Blizzard Almighty

It's been a long while since I've written anything here, but something caused me a little bit of anger the other day which led to inspiration for another post.  You need a bit of a back story though:

I was born in South Africa. My parents were not well off and I think that they did struggle with money a little. Anyway, one summer day in Johannesburg, my mum was waiting at the airport with me - my 5 or 6 month old self - for my dad to turn up. He never did. I'll not include all the information here as that's a whole other story to which I do not have all the pieces. Basically she was abandoned with a very small child. She did the sensible thing under the circumstances and returned to the UK where I grew up only really knowing a couple of my 'other' family - notably my aunt and my ouma.  Me and my father have been sporadically in touch and have met twice. Both times I have been overwhelmed with irritation.  I have my own son now - Markus. He is two and a half years old. I would like very much for he and his only grandfather to meet.  Recently I found out that my father was in hospital for an emergency operation to amputate a leg. I was a bit worried that he was falling apart. You see, he broke his back in a motorcycle accident 31-ish years ago.  The prognosis was that he would only live for another 20 years.  I started thinking that we will have to get to South Africa for a visit sooner rather than later and started talking to a few other family members out there - the ones who have contacted me more than my own father has.  I asked them to pass on my best wishes. I received the following from Nico (I'm named after him.):

"Buks and Annatjie said you were quite upset hearing about the operation! Was a bit of a surprise for myself! Due to bad blood pressure, my toes started going blue. The dr said it was dry gangrene, and they had to remove the foot. As there was  a metal plate in my lower leg, they decided to amputate above the knee. In my case it is not so bad, as I can move easier with less weight to lift! It is so wonderful to see Markus growing! You two have been blessed with a darling gift from God! Praying for you all constantly!"

That's the back story.  Why was I so enraged? Markus is a darling gift from God. He prays for us all constantly. Well. Isn't that lovely.

I have a weird set of beliefs that I don't really talk about - just take it as gospel (hur hur) that I can well understand a belief in a deity or deities.  Beyond that I have a healthy measure of cynicism and disrespect for organised religion.  So, what was annoying?  He prays for us all constantly.  As someone who, from the age of 6, has wondered why her dad buggered off, that's just great!  How about that time praying be invested in actually communicating what the bloody hell you were thinking and finding out what I'm actually like?  I think that that would have been too difficult.  Too tough.  But he prayed so in his own mind - literally - he has done *something*.

Markus is a gift from God.  Truth be told, Markus is a gift from Blizzard. A gaming company. More importantly he only came about because of my Guild Leader - Cheryl - and Tero's guild leader - Marcin (they were both working for Blizzard). That and our own activities - I am sure I do NOT need to fill in the blanks.

Before I worked at Blizzard I was on the 2nd of two shitty jobs working for shitty people. I had had a miscarriage which knocked me for six. My finances gave me sleepless weeks. I was horrifically depressed. My partner at the time was heavily into PC gaming and after several nights bored of watching him play I decided that I would try and find something to interest me, too. I went into a Game store, looked at the shelves, picked up a copy of World of Warcraft. This was 2006. It was my solace. There, everything was not falling to pieces. There were some fantastic people online and I soon found myself in an amazing guild.  After a while I was promoted to Guild Officer. From there I got chatting more to the Guild Leader and was telling her that I was thinking of applying to work as a GM.  She said that she would make sure someone checked my CV. Someone did. I got an email saying that they would give me a phone interview and then I had a live interview in the Cork, Ireland office. I got the job.  To cut a long story short, after a while feeling like a fraud - I'd never considered myself a gamer - I found a second family, I found my niche, I found myself. It sounds cheesy but I did. I flourished. I got my confidence back. I felt more like myself than I had ever been.  My previous relationship stagnated and then ended once I had made the move to Ireland and after three years I spied Tero looking wonderfully nerdy across the desk. Longer story short, we got together and Markus happened. I don't want to go too much into that time, but a tough decision was made on my part: I knew how much my mum struggled as a single parent but in the end I chose to take that risk. I'm glad I did. We took voluntary redundancy from Blizzard when Markus was one year old and moved to Finland: we had the ability to pay a deposit on an apartment and here we are.

Blizzard, specifically World of Warcraft - coupled with the help of some friends and our own damn guts - are the reasons we are where we are. 

When you praise or assign God's will to the things in your life you are removing responsibility from yourself. You remove credit, blame, responsibility and the need to be proactive about anything.

Praying everyday for something does *nothing*. Calling my child a gift from God completely takes any of my own tenacity and free will out of the equation. I am insulted.

That is why I am angry.  Now to put that into a slightly shorter version as a reply... urgh.

Penny Pinching...

Because 'cent pinching' doesn't have quite the same ring to it. 

It was not so long ago that myself and Tero had two rather nice incomes.  After Markus came along not too much changed for the 6 months that I was on paid maternity leave. 

Once I went back to work, I was part-time and so one of our wages was halved.  Now we are in Finland and living on the equivalent of just one of our previous wages.

We don't have a car and nor could we afford one - well- we could, just, but not if something went badly wrong with it. Not a risk either of us would like to take.

We have a mortgage and maintenance payment on the apartment that is smaller in total than the rent on our place in Ireland.  Utilities and internets are *far* cheaper here and the heating is included in the aforementioned maintenance (no nasty winter surprises is rather lovely).

We are paying off the credit card (bought a sofa on it) at quite an astounding rate and we have money over after food for fun, things for the apartment and things for Markus; his birthday present and party for example.

Where am I going with this?

I got nicely into the habit of not having to think about what we were spending on what.  On my days off I'd mince around the city with Markus stopping in perhaps two coffee shops, have lunch out, buy some random things that looked cute.  I don't know.  There was a lot of just hanging around in the city buying stuff.  Thoughtlessly and aimlessly.  This was partly because I never really liked either of the houses we lived in. One was boring and the other could have been nice given a bit of effort but we moved in knowing we would be leaving for Finland within a couple of months.  

Still. Where am I going with this? :)  I'll get there!

I was walking through a shopping centre today (mall for any USian reading this!) and was feeling a little wistful. I wanted to have a look in the nice shops and be able to buy something if it caught my fancy. Unfortunately today, I was not in a position to do so and caught myself feeling a little sad.  Wanting just a few hundred euros to be silly with.  And THEN it hit me.

What would I buy with that few hundred euros if I was in my former thoughtless and aimless mindset?  I know not. Probably very unmemorable things. I can't for the life of me tell you where my money used to go. Only that it went. I thought about our current situation where we have to be thoughtful and it struck me that, having worked out a budget last month for the next 6 months, I really enjoy looking at what we *can* get each month. This month is Markus's birthday present and the wallpaper and paint for our bedroom. Next month is Markus's food for his party, a reading light for the lounge and a work light for the spare room/craft room and an extra 100 euros off of the credit card.

For the most part I really like this thoughtfulness.  This saving or waiting for the things that we want and need to slowly but surely build a nice little home for us all just as we want it. No thoughtless purchases which are later useless or unwanted. No random, guilt-ridden crap piling up in cupboards. Just progress and achievement and hopefully a nice example for Markus on money management and consumerism or lack thereof.

There. I'm done. :)

Boobs and bottles.

I should really change the description of this blog. To what I am not sure, but this post isn't about raising a Markus in particular and neither is it about living in Finland.  It's that time-honoured slagging ground. Breastfeeding vs Formula.

Although it's not really.  

I asked on my Facebook page - bravely or stupidly I am unsure - if there were any people on my friend list who went straight for formula: didn't even give the ol' boobs a chance.

The discussion remained more than civil which was wonderful. The replies from people helped to challenge some of my preconceptions regarding people's choices.  The little lactivist (in fairness, it's not really that little) that sits at the back of my mind wanted to analyse each and every response and point out where Things Went Wrong and what should be possible and achievable if ONLY one has the right support. 

In my defense I have some ridiculous examples among my mummy friends and acquaintances: Two women who exclusively breastfed twins, a really good friend who breastfed her first and then tandem-fed her along with a newborn - both children breastfed up until at least three years of age, the mum of a premie who pumped her milk for five months before hitting the bottle (of formula). I had some minor issues myself although they most certainly did not feel minor at the time. 

So where does it go wrong with those who start out feeding or who tried to feed a first baby?  Because I can't let it be, it's the most irritating itch imaginable.  

Firstly I don't think that mum went wrong. I think that laws on formula advertising and sales are wrong. I think that we as a people - nationally, globally - have been formula feeding until it feels normal.  We've lost our expertise.  For sure there are people out there with the knowledge, they are just thinly and unevenly spread among the populace.  I think that the overwhelming majority of system-based (hospitals, doctors surgeries) staff do NOT have the requisite knowledge to inform, help and - in a positive manner - encourage women who want or need the help.  Even from my own experience the ineptitude unveiled during the handful of visits was quite something. Had I not had the people around me, the amazing examples, I am quite sure I would have believed every word of it.  Had I not believed it, I would not have had the confidence to stand up for myself or Markus's needs.

I can understand, therefore, someone who switches to formula after a difficult time. I can understand someone who, having had a bad experience of feeding child no. 1, chooses to go straight to the bottle. I still can't quite fathom why someone would not want to try and feed their first born. It's my final stumbling block.  

There has been progress though. I feel far less prejudiced this evening than I did this morning and as my lovely cousin pointed out, it is far easier to lead someone down a different path with understanding as opposed to judgement.

Winging it

Winging it, is in fairness, what we have been doing with regards to parenting little Markus.  That sounds bad but in retrospect, I think it's worked well for us. By 'winging it' I should clarify that we haven't been blindly making decisions, we've just been making them as we need to - as it becomes clear that a decision needs to be made. Sometimes we haven't even made the decision. Markus has made it for us.

I'll back-track a bit. I had some preconceived ideas about babies.  Tero had no ideas about babies! 

1) I will breastfeed for six months.

2) The baby will sleep in his own bed in our room initially and then move to his room at three to six months old.

3) We will have a lovely routine and my life will not be greatly impacted.

Are you pissing yourself laughing yet?  You should be. Here's how it went:

1)  Well that's very noble of you, Nicola. Breast is best!  Six months is the recommended exclusive feeding duration.  How did that work? 

Markus is now 22 months old and still feeding away. Not really any less than he was when he was 6 months old.  Why?  It became apparent rather quickly on that it's an amazing bonding experience. It doesn't lessen the older the baby gets and in fact from my perspective it becomes more and more of a social 'tool'. A connection for us both. For Markus it's food, water, comfort, solace, quiet time. It's more than that. I can barely explain. He's still fed to sleep most of the time.  He doesn't use a dummy, because mummy soothes him. Mummy is lucky in that she does not have to work at this present time so she can - I don't want to use the word indulge because that would be wrong - accommodate this *need*.  

When will I stop feeding?  Wrong question.  When will Markus stop feeding?  When he damn well likes.

2) Markus sleeps next to me. He has done so from a very early age despite a few early-on attempts to settle him in his moses basket next to the bed. Why? It works best that way. In the early days I slept more not having to sit up, haul this hefty little bundle out of the basket, feed, replace, sleep.  He made it clear that next to me was where he was supposed to be and I could rid myself of any silly notions that it would be otherwise.   I can honestly say that now he has, in the last three months, started sleeping through, that I will miss him sleeping next to me when he does eventually move to his own bed.  When?  You guessed it: when he wants to.

3)  Oh dear.  Really?  Teehee!  We didn't get close to a routine until about 20 weeks... and then out of it, into it, out of it, into it. My life has changed beyond recognition.  But we are in a pretty good routine now. We are nicely settled. I am far less stressed than I have been for a long time and I believe that has been the biggest impact.  As for 'getting my life back', well I am just getting quite content with the one that I have. It's quite nice, thankyouverymuch.

So to sum up, throughout the last 22 months, I have been reading voraciously about breastfeeding, co-sleeping, baby-wearing, baby sleep patterns, baby needs and it seems that we have naturally fallen into 'gentle' or 'attachment' parenting if you want to label it. It felt right and from what I can ascertain, it is right. Our little people are little for such a short time that meeting their very basic needs does not feel like a chore (well okay, it does sometimes, but not for very long).

Ten months ago, I found myself in the strange situation of being able to take a leap. The company that my partner, Tero, and I worked for announced redundancies. The package was such that we both volunteered and within six weeks of finishing our work, we had moved from Cork, Ireland to Lahti, Finland.  Not an obvious hop unless you consider that my partner is Finnish and that Finland ranks very, very highly in terms of education. Our other options aside from staying in Ireland would have been the UK – the economic crisis had too much of a stranglehold there – and South Africa - as much as I love my home country, I would have been too paranoid to move there with our small child. Finland, with its proximity to my Mum and other family in the UK and the aforementioned education system, was the winner.

We packed our 29 boxes. Well, no. I packed our 29 boxes.  In hindsight I would have packed more, but we were on a somewhat tight schedule.  Tero headed off the day before me and I followed on with our projectile-vomiting 14 month old boy.

Initially staying with friends, we soon found an apartment of our own – note: sharing with people who do not have a toddler and who do not fully understand a toddler is not clever or fun.  We bought the second apartment we saw and rejoiced mightily the day we moved in after three months of tip-toeing around making as little noise and mess as possible.

We have now been in Lahti for nearly eight months and I am slowly getting used to life here and, for the most part, enjoying it.  Lahti does not have a very aesthetically pleasing city centre. It is very much function over form. There are a handful of buildings that are not monstrosities but on the whole, to me, there is a whiff of Soviet influence about the place. Of course if you look at Finland on a map, that might become self-explanatory.

Adjacent to the centre, though, is Pikkuvesijärvi. It's a small lake, delightful in summer and autumn and striking in winter. A direct translation of the name would be 'small water lake'. Pikkuvesijärvi is next to Vesijärvi: the translation is 'Water Lake'. It is a much larger body of water which meets the recently gentrified harbour: An amazing summer time attraction.

The areas outlying the city centre are mainly leafy, pretty. Much of the living is apartment based but because this is not for want of space, there is no feeling of being hemmed in. The pavements are wide, there are playgrounds everywhere. There are little woodland trails all over the place and indeed the trees seem to encroach onto the city itself.

As I type, though, there is snow on the ground outside and has been for over a month now. The winter here is beautiful and somewhat frustrating. There’s the wrapping up myself and a toddler before heading out by which time one or both of us is a sweaty mess and rather glad of the cold air. There’s the ever present dilemma – oh first world problems – of whether to take the sled or the buggy: Markus can’t fall asleep in the sled and is also not protected from the elements in it. Pushing the buggy through snow is an extreme workout I do not relish!

The first 7 months have been a bit of a whirlwind but I think we will be very happy here. All Lahti needs is a couple more decent coffee shops and I will forgive it the functional architecture. The next step is learning what is purported to be one of the world’s most difficult languages. Wish me luck.