Up the Duff
Pregnant, with child, knocked up, gravid, up the spout, in the pudding club … pick your euphemism.
I quite like Host Organism too. It has a certain ring to it.
All Day Sickness
You’ve heard of morning sickness? It is a LIE. I felt seasick morning, noon and night. I threw up for 37 weeks of a 40 week pregnancy. The act of brushing my teeth made me throw up. Sometimes breathing made me throw up. Permanent seasickness. It stopped for about three weeks from Week 17 to Week 20, then it started again. I even threw up during the labour. Oh joy!
We named the baby when he was still a bump “Puggle”. A puggle is a baby monotreme (mammals that lay eggs and the only animals in this category are the platypus and the echidna) – a very uniquely Australian name. As I am a Kiwi and the Welshman is, well, Welsh, we decided to give our very Australian foetus a very Australian nickname. So Puggle it was! Our relatives were very relieved to discover it was actually a “bump name” and not a test run for a name. Puggle Williams – I like it!
Puggle had personality, even as a foetus. I’ve long since forgiven him the perpetual nausea because of the sheer cuteness of watching my tummy hiccup, or the amazing Alien-esque experience of watching a foot or hand appear against your stretched-tight-as-a-drum belly.
I used to shower with my back to the water spray when I was pregnant because my skin was so sensitive. It was also loads of fun to stand with my back to the water, then turn around so the water hit my belly and experience Puggle punching and kicking at the water. Hours of fun for a pregnant lady clearly suffering from pregnancy brain.
What was not quite so cute was Puggle’s abhorrence of desks or tables or anything touching his space. It became increasingly difficult to type at my desk and trying to reach my arms around my increasingly enormous stomach to reach the increasingly distant keyboard. Add in a Puggle who would kick and kick and kick if the desk touched him, only to settle as I moved away, and it just added to the challenge!
The term used to describe, how shall I put this, an ENORMOUS BABY! When Puggle became Boyo, the first thing he ever heard was “Wow, what a bruiser!” from our lovely obstetrician. He was 9 lbs 14 oz in old school terms, or 4.5 kg. He was 58 cm long and I had to squish him into an 000 to get him home from hospital. He went into infant nappies within two weeks of being born and straight into 00 sized clothes. As my ob said, “If you wanted to have a smaller baby, you shouldn’t have married a front row forward!”.
Alternatively known as Chubba Bubba. Chunky is Hunky!
Due to the Boyo being an EnormoBaby, he entered the world via the emergency exit. Otherwise known as a Caesarean section. Sometimes also referred to as the sunroof. After 12 hours of labour, I might add. I think they call that the best of both worlds? On the plus side, as Kaz Cooke said, still honeymoon fresh!
Slugging is what we termed one of Boyo’s moves It was a more mobile and forward moving manoeuvre than your traditional roll, but not quite a commando crawl. He could slug his way from one end of the house to another, given enough time. He definitely had the determination!
Sometimes, we’d lie on the floor with him and he would slug his way up from our feet to our face, where he would gum our chins in an affectionate, if somewhat sloppy, attempt at a kiss. I choose to believe this rather than think he was using us as a teething toy.
Otherwise known as “teeth” but toothypegs is just a much cuter word for those adorable little pearly dots that appeared on Boyo’s gums when he was 11 weeks old! Which also caused a fungal nappy rash with each and every subsequent tooth. Apparently from all the additional acidic saliva.
Poor old Boyo cut 24 teeth, despite only possessing 20 baby teeth. His gums got so swollen in the process that some of those hard fought for toothypegs had to be recut!
These toothypegs were also responsible for the curtailing of my breastfeeding career, when Boyo’s poor swollen gums caused him to lose his attachment and therefore my milk supply.
Otherwise known as the Boob Bar, breasts or nursing. When you’re breastfeeding, the Milk Bar is often open all hours!
In my shortlived breastfeeding career, cut tragically short by illness and an early teething baby who lost his latching ability, my milk bar became less mobile and I became a milch cow, hooked up to my very own milking machine.
Now, that’s glamour!
When the mother of the baby has had a long, long day and requires a little sob to the father of the baby when he returns home after a long, long day in the office. He might have sold millions of dollars worth of real estate, projects or pom poms. He might have presented to the Board. He might have hired or fired. But I can almost guarantee he was not peed on, vomited on or had his nipples bitten by a teething infant. Also known as Whine Time.
I believe it’s also a term used to describe a Teach To Sleep method. Whatevs.
Also known as Witching Hour. Often an hour (or three) in the early evening when a baby who has been perfectly happy all day long turns! A baby who has taken all the feeds, slept the requisite number of hours and is clean, warm, and dry will suddenly turn into an imp from hell and refuse to be comforted. Frequently accompanied by frenetic howling from the baby and sobbing from the mother.
Luckily, often coincides with the return of the baby’s father at the end of the working day, when the next shift starts. You will recognise the new fathers in your neighbourhood as the dazed and confused men purposefully striding along behind prams who don’t dare to stop in case the baby starts again.
This occurs when you are in the process of changing a baby boy and suddenly his little bits rise up and start the Wee Fountain, sprinkling everything nearby in a fine spray of wee. Particularly unfortunate when this startles the baby who starts to cry with an open mouth. Let’s leave that there, shall we? Savvy parents are forewarned and forearmed and have a cloth to hand to cover the potential Wee Fountain.
Ah, the Poo Bomb. A classic that many parents will have experienced. A more explosive version of a Code Brown or a Number Three. You may have been forewarned and forearmed about the little boy Wee Fountain, but the Poo Bomb may catch many unawares.
The Welshman gallantly leaped out of bed when Boyo was two weeks old to change him and bring him back for the Milk Bar. A few moments later, I heard a strangled sort of sound from the nursery. I struggled out of bed in the elegant post-Caesarean fashion, and discovered the Welshman covered neck to knee in mustard-coloured baby poo. As he’d lifted Boyo’s ankles to wipe his little bottom, he’d triggered the Poo Bomb from hell. We had to buy a rug for the carpet when we couldn’t get the stains out.
Please note that because this is the Kimba Likes Lexicon, there are references to Mothers and Fathers because that’s how we roll in the Kimba Likes household. But these terms are interchangeable for two mummies or two daddies and so on.
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