We’re officially two weeks into the biggest change of our lives.

Well, the biggest since our little man rolled into the world nearly a year ago.

A month after we decided to just go for it, the Babasaurus and I arrived in Brisbane, sans the Dad-dog who is packing up back in SA, to start setting up our new adventure and life.

In somewhat human form, we were greeted at the airport by an extremely excited Grandpa who bundled our exhausted, questionably smelling bodies and all our luggage into the car and off we set for Grandma’s house. Sounds like a children’s story, doesn’t it. Let’s roll with that – might make a good bed time tale one day.

So, there we were at Grandma’s house. Baba asleep, slops on and wine in hand, it slowly started to sink in that this wasn’t a holiday… this was a little more permanent. Eeek.

The next day we did a little admin and got a few bits and pieces together so that on Friday, September 1st, Mama could start her new job. Still not sure if I was actually awake for that – it was a bit of a blur.

Slops on, vino in hand. We have made it, in somewhat human form. #Brisbane #TheFranks (minus the main one)

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Thankfully, there was just one day of work and then weekend because the jet-lagged little boy and his mom were overcome with a tummy bug and spent the weekend projectile vomiting (and other things. Meh.) The bug went away, but the little Bug kept vomiting. Thank goodness for having grandparents just down the passage.

We put it down to teething, and a little cough.

Then we put it down to dairy and changed his formula.

Then we went back to teething.

Then he stopped eating and only took a bottle. And a biltong stick (in case you were wondering why we didn’t rush to the hospital. How sick are you if you’re eating biltong?)

So, then we thought it might be that thing that happens when babies are around 10 months old and stop wanting to be fed and, fiercely independent and strong-willed as this one is, we thought surely, SURELY that was it. He just wanted to feed himself.

Although a bit subdued, he was fine, and then randomly he’d vomit. Confused as to what was potting, unsure if he needed a doctor, a drip, lactose-free formula, a good nights’ sleep, or just some time with his Dad-Dog, I started feeling like the Worst Mom Ever.

It was a bad week, topped off with a call or three from his new school (that I felt very guilty leaving him at in less than perfect condition) to find out how we usually get him to sleep because the tired little mouse was refusing to sleep. “Don’t worry,” said the teacher, “we just need to get to know him a bit.” At this stage, I felt like perhaps I did, too.

With Frank far away, hiking through the beautiful bush with no signal, he was only getting snippets of information and his growing concern about the Babasaurus only made my guilt grow. Was I doing the right thing? I was so certain he was about to be fine. This was probably largely because of his ability to be miserable but still wrestle me like a small maniac with a faint smile on his face.

It was hard. Everyone was tired. It’s all new and very overwhelming.

And then I spoke to my friend Cath. “You’ve had a pretty massive life change, Boo,” she said. “Just give it two weeks. That’s my rule of thumb for everything with kids. You’ve got this”.

Mkay, I thought. Two more days at ‘Granny’s daycare’ coming up should give us enough time to see if we can get him back to normal and eating again. By we, I mean my mom – remember the Grandma from the beginning of the story. Turns out she got this. I’ve just been here for extra squishes before bed and the midnight bottle time / wrestling matches.

Turns out Cath was right.

On Monday, another tooth through the gums, he started to make a turn back towards his happy self. There was laughter, there were dinosaur roars. There was even a bit of eating his regular food. It’s now, officially, two weeks later (HOW DID THAT GO SO FAST?)

He’s moaning and singing in his bed right now and I’ll probably need to take a bottle through just now for this crazy midnight snacker. Hopefully we’ll eventually get back to sleeping right through, too. Look, a Mama Bear can dream, right?

Anyway, 2 weeks in. Lots of change. Missing Frank.

But we survived.

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