Parenting. It's not rocket science.

"We read the books. Our babies do not" - Spirit Led Parenting

The only text book I'll be studying for a while

I picked up a book from the library about weening and it had a bit about sleep (goodness knows why, this was a book on weening for goodness sake).

I threw it across the room (sorry, library book) when I read about how babies have the ability to sleep through the night, and should be doing it, from merely a few weeks of age.

Who is it who writes these books?

When I was at university I would be jealous of my housemates who studied Pharmacy. While Pharmacy was a lot more intense than teaching, it seemed that at least any of those science-based courses were better because rather than different theories, approaches and learning styles about school aged kids, at least science was just that. More of a one answer fits all.

And I guess because of my educational background I have the tendency to want to find the answer in a book. And that everything should be found in a book, make perfect sense, and be the answer to all my problems and I live happily ever after the end. Wrong!

It took me to be a blubbering mess in a doctors waiting room with a one month old colicky baby for me to realise that everything is not so black and white. Each textbook, with a different approach, was written for one baby, not always mine.

In this day and age, parents are indirectly told to fear. Fear that your life will run into chaos. Fear that you're doing everything wrong. Fear that if you don't follow the trends of the current age, it's not right, and you'll deprive your baby.

And sometimes, we're just too busy reading the books, rushing to the specialist, looking for answers, pondering 'what if' and trying so bloody hard not to stuff it up when we forget to do something that is just the natural thing to do: just be the parent, and follow our intuition.

(That said, if you sense something is wrong, by all means you should be getting medical advice).

Unlike the textbooks I had at uni, this new 'study' (which, I voluntarily force upon myself) is so much more complex than Maslow's heir achy of needs or Piaget's theories of cognitive development. I need to stop reading the books. I need to stop over analysing. I need to just plunge in to the job at hand today.

Parenting. It's not rocket science. Rocket science would be way easier.

Quadtriple zero

Come Friday Morning and Luke and I went for our routine walk to the coffee shop. Upon arrival a lady came and wrapped my arms around me. At first I didn't recognise her, but then I realised it was a colourful, life-filled version of the lady I called the ambulance for 2 days earlier. It was lovely. We sat down and had coffee together and compared hospital stories. 

Yes, hospital stories.

See the day after all this happened, somebody was calling triple zero for me.

Now, don't worry. I'm okay. And so is Luke. I'm going to spare the details, because really it's not important. But my brave little boy spent 2 days (not overnight) at 2 different hospitals, fasting for way too long, charming all of the nurses with his resilient little nature and leaving finally with stitches in his left arm.

Welcome to the wonderful world of raising a boy.

Despite the circumstances, he looked darn gorgeous in a hospital gown.

The staff at Dandenong Hospital - you were lovely. I wanted to marry all of you. And if I were actually going there for Valentines Day I would have given you all a kiss on the cheek and a red heart shaped Chocolate.

The paramedics - you were so professional, too. And it turns out that day I found out a friend actually works as an ambo. We actually enjoyed our ride in the ambulance. 

We're at home now. Luke is doing well, has worked out how to crawl despite having what looks like a baseball bat. It's actually promoting him to stand by himself and take those first actions towards walking. The after affects of anaesthetic have been amusing, I'm not sure for Luke or us more with his hysteric laughing. 

He has surprised us with how resilient he is. He seems unfazed by not seeing his fingers. We expected things to be rocky, but he has been sleeping well, eating well, and almost, well, normal. His resilience has been our strength, and I think sometimes he has done better than us at coping with the tiresome ordeal.

On the mend

I bought a ten pack of coloured socks to cover his bandage with - he thinks it's great for teething. I'm enjoying colour matching his outfit with a pretty sock every day.

Hopefully by next week the bandage will be gone, as will the stitches and life can return to some kind of normality. And I can wear the coloured socks.

triple zero

It was an average morning here in our house. I rolled out of bed, made Hendrik lunch, myself and Luke breakfast. The grumpy boy watched back to back episodes of Peppa Pig as I spooned an exotic breakfast of apple farax, honey, milk and mango into his mouth.

I usually have a coffee a day. And by coffee I mean I either drive or walk down to the coffee shop located in the local Coles complex. The way the morning was panning out I just wanted to crawl back into bed, however I can't as I have a ten month old, and my conscience won't let me as Hendrik works hard for the money.

After putting on a load of washing, i changed a second dirty nappy within twenty minutes and loaded Luke up into the big pram as he arched his back and screamed. I persisted, reasoning that once I have a coffee I would feel more alive.

Little did I know, going to the coffee shop alone was enough to make me feel alive this morning.

As I walked into the coffee shop there was a big line. As I am usually very friendly with the staff I decided to sit down and wait for the post-school-dropp-off queue to die down. I sat on a brown sofa and started to chat away to Luke to try and engage him out of his crappy mood.

From behind me a lady grabbed my attention.

"Excuse me," she said, "can you please call an ambulance?"

"Sure," I said, like I was working at McDonalds and someone had just ordered a McFlurry.

I paused for a moment as I processed what she had just asked me, but simultanously pulling my phone from the top console in the pram. I thought, 'oh maybe she'll be alright, maybe she doesn't need an ambulance'. But then at that same second she grabbed her head and began to slump forwards.

I've never called 000. I struggled to unlock my phone as I forgot I didn't even need to unlock it to make an emergency call. I sifted through the options on my screen as though it was a new piece of technology I had never used before until I finally found the keypad option and punched in 000 and the big green call button.

I put the phone to my ear and walked outside. I walked outside. I left the poor woman slumped on the couch and walked outside! In an instant there was a small voice that I could barely hear on the other end. "Police, Fire or Ambulance?"

I said I needed an ambulance. She asked where I was and I told her the name of the shopping complex. Then she asked what state, and suburb. My mind was racing so fast that I couldn't even remember where I was. They put me through to the ambulance people who must be based in Melbourne.

Here I was standing outside and explaining exactly where I was, but at the same time not making any sense. The man on the other end of the phone asked me how old the lady was and what was wrong. I explained I didn't know, she just asked me to call an ambulance. I managed to ask the lady how old she was and she could tell me. After answering as much information as I could about the woman the man on the phone said an ambulance was on the way.

She held her head and told me she couldn't see anything. She then started asking about her daughter. I noticed that there was a little three year old at the other end of the couch. I assured her that she was here next to me and that I was taking care of her.

By now there were a group of women around us acting out of concern. One suggested I go and get a doctor from the adjoining medical clinic alongside Coles, but I assured them there was no need. An ambulance was on the way.

The minutes felt like hours while we waited for the ambulance. I didn't know what to do or say so I kept my hand on her back to offer some kind of reassurance. Also so I could make sure she was still breathing. I started talking to the little girl with a bob cut next to me, asking her name and trying to be as friendly as I could. She didn't answer, yet she seemed so brave.

One of the ladies asked if they wanted me to order a coffee. It was seriously the last thing on my mind.

The lady blacked out and wouldn't respond. She didn't appear to be breathing and then started shaking. Where the hell is the ambulance? I began to feel sick as I looked for a pulse and was convinced I couldn't find one. I was thinking about old episodes of All Saints where they used to slap the patient so I began tapping her hand asking, "Hey, hey, can you hear me?"

I then said, "okay, now I think we need to go and get a doctor from the clinic." The women all stood around arguing about who should go and get one as they all had children etc. I jumped up from the sofa, where I was sitting next to the woman, and declared that I would go and ran out of the door, pointing at Luke and then pointing at the manager who nodded in agreeance.

I ran like crazy to the clinic which felt like it was miles away. I banged on the automatic doors as they just wouldn't open quick enough. The receptionist gave me a very disapproving look as I jumped the queue. I said that I needed help at the coffee shop immediately, that I had called an ambulance and we were still waiting. She picked up the phone and began to dial into one of the doctors rooms as I assured all of the shocked people in the waiting room that everything was okay.

I ran back to the coffee shop where they were lying the woman down on the sofa. The doctor came and people explained what they knew. She regained consciousness as the ambulance arrived and the doctor explained everything to them.

We noticed her phone but it had a pin lock. Her licence was in the black wallet case of the phone,  so we wrote down her details to go over to the school and see if they had any emergency contacts as that's where she had just dropped her kids off.

Her phone began to ring. I looked around and said, "should I answer it? What should I say?" before throwing it to a lady with curly hair who explained to the person on the phone what was happening. The paramedic then took the phone and explained what was going on. Her daughter was now in her pram facing Luke. She had a balloon and started hitting Luke in the head, which he thought was hilarious.

I ordered a coffee, but I felt like I needed something more like a Chamomile tea.  I stood around sipping my coffee, feeling like a useless bit of furniture at the same time. I left home feeling lethargic, but I sure was awake now, caffeine not needed.

I watched how the paramedics were professional to every one around them as they worked with the lady, strung out on the couch, smudged make up and whiter than the milk froth on top of my latte. I remembered as every Tuesday night at 8:30 I got to stay up and watch All Saints, starring Libby Tanner and Georgie Parker through my high school years. I could have sworn that this hour long soap opera made me want to be a nurse.

And while I don't think I'd ever cut it in a medical profession, this has definitely given me the kick I needed to renew my first aid certificate.

a little close to home

So for my birthday Hendrik said he had organised something special for me. Special indeed. It didn't happen on my birthday, but it happened the weekend following my birthday.

It all started when we were getting ready to go to this special 'surprise' when suddenly there was a knock on the door. It was our relatives from Bandung. And by relatives, I mean, plural, lots of them. We only have a tiny house in Jakarta, and, well, I'm not sure we could have fit many more visitors. 

Unfortunately we wanted to stay and chat, but we said that we had this prior birthday arrangement. Where we were going was closer to Plaza Indonesia and we had prearranged for my sister in law x 2 to look after Luke there. No worries, said the rellies, and we all jumped in a convey of four cars and made our way to Plaza Indonesia, where we were met with even more relatives.

I was starting to feel nervous. I don't leave Luke much. So to leave him in a shopping centre with thousands of happy relatives (who will DEFINITELY take good care of him) in a foreign country (even the one I'm familiar with), I began to feel nervous. I became increasingly nervous as a fire alarm went off and nobody cared. Welcome to Indonesia.

So after going through my nappy bag and explaining each item and it's purpose in my increasingly broken Bahasa Indonesia to my sister in law, Hendrik's friend picked us up and we made our way to what I was foretold would be a slum. After going down a one way street the wrong way in reverse with the police watching (and subsequently not caring) we arrived. Suddenly, the worries I had for Luke's well-being seemed non-existant.

We parked the car and went past little shops and children watched me in the street. It wasn't the worst slum I have seen, but it was definitely far from the middle-class community we live in in West Jakarta. We walked over the railway line, where I glamourously had to get Hendrik to practically carry me down a makeshift bridge, and finally we arrived to a tiny tin shed. We walked in and there were about 50 children inside a room that would be a quarter of a typical small classroom in Australia.

"Hello," Hendrik announced, "belajar apa?" (What are you studying)

The children all replied in harmony, "Bahasa Inggris!" (English)

(This seems like a bit of a set up) We made our way down to the front where we were 'expected' to take over the lesson.

This classroom had no chairs, and was cooled by a small fan. Some were lucky to have a small makeshift table. I was getting pins and needles within a few minutes - I don't know how they handle doing it all day long.

We started by Hendrik telling his story about how he grew up in Indonesia and now lives in Australia. Hendrik spoke in English, and I translated into Indonesian. I also wrote a few things on the board like my school teacher self. 

After that, I told my story in English and Hendrik translated. I told them about why I love Indonesia, how I came there in high school, had been to Kendari ("hey, do YOU know where Kendari is?"), and how I have a little boy called Luke and lived in a village (Pinnaroo) once.

Then it was their turn. One boy wanted to be a music teacher. Another was at University. There was such a huge range of learning styles and ages (really puts the whole term 'multi age' into perspective). They weren't bothered by the fact that they didn't have technology to support their learning, or that they were in the top group or the bottom. Their desire was to learn, and their hunger for it inspired me.

Often when we talked we would have to stop as a train would zoom past. The buildings in this slum were so dangerously close to the train tracks.

Suddenly, one of Hendrik's friends came in with one of the most gorgeous birthday cakes I have ever had in my life. I gave the first piece to Hendrik, then had to cut the tiniest slices ever as children lined up for a slice. (Suddenly the whole community was there).

And that concluded the class. I can't help but think this was all very pre-arranged as it was a Sunday. The Children all disappeared and I hung out with my fellow 'colleagues' for a while.

Outside in the muggy Jakarta air, Hendrik turned to me and said, "Let's do something that we can't do in Australia."

My Husband is a wild one, and I love him for it. So I agreed and thus came this picture:

We could hear a train in the distance.

"Ah it's going the other way," we said as we looked behind to see if we could see the train. As we looked back at the camera we saw the train charge around the corner - charging at us at full speed.

Had we been two seconds more on the train track, we probably would have not been here. Thus came this picture:

We made our way back to the car and I snapped a few more pictures:

A contrast of two places: notice how the 'rich' area is so close to the slum, and how close it is to the railway track.

This picture breaks my heart every time I see it. Homeless people sleep between the tracks -  it's unlikely they will be told to move on because the Government can't build anything where the tracks are anyway.

This is a picture of a river behind the houses. Each year in the rainy season it floods, sending rubbish and disease into the slum. I really hate to see what has happened here since the very bad flood in Jakarta this year.

I got back to Luke at Plaza Indonesia and he was asleep and fine in the care of my two sisters in law. The family had gone back to Bandung and all seemed quiet. It was so strange going back to one of the richest malls in Indonesia after being in a place where they probably don't even know that Plaza Indonesia exists. There is such a big gap between the rich and the poor in Indonesia and it makes me angry, but the resilience of the poor people does nothing but amaze me.

Thank you to Hendrik, Yoesen and all of my new friends in Jakarta who made this trip so memorable and birthday so special for other people, not just me.