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.