Being Mother

In a moment of clarity, rare these days, I felt a surge of overwhelming pride in myself for being a mother. Not to sound trite, but it is a privilege and an honour to wear the maternal crown. There is truly no more important role in this world, there is no job whose value outweighs the responsibility of a mother.

In the animal kingdom, a mother fox caught in a trap will chew off her own foot to get back to her kits. The gentlest of creatures will turn ferocious in the face of danger to protect her young. The love I feel towards my children would see me move mountains if that is what it took to prevent my babies from being harmed.

That is not to suggest, however, that giving birth to a child should  automatically grant the bearer the right to such an honourable title. I believe such respect needs to be earned.

Over Christmas, my mum was showing my sisters and me the handful of treasures that my nan had kept through her life. I'd seen them all before, but there was one tiny almost worthless brooch I'd never noticed. Just a thin piece of gold-plated metal shaped into the single word "mother" and adorned with a small, pink stone. The brooch was a gift nan had given to her mother. A gift of a title she had earned.

Why I hate childcare for babies

After returning from Japan and still not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, I took up some casual work in childcare.

I worked primarily at a couple of very good quality centres in an affluent suburb in Sydney. The staff were amazing, the centres were clean, activities well organised. They served nutritious AND delicious freshly cooked meals, which were really so good I promptly stopped bringing my own lunch so I could eat with the kids.  I imagine the waiting lists for these places went on for years. I can't imagine childcare centres could get any better.

And yet, working there with the babies and children under 2 years old I witnessed modern life's most miserable (supposed) progression: Babies of breastfeeding age separated from their, let's be honest, mums.

While the very best childcare centres endevour to provide a warm, engaging, happy and caring place for babies, it is simply not right. The most well-adjusted babies seemed disengaged with  their actual carers, not overly fussed who bottle fed them their formula or changed their nappy, not completely interested in the book being read to them or which toy to crawl after.

The least well-adjusted babies were simply broken hearted, crying constantly and needing the attention of a single carer with whom they trusted the most, a surrogate mum.

When I look at my 6 month old baby girl and see her eyes light up when I enter the room , her smile bursting from her face, her arms reaching out to me when she wakes. When i hear her delighted giggle. When I watch her fall asleep in my arms, deeply content after a big feed from my breasts... I feel ill at the mere thought of leaving her in the company of strangers.

I cannot imagine handing her over and walking away. She's just a baby and she couldn't possibly understand. It would break her heart for me to suddenly abandon her, and yet...

People do abandon their babies to childcare at such a young age. Even 2 year olds don't understand. I know this because I've seen it first hand, and I have children of my own now who I could never abandon.

Sometimes I honestly wonder why some people have children.

Disclaimer: we've lived on the borderline poverty line for years, so I know all about not being able to afford things. But I made a choice to have children and I'm going to see it through.

Nan's funeral.

Nanna died. It happened quite quickly. She was 94 years old.

It was quite difficult to explain to Jude. I told him nanny went to sleep and she would never wake up again (which is how it happened). He said "nanny's dreaming", which I thought was a lovely interpretation.

Lilac is only 5 months old and has already attended her first funeral. It's a bit sad for me to think she won't ever remember Nan. Jude will, he loved nanny. That's why I took him to the funeral. I had to take Lilac, and I absolutely didn't want to exclude Jude.

I think people enjoyed having the new generation there. It reminds us of the cycle of life. Auntie Joy held Lilac for ages (that's auntie Joy holding Lilac in the picture, I don't have a photo of Nan on my phone).

I wrote a short impression of my life with Nan and read it at the funeral. While I was speaking and crying, Jude came up and gave my hand a squeeze. He then found a candle lighter and pretended it was a phone. Everyone laughed.

Nan would have laughed and called him cheeky.

With a little help from my friend

I've been beating myself up for a long time about not being stimulating enough for Jude. The moment Lilac was born I took one look at him and realised he's a big boy now. 8 months of a rough pregnancy had past and I had somehow missed almost a year of Jude's development by being too sick and exhausted to do anything interesting with him.

Now with a little baby in tow, things have far from improved and I've been really worried for Jude. I've started thinking seriously about a day each week at child care for his enjoyment, but I worry about how to keep him stimulated every day of the week.

So I finally stopped being a martyr and enlisted the help of my better half. Jeremy loves spending time with Jude and has always stepped up to the plate when needed. So naturally he has no objection to being asked for help.

This morning he took Jude to swimming lessons, after years of serious neglect in that field. He has also started taking him to a sing and dance session at the local community centre once a week.

This is what being a family, and being parents, is all about. Sharing the responsibility of raising our children and picking up the slack for each other where the other one struggles.

I admit I have always struggled to make time to get out of the house every day in new and interesting ways, as I often get bogged down in housework and trying to make sure the family is well fed and the children get enough rest during the day.

There is a very delicate balance to being a full time stay at home mum. Some women are super mums who can do everything, but I can't and I'm very glad Jeremy is here to help me.

The Wonder Weeks

A book that is taking the parenting world by storm, The Wonder Weeks, helps parents through those times a baby becomes extra clingy and fussy by explaining they occur due to developmental leaps in the baby's cognitive development. When the baby emerges through the rough patch they have a new skill to show off.

Now, I'm not 100% convinced this book isn't merely yet another money spinner in the vast universe of unnecessary baby paraphernalia, and I haven't personally purchased a copy, but so many people are talking about it I don't need to actually own it.

What I do like about the book, however, is the gentle reminder from time to time that our babies are soft, delicate creatures experiencing new, exciting and difficult challenges constantly with a loooong way to go before they can function even slightly independently. They need from us patience (endless) and understanding.

We, as parents, do find ourselves having days where we just want to scream. The book reminds us also that these times, while testing, are experienced by all parents and, more importantly, do pass... Until a new testing period emerges.

I've lost track of how many weeks old Lilac is, but she's approaching 4 months so around 16 weeks. The Wonder Weeks says there is a change happening now, a big one, and I can assure you Lilac is certainly extra clingy, sleeping poorly and crying more than usual.

The only pro right now is that while I'm holding her to my breast all day, I have a chance to write this blog entry on my phone (the first blog entry in a while).

I wonder if she'll be able to compose her first orchestral piece after this wonder week, or perhaps that change doesn't happen until week 40.

Jude's catchphrase

I love it when children start picking up little phrases and using them at every opportune, or inopportune, moment.

I remember when my nephew had a new catchphrase every time we saw him. We always noticed and had a good chuckle about how cute he was.

Jeremy commented just yesterday that Jude has started using little funny sayings. We hadn't really taken the time to notice because we're with him every day.

Today I heard him say "I know, mummy, but I'm a little bit silly." He said the same thing again later in the day, and it quickly became his standard reply to everything.

He really is a little bit silly, and quite funny.

Meanwhile, Lilac is busy chattering away. She's a very talktative 11-week old. She has to be talkative to get a word in edgewise in this family.

The cradle swing

When Jude was a baby, we lived in a 2 bedroom apartment by the sea. It was a lovely location but space inside the apartment was seriously limited.

At the time, I knew several mums who had splashed out on expensive swings. They cost a bomb, took up excessive space and surely, surely they were not necessary. In any case, we didn't have one and struggled through many long months with a baby who cat napped and cried a lot.

After having Lilac, I had to concede defeat. Looking after a newborn who was only content when attached to me, while trying to entertain and meet the demands of a nearly 3 year old, was simply too much.

I searched ebay for the right swing, making sure I researched their resale value so I didn't over spend, and I finally invested... Yes, invested in a swing.

It changed my life in an instant. Lilac took to it eagerly and I have been able to function during the day as a result of her sleeping peacefully for hours at a time.

Now, if only we could get her sleeping that well in her bassinette at night.

The 2 kid shuffle

Newly born newborns are deceptively good. For the first 2 or 3 weeks they're relatively easy to work with. They sleep constantly, aren't woken easily and don't seem to care where they're sleeping. Well, that's my experience. I know some newborns are more difficult.

During those first few weeks I was pretty happy about having a chance to get things done around the house, like vacuuming and cooking. While Jude has taken this opportunity to stop sleeping consistently through the day, his needs were fairly simple to meet while Lilac was asleep.

However, Lilac will be 6 weeks old in 2 days and somewhere along the line dealing with the needs of 2 children at exactly the same time has become challenging.

Lilac now knows when mum is not around as her eyesight is improving. If she opens her eyes slightly in her sleep and fails to see me she wakes up crying out for me.
Meanwhile Jude has decided that months and months of toilet use were practise for weeing on the floor, his bed and the couch so I am running around like a headless chicken cleaning up his accidents, trying to clear away the breakfast dishes at 5PM and cradling Lilac in my arms because she won't let me put her down.

I have been heard in recent weeks asking why children don't come with an off switch. It would be quite nice.

The birth of Lilac.

Lilac was born a month ago. I've been trying to find a moment to write it down before it's forgotten in a haze of sleep deprivation, but even now she has been awake since her 9.30am feed (it's nearly 2pm) and Jude is also refusing to sleep, despite telling me he wanted to go to bed an hour and a half ago.

The birth itself, before I do forget completely:

1. Leading up
After my 2nd set of bile acid tests returned with significantly degraded results, Dr. Trueman agreed it would bem best to induce labour earlier. In order to maximise Lilac's chances for good health, I needed 2 seperate steroid injections in the days leading up to the induction. I would have a final obstetric appointment wednesday morning and the induction would begin late wednesday night.

Facing so many days running back and forth from the hospital, we decided to get some beach-front accommodation near the hospital, and have a last minute family holiday for the 3 of us (how strange to think of us a family of 3). This was a really great idea, and took a lot of the stress out of the lead up. It also gave Jude and Jeremy somewhere to stay while I was in hospital. It turned out it also gave my parents and my sister a place to stay, too.

2. The induction
Wednesday night rolled around. I kissed my beautiful little man good night and farewell from life as we knew it, and we went to hospital at 9pm. We were given a room in maternity with a double bed. A midwife came by to apply the gel, whatever she did down there hurt like hell and left me feeling violated. In retrospect I think it might have been a stretch and sweep, or perhaps her hands were just very large. I thought they would use those metal things they use for pap smears, but they just used hands and I can't say that is the better choice.

Contractions started almost immediately. I wasn't surprised as I had been having contractions on and off for a week (false or early labour, im not sure but I was 2cm dilated already). The contractions were mild and irregular until about 5am when they woke me up and I started to time them at 5 minutes apart.

3. The birth
Soon a midwife came to move me to the birthing suite. The short walk set things going. The contractions leapt to 2 minutes apart. Dr. Trueman came by and broke my waters. Meconium gushed out. I knew instantly the induction was well timed, I also knew I couldn't mess about or I'd end up in theatre.

There was no chance for resting. As long as I was standing the contractions came on strong, but if I tried to sit down they slowed right down. So I stood and summoned every bit of strength left in me after a month of cholestasis and very little sleep. There wasn't much energy left. As the contractions grew stronger, I grew weaker.

By the time it came to push I was fading. I climbed onto the bed, with the back raised so I could lean over it but remain upright. I felt my cervix stretching. I had not anticipated the pain. And after the cervix stretched came the agony of the stretching vagina. Contractions I could tolerate, but the stretching was beyond my pain tolerance. I started to wonder if it was too late for an epidural, the gas did nothing for the pain.

Dr. Trueman was summoned from theatre, he came and tried to get me to push harder, I was doing the best I could with what little energy was left in me, but I couldn't push through the pain and fear of tearing and exploding haemmohoids gripped me. "That's why they call it the Ring of Fire," the doctor offered. Truer words were never spoken.

Finally after what seemed forever I dumped Lilac unceremoniously out on the bed and looked down to make sure it was real. I scooped her up and rolled over, collapsing onto the bed with my tiny baby safe in my arms.

Induction date set

I had a second set of bile acid tests. It turns out they've increased steeply since the first test.

The obstetrician and I agree to inducing Lilac at 37.5 weeks, which means she should come safely and joyously into this world on the 16th of June, 2011.

I'm very pleased to have this organised as it has given me some peace of mind and allowed me to organise my parents to look after Jude while the induction is taking place.

I've been getting cramps and other signs that indicate things are already happening in my womb, so  I'm hopeful that everything will be favourable to an induction and it will go smoothly.

I'm terribly uncomfortable in the countdown to Wednesday night. There are only 4 days to go, and I just can't wait to hold my beautiful baby girl in my arms and smoother her in kisses.

What a journey we've been on together.

The end of the dream

At Monday's weekly obstetric appointment I watched the doctor cross out "waterbirth" on my medical record and replace it with "high risk". I knew it was coming, but it was still a shattering disappointment.

This pregnancy has been cruel to me. Let me not mince words about it. I changed hospitals and obstetricians, travelling at least twice the distance, just so I had access to a waterbirth. I have taken bucketloads of supplements every day trying to ward off pre-eclampsia and other ailments. I've managed myself in every conceivable way. I lay on the floor for 2 weeks straight with my bum in the air to ensure Lilac turned from Breech position.

After everything, I thought I was on the home stretch. I thought I had made it. My baby turned, my blood pressure was great, my doctor said "see you again in 3 weeks". I went and bought a waterbirth DVD and I sat and wept with nervous happiness as I watched 5 couples experience their dream births.

Then all of a sudden I found myself "high risk" and the option of a waterbirth was snatched away. Not to mention that I am now sitting here, a bundle of anxiety, desperately waiting for each time Lilac moves to make sure she's still alive.

HOW THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN?

Obstetric Cholestasis

Well I've really outdone myself this time.

A couple of weeks back I remember remarking to my husband that he was going to have to shave my legs for me (I stopped being able to reach them a few months ago) because they were getting a bit itchy. I thought nothing of it, in fact I did somehow manage to shave them myself.

A few nights later I found myself awake half the night scratching madly at various parts of my body, particularly my wrists and ankles. I was certain I'd been attacked by insects. In fact earlier that day I had declared war on a spider nest and I wondered if I just felt itchy in my head. The next day I woke up and washed the sheets, just to make sure.

However, the itch didn't go away. It hovered incessantly for the rest of the weekend, and I was driven to comment about it on a pregnancy forum where one of the other women remarked that I should talk to my obstetrician. She mentioned something about OC. A quick preliminary search on the internet suggested it was a rare, bothersome condition of the liver in pregnancy but was nothing to worry about.

We were about to head away for a few days, and I was tempted to deal with it when I got back, but something got the better of me and I called my obstetrician first thing Monday morning. He said I needed to come in and I saw him that afternoon. He told me I needed blood tests, which I agreed to go first thing Tuesday morning, just before we left for our holiday. 2 tests were needed, a more immediate liver enzyme test and a bile acid test that takes a week because there are only a few pathology labs in Australia that can process the test.

During the holiday I called for the results of the liver test. He told me my liver enzymes were abnormal. I didn't have proper web access, but I'd been itching and scratching like a crazy person this entire time. The itching had taken over my entire body, particularly at night, attacking the soles of my feet and palms of my hands, causing me agony between my toes, in my ears, nostrils and even my private parts. I was going out of my mind, so at the first available opportunity I decided to do a bit more research into the condition of obstetric cholestasis.

I soon learned that it's not just a bit of an itchy bother, but a dangerous condition of pregnancy leading to a 15% increase chance of stillbirth (increasing steadily after week 37). The normal course of action, therefore, being to induce labour at 37 or 38 weeks, depending on the severity of the condition. Reading this I broke down. I have never cried like that before. It was truly as if the weight of the entire universe crashed down on me. I buried my head on my husband's shoulder and wailed.

As I waited out the rest of the holiday and for the bile acid test results to return, I went through every stage of grief. Grieving for the loss of control over the pregnancy, grieving for the risk to my unborn child, grieving for my inability to provide a safe place for my baby to grow. Denial, anger, depression, bargaining (or fighting in my case), and finally acceptance. Acceptance that I needed to make sure Lilac enters the world safely and nothing else matters.

Finally the next Monday rolled around. I called the obstetrician and he confirmed the bile acids test showed what I already knew, that I had obstetric cholestasis. I went in to see him immediately and I am now under weekly surveillance with more ultrasounds, blood tests and CTG monitoring ahead of me. He said we would induce at 38 weeks unless the condition deteriorates and gave me a prescription for UDCA (ursodeoxycholic acid) the only possible treatment (not cure) for this condition which resolves itself only upon the birth (or death) of the baby.

Having developed pre-eclampsia late in my first pregnancy with Jude, I am a little overwhelmed and even shocked to learn I have this condition. I can not believe it is happening, but it is and I have to deal with it to the best of my ability. Every time Lilac sleeps I sit anxiously waiting for her to wake up and give me a good, reassuring kick. The doctor said 38 weeks, but I am so anxious for her safety it may end up being me who asks for an induction at 37 weeks. This is a big leap from me wanting a natural water birth and having decided early that I would never try to bring on labour, I'd let her sit in there as long as she liked. But with her life on the line, I'm not willing to take a single chance.

Renovation Madness

I would strongly recommend against renovating your bathrooms in the last trimester of pregnancy.

I have spent every day for the last month or more (god how long has it been?) crawling around on my hands and knees cleaning up cement dust, tile bits, discarded nails, chunks of wood, particle board sawdust... You name it, I've spent time with it recently.

On top of the cleaning I've had my hands full with tradesmen of varying descriptions and levels of competence, some who understood what I was asking and others who either misunderstood or ignored me.

I've had to trawl bathroom supply shops looking for fixtures, making endless phone calls following up on items ordered weeks earlier that I still haven't heard anything about, and had to rush out last minute to buy things the builder suddenly deems vital without warning.

Third trimester fatigue and insomnia has had me in its filthy clutches this entire time and my brain has officially turned to mush. There are just a couple of days left before the renovations are complete, and I'm fighting every cell in my body to stay functioning until it's over, and then some extra energy must be found because the real cleanup begins the day I see the back of the builders, and what a cleanup it will be. There is a thin layer of filmy dust covering every surface and hidden in every nook and cranny throughout the entire house.

Today the builder started presenting me with invoices and final costs while my poor head is screaming for peace. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to deal with figuring out final payments, I'm quite simply not capable of such complex thought.

Back on track

Every spare moment I could find (which were few and far between) I tried every position I could read about to try to get Lilac to turn head down. Who knows how many hours I actually spent with my backside elevated and my head down, but it was worth it.

After a night of nearly no sleep I drove the death-trap motorway with my eyes half closed down to the hospital on the other side of the city, my hopes pinned on the suspicion I had that one very painful night's sleep was actually caused by a rotating baby.

Amazingly I was right. Lilac has turned around. A quick ultrasound confirmed that her head is in my crotch. The relief I feel is beyond words.

We are back on track for the waterbirth, which is getting increasingly closer. Yesterday marked week 33 of my pregnancy, indicating just 7 weeks to go.

Waterbirth dreaming

We have been buried in renovations for the last month and I've been head down, bum up cleaning up after builders and, of course, Jude.

That position, the traditional hardworking housewife perpetually cleaning her mud floors and whatever else they did back in the dark ages, is supposed to be ideal for getting a baby into optimal birthing position.

Yet despite everything, Lilac is seemingly stuck in breech position. After worrying about pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes, this and that, and getting through each month marking checks against each hurdle jumped, I find myself in the last 8 weeks of pregnancy facing the worst of all obstacles and my hopes and dreams of having a waterbirth are fading.

I even chose to attend a different hospital that is twice the distance from our house, and give up an obstetrician I really liked, all in the hope of having a waterbirth, so I'm filled with disappointment that this is happening.

All I want is the chance to feel a real contraction and NOT have a needle shoved in my spinal cord. Is that really too much to ask?

I'm clinging to the hope that, from what I've researched, 25% of babies are breech at 32 weeks and it drops to 4% at term, but Lilac hasn't changed position in weeks so my hope is slipping away.

Hilarious Jude

My 2 1/2 year son is telling hilarious knock knock jokes over breakfast. He has come up with a sequence, a theme and even a call back to a previous joke. We're impressed with his style (although the substance may need tweaking, but he is only 2 and I've heard 5 year olds tell worse jokes).

Knock knock (who's there?)
Baby sissy (baby sissy who?)
Baby sissy, Lilac.

Knock knock (who's there?)
Baby sissy Lilac (Baby sissy Lilac who?)
Baby sissy Lilac "ROOOAR". Baby sissy sees dinosaur.

Following this sequence, daddy took the knock knock reigns to teach Jude:

Knock knock (who's there?)
Cows (cows who?)
Cows don't who. Cows Moo. Owls whoooo!

Jude came back with:

Knock knock (who's there?)
Moo cow (moo cow who?)
Moo cow "ROOOAR". Moo cow sees dinosaur.


Well, we found it all very amusing!

The Great Pinking

When we moved to QLD 5 or 6 years ago (I've lost count), we knew no one here and we certainly had no friends with children. Then we set forth and started multiplying and found ourselves surrounded by people with kids, but that didn't happen until after Jude was born.

Jude managed to escape wearing any hand-me-downs. What might seem like a small blessing for a child who only wore new clothes may not be what it seemed. Since announcing our girl bun in the oven, we have inherited bundles of pink from friends. I have now realised how great this is.

While Jude had entirely new clothes, they were all cheap and nothing special. After spending hundreds of dollars simply buying the basics for him, we had nothing left to splurge on anything fancy. Now we have an entire wardrobe of good-quality seconds, and I am free to start picking up special pieces as I go without worrying about blowing the budget.

This would, of course, rely on me ever having the time or inclination to go shopping. Chances are Lilac will wear only hand-me-downs because the reality is I never go shopping and I never get a chance to meander slowly through gorgeous kid's things, taking my time to ooh and aah at anything special.

But my parents are retiring soon so hopefully they'll visit more often and I'll have more time to potter around.

Going it alone

Some days, like this one, I need someone to call on. Someone to take Jude away from me, if just for a few hours. Many people (increasingly fewer) have family close enough to be able to help out on those days when everything is too much. Our closest family live about 900km away. Not exactly close enough to come to the rescue.

I got about 4 hours of sleep last night. Between pregnancy symptoms and Jude's recent spate of very bad sleep patterns, I am really feeling the impact of sleep deprivation. So when I gave Jude a cup of milk and he knocked it over on to the floor, and then threw the 2nd cup of milk I gave him on the floor, I really couldn't stop myself from shouting at him and wishing he'd vanish and leave me the hell alone.

It's not a great feeling, as a mum, to wish your child was anywhere but home. I'm sure I'm not the first to feel this way and I won't be the last, but where is help when I need it?

Jude the changeling

My mind is reeling. What has happened to my perfect son? In the last 3 days he has become unsettled, grumpy and mean. I have a great popup book about faeries that mentions something about changelings. Maybe I should look into that.

Actually as I sit here typing on my PC, I can hear Jude playing happily by himself in the next room and I am starting to think he is going through a fierce streak of independence. If I went in and tried to play with him, he'd run to the lounge and demand to watch TV and then break down in tears when I said "no". I'm sure that would happen, so I'm going to leave him playing happily with his felt rock band, singing a medley of songs that work to the tune of ABC and playing his piano (my old Casio keyboard from the early 1980s that still works perfectly).

When I don't give him what he wants he says "I don't like mummy." This is quite the dramatic change from 4 days ago when he was constantly saying "Jude is happy. Jude loves mummy." Hence my reeling mind. What happened to cause this dramatic overnight change?

Speaking of overnight... yesterday he refused to take a nap during the day. 4 days ago he was telling me he was tired and wanted to sleep around 12.30pm and would crash happily in bed. Now he keeps insisting on no sleep. So yesterday Jeremy took him out and they had a really fun, exciting day together. Breakfast down by the water, run around a book store, a swim in the pool... it should have wiped him out but then Jude refused to sleep at night as well.

I suspect he was overtired, but I don't know why he is refusing to sleep. A few days ago he told us when he was tired and crawled happily into bed and fell promptly asleep, all of a sudden that's all gone out the window.

I just hope this is a very temporary change. I think my best course of action right now is to give him his space if that's what he wants.

On a possibly related note, he has finally stopped waiting until bed time to poo in his nappy, but so far only 1 poo has made it in the potty. There have been several land squarely on the carpet. At least he's doing well-formed poos since we changed his milk to a new gluten and lactose free brand. Maybe it's all part of something. Who knows?

Accidents happen (bad ones)

I just read this article in the Sydney Morning Herald about a toddler nearly drowning in a rip on a normal day at the beach with mum and dad.

About a month ago we went to the beach. Swimming between the flags as we always do, I waded thigh-deep into the water carrying Jude and steadied myself against an oncoming wave, turning Jude away to protect him with my body.

The wave hit with such brute force it sent a shock of pain through my aching pregnant hips and I had to struggle to stay standing. I immediately headed back to the beach, realising that I was powerless against the forces of nature that day. I could barely walk afterwards from the pain.

Had I been any deeper before the wave hit, I would have gone down dragging Jude with me, and I can see how easy it would be to get into trouble in a rip with your toddler. It just goes to show you can be careful, you can do everything "right", but you can not plan for all possible accidents.