Vaccines

The mere mention of needles has me running for the hills. So when it was time for my first-born’s six-week immunisations I cowardly arranged for my husband to take an hour off work as my replacement.

In hindsight I should’ve just taken a cement pill and hardened up for, not long after they’d left, I received a phone call from the doctor’s surgery basically implying I get my butt up there as my baby needed me.

They’d taken the car so, with trepidation, I raced up there breaking a PB (personal best) to be met by the sound of my baby’s screams ricocheting out the surgery and down the strand. 

It’s fair to say, at that moment, I felt like the worst mother in the world. The accusing looks I received as everyone in the waiting room turned unanimously to look at the negligent parental unit who’d left their baby to howl down the house for the last 15 minutes only verified this.

Now, many needles later, I have hardened up so, after calling the 0800 number to clarify a few concerns, I booked the twins in to have their free meningococcal vaccines.

It’s been hard to miss the publicity around this. Besides the media and a letter in the mail there was also a mobile clinic in the mall during the school holidays which, once Master Five cottoned onto, literally gave a wide berth.

“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder to the approaching nurse as I chased my son. “He’s not having a bar of it today.”

“That’s alright,” she smiled. “The schools are running free programmes.” (In other words “They’ll get you at school little man hehehe.”)

The twins, however, were the opposite. “Who wants to go first?” the nurse asked.

“Me!” they both exclaimed, curious to know what was in the little tray she carried.

I’d explained to them it would just be a small prick which would help stop them getting sick and then we could go get a lollypop.

Jai hopped up on my knee first. “Ow!” he looked accusingly at the nurse. “You hurt me!”

That was it.

Jayla was much the same but with a bit of a whimper (or was that from me?) and it was all forgotten as they focused on their prize – the lollypops.

After much ado over their plasters and lollypops - the nurse had long been forgiven - we were on our way.

That’s two down, just one more – the hypochondriac – to go. But then maybe that’s not going to be such a drama after-all.

Upon picking up big bro and their lollypops being flamboyantly thrust in his face, (painstakingly saved specifically for this reason, I might add) he suddenly changed his mind.

“Mum, when do I get to have my injection?” he whined all the way home.

Bag Of Tricks

When my first-born was eight months it occurred to me that my hand bag was no longer my own.

Dummies, rusks, spew cloths, bibs and all manner of toys were now crammed into every nook and cranny of my oversized bag.

I liked to call it my bag of tricks. At an early age my son ditched the glorious sleeping-in - public phase and, although a typical male who couldn’t stand my attempted shopping sprees or lunching with friends, he insisted on staying alert throughout the entire outing making the experience a misery.

As a result I turned into the ultimate power-shopper. Here’s how a typical shopping trip unfolded:

I park the car and place baby in the stroller. He looks around excitedly at the new surroundings he has magically materialized into. We set off at a fast pace.

First destination, the chemist – my third home after the supermarket. A fair amount of cooing from the shop assistants later, and we emerge relatively mild-tempered.

Second destination, baby shop (one of my other many homes), but enroute, himself starts to make noises so we divert to the pet shop to marvel at the tropical fish.

Once out the door the grisly mono-drone kicks in so out comes my first trick – toy number one.

This buys five minutes while his attention is diverted, however, the five minutes is up as we make it to destination two’s door. Out with toy number two.

A frantic fly around the merchandise, a few quick purchasers later and baby is getting scratchy again. Out comes toy number three and we head off. However, I am becoming aware of a rather unpleasant smell so it’s a prompt u-turn toward the public toilets.

A swift nappy change and gleeful giggles later and baby is one happy chappy but once he’s back in the stroller, the mono-drone restarts.

Time for my trump card – the rusk. I unfurl this magnificent pacifier from its wrapper in front of baby’s eager eyes and outstretched hand. He grabs at it… and in his enthusiasm… knocks it to the ground. One down.

Sighing I surrender my back-up, and last resort, and know my time is nearly up. He brings it to his mouth and chomps away for a few pleasant minutes. In a last-ditch effort I take this opportunity to swing the buggy round and make a run for the welcoming sight of Glassons beckoning from the distance.

Inside I wrestle the wide-wheeled stroller around narrowly-situated clothing racks, apologising as we run over someone’s toe. I spy a prospective purchase, head towards the changing rooms, and… right at that moment, baby throws his rusk.

I knew I was pushing my luck.

It’s rusk overboard and I’m all out of tricks. Ditching the clothing item and, with a wistful glance over my shoulder, I’m homeward bound with a now wailing baby in my arms.

It was back home to restock the bag of tricks ready for the next week’s attempt.

It dawned on me recently that my bag is, once more, my own.

… Well, that’s aside from a couple of nappies, wet wipes, raisons and a spare pair of toddler knickers.

Kutus

“Nits are doing the rounds once more. Please check your child’s hair,” read the sign at kindy the other day.

This was followed by a newsletter of similar nature from the school.

Right, time to kick into high-alert again.

A year or two ago when nits were prevalent when my oldest was at pre-school I thought we’d have nothing to worry about. I’d managed to escape head lice throughout my childhood so we were invincible right?

Nup.

I began to notice a lot of head scratching going on with Master then-four and put on my glasses to inspect. Was I imaging it or was his hair alive?

I got mum to take a look – she’s a teacher and an expert at spotting them.

She confirmed my fears and provided me with a school print out on how to handle the situation. Then I popped up to the shop to buy the required paraphernalia.

Upon telling the lady in the pharmacy my plight she immediately began scratching her head. (By the way, are you feeling itchy?)

I arrived back with a couple of combs and both non-chemical and insecticide treatments, and we got to work.

There was definitely an awful lot of activity going on in there and I soon became the pro nit-picker.

Myths abound as to whether head lice can swim, fly or jump. Supposedly they can’t but I’d like to know how they disappeared off the comb so quickly.

“You’d better check the twins’ hair too,” mum said.

Surely not - they were only babies! But I checked nonetheless and was shocked to find several lurking.

“Gosh, I’m beginning to feel quite itchy,” I commented to mum who replied that it was probably just psychological.

That night, exhausted after shampooing and combing the kids’ hair and changing all the bedding and towels, I was about to fall into bed when I thought I’d run the comb through my own hair.

Horror of all horrors - I discovered a giant KUTU!

How could this be? Not only was I a hygiene freak but I washed my hair every night. Actually, come to think of it, head lice thrive in clean hair so they would have been loving it. That did it. Not keen to prolong the contact, a mad frenzy of eradication ensued.

I jumped back in the shower, this time applying the treatment to my own hair. The next morning I got out the hair straighteners to fry any remaining, plus their eggs. Then I purchased hair dye, just in case everything else hadn’t worked. (I’ve since learnt while researching for this story that all these methods combined are not recommended).

That first night was the worst. I felt like they’d ruined my life and lay awake stressing … and itching.

According to the instructions we were to wait several days before re-treating to give the eggs time to hatch. That was the hardest part. I have trouble killing even an ant but this was kutu central and I couldn’t wait to get rid of them.

Despite not being able to see how we would ever get on top of them, within a couple of nightmarish weeks we were.

In the following months the childrens’ heads were religiously sprayed with diluted tea tree oil before leaving the house and checked literally with a fine tooth comb when they returned.

No nits have dared come near our hair again and they’ll rue the day they do.

(P.S. Are you scratching yet?)

# Notify your child’s school or pre-school if head lice are found. Some provide information and natural treatments.

Fact Box:

# Headlice is a common problem around the world. They are small flat insects about two-three millimeters long that breed all year round;

# Their colour ranges from beige to grey but they may darken as they feed;

# Headlice cannot jump, fly or swim and remain on the head after swimming, bathing or showering;

# Female lice lay about seven – ten eggs each night while the person is still. Eggs are firmly glued to the hair and laid close to the scalp. Hair grows about one centremeter a month. Therefore any eggs found more than one centremeter from the scalp will have hatched and died;

# The eggs (nits) are small and hard like a grain of salt and are typically cream/brown or grey in colour. After hatching the nits (empty egg cases) are white;

# Eggs hatch in nine days and a louse will live for up to 40 days but only up to two days off the human body. Headlice found off the head are usually sick, old or injured and do not lay eggs;

# Common places they are found are around the hairline at the back of the neck, behind the ears and on the crown.

Wiggles Car

One winter’s day, all out of entertainment ideas, I decided to shop at a different supermarket in town. I chose this supermarket specifically for the Wiggles song-playing cars for toddlers to ‘drive’ which have a shopping basket on top.

Safely across the busy car park the twins made a beeline for said cars and climbed into one each.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

I stood there a while, humouring them, while concocting a plan to get them into one.

“Go mummy, go,” they chanted, urging the cars forward. It was at this point I noted money was required here. Emerging from my purse empty-handed, I eyed the cashpoint but realised that would only disperse $20 – not the required $2.

After drawing out $20 and miraculously having got them into one car a man approached and, seeing my plight, gave one a push. The wheels began rolling.

“They actually go for a little while before you put the money in,” he said with a wink.

We had motion and were off.

But not for long. Halfway to the door, they froze. “Go mummy, go,” the twins insisted.

I stood helplessly watching people emerge from the exit and toyed with the idea of ducking in and approaching a check-out operator for change. I knew there was no way the twins were going to give up their car but then, eyeing the passing traffic, instantly dismissed this as a dumb idea.

Then a uniformed woman walked past and I pounced.

Obviously on a break, she reluctantly took my $20 and went indoors. Seconds later she was back with change so I profusely thanked her and we were rolling. Wiggles music blaring, Jai and Jayla were happily ensconced in their car while I freely perused the aisles.

Until aisle four.

Jai began climbing out the window while I tried to gently push him back in. By aisle five he’d lost the plot and I decided to call it quits and queue in the checkout line after depositing him into a ‘naughty spot’ at the bottom of aisle five.

I tried my best to ignore him while shoppers rounded the corner, saw a little boy sitting alone and glanced around for his parent. Finally it was our turn to go through the checkout and we rolled forward – and stopped.

It seemed the time limit had expired and the car seized. Now I was faced with a boy in the naughty spot, a conveyor belt-full of groceries and a little girl who didn’t want to give up her stalled Wiggles car.

I pulled a screaming Jayla out as an employee retrieved the car, and dug in my purse for my credit card while a redeemed Jai clung to my legs. It was whilst plotting my next plan of action – how to get kids and groceries safely back to the car – when a kind elderly man offered to bring my groceries out.

It wasn’t till I had the kids strapped into their seats that I noticed he was pushing my trolley while pulling his own.

I learnt two lessons that day: One, there are kind people out there and two, stick to your local.