why it is exactly that ECE hours are only applicable for three and four year olds?
Perhaps I've the wool pulled over my eyes, but it makes sense to have it for one and two year olds too, right?
The reason I ask is, I'm looking at going back to work and holy heck daycare is UBER expensive. YEESH. It really is for the rich and famous!
Is there anything that caters for parents who aren't so keen on footing up close to $300 for 3/4 days of care?
Now I know it's what's best for your child and if I know that Redford will get the most super care at creche out of anywhere else then I'm happy to pay the bill, but honestly, is there even a choice?
What about parents that need to go back to work and can't foot the cheque? Or single parents? What happens then? Where do their kids go and how do they afford the care?
I just don't get it....
Showing posts with label The serious stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The serious stuff. Show all posts
7.3.11
Handmade for Christchurch
So one of my fave Christchurch relief set-ups is Handmade for Christchurch. It's unique, it's crafty and it's just oh-so-lovely. I donated two 'essential pouches' from my up-and-coming label (watch this space.... more info to come soon!) which will be auctioned along with two synergy blends made especially by Gillian over at Le'Esscience.
Each pouch has been hand crafted and stitched by yours truly.
Put 3-4 drops of the synergy blend onto a tissue, fold and tuck into the pouch.
Be sure to check out the auction on Trade Me. And also head on over to Handmade for Christchurch to have a looksee through all their gorgeous stuff. There are plenty of things in there that I'm very tempted to bid on! x
28.2.11
Dearest Christchurch....
If I could bundle all your people up in the palm of my hand I would give them a big kiss and a cuddle and tell them everything would be OK.
If I could rebuild your city like I build Redford's Duplo I would build you the loveliest, brightest city there ever was (complete with a giant Robo-Duck in the centre of town).
If I had a magic wand I would bring back all the loved ones you've lost, find all your pets and clean up your mucky footpaths.
If I had the biggest oven in the world I would make thousands of cupcakes with sprinkles and if I could I would make hot chocolates to go with them with extra chocolate, extra marshmallows and a Whittaker's Sante bar dipped in each one.
If I had loads of money I would give it all to you.
I could go on, but I won't. You get the point. And I'm pretty sure hundreds upon thousands of people not only in NZ but in the world feel exactly the same as I do. And maybe I can't do the things above but I can do something.
Last Thursday I washed and packaged up three sets of big people bedding and four sets of little people bedding, pillows, blankets and two huge boxes of baby clothes, socks, hats and toys and sent them down on a truck. When I delivered my donations to Wigan Street I was totally overwhelmed by the manpower and amount of.... stuff that was waiting to be sent and I was glad I could do my part.
Over the next couple of days I'm going to make some lovely creations to be auctioned through Handmade for Christchurch and then I'm fishing out my most prized possession (my red and gold brocade, fully boned Zambesi dress) and selling it on Trade Me with all proceeds going to Red Cross (I just need to top up my account first, oops!)
And oh! I wish (and hope) I can do more. It just melts my heart to see everyone mucking in and doing their part for a city and it's people who need all the help they can get right now.
What have you done? I want to hear all of it!!
Big snuggles for everyone xx
If I could rebuild your city like I build Redford's Duplo I would build you the loveliest, brightest city there ever was (complete with a giant Robo-Duck in the centre of town).
If I had a magic wand I would bring back all the loved ones you've lost, find all your pets and clean up your mucky footpaths.
If I had the biggest oven in the world I would make thousands of cupcakes with sprinkles and if I could I would make hot chocolates to go with them with extra chocolate, extra marshmallows and a Whittaker's Sante bar dipped in each one.
If I had loads of money I would give it all to you.
I could go on, but I won't. You get the point. And I'm pretty sure hundreds upon thousands of people not only in NZ but in the world feel exactly the same as I do. And maybe I can't do the things above but I can do something.
Last Thursday I washed and packaged up three sets of big people bedding and four sets of little people bedding, pillows, blankets and two huge boxes of baby clothes, socks, hats and toys and sent them down on a truck. When I delivered my donations to Wigan Street I was totally overwhelmed by the manpower and amount of.... stuff that was waiting to be sent and I was glad I could do my part.
Over the next couple of days I'm going to make some lovely creations to be auctioned through Handmade for Christchurch and then I'm fishing out my most prized possession (my red and gold brocade, fully boned Zambesi dress) and selling it on Trade Me with all proceeds going to Red Cross (I just need to top up my account first, oops!)
And oh! I wish (and hope) I can do more. It just melts my heart to see everyone mucking in and doing their part for a city and it's people who need all the help they can get right now.
What have you done? I want to hear all of it!!
Big snuggles for everyone xx
24.1.11
PTSD in motherhood - the KMB article
Last year I wrote an article for the Go Ask Your Mother panel over at KMB on post traumatic stress disorder in early motherhood. I had no idea it even existed until very recently and I found it an interesting and very sobering topic. Here's the article below:
Knock, knock. Who's there? PTSD. Oh, you're not welcome here.
Picture this: you're pregnant, your belly's ripe, the baby's baked, the bags are packed and the birth plan is written up and thrice checked. You know each step word for word, you've mapped out the quickest way to the maternity ward and the last four weeks have been spent envisioning your baby's magical birth. But now it's D-day and things aren't going to plan. Not at all. Not even close. Your natural water birth has morphed into a drug embellished emergency C-section and all your childbirth ideals have left the operating table for the brighter lights of Daydream Land. Everything went fine, though - you're still in one piece, baby's healthy, your partner has regained the colour in his face and the steadiness in his hands but what now? Surely there's got to be some emotional or psychological backlash for things going so horribly askew? For some women, we climb back on our horses and proceed as normal. For others however, it's not that simple.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is something I'd never really thought much about, for all I knew it was an ailment that afflicted war vets and car crash survivors and rightly so. That is until I myself was diagnosed with it three years ago after it crept up on me unannounced, arising from a harrowing ordeal in my teenage years. This was totally unrelated to childbirth of course, but that's not the point - it got me thinking. How many other people in this world suffer from PTSD and what exactly sets it off? I mean, we're talking about an often debilitating disorder that can strike at any time - right while the trauma iron is still burning hot or years down the track when you least expect it. PTSD can stem from a life threatening even such as a natural disaster or severe physical or psychological pain or abuse to name a couple. Put simply, any event that inflicts such psychological trauma on an individual that they cannot comprehend nor cope with the experience, PTSD may become and uninvited acquaintance.
When a friend sent me an article on PTSD in post childbirth/early motherhood situations (which cites that mothers who either fear their birthing experience or thing it will be amazing are at a higher risk of developing PTSD) I began to wonder just how common it was. The birth of my son didn't go according to my "ideals" at all (even when I thought I didn't have any) and I carried a slight emotional chip on my shoulder for a while because of that. I certainly didn't suffer the nightmares, vivid flashbacks or hyper vigilance that are common amongst PTSD sufferers but I definitely did get a little hot, flustered and nauseous every time I drove past the hospital. I wondered if PTSD was a lot more common in new mothers than was recognised and as it turns out, it is. Why then, are we only beginning to hear about it now? Well, according to many sources PTSD is still regularly diagnosed as postnatal depression (PND). Why? Because the symptoms are often so similar to PND it can sometimes be impossible to tell the difference.
Let's look at just a few of the warning signs of PND: sadness, a feeling of being overwhelmed, panic attacks, a lack of bonding between you and your baby and sleep and/or eating disorders. These can pop up soon after the birth or months later and can sometimes, without treatment, slowly heal themselves within time. Now this is where it gets tricky. PTSD can also rear it's ugly head soon after birth, months or even years later. The first onset of symptoms (such as nightmares, vivid flashbacks and panic attacks) can hang around for a while and if left to fester can morph into what's called cover up symptoms which range from depression and eating disorders to severe panic attacks and dissociation from your baby, partner and life. Sound familiar? Just like PND, right? Well, yes and no. The scary thing is, if PTSD is left untreated it doesn't go away like postnatal depression can. It can hang around. And around. Aaaand around until you have no choice but to deal with it. And nobody wants to spend their child's wee years feeling like the sky's about to fall and their sanity has well and truly done a fat Elvis and left the building.
So. I won't end this article with a string of advice because as new mothers we all get enough to last us a lifetime, nor do I want to end it on a bad note because there's always loads of light at the end of the tunnel. But I will say this (I know, I know, I haven't suffered PTSD first hand from childbirth but I have suffered extensively from it) if you feel off, if you feel strange, if things aren't going the way you thought, listen to what your body, mind and emotions are telling you and talk to someone, anyone! Your partner, your best friend, fellow mums, your bank teller for all it matters, just talk and talk and talk because at some point you'll be pointed in the right direction and bang, help will be standing there on your doorstep, looking as good as Ryan Reynolds with chocolates and flowers (and no shirt). Try not to pack it all into a little box and store it in the basement of your brain to let it gather dust and get shoved around to fit more boxes in that will hide it until three years down the track when you decide it's time to do a clean out and, oh dear, there's that box and now I have to unpack it and see what's inside and decide what on earth I'm going to do with it all. Catch my drift? Good.
My motto? If you're feeling crap, talk to the quack (or pretty much anyone else that you want to, but "anyone else that you want to" doesn't rhyme with crap and doesn't really have the same ring to it....)
Knock, knock. Who's there? PTSD. Oh, you're not welcome here.
Picture this: you're pregnant, your belly's ripe, the baby's baked, the bags are packed and the birth plan is written up and thrice checked. You know each step word for word, you've mapped out the quickest way to the maternity ward and the last four weeks have been spent envisioning your baby's magical birth. But now it's D-day and things aren't going to plan. Not at all. Not even close. Your natural water birth has morphed into a drug embellished emergency C-section and all your childbirth ideals have left the operating table for the brighter lights of Daydream Land. Everything went fine, though - you're still in one piece, baby's healthy, your partner has regained the colour in his face and the steadiness in his hands but what now? Surely there's got to be some emotional or psychological backlash for things going so horribly askew? For some women, we climb back on our horses and proceed as normal. For others however, it's not that simple.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is something I'd never really thought much about, for all I knew it was an ailment that afflicted war vets and car crash survivors and rightly so. That is until I myself was diagnosed with it three years ago after it crept up on me unannounced, arising from a harrowing ordeal in my teenage years. This was totally unrelated to childbirth of course, but that's not the point - it got me thinking. How many other people in this world suffer from PTSD and what exactly sets it off? I mean, we're talking about an often debilitating disorder that can strike at any time - right while the trauma iron is still burning hot or years down the track when you least expect it. PTSD can stem from a life threatening even such as a natural disaster or severe physical or psychological pain or abuse to name a couple. Put simply, any event that inflicts such psychological trauma on an individual that they cannot comprehend nor cope with the experience, PTSD may become and uninvited acquaintance.
When a friend sent me an article on PTSD in post childbirth/early motherhood situations (which cites that mothers who either fear their birthing experience or thing it will be amazing are at a higher risk of developing PTSD) I began to wonder just how common it was. The birth of my son didn't go according to my "ideals" at all (even when I thought I didn't have any) and I carried a slight emotional chip on my shoulder for a while because of that. I certainly didn't suffer the nightmares, vivid flashbacks or hyper vigilance that are common amongst PTSD sufferers but I definitely did get a little hot, flustered and nauseous every time I drove past the hospital. I wondered if PTSD was a lot more common in new mothers than was recognised and as it turns out, it is. Why then, are we only beginning to hear about it now? Well, according to many sources PTSD is still regularly diagnosed as postnatal depression (PND). Why? Because the symptoms are often so similar to PND it can sometimes be impossible to tell the difference.
Let's look at just a few of the warning signs of PND: sadness, a feeling of being overwhelmed, panic attacks, a lack of bonding between you and your baby and sleep and/or eating disorders. These can pop up soon after the birth or months later and can sometimes, without treatment, slowly heal themselves within time. Now this is where it gets tricky. PTSD can also rear it's ugly head soon after birth, months or even years later. The first onset of symptoms (such as nightmares, vivid flashbacks and panic attacks) can hang around for a while and if left to fester can morph into what's called cover up symptoms which range from depression and eating disorders to severe panic attacks and dissociation from your baby, partner and life. Sound familiar? Just like PND, right? Well, yes and no. The scary thing is, if PTSD is left untreated it doesn't go away like postnatal depression can. It can hang around. And around. Aaaand around until you have no choice but to deal with it. And nobody wants to spend their child's wee years feeling like the sky's about to fall and their sanity has well and truly done a fat Elvis and left the building.
So. I won't end this article with a string of advice because as new mothers we all get enough to last us a lifetime, nor do I want to end it on a bad note because there's always loads of light at the end of the tunnel. But I will say this (I know, I know, I haven't suffered PTSD first hand from childbirth but I have suffered extensively from it) if you feel off, if you feel strange, if things aren't going the way you thought, listen to what your body, mind and emotions are telling you and talk to someone, anyone! Your partner, your best friend, fellow mums, your bank teller for all it matters, just talk and talk and talk because at some point you'll be pointed in the right direction and bang, help will be standing there on your doorstep, looking as good as Ryan Reynolds with chocolates and flowers (and no shirt). Try not to pack it all into a little box and store it in the basement of your brain to let it gather dust and get shoved around to fit more boxes in that will hide it until three years down the track when you decide it's time to do a clean out and, oh dear, there's that box and now I have to unpack it and see what's inside and decide what on earth I'm going to do with it all. Catch my drift? Good.
My motto? If you're feeling crap, talk to the quack (or pretty much anyone else that you want to, but "anyone else that you want to" doesn't rhyme with crap and doesn't really have the same ring to it....)
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