Tag Archives: vomit

Don’t Feed Your Kids Before Getting In The Pool, This Has Nothing To Do With Cramps Or Gremlins


When my twins were newborns they had bad reflux. They were prescribed Losec to help alleviate their pain. We gave them their dose in the evenings as this worked better for us than the mornings. At some point we switched the bath time of the twins and it would happen just before or just after we gave Losec. Suddenly, the likelihood of vomiting up their medication in under 20 minutes increased dramatically, and with reflux kids vomiting is always a possibility. I couldn’t understand why. I spoke to a nurse about it, who asked me a series of questions and then gave a long why-are-people-so-stupid sigh and told me to stop bathing the twins within an hour of giving medication. She wanted an hour bath free either side of administering the losec. The movement from the water was causing movement inside the body because we’re mainly made up of water, so we like to join in. All that vomiting came on after relatively calm jaunts in the bath, imagine how much more movement playing in the pool or swimming lessons inspire?

When I was a kid (Gen X) we were told to never eat one hour before swimming otherwise we would get a stitch and we would DIE!!! Pretty dramatic stuff. Same thing with any exercise, don’t eat an hour before or you’ll get a stitch, and depending on the activity either a death threat or told we wouldn’t be able to play for awhile. And then Gen X became adults, we became our own bosses and decided we could eat whenever the heck we wanted and not be told we can’t play or get threatened with death, because we’re adults gosh darn it and we’ll do as we please. Studies came out disproving the link between cramping and swimming. We cheered. Unfortunately we kind of forgot about the vomit, probably because we don’t really vomit much as adults so we don’t think about eating and exercise until we’re half way through the most intense yoga session of our lives and regretting eating lunch on the way over. (Yes, I did this recently, I didn’t vomit but I felt like it, but mistake, HUGE!) Plus, adult muscles are better developed, our lower esophageal sphincters stronger, so we’re a heck of a lot less likely to vomit because of strenuous exercise or moving water.

Kids aren’t quite as developed as us adults. It’s not such a great idea to smash down a tub of fruit salad straight before leaping into active water play or swimming lessons. All that water swirling about makes all the fluid inside your little one swirl about too, and increases the likelihood that they’ll vomit up big chunks of food into the pool, which stops playtime for not only your little one but also everyone else as pool staff clean out the chunks of food and add extra chemicals to kill the germs.

If your little one has had a vomit in the pool, definitely rethink your feeding strategy, because it could be as simple as too much food, not sufficiently digested, just looking for an escape. Most of the time vomit in the pool will be benign like that. However, sometimes reasons can be serious, so also check to see if they have taken on too much water. This can be a serious issue resulting in fatality. Things to think about are, have you been submerging them repeatedly, or have they been submerging themselves? Is the vomit full of water and frothy? After swimming have they started having difficulty breathing or talking? Are they lethargic? Do they have chest pain? If so, you should take your child to see a doctor immediately to ensure they don’t have water on their lungs. Children’s bodies aren’t quite as developed as adults so it is easier for them to get water on their lungs than adults.

Nobody wants to go through the worry and fear that a child may die from taking on too much water, vomiting being one of the warning signs, so don’t set yourself up for the stress of anxiously watching over them simply due to vomiting because they’ve eaten too much, too soon, before going in the water. Parents worry, I know this because I am a parent with three kids, if your child vomits in the water in the back of your mind you’ll assume the worst, even if you’re putting on a brave face. So please, don’t do this to yourself, to your child, to aquatic centre staff, or other patrons. Don’t increase your risk of vomiting. Avoid feeding your kids close to swim lesson time starting. Try packing an extra snack in their lunch bag that they can eat in the car on the way home before swimming to avoid getting home, bolting food, then running off to swim. Try to book times, easier said than done, that allow a gap between eating and getting in the pool. Pack a snack to give them after they’ve gotten changed out of their swimmers, so that if they are perpetually hungry they know they have something coming and don’t get too grumpy. Because there are few things worse than sitting by your child’s side wondering if they are going to die, particularly if the vomit has nothing to do with taking on too much water and is symptomatic of too much food and not of over submersion and water on the lungs. I implore you, don’t set yourself up for that kind of stress.

Swimming is a skill that saves lives, it is vital that we all learn how to be safe in the water, and I encourage anyone, child or adult, to get swim lessons, because you never know when you might end up in the water. Read more about swimming being a skill that saves lives here, and find out about some good swim centres too.

Grab my book, Postnatal Depression Sucks, here.

Why My Life Won’t Be Made Into a Reality Television Series


Me sitting in the car, waiting for group therapy

So I have come to the conclusion that my life might not be exactly glamorous enough to be made into a Reality Television series. I started suspecting this as I began thumb typing this entry up on the steps waiting for group therapy to begin and am now fully convinced of the fact as I now finish thumbing this up on the toilet… as I do a poo.

If my life was made into a TV show it’d view something like this:

One of the twins waking up crying at around 6 am. It’s the youngest one. Let’s not pretend I don’t know which one it is and that they both do it. The baby of the family does not love sleep. My husband looking at me sleepily says how exhausted he is and then me attempting to kick him the heck out of my bed because I’ve been up all night with one of the twins (yes, the baby of the family again) and I’m exhausted. No sexy lingerie,  not even the conflict of a swearing match because I’m to zombified to do much but grunt angrily and flail a foot at the husband’s tail.

Husband gets up, does not pick up crying twin (yes, John you’re the one who was crying) and sits on the toilet for an hour.

I manage to pry my eyes open and stumble out of bed, collect babies in arms, hear the toddler monkey calling for love, duck into her room, she jumps on my back and I carry all three children into the lounge room.

I change the twins’ nappies. The Monkey asks where Daddy is. I say the toilet. The Monkey tells me how much Daddy loves the toilet. I agree. I start day dreaming about going to the toilet on my own during the day. It is magical. Perhaps they could do one of those foggy transitions and then some beautiful rose coloured lighting as they focus on me sitting on the can. Ah, that hit the right spot.

I get the boys bottles ready (yep they’re 9 months and now bottle fed, I guess that could cause some controversy. People could come and have a breast in at my front door and I could douse them with cows milk or formula) whilst getting the Monkey a cup of milk at her desired temperature. She asks for cake for breakfast.  I say no.

The Husband gets off the loo and tells everyone about the quality of his poo and the effectiveness of his scissor bone.

I give the boys their bottle,  the Husband makes the Monkey some toast. They eat toast whilst the Monkey describes how the world works. If you get blue and gold paint and mix them then you get green paint but if you mix blue and gold glitter you just get blue and gold glitter mixed together. True.

One of the twins vomits all over himself,  his brother and me. His brother laughs. John you are lucky your brother has a good sense of humour. Ugh. I put dripping wet boys onto playmat, strip them of their vomit drenched wondersuits, then slowly make my dripping way to the laundry to dump my clothes in the laundry. The Monkey has at some point escaped from breakfast land and finds me and yells, “Mummy is nudie.” The husband wanders over and raises his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. A few weeks later when I complain he never tells me I’m pretty he will say, “What about the time in the laundry.” Yep, romance is going strong in our household.

Husband jumps in the shower. I swallow my bitterness and go off into a fantasy land where I get to have showers too. Bring on another transition and some funky lighting but this time using a shower model because me in the shower is so rare there is no file footage to use. I smell like a mouldy arse.

I hear what sounds like a flock of squarking seagulls coming from the lounge room. I enter the lounge room still naked, you’re welcome nosey neighbours, to discover that the Monkey has left her toast on the ground and the boys have fallen upon it. One twin has a whole piece in his mouth and the other is beating a slice against the ground to ensure it is dead before he eats it. What can I say, I have little cave babies.

Now I’d write more about my exciting day but it’s 11pm, I’m tired and I want to go to bed. I won’t sleep mind you, my stupid mind won’t stop talking to itself but you have to make an effort.

I will assure anyone who read the caption on my pic that group therapy is not interesting. It is not like it is depicted in Fight Club or Anger Management. Nobody has come home and slept nude with me, nor have they hugged me to their bitch tits, but I’ve already complained about the lack of pizzazz in group therapy – https://riedstrap.wordpress.com/2014/05/05/confessions-of-a-mad-mooer-ive-just-had-an-oprah-moment/ so I won’t rant about it again. It’s not the participants fault, there’s at least one other person there who I know would be just as keen to whip out a whole bag of crazy as much as I am. It’s the therapists really that keep us from reaching our full Hollywood potential.

But I digress. I shall rewrite my day suitable for a blockbuster movie next time I get a good length of time on the toilet… alone!

As always if you’re a lady and a bit crae crae you are welcome to join my group

Now I must go wake my husband in order to tell him all about my poo girth, texture, buoyancy and colour, because that shit is important.

Impractical Parenting: the triple nappy change



As someone with no qualifications as a paediatrician, paediatric nurse, early childhood teacher etc I thought I’d share my expert tip on how to handle a triple nappy change. I’ve got a two year old and four month old twins so this is a regular occurrence in my home.

Step1: get twin a, open nappy, stick baby’s foot in poo, when jingling the baby awkwardly in an attempt to clean foot smear poo all over change table, mop up poo, get weeed on whilst distracted by poo, place baby on playmate to avoid baby getting further soaked again, have baby pee again, quickly put on nappy and move onto play mat with twin b, finish dressing.

Step 2: change twin b next to twin a on play mat as all other surfaces are urine and poop soaked, open nappy, twin a sticks hand in twin b’s nappy, clean off twin a’s hand, whilst cleaning twin a twin b is to power spew all over himself and twin a, as changing clothes of both twins 2 year old to rip off nappy, remind 2 year old to use pottie if they need to wee, 2 year old to tell you it’s ok they can just wee on the ground and crouch and urinate on ground.

Step 3: put nappy on 2 year old, 2 year old immediately does massive poo, chase 2 year old around the house whilst they scream, “no poo, no nappy change,” eventually subdue two year old terrorist and change nappy whilst you contemplate how the poo has managed to defy time, space, gravity and sanity.

Step 4: drink soothing cup of tea whilst developing an eye twitch and thinking about newspapering your whole house.

Can’t wait to share with you how “best” to deal with three kids crying at once…