LittleWarthog

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Felix has started moving around in his cot.  He especially likes the mosquito net:

 

Since the arrival of Monsieur Felix, I can count on one hand the number of times I've gone out after dark.  Recently Dave and I decided that we needed to plan a Hot Date for ourselves every six weeks or so - dinner, wine, perhaps a movie - that sort of thing.

As part of my Hot Date event planning, I booked two tickets to the Brisbane Comedy Festival held recently at the Brisbane Powerhouse.  After reading the performing bios online, I decided I liked the sound of a certain Irish female comedian best.  My thinking went something along the lines of young, female, great accent, five star reviews… how could she not be funny?

As the week of our Hot Date approached I came down with a nasty head cold which I then gave to Felix (aaah the guilt of being responsible for your child’s first sickness!) Our timing was bad – Dave had just arrived back from regional Queensland that morning, and we had also neglected to find a babysitter.  So while Dave was quite happy to enjoy a night at home, I was loathe to see the tickets to go to waste.  Luckily a friend was keen to join me at late notice, so off I trotted *cough, sniff* to the Powerhouse for a dose of comic relief.

Oh dear.  It was neither comic nor relieving.  My friend and I sat in the front row, squirming at the countless oh my God are we supposed to laugh at this? moments.  Imitating a koala? Not funny.  Slapstick domestic violence skits? Very wrong.  Throwing away babies found in the wild? Bad bad bad.  Plus it wasn’t even a solo gig; she shared the stage with a funnier, male, Australian support comedian (this just confused us even more!)

After the show we went and shared some soggy, undercooked chips at the snotty restaurant downstairs. We didn’t bother ordering drinks because there was a thirty minute wait on the bar!

It was just one of those nights when nothing really goes right.  But for the awesome company of my friend, I would have been better off staying in bed. I think next time the comedy festival rolls around I’m going to stick to what I know.  Now that would be hilarious.

Life in our little patch of the world has become routine.  It has taken awhile for being a family to become our 'new now', but 5 months down the track it's starting to feel pretty normal.  My weeks are structured by regular events; Monday pilates, Thursday work etc.  (Work! yes... read on...) and Dave and I somehow seem to be keeping on top of the dirty dishes and nappies while still seeing friends and family.  We only occasionally run out of toilet paper and milk.  Our lawn is overgrown and the bathroom never gets cleaned, but really, who cares about cut grass?

So yes, a job.  I'm back with my old employer working one day per week.  Dave has negotiated a flexi-day with his new job, so he looks after Felix when I'm at work.  Transitioning back into the workplace is a little weird, but slightly less weird than I expected (except of course using a breast pump at work, which is outrageously weird).  It's nice being amongst my old workmates and seeing how things have moved ahead in the sector since I've been away.* 

Of course, all this means I'm only now starting to reflect properly on Uganda and our time there.  Although our Kampala friends feel very far away, we're lucky to have two friends from Uganda here with us in Brisbane.  Both have been resettled here under the UNHCR scheme and they're making Australia their new home.  Brisbane through their eyes is often amusing, sometimes infuriating.  When I think my new now is different I just need to remember how theirs is shaping up.

Felix is five and a bit months.  He's cutting two bottom teeth, almost sitting up and loves proper food.  Last week we started giving him pieces of mashed fruit and veg - he cries when there's nothing more to eat!


* I gave it a go and have decided that expressing in the workplace just ain't my thing. 

Fancy a 17 second chuckle?  Quality ain't great but you get the point.  Who needs toys...

Lots of blogging ideas but little time - sorry peeps (I am a perpetual blogger apologist, I know).

Recently Dave, Felix and I have taken to having early outdoor BBQs in our local park.  All credit for alfresco dining goes to Dave's brother and partner who initiated the idea (we just seem to be good at slavishly following in their parenting footsteps).

Sunday afternoon saw us pack our little picnic bag and head to the Kangaroo Point cliffs.  It was a beautiful sunset and a perfect way to top off a great weekend:

It was my birthday this month.  The big 3-2.  I'm not much of a birthday celebrator, but I did polish off a couple of glasses of strawberry-infused champagne at home to mark the occasion. Dave swears it cost more than 10 dollars: 


Yesterday was "Australia Day", the official national day of Australia.  26 January marks the date when the First Fleet arrived in Sydney in 1788.  It's more aptly referred to as Invasion Day or Survival Day by Aboriginal Australians and anyone else with a sensible bone in their body.

What particularly irked me about this year's public holiday was the number of Australian flags attached to cars being driven around town.  They were everywhere in Brisbane!  A friend of mine thought she had seen a royal motorcade on the streets, and had to blink before she realised that it was just some guy with the Aussie flag flapping alongside his car window.

There are plenty of things I like about Australia and Australians.  Perhaps one of the things I like best was that, up until recently, Australians used to be very unenthusiastic about being Australian.  Like Easter, no-one seemed particularly attached to the original meaning of the event; just so long as it resulted in a public holiday then no-one was going to complain.  

But now I smell a rat.  A rather large, racist rat creeping into our hitherto meaningless January public holiday.  Ever since the 2005 Cronulla riots  there has been a nascent nationalism in Australia that is downright ugly.  It is reflected in the resurgent numbers of people attending ANZAC day events, the popularity of "Australiana" beach wear and yesterday's flag happy car-driving populace.  Well, dear readers, I don't loike it.   I think those of us who are fiercely un-Australian about Australia Day need to do more to reclaim the true meaning of what that day stands for.  End of rant.

Other January notables....

Carmen and Paul's baby girl arrived!  Little Maya Cushworth-Seaby was born on 25 January, 3.295kg, 49cm.  You see? Bless you, little Maya, for being so wonderfully un-Australian. 

Felix had his 4 month jabs and his first taste of baby panadol today.  He hated the former and loved the latter (cherry-flavoured).

Deep in the Littlewarthog archives are many pregnancy-themed rants.  They mainly document pregnancy #1 and concern all those bite-sized bits of information that you only discover once you're up the duff.  That pregnancy makes you hotter.  The myth of natural induction methods.  How your bum will never be the same again.

So it is with parenting. Here's my preliminary rant of things no-one told me or thought to include in their Guide to Parenting bibles: 

• Your washing loads increase exponentially. It's not necessarily the nappies or baby gear, but towels, sheets and spew cloths, plus your own clothing.
• The neck skank!  Babies have a bit of rotting skin under their neck folds that always stinks and never seems clean, despite your repeated attempts at wiping the gunk away.  A friend of mine refers to it as Mordor.  Surely good to know beforehand, if for no other reason than to reduce the shock factor?
• Without fail, your baby will always puke on you whenever you open the door to strangers.
• It's really hard to keep in contact with people in different time zones, especially when Australia is GMT+10.
• A good breastfeeding chair is priceless if you're prone to neck and back soreness.

One thing you already know is your time becomes scarce and your memory eludes you.  I'm sure there's more to add to the list...

For me, 2009 has been a year of gestation, relocation, goodbyes and hellos.  And a year ending in Firsts...

Remember that post about the oh so cute possum? Forget it. My sweet little chilli plant seedlings? GONE. Flowers on the pumpkin vine? EATEN. Little marigolds? ONLY STEMS REMAIN!

I am boiling with amateur gardener rage. Bloody cuddly marsupials, I hope you DIE (in a fast, humane way).

Gardening in Brisbane is a lot less rewarding than Uganda. In Kampala it seemed like all I needed to do was to think about a particular vegetable and bang, there I was making copious amounts of delicious home grown delights. (A full-time gardener also helps...)

But it's not just the DIY nature of gardening that is the problem here: pests, poor soil quality and lack of rain all contribute. Add to that: seasons! It was 'late Spring all year round' in Kampala; not so in Brisbane, where it's essential to know a bit about planting the right thing at the right time. I've had little luck growing things from seed - some take, but most seedlings give up around the 2cm mark. I feel like I've been watering 2cm rocket for at least a month.

I've had one success though! Tomatoes (that I didn't even plant) have miraculously germinated, ripened on the vine and are now ready for eating. I could lecture you on the merits of companion planting and crop rotation strategies, but that would just be a pack of lies. I really have no idea how these little beauties made it: