That’s Not My Baby!

I’ve often pondered this question. Do kids make you crazy OR are you crazy to have kids? I still haven’t found a convincing enough argument though, because I think both apply!

Before having children, I felt that I was competent, reasonably in control of my life, organised, yet a creative free spirit, on her way to being successful at doing this life stuff. I was sane, I had a vocabulary and brain cells at my finger tips. I dressed nicely and always took pride in my appearance.

I had always wanted kids, and no time felt more perfect that a year into my marriage. I felt a well-behaved, well-mannered Von Trapp family children would only add to my already fulfilled life.

And then, it happened – I fell pregnant. I threw up ALL night and day. I threw up in public, at work, on myself! I felt as though I had been drinking all night, while smoking a hundred packets of cigarettes and licking the pub carpet. Not that I’ve done that, I don’t think … I’m a fairly tough person, but I was brought undone. What on earth had I got myself into! Luckily, after a couple of brief hospital admissions

Fast forward a few months, and I’m huge! But I didn’t know what else to do other than get back on the road, working alongside my hubby and crew to produce the Sunrise weather segments. Travelling through floodwaters, the outback, and riding motorbikes to the top of Australia. At eight months pregnant, my Obstetrician told me I had to stop work. So, I did. I was so excited and day dreaming about what life would be like with my little baby in my arms, I think the crew were relieved, as everyone thought I’d be injured from my general lack of concentration!

For a month before my baby was born, I sat on my lounge watching TV and reading books about labour. DO NOT DO THIS, you will FREAK out. Sitting alone and doing nothing all day was so foreign to me. My Midwife told me to rest up, and to enjoy my last few weeks of being on my own before my life changed forever – but I had no idea what she really meant. I filled my days with takeaway organic Margarita pizza and loads of fried rice and pork delivered to my door. I’d put on so much weight, but my baby was getting nice and chubby, so everything was going perfectly to plan, so I was happy!

The day I had my first daughter Sailor was incredibly scary, and not the experience I had dreamt of. I was induced early. I had gel put on my cervix. It was all exciting at this point, and I ate a few curried egg sandwiches to pass the time. I didn’t dilate well, so my waters were broken and I was put on an Oxytocin drip to speed up the process. My baby had turned around and was facing the wrong way. My bottom still clenches thinking of the pain! I was vomiting after every contraction. I begged for an epidural. Had I been able to get on my knees, I would have. I BEGGED. I tried pulling out all of the plugs, drips and cords, telling my husband I no longer wanted to have the baby and we had to leave. In the lead up, I had told him to refuse me an epidural no matter how much I asked for it, as I believed at the point you felt you needed one, you were so close to delivering the baby, it may just slow the process down. My poor husband didn’t know what to do. He had promised and now I was breathing fire, telling him to get the anaesthetist “right now”, spitting from speaking with such venom. I had the epidural, and I was relieved of the excruciating pain. The labour continued until 2am when at twenty hours in, the baby’s heart rate showed stress and we were advised to have an emergency caesarean. I was beside myself. This was not what I had planned. All the months of dreaming and writing a birth plan, then this happens. I had no energy left to deliver my baby. I didn’t want my baby to suffer. We had to get her out. I was petrified. I cried and cried and cried on the way to the operating suite. They gave me something to calm my nerves.

When they pulled my baby out and showed me, I was in shock. “That’s not my baby!” I cried to my husband. “That baby has red hair!” I’m not proud of these comments, by the way. I was beyond exhausted, and had been given a large dose of Valium, I think! They handed me my baby, tightly wrapped in a blanket. She was puffy and looked like an Eskimo, and covered in yellow gunk. It was the strangest encounter. “She looks like a papoose!” I kept telling my husband. He was crying and kissing her, then kissing me. I felt unsure. I was in shock.

After a few days, we were released from hospital and able to return home. Both of us were petrified. In fact, my husband had organised to Volvo to take our baby home in – the safest of cars! He drove about 45kms/hr the whole way home, leaving a trail of angry city drivers in his wake. When we arrived home, we realised we hadn’t even strapped the baby into her capsule properly. We felt like failures from the start. How on earth could we raise this little being all on our own? The idea of what was ahead seemed insurmountable.

I struggled being at home on my own when my husband went back to work a fortnight after Sailor was born. I found it so lonely. I had gone from a life where I was always on the go, with a work crew and friends around me, my husband around from morning until night, to this … Just myself and my baby, alone in an apartment in the middle of Sydney city. We went for walks each day. I attempted a mother’s group, although I didn’t like how judgemental everyone seemed. I also didn’t like the big noting about the deep love and connection each mum had with her baby. I loved my baby, but our connection was still developing. I felt inadequate. Again, this wasn’t what I thought it would be like. So, I decided to get back on the road with my husband and Sunrise. How hard could it be?

Our first trip was exciting, but tough. I had over-packed. We were off to Broken Hill and beyond. It would be reasonably remote, so I needed to ensure I enough supplies – and then some. I had a large suitcase and several small bags. As babies usually do, we were thrown a curveball when she did a number three (they are not a myth!) on our way to the airport. A messy combo of poo, wee, and with one loud slurp, it’s all through your baby’s clothes and your cab’s baby seat. Oops. Yuck. Gross. Swear words. I made a mercy dash to the bathroom to change my sopping bub. I had packed her a spare outfit just in case. I felt good. I wiped and changed her, but stupidly, I hadn’t done up her nappy, so she piddled a puddle on the change table which soaked into her brand new outfit. “No, no, no!” I remember yelling in panic. I tried drying it with paper towels. Gross. Again. More swear words. I had no reserves. I was defeated. But that’s kids! They always win…


Both my babies are cheeky and spirited!


I couldn’t be happier to be raising two spunky little people!


Sailor (5) and Scout (1)


Being covered in stickers – one of the many joys of being a parent!


13 responses to “That’s Not My Baby!”

  1. Hannah says:

    I don’t have kids but laughed out loud at this post Chezzy.
    You are just so entertaining and honest with your stories. I feel like I know you really well after reading about your life. I love your husband from Family Feud I think he is so funny and so are you. Your kids must be hilarious too. Thank you for a good laugh. Hannah
    BTW – my Mum got me onto your website. She was raving about how funny you are and for once she was right.

    • Chezzi says:

      Oh Hannah your Mum seriously rocks! hahahah I’m glad she got you onto my website and even moreso that you actually enjoy me having a little laugh at myself! Thank you so much for your lovely feedback!

  2. Marni says:

    Chez, You are so funny. I truly enjoy reading your pieces. you make the simplest things sound so funny and I read alot. You should make a television show about all the funny things that happen to you in your life. It would be really popular. Can’t wait to read more. Marn

    • Chezzi says:

      Ha! That sounds quite scary to me.. i don’t think a show about my life would make people laugh.. It would probably make people cringe!! hahaha Thanks for your support Marni. I’ll just try getting more stories up before I contemplate my next challenge hahah

  3. It’s not like the Huggies commercials is it!? People tell you how hard it is but you never really believe them until that baby is in your arms and you’re convinced there’s been a mistake because the hospital let you take them home all by yourself.

    • Chezzi says:

      Could not have said it better myself! It was nothing like I expected. When we left the Hospital I was panicking, thinking “How the hell do I do this without any help”.. It was scary. I recall sitting down and crying for about an hour (exhausted) thinking to my self that I couldn’t do this for another 18 years… What I didn’t realise was that period doesn’t last! Knowing that with my 2nd bub made is sooooooo much easier and enjoyable.. And she had reflux and refused to sleep for her first year!
      Mwah xx

  4. Meghan says:

    I love this story, completely relatable and so true for many Mum’s. I am really going to enjoy your posts. Congratulations !!

  5. xxx says:

    Your ѕtyle is very unique in comparison to other folks I have read stuff from.
    Thank you for postіng when you have the opⲣortunity,
    Guess I’ll just bookmark this blog.

  6. Donna-Rae Walsh says:

    You are absolutely funny Chezzi and that’s why i love ❤️ you and this blog has definitely cheered me up! You are so honest,kind caring person that if i saw you i would give you a big hug 🤗 Thankyou! 😘

  7. Lee Facey says:

    Love your blog Chezzi. Just want to tell you this ‘new mum’ thing. I was 19 and had my first baby and we had just moved to Fremantle. No car, no phone. My six weeks old son was hungry all the time so I gave him a boiled mashed egg (with butter and salt). Perfect! Then in the afternoon I gave him 1/4 of a weetbix. Great! Happy baby. When he was 12 weeks old I went to the clinic again and the Sister said “he looks very healthy indeed and now you can start giving him 1/2 an egg yolk a week and you can start thickening his milk with baby rice. What! I worked out that in the past six weeks I had fed him 42 eggs and near a packet of weetbix. Whew! Now he is 46 and 6ft 2 tall so at least he survived but I shudder when I think about it sometimes. Regards to Grant. We never miss Feud,

  8. Elaine says:

    Luv you Chezzi
    Luv your family
    luv your stories
    Lived watching Sunrise because of Grant
    Loved being part of the early morning crowds in Melbourne
    Loved getting up close and personal to the crew
    Your stories remind me of my favourite tv show
    I LOVE LUCY can now be replaced with
    I love Chezzi

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Get Updates

Get latest News and Updates from Chezzi (One email when there's a new blog up... NO Spam)

© 2017 chezzidiaries
Social media & sharing icons powered by UltimatelySocial