The harder they fall

I'm trying not to work myself up too much today.

Today is the last time I can formally say that I had my daughter "last year". It just becomes so hard to explain to people who ask if I have any children, and this will add to that difficulty. At least at the moment it's pretty much nipped in the bud with "yes, we had a little girl last January" (one poor fellow actually made a quip along the lines of "ho ho, you said 'had', I hope you still have her ho, ho..." - that conversation didn't end well) and then when they ask how old I can say "she died when she was 4 weeks old". Cue hasty downcast looks and very strong "Fuck why did I have to casually ask this woman if she has kids" vibes.

It feels like the more the years wear on, the more insignificant the loss of "only a four week old" will become. Ho, just believe me, there ARE such people out there who are flippant about these things. Tender and touching in the first months, but as time speeds by, the sympathies and delicate words are more fleeting. It's like the sentiments match our resilience - and now, well our resilience is heightened of course, because how could you live for two years and go out in the world and function if you were still as raw as the week in which you saw your husband hold his child while she took her last breath? It shouldn't make any difference, that we are forever moving further away from the event, but it just does.

So yeah. Feel flat. Feel deflated. Feel unwell (go, Jubjub, you good thing, go). On this night last year, we spent the most gut-wrenching, angst-ridden time. Standing watching the fireworks from our backyard - we live in what we call the Fireworks Capital of the World because from our vantage point we see at least a half a dozen displays on the skyline during the night - I cried and cried and cried more tears to the stars. I was in so much pain and there was nothing anyone could have done to comfort me. Steve was here but he too was pained by experiencing leaving our little girl behind, all alone in 2004 with only us to try and keep her memory alive. To make her coming worth it. It seemed such a huge task at the time. But I think we've achieved finding her a place in the world, to a far greater extent than even I envisaged, and in her own right, Ella has made her mark all by herself. We are merely the conduits for that massive soul's purpose to be made known. And my God, am I so grateful she picked us.

I cried also with fear of starting 2005 with the unknown: IVF. I was full of hope and cocky beginner's optimism that, surely, given my track record for getting up the duff, this IVF gig would be a breeze. It was as breezy as I could make it, let's put it that way, and we won't die wondering whether we shoulda, coulda, woulda. But it didn't end up being the Holy Grail for us, obviously.

I cried that I was drinking. I got wasted last New Years Eve. I figured I could, given that we had had to terminate another little girl via a d&c only the week before, so why the hell shouldn't I.

I cried that Ella's first birthday was only two short weeks away, and that "this time last year, in 2003" I had been sooooooo oblivious and happy, rubbing her through my belly and telling her, "We made it to 28 weeks, Boo! Now, you can come out anytime from now on. But not until you're ready." I think I was too convincing - how obedient she was. And friggen impatient. Just like her mum. We must've just been dying to meet each other, is all.

So this year, I won't say I won't cry. In fact, the tears are already hot and stinging, the little bastards. They're just waiting til darkness falls. I'll focus on the good things: I can't drink this year. My belly is growing. I have an unidentified growing foetus in my loins (who as yet, still has not made him or herself known to me, despite my occasional "knock-knock, anyone there"s...). I can celebrate the close of another year with my healthy, happy husband. I can enjoy watching Pepper howl at the firework cracks - oh how she's a scaredy-dog - and I can dream, for now, that this baby will be "the" one and perhaps only who gets lucky and comes to live with two of the most patient, accepting and tolerant people I can think of.

It's only 10 o'clock in the morning

...on his first day off work for two weeks. And already I want to kiiiiill hiiiim.

Look, sure, I'm positive it's because, despite having a very long solid sleep and sleeping in til 8am today, I am again dog tired (hey, I've showered, had breakfast and dried my hair, that takes a lot of wheeties) and my hormones have been switched to Evil today apparently.

But still. It went like this:

K: I'm waiting for that woman from Sydney to call so I can get my client off my back.
S: (nods slowly and methodically to the hum of the fan going above his head, agitatedly flicking the controls on his paused Playstation game and willing me with his eyes to leave the darkened bedroom so he could continue his driving quest)
K: Are you going to play that thing for two weeks? In here?
S: (still the nodding)
K: I know what you're gonna do, you're going to do the floors in the bathrooms. I don't think I could stand you just lying around for two weeks around me while I work.
S: What do you have to do today workwise?
K: Nothing! I'm bored. I've got nothin'.....
S: Ok. Well you go get the tape measure for the floors (starts up paused game).
K: But..... what're you going to do? What.... (excitedly, fuzzy prego brain registering that this means we're actually going to finally lay proper tiles in our bathrooms after 8 years of lino) I'll get the tape measure and I'll meet you in the bathroom!
S: (silence)
K: 'kay?!?? (hopping from foot to foot outside the bedroom door now) O-KAAAAAAY?!
S: Quiet! I'm doing 200 k's an hour.
K: (mopes off to blog the interaction)

'S gonna be a lonnnnnng Christmas break while my beloved is home.

O/D on THIS

I must thank the essential Amoir for alerting us to this website which I have taken great delight in, in just 24 hours. I've managed to laugh off about 2kg already.

In particular, the recent entries "Hello, WTF!?" and "Am I Funny To You?" - oh, I have serious bladder control issues.

Enjoy.

It started with a kiss

Like this...









And then she had to go and wreck it.

























I posed for the camera THREE times but the stupid little shit wouldn't keep her hat on and kept wrecking my shot.
Look at me in these photos, I don't move. Not a flinch! I'm such a pro... What do these people want? I'm obedient to a fault and yet the wriggly little nugget gets all the attention.

























And then, she wanted my friggin' perfectly-poised hat again!! WHY??! It's red, like hers. It has a pom-pom, like hers. But noooooo. Little Miss Cutesy I-Want had to get mine.









Aaaah, c'mon, it was SO you who took it off my head, I can see the red fluff in your mouth, Jazz, you idiot!









I am so-cute. I am so-cute.
*sings breathily* "Merr-y Chri-stmas, Mister Preh-sident..."









This is dumb. Christmas is dumb. Puppies are dumb.









Hey lady, what gives? Why doesn't she have to put her hat on? Why can't I get away with this crap?












Fine. I'll sit with the stupid hat on and not move. God, this is dumb.









Did I ever tell you how much I love Christmas?
*a little lower, little lower... thaaat's it*

Is this Hagrid's offspring?

Because I see a likeness.

Say 'Estelle' louder for me

No matter how many times over the years I've explained that it's pronounce Estee Lauder... you forget and call it Estelle Louder. I think you have genuinely forgotten the correct way to say it, I surely hope you have because it'll be a shallow early grave for you if you're trying to shit me, especially now.

And I understand a grown man of your high intelligence doesn't have the need nor the headspace to retain this information; after all, how many times will you need to mention the brand name of a perfume and makeup empire in your daily life? Not many.

Still..... one last time. ES-TAY LOR-DER. 'kay? Oh, and while we're at it, those things, on palms and ferns: they're FRONDS. Ok? Fronds. Not FRONGS. That sounds like a cross between a frog and a pair of Occa footware.

A blip on the radar

I just breathed out a sigh that made flags flutter in Belgium. After holding my breath for the past 11 months (how long have I known I'm pregnant? oh, ok, I thought it was longer, it feels like bloody years already), make that 3 weeks, I finally found myself lying flat out like a lizard next to that most lovely of machines - no, not Dr Unflappable, I mean the ultrasound machine.

A few minor adjustments to the clarity of the picture and some nervous chit chat about Fiji and something about my hair fizzing up like Mike Brady in Hawaii.... and voile! A heartbeat!

Jubjub is barrelling along, thank you very much. Size is about 2 days behind for dates - to which I say, PAH! and do a dismissive wave with my hand. So as of today, we're 6wks 1day (this is more a note to self, as I get lost with all these gestations dates and end up going with "I'm due in July" if anyone asks how far along I am).

The next hurdle is in two weeks. The next ultrasound. On December 22nd. Not a fantastic date, as this was the exact date last year that I had my first scan with that poor little bubba who didn't have all the goods to make it. I do hesitantly say, though, that it looks so far, so bloody good with this one. This next scan will be used to again measure if size for dates is accurate, and of course by then it ought to be a bit more interesting.

The manic pants-checker returns

Greetings! Bula vinaka ("welcome" and "thank you", the sum total of the Fijian I learned). Here is the sum total of the most memorable bits:

• We made it unscathed through a week of no tv, no music, just *gulp* our own company. And our singing.
• Possibly THE smoothest flight over that I've ever experienced. Aaaaah!
• Choking up when we took off in the helicopter because it was so breathtaking.... AWESOME!!! (If you ever get the chance to fly in one, take it - and that's coming from a white-knuckle flier, I swear).
• Steve heckling the nightly guitar duo, who played Fijian-style 'mood music', to play Devil Went Down To Georgia.
• A very, very comfortable room with a gorgeous private view.
• A meal plan is a good idea on an island with just the one resort and therefore kitchen/menu.... until morning sickness ruins any plans you had of picking anything off the menu except anything with potatoes in it. Full stop. Potatoes and that is IT. Even the ritual morning fresh fruit continental breakfast was beautiful one day, unbearable the next. Go figure. These crazy babies (did I ever tell you I've been put off fuji and pink lady apples seemingly for good ever since I craved them with my pregnancy last year? Can't even look at them now - for serious!).
• I got RSI from waving any eating utensil I had in my hand over my food to stave off the bugs (whom Steve said were very pleased with their meal plan too).
• Visiting the island where they filmed Cast Away with Tom Hanks (see the photo at right) and learning that the huge reef waves he has to get his raft over are actually not there - and that all the surrounding islands (there are about four quite nearby) were CGI'd out. How very clever!
• Realising the iPod in my head is in serious need of a cleanse. A week on an island with no other form of audient stimuli than Fijian gospel, on a cd that was on repeat like Chinese water torture in the main bure, makes you fall back on random songs that pop into your head. And for mine, I had "I Don't Like Mondays", "2,4,6,8 it's never too late...(pity that I couldn't remember any other words so was forced to just do the Tourrettes-like jerky leg movement while humming the rest of the tune), etc. etc.
• The noise from the insect night life is enough to awake the dead - the lizards, the goddamn lizards. Who knew they make a raucous clicking sound in the middle of the night? On the ceiling? In your room? Precious.
• A brilliant and memorable night of traditional dancing and singing by performers from the village on the island of Yanuca (where most of the gorgeous staff came from as well).
• Wondering how it is that all the women seem to be, erm, generous in size (hey, so am I so I can say it), while the men all bear the most perfect six-packs. Hot damn!
• Photographing amazing sunsets like there was no tomorrow.
• We were kept amused (in a snickering, belligerant school kid kind of way) by the earnest warning in the obligatory room welcome folder to "be vigilant" of falling coconuts - a not too silly request, given the alarming number of people who meet their demise in such a way each year....
• ...which led to the idea of writing a coffee table book of daily inspirations (along the lines of the Blue Day book) called "So You've Been Hit By A Coconut"...
• ...and escalated into Steve wanting to go to the front desk to ask for his coconut fridge magnet, because he believed we should be "alert but not alarmed" while on the island.
• Getting the mother of all doses of "is it or is it not old blood?" spotting on Sunday afternoon that rendered me numb on the couch for about an hour, before I went to the toilet again obsessively to find no more.
• Games of chess on a giant chess board (ok, so it was no Pancake Parlour size chess board, but it was a suitably tropical/oversize one).
• A horizon pool that was as visually appealing and divine as all the photos on their website.
• The start of morning sickness that hit me like a coconut out of the blue on Saturday arvo and has been more present than not ever since (woo hoo!).
• A nightly welcome song and then farewell song for all the guests arriving/leaving the next day that had me tearing up (damn hormones) every evening.
• Missing Jazz and the Pepster about half way through. Doing our usual psychotic pining that sees us resorting to singing songs and changing lyrics to centre around them. Point in case, "Oh Jazzy, you came and you gave without taking", or "Hot town, puppy in the city, back of Pep's neck gettin' dirt and gritty".... you get the sad sorry picture.
• A FREAKING LIZARD dropping on my leg one night during dinner - outdoor dining at its tropical best *shudder*
• Being vigilant in the outdoor (sublime) private shower. Showering at one's own risk was a new one for me.
• Checking my pants and doing an extra wipe each toilet visit in the last half of the holiday.
• Questioning why the HELL the spotting came back with the onset of the debilitating morning sickness???? (Still got the spotting, for those playing at home).
• Snorkelling in crystal clear blue waters off a white sandy beach (as opposed to a white concrete beach, apparently?).
• Freaking out at very nearly being shredded alive by coral on the way back in to the beach. Who knew those little lap waves had the force of Hercules behind them? I felt rejected by the ocean, it was that fast. And I scraped my knee while I just watched the coral and rocks come up alarmingly close in my goggles as the tide just spat me out like a watermelon pip.
• Not believing our luck that the return flight was only 3/4 full so we got a 3-seat centre aisle.
• Our excitement being relatively short-lived once we approached Melbourne airspace and touched down in a massive thunderstorm that dropped 33mm on the city overnight.... and Steve staring at me in open-mouthed disbelief that I had kept my head bent (addictively over the BLOODY patience game I learned and could. Not. Get. Out. It's called Aces Up and doooooooh, patience my arse) during the whole descent - I seriously thought the intermittent white flashes of light outside the window was some sort of light flashing on the plane somewhere. Though now I think of it, what purpose would a haphazard flash serve a plane approaching landing?
• Going weak at the knees once we actually did land and stop (holy moley it was rough), looking out the window at the torrential rain as the captain explained calmly that the lightning and severe weather had caused huge delays to outbound flights and tarmac staff (Doozers, they'll always be doozers to me - I giggle at how their heads nod as they go over bumps in those little whizzy carts just like the doozers did on Fraggle Rock).
• Patting myself on the back that I made it through the week without begging to use their phone to make a call to my Ob's rooms to change my scan appointment to today - "The plane gets in around midnight, meet you at the airport and bring your trusty machine that sees all. Thanks ever so." So we're still on for tomorrow. 10.15am... say a quick prayer for us, won't you?
• Utter disbelief at returning home to discover Headland is still being aired on prime time. No, make that... being aired at all. Feel free to leave this blog of evil if you personally love it, but oh dear me, wouldn't it just have been cheaper to film planks of wood?

*Slumps* And if I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Til then, I'll be on the couch.

Two part cliffhanger ep

You know, like when The Bradys went to Hawaii and Peter found the tiki at the building site, that made the incidental music guy go crazy with the 'mystical tiki'-sounding piccolo trills?

I'm leaving on a jetplane tomorrow night. Me, Steve and Jubjub∞. We are going to plonk down on a little beach with a little comfy bure (hut) and just..... well I dunno what Steve plans to do, but I wouldn't mind sleeping. For all eternity. And we might chuck in some snorkelling and some island hopping in between. I got my Women's Weekly last week (said in true strine Aussie fashion) and haven't opened it yet, so she's a-comin' with me. I love how at night, Steve is reading the latest on the theory of .... something, and there I am flicking through a Woman's Day. I have to dumb myself down, you see (If only you knew how 'kidding' I was).

The truth is, I am actually going to be doing whatever it takes to keep my mind off the 7 week ultrasound I'll be having the day after we get back. No amount of promising betas can really prove whether this kid is healthy or not. In fact, of course, not even an early ultrasound can determine it definitively. I do believe it's extremely timely that we will be forced to do nothing but spend time with each other on an island that is roughly 1.5km long (and about as wide), given that I really need to concentrate on grounding this little thing.

A very interesting and strange experience occurred to me yesterday whilst in the middle of the Light Ray/Colour workshop I was attending. I came over all cold, was getting chills, and couldn't warm my feet. I ended up with them on a hot water bottle and they were still icy cold. It was only after I got up on the massage table to lay prostrate (with my button undone, oh my, what was I thinking wearing my jeans? I've already popped out like no one's business) that it started settling down, and I started to warm up. I don't like being shivery cold when pregnant, it just feels bad/unhealthy. What was actually happening was a bit of grounding work - I didn't know this until later, after I got up and it was explained to me. While I was lying there, though, I saw her. Our daughter. Not the pushy one (love ya, Ellabubble)! Well... let's just say, I'll be surprised if this is not a girl. A pleasant surprise, of course. No, I just got a glimpse of Steve holding a little girl of 8 months or so and she had unruly hair (heh, must be my kid) and was wearing thick white tights on fat stumpy legs and a dark red tunic with a white skivvy. Oh, how very 70's of me. But how CUTE!!! And he was holding her like she was sitting in a chair. It was all very marvellous. And a huge wave of happiness came over me, over and over. I haven't had that feeling for SO long. I think it's called 'joy'.... true happiness, even.

So I'll be continuing to try and connect with this little one and see where it's 'at'. Strange, I think I was spoiled with Ella. I had such close (and hilarious) contact with her, I could just tune in and there she always was. The rest have always been so hesitate to step forward. And that's what worries me a little if I don't "hear from anyone". So I just have to make myself open, instead of distracting myself with things like work and tv and EB and the rest. I'm not giving anyone a chance to inch their way into my awareness really - it's not that I don't want to, gawd no, I'm just in a habit of filling up my days with crap. And this rest will force me to stop and listen. I'm really looking forward to doing nothing.

Anyway. Enough about me. What do you think about me? ....ahhhh gotta love Beaches. Good old Bette Midler.

Be good while I'm gone. I'll be back in a week. Can you water the plants for me? And feed the fish? Don't worry if the snails get to the basil. I've given up and have acceded it is now a sacrificial offering to the snail daevas. Greedy bastards.

Oh. And just so as you can picture us? Doing all this reading and walking and thinking and eating.... here's where we'll be if anybody wants us:

The Island of Leisure and no tikis

Of course, don't let the sunny weather in the photos on that website fool you. We have checked the forecast and, starting today, we are in for a treat of heavy rain and, oh! my favourite!, thunderstorms by the weekend.... I HATE FUCKING THUNDERSTORMS! So, I'll be a nervous wreck on this idyllic island, ducking under the bed and lighting mosquito coils and cranking up the air conditioner because don't think the rain is fooling anyone - I know it's going to be so steamy, I'll come back 5kg lighter (hey, that'd be handy!) because of the sauna-like effect of the atmosphere. There may be storms moving through but the temp isn't forecast to drop below 30º..... I'm getting claustrophobic just thinking about it...... better pack the Chess and the Scrabble (we can't take Canasta, it is the most threat-of-divorce-inducing game I have ever played with Steve. It's my fault, not his, DAMN now he'll read this and know I admit fault at becoming Mt Vesuvius when he breaks the meld first!!!)


∞ Anyone who watches The Simpsons as diligently as us will know why it was hysterically funny to me that, when I told Steve I was going to name this bubba Jubjub for however long its journey with us lasts, he asked me if I was going to be sticking my head in the vegie crisper..... (Patty - or is it Selma? - has an iguana called Jubjub and she coos to it in that gravelly voice, "Ohhh, Jubjub... mommeee's heeerre")

Doctor's orders

Doctor Steve, that is.

This morning on our walk, we were discussing why my boozies might have decided to start uncontrollably increasing already. And how alarmed I am that I've just hit 5 weeks so where the hell will I put them in 30 weeks time??! Crikey moses.

We came to the conclusion that, because I have been losing the pregnancies at around 6 weeks, and Dr Eversodreamy (the Ob) told me last week that 'spontaneous' miscarriages actually begin several days or even weeks before you start to bleed, I must be only just pregnant when we find out. That something in the embryo's genetic information is either just SO stuffed up that it hasn't got all the information it needs to grown any further and doesn't implant properly, or that my blood clotting factor has possibly prevented a few of these from implanting properly (or a combination of both these things). Which is why, most of the time, my body doesn't change in those first 6-ish weeks. Last year, with the bub in November that lasted for 9 weeks, I bloated up like a blow fish very early on. Like I am now. Attractive! But it stayed in, is my point.

So. What did Dr Steve order? He ordered me to sing to this baby every day to make its heart start soon. And keep going. His prescription was, specifically, "I want you to sing Motley Crue"
*cue a worried look from me*
"Yes, I want you to sing Kickstart My Heart. Every day. And make particular mention of the part that goes 'hope it never stops'."

Ok, yeah, Dr Steve. Will do! *donning bandanna*

*quietly* OH! *cringeing* YEAH! *smashing air guitar* Kickstart my heart hope it never stops.......

The girl's gotta have it

Ats'mah grrrl!

The Lowdown on Twisties: Balanced Translocations 101

I almost don't want to do this. It entertains an awareness of what we may be faced with that I don't want to confront again (we went through this 3 years ago when we first found out about Steve's balanced translocation and it was horrifying to research, to say the least - we waited just two more pregnancies before we got Ella, though, so it kind of softened the information we found).

Steve has a non-Robertsonian balanced translocation of chromosomes 11 & 22, with the breaks on the q arm at point 23 on chromosome 11 and point 11 on chromosome 22. You'll see it like this - t(11:22)(q23; q11) - in medical terms. Not only are the two chromosomes pertinent, but where they actually break (and have swapped with each other) are also important. This translocation is the most common in humans. The breaks at those two points (q23;q11) are also the most common. Oh, so what the geneticist was trying to say to us was (say it with me Python fans), "'e's not an individual, 'e's a very norty boy!" The carrier (that'd be me husband) is normal, often not aware of their uniqueness until they try to have offspring or give birth to an unbalanced baby.

Have I lost about half my readers here? I'm so sorry, but some of you were asking...

Anyway, what happens is this (and it's sooo hard without diagrams):
Your chromosomes, when lengthened out, are shaped like an X - there is a long arm (p) and a short arm (q). Each arm contains vital genetic information. Each of these genes, spaced along each arm (and there are thousands upon thousands of genes), determines certain patterns or outcomes. For instance, there's genes for eye colour, there are about 100 that relate to the makeup of the heart and how it's going to form, there are genes for every single thing that make up YOU. That's why we're all so unique. Awww. Back on the chromosomes themselves, the lower the chromosome number, the larger the physical chromosome is. So, chromosome 1 is one of the largest in size, while chromosome 23 is a little itty bitty thing. The larger the chromosome with a 'problem', the greater you could expect the defect. In other words, a chrom 2:7 translocation or similar would have far more life threatening defects. Er.... not that our list isn't impressive.

Now, in two of these chromosomes, in someone with a translocation, a break has occurred. Imagine two sets of Twisties side by side (oh I'm so brilliant, they look exactly like Twisties in the pictures I've seen!), each set containing one big Twistie and one slightly less so. One set (chromosome 11) is a cheese Twistie and the other (22) is a chicken Twistie. Still with me?

Now.... snap off the bottom 5mm from the long arm of the chicken and the long arm of the cheese Twistie. Then tack the resulting piece of the chicken Twistie onto the bottom of the cheese Twistie (where its piece has broken off). Do the same in reverse: put the broken off piece of the cheese one onto the chicken Twistie's long arm.

And what you get is a balanced translocation. Ta-da! Now you have a little piece of cheese (11) on the chicken Twistie (chromosome 22) and vice versa. This Twistie arrangement is all good for Steve; he still gets his two full Twisties and doesn't miss out on a thing. Medically speaking, he has no missing genetic information and is (obviously) "compatible with life".... even though sometimes I think he might be happier if we would all just piss off so he could freely play Playstation and conduct endless scientific experiments like the geeks on Myth Busters. Is there a difference between a nerd and a geek, by the way? I've always wondered.

Let's not forget, as well, that we all carry a pair of every chromosome. So Steve has one perfect cheese Twistie (chromosome 11) and one with a piece of chicken Twistie (22) tacked on. That one also is missing a little part of the cheese end. The same for his chicken one (chromosome 22) - one is perfect, all chicken, and the other contains a piece of cheese Twistie (11), and is missing a bit of chicken. Now he only needs to pass on ONE of each of his 23 chromosomes, and so do I, to make up a full set of 23 and a resulting bundle of joy. If he passes on his perfect chicken and perfect cheese Twistie, the result is Ella! If he passes on both the cheese and the chicken with the swapped pieces, the result is still fine - because it's balanced, like him! The pieces are all there, they're just swapped around (although that child, boy or girl, would have reproductive issewes like we're having when it comes time).

SO. Back to the translocation. The break points on Steve's two chromosomes at q23 and q11 are broken through particular genetic information. Still not lost, mind, otherwise Steve would not be *cough* normal.

But.... here's where it gets tricky *cue the dramatic minor key music*
Most of those little spermies (over 75% to be exact), each of which correctly contain just one of each of chromosomes 1-23, are carrying (for example) the chicken Twistie with the cheese piece tacked on and a perfect cheese Twistie (normal 11). This means, the missing chicken piece (22) is nowhere to be found. As well as that, there's too much cheese! That small section of genetic information is repeated, because not only is it on the normal cheese Twistie, it's repeated on the tacked-on bit on the chicken Twistie. There are various combinations that I won't baffle you with (there are about 18 variations, all told, which are specific to Steve and I.... they found that out doing our genetic mapping before we started the IVF), but basically out of those possible 18 we have about 3 or 4 which would result in a normal, you-beaut 'model'.

Anything else results in, thankfully I really do have to say, miscarriage. The chances of us actually carrying a chromosomally imbalanced (with too much chicken, not enough cheese, or missing chicken, you catch my drift) to term, whereby it hasn't stopped itself because there is just not the correct information for it to live and continue, is less than 3%. So there is an evolutionary trapdoor, if you will. I'm just the silly beggar who's having to do the incubating before it can be determined if this one's a goer. That's the only bad part really. I'd rather have many miscarriages and a perfect kid than wish for anyone, no matter how severely disabled, to make it here. Now before any pro-lifers or sensitives to disability snub their noses at me, let me give you the short list of defects our children are faced with if they don't spontaneously combust before we meet them (and they contain an imbalance):

Information from - Chromosome 22 Central:
"There are a large variety of abnormalities in t(11;22) cases. Cleft palate, heart defects, mental and physical delays, ear abnormalities, hearing loss, small chins, undescended testes (known as criptorchidism), microcephaly, dislocated hips, long philtrums, broad nose, kidney abnormalities, and Imperforate anus are among the most common findings. Atrial septum defects, extreme muscle weakness, labial abnormalities, craniofacial dysmorphism..... unmanagable mental retardation."

Now, I don't know what the hell criptorchidism is, but I ain't too keen to find out. That's some scary, scary shit. And this list isn't even exhaustive. This is just what they've studied from known cases, people who have allowed the examinations.


I think I'm lost. I hope it's prego brain... prego brain caused by a N-O-R-M-A-L embryo deep in the folds of my cushy womb room. And if it's got too much of one Twistie and not enough of the other, well, I love it, will always love it and count it as one of our lost little soldiers..... but it needs to leave. A (short, because they don't live to ripe old ages most of these kids) lifetime of disability and pain is not worth it just to satiate some need we have in us. Nup. I can wait for the right one. Last year, we thought we had the 'right one' again - it didn't fall out in the first 9 weeks, all appeared well. I had the usual morning sickness, etc.... and at my first scan, discovered we had a severely behind, slow heartbeating, little bubba. After a d & c, the pathology reports came back that she had too much chromosome 22 information (in fact, there were 3 full #22's! Steve had given her not one, but two... another one snuck in, so a true trisomy, like with Downs Syndrome on chromosome 23), and not nearly enough #11. And we made it to 9.5 weeks without even knowing. There are no precursors, no telling in advance, unless it aborts itself, if any embryo that implants is normal or imbalanced.

Now can you see why I can't get excited for weeks yet? And why I can wait through countless miscarriages, despite the blinding unfairness of it all (I'd rather a spontaneous abortion (ugh, ugly term) than have to extract a live bub)? And why we, Steve and I, have good grace about our losses? It's called treading water, biding our time. There's nothing more we can do.

Thank you and please read up to page 581 in your text before the next lecture. If I haven't lost anyone and you understand all this, you've passed the lesson.

Crouching driver, hidden huntsman

EEEEEEEE! Yes I did have one. And yes I was driving. It was on the roof on the passenger side. I think it went out the window, onto the top of the car. Where it no doubt did those slow up and down arm waves like teenage boys do out their Torana windows.

I don't care that it was a baby. That, to me, is WORSE! It means I haven't met mutter or papa yet. Holy frig, did I do the spider dance. Hard to do while keeping an even speed and the car straight, doing the paper flick across a carpeted ceiling no less.

I can't kill them, you see. I never could. I ask Steve to "get rid" of spiders from inside the house. He says "so you want me to kill it?" and I say "NO!" and he says "So you want me to leave it here?" "NO! Get rid of it!" "Well I'm not the mafia, but if you want me to get rid of it I have to kill it."

That's how it always, always goes.

I'm Kirril and I'm a serial POASer

It's darker today, isn't it? Tell me it is. Soothe the beast.

It actually took every ounce of strength to not catch my FMU in a cup yesterday so I could use my last test today..... Just stare at it with me will you? I'm going on the theory here that if more people know that I am harbouring a cling-on..... then surely it will keep clinging AND be normal. Big ask, I know. But that's me theory.

So please... humour me. Stare at it like you would a Magic Eye picture and breathe an awe-filled "Wooooo!" at its very darkness today. Still not bad considering I'm not due for a visit from the aunty til tomorrow and I got this from drinking half a litre of water after FMU (that's "first morning urine" to you and me, Russ). It almost makes me want to start getting excited and let a little optimism creep in. Hope I can do. Hope I have by the bucket load. The others take time.

Thank God I have no more tests in the house.

This is going to become a supremely boring blog if all I do is hop from foot to foot dipping sticks into laundry powder scoops of pee. It's just so novel to see that line though! I think I'm a double line hog. I've had 10 of 'em now. Maybe I should take up knitting.

This is where I do my best...

Relaxing.

Reading.

Sitting.

Crying.

Thinking.

Laughing and enjoying being alive.

Grieving.

Talking on the phone (even though many people have asked if I'm running a bath or in the toilet.....).

This is the pond we made last year for Ella, in place of having a grave site in a cemetary as was our choice, and where all our pregnant fish are (ok, so it's only two of them but that counts as ALL of them to someone ttc). For every brick we painstakingly laid (there is a double brick surround under the pavers and rendering), for every paver we laid, every brush stroke of paint.... we thought of her. We knew we couldn't stop because it symbolised all the missed birthdays, Christmases, school concerts, friends over to play. Just all of it. And it was tough, really tough. I had my fifth m/c during that time (my first pregnancy since losing her) so there are a lot of blood, sweat and tears - all quite literally - in this monument to her. We started in May 2004 and it was complete when the shade sail went up in September the same year.

God knows how we'll ever leave this place now. It would be pretty hard to leave this behind. It brings us so much joy and has become the centrepiece of the house - we can view it from the kitchen/living area so it's ever-present.

We love it.



And here are the first flowers from the lilies, in September last year. We chose two flowers especially for her (and for us!). And they've done the right thing and done a repeat flower this year too, so thank God we're obviously treating them correctly.

One more time for the people at home

The conversation went something like this:
K: "Hey Lenny, I did a wee this morning."
S: "........Y.....e...ssss?"
K: "And, ummm, well I put a stick in there."
S: "And a chair as well?"
K: "YUH! And anyway, a second line came up."
S: "Oh! I see."
K: "So..... I guess I'm pregnant. Again. For now."
S: "Ok. That's good."
K: "Yeah. We shtill goddit." (Gladiaydor!)
S: ".......Mmmm...."
K: "Ok, well then, seeya, bye."
S: "Ok! Yay, bye!"

See? We know the drill. Don't get excited until you see something
moving on an ultrasound. And even then, hope like hell it resembles a perfectly formed baby.


Now, even Mr Steve says he can see this one. I emailed it to him after my buddy group sisters tried to reassure me (adequately of course!) that it's there. So I'm NOT going crazy here, trying to make Jazzmena and Peppy see the second line. It really is there. Holy shit. So it is!

Hokay..... so now the fun reeeally begins. What a bloody long wait. Next step is to see out the week without getting my period. Then I'll look forward to breathing a bit easier if the next whole week doesn't turn up the worst colour in the world on my undies. And then? Well, then we can start planning for the first proper scan to see if measurements look like this little one is the full pail of skittles.....

We're not telling family - we'd rather not worry them unnecessarily, at least until there's something more tangible to tell them than "Kirril wee'd on a stick" - so anyone from my "real life" who finds out by reading here would be reminded to keep this information to themselves.

I kid you not

Mz Tato, your wish is my command.....

No sooner did I finish reading your comment than Mr Steve and I were heading out for a coffee and a read of the paper, and to pick up a pump (er, that's not a euphemism, we seriously need a new pump for our toxic fishies). When we hopped in the car, what should be playing? Why, no other than 'Hip To Be Square'! It was a sign! Ha ha ha.

And I have furiously googled Henry Lawson every which way including cryptically (Henry Lawson history biography lily, Henry Lawson water lily poem, blah blah blah..) and it turned up nout but a dozen or so pages on the 1977 musical version of the poem by US folk singer Priscilla Herdman - ratings of which, while lyrically sound, indicate it apparently polarises listeners.

So I'm none the wiser as to what sparked the beautiful poem. But yes, isn't it exquisite?

I don't get it

Why are they still reading this? Can you believe it?! It's laughable, really. I moved to be completely sure they really wanted to behave this way, and I know they've not been checking in as obsessively as they were two weeks ago when they first searched for me and found me again.... but come on, dude! It's really sad, don't you think?

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind that they're doing this - if I did and it bothered me that much, I'd disappear and take my blog and beloved readers with me and that is still a very attractive option I'll be sure to take up sometime in the future when I can't be bothered with this energy repeating over and over in my life (and when I haven't got more important things to do than setting up a blog that can't be traced! Who can really be bothered when you've really got nothing to hide?). No, it's just.... when someone gets me SO wrong, as they have obviously done going by their last vile, hugely out-of-proportion contact with me in which I was ceremoniously written out of their lives, I get a little antsy. A tad curious about this person's motive for wanting to stick around me when they've told me to piss off, y'know?

(Honestly, now, read as much as you want, I officially invite you. But as you do, please be aware of what this is doing to you. What are you gaining? And how much have you lost at your own hand?)

On a related matter, what do you do when you have had your words contorted and vomited back at you, out of context and demanding of explanation? What do you do when, after years of turning the other cheek and talking with family members about the best way to support a family member through episode after episode, this person throws up a couple of wildly incorrect scenarios back at you and tells you that everything you stand for is wrong, lies and (what was the quote?) "self-promoting, fictional crap"? Methinks the pot calleth the kettle black. Reeeeeally black.

And how do you reason with someone like this? Someone who claims that they would and have put everything aside for you in times of need (times, I am assuming, like those surrounding the death of my daughter because I can think of bare little others) but apparently they've been keeping tabs on those times because they think they have to point out to you, prove to you, how "nice" they are, how good they've been to you........ pffft! It's called give and take, it's called a 're-la-tion-ship' and it's also called don't cut off your nose to spite your face. Crikey, I'd have a lot more chips stacked in my corner if the comparison game wants to be pulled out. A dangerous, ridiculous game that I never play. How many of you only do things for others in order to get things in return from people? (I know I don't) Hands up, how many? ****cricket chirping****

It's just so bizarre that after all these years of biting my tongue and being passive and standing by in support and care for a family, it's as if I have to do all this and ALSO not have an opinion that differs from this person on how they see themselves. If I do, my opinions are "lies". Wow. I can do the suppporting, I can do the carrying, I can do all those things because it's effortless compared to some who try to support and fail. But damn me to hell if I disagree with what this person sees and what they do to me. I'm starting to see perhaps I've been done a favour....

One thing I will not do anymore is change or guard my opinions for the sake of pacifying. I don't go fronting up to people and mouthing off about them indignantly, that's not my way and not necessary. But I have a right to vent. I have a right to debrief and air grievances in any way I choose, as long as it doesn't deliberately cause hurt. Writing here, I am hurting no one..... they seek me out, and in doing so are actually choosing to hurt themselves (if in fact that is what happens for them when reading what I write). After all, if I don't write here the thoughts are still in my head anyway, doesn't stop me thinking these things even if they're not written down, so people would be none the wiser, really! Normal people don't front up to someone if they have a problem with something, they work it through on their own or talk with friends to get things off their chest, which is what I do here, what I'm in fact doing right now. I didn't suggest anyone seek me out here so I could deliberately cause some pain, it's not a pastime of mine. But I will protect myself and my opinions, you'd better be damned straight.

No, this person did all this to their own self. What they're feeling now, whatever extra internal torment they're now in.... they've done it to themselves. I was not out to hurt anyone (I never ever am and people who know me, know that for a fact). All those things this person said I felt and did towards them - they are WAY off. So wrong, in fact, I am at even more of a loss than before as to how they see things. Still... note I am only saying they are wrong about my feelings (everyone has that right because you can't possibly assume to tell me how I feel - that's what we call in our family a "mum trick".... *wink*). They are, of course, free to think and feel anything they want, as am I. The difference is, I get that - I respect that. They apparently don't yet. And this is why I haven't responded directly to this person and set about justifying my words. I don't need to.

Instead, and I'm talking to you now, I reckon you should think back to all those projections onto me that were made about my alleged feelings towards you - some of which, for memory, were my competitiveness, anger, jealousy, oh and not to mention the amusingly favourite limelight-stealing issewes.

Then try holding the mirror up to them. What you see might help you.

Once again, dear readers, I do apologise for this nasty break in transmission... Points to settle, trolls to clear out, you all know how it goes. This is the last time I'll willingly bring up this nastiness - I know you'd all much prefer me to subliminally stick another Huey Lewis & The News song in your heads. There's so much more fun to be had, so many more bits of banal tv to write about, than wallowing in all this guff! So let the drivel continue!

D'oh!

Forgot one.... probably because it is so much a part of our vocabulary that we forget it comes from a movie.

Now, I'm no fan of Jim Carrey, but I do crack up every time I see that scene in The Cable Guy where he's pretending to walk away from Matthew Broderick's door, making his footsteps fainter and going "Seeya.... Bye...." in gradually quieter tones to make it sound like he's gone. Sad as it is, that's what we do. Going to work. Leaving the room. Leaving the couch to go over to the kitchen. "Ok, seeya....bye" And it's never funnier than when we do the same dwindling volume thing.

That and, every time our birthdays come round (once a year each! fancy that), we do the old Manuel from Fawlty Towers thing - when he's trying to read out his carefully written speech to Basil, who keeps ignoring him and slamming doors in his face. There's Manuel throughout the entire episode, starting his heartfelt thank you... "'eez my birzday. Seence coming here from Spain, leaving my mother, my 5 aunties, my 4 brothers..." Every birthday without fail, it's the first thing one of us says to the other. "'eez your birzday"

My mind must be reeeeally small, cos they do say small things amuse the smallest minds.

It was the BLURST of times??!

It's occurred to us over the past several years that we use scads of lines from telly and movies to accentuate our relationship with each other. Obscure ways of speaking from snippets of funny parts of (sometimes not funny) movies have crept into our daily lives. And never fail to make me and Mr Steve chuckle (ever since Steve went to collect a take away order of Indian, after giving his name over the phone as Steve and arriving to be asked if he was "Mr Steve? That will be $43 thank you, Mr Steve", I can't drop the Mr when referring to him). They really are "you had to be there" moments, or at least "you had to see the movie/show" occasions.

Take, for example, the following:

• When something is exciting and we're talking about it, occasionally we'll adopt the staccato manner of kiddie-play-speak that Eddie Murphy used in Raw (or was it Delirious) when acting out playing GI Joe in the bath with his brother - "and G-I Joe was comi' out-of-the-wataaah".

• When we're pleased that the answer is no to something and we get to say it with thinly disguised delight - the way George Costanza does when he's playing Trivial Pursuit with the Bubble Boy: "ohnooo! The answer is .... the Moops"

• When we are faking yelling/being angry about something. We do the Monty Burns getting angry at his team of typist monkeys working on writing him a novel, the bit where he reads what one monkey has typed - "It was the best of times, it was...the...BLURST of times???!!"

Ahhhh the years we've spent watching.....stuff.

The Water Lily

A LONELY young wife
In her dreaming discerns
A lily-decked pool
With a border of ferns,
And a beautiful child,
With butterfly wings,
Trips down to the edge of the water and sings:
`Come, mamma! come!
`Quick! follow me-
`Step out on the leaves of the water-lily!'
And the lonely young wife,
Her heart beating wild,
Cries, `Wait till I come,
`Till I reach you, my child!'
But the beautiful child
With butterfly wings
Steps out on the leaves of the lily and sings:
`Come, mamma! come!
`Quick! follow me!
`And step on the leaves of the water-lily!'

And the wife in her dreaming
Steps out on the stream,
But the lily leaves sink
And she wakes from her dream.
Ah, the waking is sad,
For the tears that it brings,
And she knows 'tis her dead baby's spirit that sings:
`Come, mamma! come!
`Quick! follow me!
`Step out on the leaves of the water-lily!'

Henry Lawson

School for the gifted

I love that Far Side card - with the kiddy pushing on the door to the School For The Gifted, a door that has a sign that says "Pull".

Which brings me to my luffley husband. He is so smart. SO intelligent.

He's also been touched with the arrogance rod - which, if it weren't for him being so sure (and such a nice person), would be infuriating and a turn-off. Well... it's a turn-off a lot of the time anyway, but he gets away with it. I am usually just astounded by his brazen assuredness that he is right. In all things. And when I ask him if he thinks he is right about EV-ER-Y-THING, he oscillates between sometimes saying very calmly, with a slow blink, "Yes", and a very even and equally calm "No". So... I dunno. It must change for him as to whether he thinks he's soooooo-oooooo right and when he lets a little humility creep in and acceded he just might not be the world's expert on any topic you chuck at him.

Scarily though, he does seem to know everything about everything. Ask him any question on any given day.... he'll know the answer. Even cricket scores. I never see him watch cricket (well, hardly), but I ask dumb sports questions about the footy or about cricket deliberately when I know he hasn't watched it. And he STILL knows the right answer! And I know it's right because I'll look it up or hear it later and go "Doooh! Right again!", much like Jerry Seinfeld saying through clenched teeth "Newman!"

I was thinking about all this "I know I'm right"ness yesterday as I was driving. I had a woman on my arse (well, rather, on the car's arse) and I was doing just over the 70km/h speed limit. When people are pushy enough to come up behind me like that and sway left to right to make a point, I hit the cruise control so I know I'm keeping an even speed and just mosy along. And I was wondering whether she thought that bearing down on me would scare me into speeding up for her. Then I remembered that is actually what Steve does: he'll push behind someone and tailgate (or cm's off being technically tailgating anyway) and I've asked him before whether he reckons that will actually help the situation. Always, he is "right", of course, and says (again very fucking calmly) "Yes".

Now when the scenario is reversed and we're going along and someone is right on his tail and he's doing the speed limit, he mumbles "Pushy bastard" and goes slower to .... "teach them a lesson".

My husband, in all his intelligence and knowledge and passiveness (er, except behind the wheel), cannot grasp that him pushing behind someone and expecting them to speed up for him will yield much the same response as he has when it's reversed. A MENSA level IQ is only good for some problem solving.

Happy To Be Stuck With You

I think it's time we met, reader. Face to screen.

I apologise in advance if you were expecting Paris and Paris look-alikes.

Steve and I both knew it was fate the first time we laid eyes on each other 13 years ago last month... we both have front teeth that turn in at the same angle.

And the worm turned

Well, dear diary, what an unpleasant few days. But how enriching and growing it's turning out to be. Hmmm mmm.

Here's what I do know:
• I love this Dr Seuss quote: "Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don't mind and those who mind don't matter."
• I am who I am, I know what I know.
• I will continue to speak my truth on a global scale.
• Unless I am fooling the vast majority of people around me, from all walks of life and dispositions, I am NOT all those things others with lower self-esteem project onto me. I'd like to think my friends, readers, acquaintances are all intelligent, well-informed people capable of making accurate observations - therefore, judgements on my character that directly oppose these points of view are incorrect. Majority rules, baby!
• Seek and you WILL find.
• Be prepared, if you are going to do the seeking and the finding, that something in you is ready to learn those things that are uncovered in your search.
• The specifics of any heated situation are actually just semantics. Dig deeper and wade in it and you will find your path anew. There is no real way forward if situations are simply hashed out and rights/wrongs are argued back and forth.
• Stand in your OWN truth and be grounded. If you are unwavering, the respect and support you need to do your work will envelope you, whoever you are.
• Idle or unchannelled intuitive minds are scary, scary toxic pools of energy. Which is so unfortunate because of the great waste of natural talent which could be shared out to the world.
• I am now more than ever so sure of the job I have been chosen to do. And I respect and trust it like I never have in the past.
• My daughter is very pushy.

Here's what I don't know:
• Why you can be sitting on 100 with your cruise control set and a car comes up behind you, goes to round you up and then sits in your blind spot, inching past you forward and back as if your speed is making them have to go faster to get past you when you've been sitting on the same speed since before they came up in your mirror?
• Conversely, with cruise control set, why you go to round up a car that you came up on quite quickly because they are obviously going under the speed limit, but they are speed-reference challenged because they can't hold their speed and instead go faster to try and keep up with you. You have to hoon past what should have been an easy overtaking - but makes you end up doing 10km over the limit.
• Why an eyelash always gets in my eye when I am on a freeway.
• Why I never remember to wear sun screen on my arms when I am driving.

Guess who went to visit a client in the country today...


I just finished this entry when an email landed in my Inbox.
"Good friends are like stars. You don't always see them, but you know they're always there." Awwwww! How very fitting and coincidental and all that. Can you feel the love??! Peace out, peeps.

For my geeky friends

This is funny, but I've copied it here anyway. Which... defeats the purpose of providing the link. ******* lone cricket chirping *******


Top 10 replies by developers when their programs don't work:

10. 'That's weird...'
9. 'It's never done that before.'
8. 'It worked yesterday.'
7. 'You must have the wrong version.'
6. 'It works, but it hasn't been tested.'
5. 'Somebody must have changed my code.'
4. 'Did you check for a virus?'
3. 'Where were you when the program blew up?'
2. 'Why do you want to do it that way?'

and finally ...

1. 'I thought I fixed that.'

The true meaning of Christmas

Another year of wondering what it's all about.

K: So what is it, anyway? Is it about the kids?
S: Nah
K: No, I mean, really it started with the birth of Christ and all...
S: That's the story
K: But the tradition now is for the children. Yes, it's totally over-commercialised and it's possibly taken for granted, but for kids, it's still exciting to see their families all together at once isn't it?
S: Yeah
K: And forgiveness. It's such a crock that warring people have to 'put it all aside' to spend Christmas together. Look at WWI, WWII. The story is famous, how they put down their weapons and had a spot of turkey togther. What's with THAT? (thinking: but maybe that's it, maybe without Christmas and that one day's grace from grievances, there isn't any other time to take a breather from all the sadness that goes with fighting and disharmony)
S: *driving*
K: So then... what is the meaning of Christmas? What's it all about?
S: The food
K: Huh?
S: It's about the food.
K: What!@?
S: When else do you get to have yummy ham and yummy turkey? And that stuffing?
K: It's..... about..... the food....
S: *quite pleased with himself* Yuh

Forgive me, puppy, for I have sinned

Your mummy forgot to turn her clock forward.
You should be at school now.
We did your homework this week too, for once!
*Note to self: don't even glance sideways at cap on bench that signals we're going in the car to school and sends Miss Jazzus into obedient alert attentiveness overdrive*

And er, I can't take you next weekend either because I'm doing a workshop.

God, how could I! Look at that face..... ooops....

Look, Miss Mena, what's that over there? *slinks away*

Skyhooks got it wrong

It wasn't "All my friends are getting married". It was "All my fish are getting pregnant"...

Even my fish are getting pregnant. My FISH!? Again! They eat their young! I wouldn't. Promise!! You can trust me, Universe, baby.... whoever's keeping tabs out there.

Last season, 6 little fishies survived and they've been so cute to watch grow. Wonder how many we'll get this year. They live in the pond we erected in memory of our girl.

Hmmmmm..... am pondering whether I can actually utter my daughter's name in here anymore, such is the incessant nature of my "fans" who just can't help themselves and have to seek me out and search the search engines for me, even when they're obviously not invited to. Hey, isn't it ever so roomy over here at the new address!

So without further ado, welcome (again) to my blog, dear readers! I hope you've followed me here and let me just say now, excuse the rigmarole, I do apologise on behalf of.... my trolls. If I have to move again, you'll be the first to know. You do what you have to do to please yourself, you know the drill.

People only do their best

I have to believe this, otherwise I just don't know how I could comprehend some people/situations, including my own.

I would assume that others have this view too. But perhaps not.

Perhaps it's difficult to walk a mile in someone's shoes. Perhaps I am talking from the dysfunctional stance of having had a childhood of emotional and mental abuse, scarred as I am by a mother (or, oops, am I not allowed to mention her either?) who "knew no better and was only doing the very best she knew how." I had to trust, I had to just believe it would be better once I made it on my own, went my way, but constantly the learning was there in me: be forever obliged to do right by people, reserve your judgement of others, to each their own, take people at face value and don't guess where they're "at".

I am still like that. And yet now I struggle. I struggle because so many things seem so fucking futile since losing Ella. I mean, for God's sake, a client on the phone yesterday telling me they're concerned the colours on the last run of brochures doesn't "quite" match the new ones. And I just want to scream "IS IT SO IMPORTANT that your blues aren't identical when I haven't got my baby with me?"

But of course I can't. Not in the real world, oh no. You're not allowed to inflict such displays of selfishness on others when you're the parent of a deceased baby. It's all about making those in your presence comfortable. And it is completely tiring to live like this, knowing that people don't want to know, don't want to talk about, your child. So I turn here, to somewhere I used to deem relatively controlled, sort of private, bar the fleeting visits from browsers who haven't a clue who I am and couldn't give a toss.

And so I have made a few wrong turns, as all good people do, and I've ended up here. In a place where I am equally gagged and adored by people. How utterly bizarre!

You'd be forgiven for thinking I'm bored. I'm not. I am dreadfully taken up by work commitments, especially of late, and yet still nagging at me is the thought that I ought to be bouncing a bouncinette with one foot or warming a bottle - or prepping a boob, ok ok, for any BFA zealots - and quite frankly, WHERE I HAVE BEEN AND WHERE I HAVE COME FROM the vast majority of happeners across this space I have set up here have not and will not EVER be.

I am on a different plane now (or planet, some may argue, and you'd be forgiven for thinking that, sure). I am on a very new, separate road. It has massive opportunities for giving, seeing, healing, more than I ever had before Ella. And yet, it is such a devastatingly lonely place. I see the things people do in a far different light - and I do believe I am judging more harshly than I ever have in my life. The reason is this: I never before saw the butterfly effect of people actions/words/way of living and interacting with each other and Mother Nature. I see it now. In my own personal headspace, I am not letting people off as lightly as I used to. And I think it is shocking and scaring people who have known me for so long. Get to know me again, the new me now, and they will see someone with so much more depth than before. But all they see are these blips on the radar here and there, because they don't really want to look. Are they scared? Scared of how much I have changed, of how I am somewhere they'll never be?

It's a curse and a blessing, this suitcase of gifts my daughter has left me. I liken it to my version of other mothers' attempts to "learn as you go" with your baby/toddler/school child - how often have you thought you were doing it all wrong where your young charges are concerned? Imagine trying to figure it all out with the obvious lack of that child in your life! And then judge me again. There are a very few around me, who can't stand back and see the big picture, who may feel she should've taken her luggage with her and not entrusted it to me. But to be a trailblazer, I guess I have to start trusting that all this shit that's happening now is still going to pass. And good things do come to those who wait. I guess it's the choice of closing the lid and saying "Nah, thanks anyway, but I don't want to grow or change, I'd much rather wallow in my grief and never appear normal again". I've chosen to get in and rummage around and wow, the things I am finding in there are scary and confronting - but godammit, I am trying everything on to see if it fits.

What the HELL gives someone the right to think it is ok to invade, invade, invade every last bit of solace and comfort that I have? What? Do you want me to break? Look in my eyes, darling, you will see the mended canvass of a million pieces that have been put back together. You are not going to shatter me. Because nothing ever could again. Not after losing my girl. May you sleep soundly in your sheltered little fantasy.

"namaste"

The tide is high but I'm holding on...

The tide is actually going out I think, I'm most relieved to say.

I can now actually put my arms flat by my side for the first time in three weeks after what's been a most alarming internal king wave of fluid retention. One night, I go to bed with sizeable (like extra side boobs, sizeable) deposits of flesh under my pits.... oh I'm such a lady.... and then, the next morning, I wake and rise from bed feeling positively urchin-like in all my water recededness.

That was on Tuesday. Since then, to today, things that are righting themselves include:

• my decolletage (oh how I've missed your boney protudiness.... useless bit of info: the left point of my collarbone at my windpipe sticks out further than the right and makes all necklaces sit funny around my neck)
• my hip shape - but I do admit, there is still a rubberducky life preserver around my waist that undulates like a waterbed when I make the slightest move, so while my lower body is getting back to normal size, my midriff has got some notable catching up to do.
• my undies therefore fit, so my caboose must be smaller again too. However, the ever so delightful modern term "muffin top" in my case would be more like "souffle top".

And all this by doing nothing more than ensuring my usual umpteen visits to Gloria per week (it is NOT an obsession) and taking the right potency of those little sugary pills prescribed by the homeopath who scared the water out of me. Yes.... *sheepish* I am still under his care. We have an understanding now: we speak on the phone so I can't misread his body language and he can't second guess mine and hey, presto! The arrangement appears to be working well.

WHAT have you done!!?

...and where am I going to find it...

When a good coffee experience goes bad

The other day I was visiting my "friend" Gloria (me and Gloria Jean, we're on first name basis) and my mind started to wander as I waited for my coffee.

It had been a perfectly normal morning, took the pup to "school", came home, did some pottering in the garden, chatted with Steve, all the usual stuff. A typical weekend day. My mood was good, chipper.

I'm setting the scene for you like this to try and convey what it's like, when it strikes, out of the blue. That instant nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I see a thousand prams go past me, a hundred pregnant women. I catch the eye of countless children. And it really IS ok, mostly, for me these days. As was the case waiting in line as my mind wandered.

There was nothing in particular that triggered the thought process I had, standing there. It was as quick as a flash, actually, remembering how I'd been standing there that day in January this year. Ella's birthday, the 13th. Steve had taken the day off work. We had both been going to scatter her ashes at the park where we held her memorial the week after she died, last February. And as I opened the front door that morning, Steve had frozen, the cold hard cliche funeral parlour bag complete with stork taking flight against a misty background, the canister containing our daughter's remains inside. He stood stock still and uttered simply, "I can't do it. She's too little! I can't..." We had agreed in the weeks leading up to her birthday that this is what we'd do. I alternately felt a pang of fear, frustration and agreeance - I was torn again. It had felt like the right decision to me, but now that I heard Steve say it out loud.... yes, how could we let her go?! Forever?

We stood at the front door in mid step, big hot tears rolling slowly down our cheeks. I can still feel them. I can still remember the indecision, the discussion that no parents should have to have with each other. At any rate, I mentioned, I wanted her put to rest by the end of her birthday so we had til midnight that night. I felt very strongly that another year could not pass with my daughter inside a plastic container in my buffet in the dining room. Holy fuck.

So we decided to go to our local shopping centre, to a very favourite shop of mine (Beacon Cove, if you know it) which I love to browse occasionally. It's full of very lovely dark wood furnishings, oriental-themed decor, artificial blossom on sticks, you know the usual... I look around in there but never really look carefully at every item, I think I just like going in there to imagine myself with the money to decorate my home with all their things. I think I've made about 3 purchases there in as many years - their prices are a tad exy.

As soon as we walked in, we gravitated to a shelf. Neither of us really knew what we were looking for, but Steve saw it first. It was a rectangular-shaped cube, with three sides with spaces for a photo and a hinged lid, also with an inset for a photo. Inside, a beautiful set of lift-out photo sleeves, each with their own wooden spine, allowed for 120 photos in total. It was like its very own complete little filing system. And we thought it was breathtaking for our purpose. There was enough clearance beneath the photo sleeves to create a false bottom, into which we planned to spread Ella's ashes.

And it all turned out perfectly. On the day when we should have had our little cherub with us, balloons, streamers, high-fives for each other on surviving the first year of parenthood, a cake... instead we were purchasing the monument in which we were going to entomb our little one. Joy!

Around the corner from Beacon Cove is Gloria Jean's. Steve hates coffee, can't even walk past the place without getting an instant headache. But he insisted on that day that I should "go visit your friend" for a comfort beverage. The girl behind the counter, on seeing my glassy eyes, gave me an extra free stamp on my loyalty card.... a simple gesture that rendered me blubbering at her kindness. "You look like you need a double free one", she said. Funny the things that set me off crying these days. I really am quite hopeless.

So. Back to the present. Standing again in the same shop, buying the same old fave (skinny mocha truffle, in case you're shouting me next time *wink*), my thoughts had turned to wondering what Steve and I would do for Ella's "second" birthday. I can't believe it's coming up. Again, now, as I type, I feel the familiar stomach-churning nausea and the pounding heart in my chest at the sheer unfairness of it all, that hopefully, maybe, this year my tummy will be growing with a new bub (as it should have been on her first birthday, had we not had to stop the pregnancy that would have been well into the second trimester as we remembered Ella earlier this year). I thought, amidst the noise of the coffee machines and the loud chatter of the patrons, 'I suppose Steve will make a ritual of taking the day of work on the 13th of January each year, how could he not' and I wondered what we, as a couple and until we welcome new little people into it, would do to commemorate the day together. We've already decided that we will probably no longer involve other family outside of the one we create under this roof, such was the hurt felt by the efforts of a few family members this year. It's just not worth opening up to that kind of self-centredness of others who "don't know what to say" to us. What a cop-out, what a crock. Thankfully, for every person who's hidden behind that, we've had 10 people lining up who DO care enough to find a way to help us through our bad days, which I am certain will continue for as long as Steve and I live.

And then, as I was pondering all this, I surprised myself by feeling the familiar hot sting of tears. They filled my eyes until gravity forced them down my face. I'm very used to crying in public now and think nothing of it. There is no way to control showing the emotion, not when it cuts so deeply into your daily thoughts so suddenly and unexpectedly. Right there, 20+ months on, here I was uncontrollably having a 'moment' close to the memory of my girl. It happens so rarely now, I allow myself to be consumed by it wherever I am. Usually it's at home. But when I'm out, pah, so be it.

And then I heard it. Faintly at first, so faint I thought I was just imagining it up for good effect. But straining my hearing a bit more, I distinctly caught the tune and heard the words. They were playing our song. Ella's and my song. I sang it to her every day when she was still in my womb and it was the only thing that settled her in those times when she was restless in the NICU. It was Dream A Little Dream. How ironic the words seemed to me after I had met her, the tune I'd been happily singing because I loved the song... and now I was comforting her with them and they seemed so goddamn fitting it tore (still tears) my heart out to hear them. But still I sang. I sang and sang and sang it to her because I could see, the nurses and Steve could see too, that it settled her beautifully.

Stars shining bright above you
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"
Birds singing in the sycamore tree
Dream a little dream of me

Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me
While I'm alone and blue as can be
Dream a little dream of me

Stars fading but I linger on, dear
Still craving your kiss
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear
Just saying this

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

I know it was coincidence, even though this particular Gloria's outlet normally played some sort of modern rubbish (ooh showing my age) that was indiscernible and certainly not familiar; I know it must have been coincidence that the strains of this particular song came filtering through all the loud noise around me right at that very moment when I was thinking of Ellanor and felt so close to her and the time we spent together.

It must have been, mustn't it? Do you believe?

How embarrassment #483

Forgive me, Reader, it's been 5 days since my last confession.....uhhimean post.

I've been coming to write, but every time I do, my sorry self just doesn't want to "go there". Funny that I need to crunch the numbers on what's making me glum first, before I can write it out. And then it's gone. Pfizzle! And then, undoubtedly if it's pregnancy related, it comes back. Boomerang.

SO. Instead. I thought I would pull the dust off an old memory and share, just for old times' sake. I was reminded of this when reading something on another website about whether you would divulge all to your partner and someone replied they kept some things to themselves, especially the "embarrassing stuff". But, if you're like me, your partner is always there when you do or say the stupid thing, or even more tragic, before thinking better of it you tell him what you did/said if he wasn't there.

And such was the case when we got our floor laid a few years back. The carpet layer, I thought, was out at his truck. I, as you do when the front door is wide open and a tradie is coming and going, was in the ensuite toilet with bedroom and bathroom doors agape. I heard footsteps coming down the hall towards our room and, being the delicate wallflower laaady that I am, I yelled out to Steve that "I'm in the toily!" Twice in fact, as his footsteps kept approaching. Yes it was quite frantic-sounding. And yes..... I said toily.

And it wasn't Steve.

Yuh-huh, it was the big, burly, handsome young tradesman making (a somewhat suddenly hasty, no doubt) exit out the front door. Now I didn't know at that time it wasn't Steve. Until Steve came stepping rather more silently into the room, by which time I was washing my hands. He popped his head round the corner and smiled at me, the "I'm just hanging out here, pacing, making my presence known to the man in my house that if he doesn't lay the floor properly he'll be laying it again *smile again*" and that's when it dawned on me that Steve's size 13's, despite their gargantuan scale, hadn't been the makers of the clomping I'd heard earlier.

OHGOD-OHGOD-OHGOD-OHGOD. I still cringe when I wonder if he lives in the area and shudders as he drives past, Sideshow-Bob-stepping-on-a-rake style for all you Simpsons fans, thinking to himself "That's where that FREAK WOMAN who calls a toilet a toily lives."

Dad would be mortified...

...but I actually think this makes far more sense than any equation:

Shake your relations

Why can I only raise my left eyebrow and not the right?

And how come I can raise my lip higher on that same side?

Why do birds run to get off the road when a car's coming? Seems like so much more effort.

Do you reckon there really was a Betsy, whose Dad or someone else thought she was a bit slow and said to her one day "Helloooo, earth to Betsy"? Come to think of it, he must've said "Heavens to Betsy" to replace a blaspheme too, poor girl.

And this is just something totally unrelated that I find gloriously real and funny. It happened to a friend who, when on work experience at age 16, went to a school for the mentally impaired. She was introduced to a very friendly, warm, special fellow who was told that C was there to do her work experience. And he said to her excitedly, "Shake-your-relations!" She had no idea what he meant, simply smiled and shook his hand and moved on.

He meant "Congratulations". It's something that's stayed dear to C's heart as a memory and now, anytime there's a call for a complimentary exclamation, shake-your-relations it is.

Happy Birthday Beautiful Boy!

~~ And it's started. The spotting. One wonderful, supportive, always-there friend to whom I am forever bonded now as we trudge this difficult path to parenthood - together we are mothers with empty arms after losing our little girls last year - is quite possibly staring in the face of another early pregnancy loss. If there was someone I would sacrifice my own chance to have a child for it would be her. ~~

Earlier in the day, a new babe was born. Again, to another very dear friend. It's so interesting how quickly you can form a cement-hard friendship with these blokes in dresses (yup Dad's words are still ringin') and it seems like only yesterday that she caught my attention in a buddy group we were both frequenting. After a pissy altercation that began when I got on my indignant high horse (or was that just my bike? hmmm) and took offence at something I thought she was saying - ah the joys of the written medium - we started pm'ing each other back and forth addictively. In those heady early days of getting to know someone at lightning speed, we were horrified yet hugely excited how much we had in common. It was, indeed as she mused once, as if we shared a central nervous system. Of course, thank goodness or I would have killed her if she'd been too much like me, more differences have come to light as we've stretched our friendship and gone through this year, and her miraculous long awaited pregnancy, together. Ever ready with a daggy pick-me-up line and not afraid to slap me out of my voodoo doll room either. God, the shite we've nattered on about. Bliss! (If dumb general tv/movie knowledge was an Olympic sport, I'd be on the team for sure). I feel so blessed to call her my friend.

As her EDD drew nearer, to be perfectly honest I thought I was going to have to run to Dr Pesky (indeed, Medicine Woman) and have a cry-fit. I am not too good this past 18 months with seeing friends and relatives have their precious babies. But I have been nothing but buoyant and excited and I've come over all emotional at how happy and relieved I am that she and her (I'm sure) gorgeous wee boy are safe and over that most trecherous part - his birth. Yes it's true: my innocence is well and truly lost and I still struggle with envisaging myself the cool, calm cucumber I was on Ella's birth day. I look forward to seeing how I perform....

So there it is. One baby born. One to come. One currently in the throes of deciding what its lesson is going to be and whether it will stay to stake claim as a permanent member of a family. The cycle of life. Beautiful and shit all at once, don't you think?

I'm in "that" room

You know the one where I'm allowed to rant and rave and get out my voodoo dolls?

I am working hard at being equally ecstatic and downright miserable for myself. Two of the dearest people to me have told me they're pregnant in the past 5 days.

How 'bout you? You prego too? *sigh* Here comes my paranoid cynicism. Oh how I missed it so.

My life for a pony

"Father! You've made me the happiest gehl who ever lived!" exclaims Lisa Simpson as she canters past Homer in the episode where Homer must take up two jobs just to pay for the pony he buys for his daughter.

With three other siblings and only one income as it was, I shoulda known. I never shoulda got my hopes up that I would ever have a pony of my own. But it didn't ever stop me poring for hours on a Saturday with The Age Classifieds, trusty highlighter in hand, circling suitable steeds in the hopes that one day... one day one of my parents would let up and succumb to my subtle (and more often, not so subtle) nagging. The carefully placed newspaper, folded open to a page with half a dozen or more personally picked horses, would greet Dad every weekend.

I had forgotten all about this chapter (this very long, very stoic chapter) in my young life until I went to dinner the other night for my friend's 30th. Remember? Her older sister was there who I haven't seen since I was about 14, and let me tell you, she used to be my idol. I looked up to her for one reason and one reason alone: she had a HORSE! And a saddle. And a bridle and a hat and went to Pony Club!! Ohhhh, I shook just standing near her and her grooming kit and jodhpurs. She had me at hello. Ok, well not quite, but my God I envied her. Lots.

It was in the grip of this horsey-mania that one very special Christmas, I thought all my pleas had been answered. I graciously received all my presents. But like the fanatic I was, and knowing all the effort I'd put in to writing to Santa and circling the horses and what-not, I just knew this was the year when all my hanging around at pony club gymkhanas was going to pay off. And then those magical words from Mum: "Close your eyes and come outside with me." I could feel a pony comin' on.

I clearly remember shutting my eyes as tightly as I could, just in case there was a deal-breaker clause I didn't know about like "you caught a glimpse of the ground through your slightly parted eye lashes! Cheat! You don't get your last present now!" I did everything right. I obediently went outside, trembling.... and secretly awed at how Dad had been able to keep my pony standing still; I hadn't heard one clip-clop on the driveway yet. Wow! He must be an exceptionally obedient pony waiting out there for me, I was thinking.

And then, with edge-of-your-seat anticipation, the moment came: "Ok, Kirrily, open your eyes. Ta-da!" I could hard look, I didn't want to peek. Was it tall? Was it tan? Was it the full 14.1 hands high pony I'd been diligently pointing out in the paper every weekend for a year?

No. Actually it was red. Red with sparkles. "A brand new bike seat!" they exclaimed excitedly, with as much enthusiasm as that old granny in The Wedding Singer who gives Adam Sandler the meatballs. I tried not to look crestfallen. After all, this wasn't just SO not my pony. This was my OLD bike, just with a new seat added. Ok, so first, I went to the Melbourne Cup that year (and I may or may not have been wearing my pastel rainbow overalls - dressy yet practical, in case one of the stewards needed anyone to, y'know, ride a racehorse for them) and missed out on riding ANYTHING, and now this.

That Christmas was a great Christmas. Those were the holidays where I perfected the art of the simulated trot, on my bike, with the new seat, and my skipping rope tied around the handlebars for reins.

How's the "baby thing" going?

If I was as good at comebacks as I am at getting pregnant, I'd be the Donald Trump of the comeback world. I'd be savvy. Smooth. Cool, calm, collected. Unphazable (I made that word up. I'm a Trump. I can do what I like). Unlike George "that's what I shoulda said!" Costanza.

Our next door neighbours moved out this week. They'll be sorely missed. They and their two young boys have been the quietest, most respectful people you could hope to live next to. Hell, even their dog barks quietly (no kidding). Last week, knowing their settlement date was drawing to a close, I stopped for a rare chat with Stu as he busied himself with moving things out.

"How's all the baby stuff going?", he asked innocently, pointing to my belly. Wow, what an opener! No "How's this weather", "Are you well", "Did you catch last night's ep of The Alice" (er... and the answer to THAT one would be an emphatic "NOOOOOO! Don't even make me think about the show la la la, I can't hear you I can't hear you, bad show, bad show"). I just started replying politely, going into a fair bit of detail for the increasingly wide-eyed nice man. Well, he asked! I should have thought of a socially acceptable reply that enabled me to get out of divulging anything at all. Something to respectfully and firmly crush him and all others like him who have the balls to come right out and ask so boldly. But I didn't. Why? Because I didn't want to see him crushed, is why.

Why is it that I can be unoffended by my neighbour, whom I barely speak to or see, asking me such personal and forthright questions, and yet I don't let others close to me off the hook when they say misplaced things that are purely meant to comfort?

But I digress. Big-time.

I wanted to explain just how great the baby "thing" is going. I'm all smiles at the moment, I don't know what's wrong with me. What's this, I keep asking myself. Then I realise it's my cheek muscles flexing into a grin. Oh! Nice, different, 's unewesual.

I bought the VIP membership on Fertility Friend yesterday, thanks to the good buddies over at TTCOM. I am a new girl! I'm pissing on sticks (ovulation predictor ones) like they're going out of fashion - oh, holy shit, I hope they don't ever go out of fashion... imagine it. I'm surrounded by my temperature chart, cover lines, cervical mucus, the works. By purchasing this membership, somehow my ovulation date changed from Saturday last to "possibly" today. Hmmmmm. I've heard of stress, illness, miscarriage, etc., affecting ovulation. But never money.

What a difference a Visa makes.

Ok, I was gonna leave it there but in all fairness to my Friend, Mr Fertility.com, I have to explain to all you non-charting bods out there. There are several charting "methods" by which the computerised software plots your course through your daily basal body temp readings. I was using the basic kind of "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" cutting edge one, not really founded much in facts and proven method, but more the trailblazing type method. I changed it to the more sedate, tried and true method. And when I did, my coverline (the magical red line that indicates the point at which you've ovulated that all good charting obsessors aspire to during the first half of their cycle each month) disappeared. I was so relieved! It's made the mystery of my Himalayan-horizon of a chart look far more understandable. I thought my progesterone had dropped off the face of the earth, shamed and offended into obscurity by the fact that I dissed its effectiveness when I was taking the IVF clinic-prescribed progesterone support for the last couple of cycles.

But no! Methinks the progesterone lives! All hail my progesterone!