nipple guard. I didn’t know they existed and Mum was beside herself, “I wish that we had these when I had you!” A nipple guard is a soft, plastic cone shaped thing that you place over your nipple. Not only does it protect your nipple from chafing and all the other kinds of damage, but it also makes your nipple longer and therefore, easier for Bub to latch onto. All of a sudden, Hunter was able to feed again. I was expressing in-between feeds because I found that feeding him with the bottle during the night was a lot easier for me as well as settling him far better.

Also, fun fact? When the midwife came over she was teaching me all about breastmilk; research shows that breastmilk is different each and every day, producing exactly what your Bub needs for that days development. And, when it is a hot day, there will be an increase of water in your milk to ensure that your baby is hydrated. Our bodies are just fucking incredible.

Every couple of feeds, I tried to get him to latch without the guard, but he still struggled. It seems as though he had very quickly become used to feeding with the guard. As he grew, obviously the amount that he drinks increases. He became so restless because he wasn’t getting the milk from me fast enough. Just as he had become used to using the guard, he started to become used to how easily (and how quickly) he was able to get his feed from the bottle. Using the guard, although incredible because it meant that Hunter was still breastfeeding, presented its own problems. Whenever he needed a feed it wasn’t as simple as getting my nipple into his mouth; first I had to position and place the guard, then I have to hold it in place while I expressed some milk into the tip of it, and then I had to try and get him to latch. With the guard, he also wasn’t stimulating my milk production because he as no longer feeding skin-on-skin.

Once his feeds increased and he was demanding the milk at a faster rate, I knew the he wasn’t going to be able to get what he needed from me. So, as much as it broke my heart at the time, I made the decision to exclusively express feed. He was far happier feeding with the bottle and we were able to monitor how much he was eating, but it also meant that a lot of (all of) my day had to be planned around when I could express. I expressed every morning and always tried to have a spare bottleful of milk in the fridge. For the most part, my supply was good enough that I was able to get a really good amount of milk first thing in the morning which took a lot of pressure off me. So long as I had 150ml ready to go, which was about two feeds, I was happy. Then recently, overnight his feeds went from between 70-90ml to 120-150ml. His feeds effectively doubled and my body had no idea what to do.

There were a couple of weeks where I was going feed to feed. It got to the point where I was trying to get him to sleep JUST so I could express to ensure that he would have a feed for when he woke up. I was only expressing about 30ml at a time, and then I started stressing that I was only expressing 30ml at a time, so then I would produce less. Not only that, but for about five weeks, Hunter was in agony. He would scream from about 2pm-8pm every night with bad wind. I tried cutting things out of my diet so that he wouldn’t have it in the breast milk, but nothing worked. It was exhausting and heartbreaking having him cry so much and seeing him in so much pain. Pete and I did everything we could each and every night to try and help him, but we couldn’t. We saw the doctor because I wanted to know whether there was a reason for his pain, and not only that, he was only doing a poo once every ten days or so. It turns out that he is quite possibly lactose intolerant (which a lot of babies are) as well as having reflux (which is hereditary – did anyone know that?! Pete and his mum both get bad reflux, so it explained a lot).

Everything came to a head at the beginning of last week when my supply was so low that I knew I was going to have to give him formula just to tide him over. I went to the pharmacy and sought help (because I was completely oblivious as to what to buy). In the end, I bought him Ovi, a goat milk based formula, which I was told would be far gentler on his tummy. The first bottle I gave him of the formula, I cried. I felt like I was letting him down. Surely, I thought, my body should be producing what he needs WHEN he needs it. I felt like a failure. That night after having the formula in the afternoon, Hunter didn’t scream. He was calm and happy and back to being our beautiful, sweet, delicious little man. Initially the formula was only going to be for those times where my supply was low, so during the night I still gave him breastmilk.

He screamed. The pain was almost instant. Once again, I couldn’t settle him. He would sleep for five minutes and then be writhing in agony.

The next day and overnight I only fed him formula to see how he would be.

He was like a completely different baby.

After the first feed he slept for four hours straight. When he woke up from that sleep, he was talkative and happy. He was so chilled and most importantly, he wasn’t in any pain. When he was ready for another sleep, I didn’t ned to do any rocking or any pushing in the pram, I simply put him down and he went straight to sleep. I couldn’t believe it. He really was a completely different little guy.

It was really difficult making the decision to only feed him formula. For a day or so I felt really torn. I still felt like I had failed him, but I was also so relieved and happy that he was no longer in pain. It has been a week now that Hunter has been purely on formula and he and I are both happier. The stress of having to find pockets of the day to express has been completely eradicated, Hunter sleeps solidly and soundly and only cries if he is over-tired.

And, I can wear my pretty bras again.

Once again, I want to take this moment to apologise for the judgment I held around breastfeeding. I had no idea it was this complicated or layered. I am a firm believer that every mother should only do what feels right for them and what works for them and their Bub. Breastfeeding is hard and I tip my hat to every single mother out there whether you feed from the boob, or the bottle, or the tin. You’re all killing it, mamas.

The advice no one gives you (but that you really need)

The advice no one gives you (but that you really need)

Did you know that bus will sometimes cry because they want to be wrapped? No? Neither did I. Two days ago, Hunter had been fed and burped and cuddled and still wouldn’t settle. I walked around with him, pushed him in the pram – nothing. […]