A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

It's a little known fact that I am, in fact, a Superhero.

On one of our first, fledgling forays into the titillating area of our relationship, we got caught. I was 18, living at home with Dad. We were living in a rambling old '40s era house in an old leafy suburb, it was a great house. The front entrance was open to the lounge room to the right, the kitchen was accessed via one of two doorways, one straight ahead of the front door, the other facing the dining room and with a two-way swinging hinged door which opened onto that room. There was a sunroom past the dining area, tacked on the back of the open plan house. To get there from the front door, one went either straight through the T-shaped lounge room and dining area or, if in the kitchen, simply swung open the hinged door and through the dining room.

I am setting all this architecture up in your minds so that you can fully grasp the gravity of the situation that follows.

It was a typical school day afternoon. I was in Yr 12, Steve was *supposed* to be at uni, no doubt, and instead of doing something constructive we were fooling around in the sunroom. In broad daylight. Geez, those were the days *wistfully stroking severely distended belly with the painful welts - they're no longer worthy of being deemed mere stretch marks*

Anyway, I can't remember the specifics, suffice to say somehow I was the one who ended up pasty white and bare nekid while he had left on all his clothes and simply pulled down his jeans and jocks to his ankles (typically boy-style, complete with socks still on and all). It was late-ish afternoon, not nearly late enough for anyone to be coming home from work. Unexpectedly. With briefcase in hand.

But all of a sudden, there was the over-exaggerated coming-home noises being made by Dad. He (respectfully? fearfully? playfully?) was making sooooo much noise, I knew that he knew exactly what he suspected we were up to...... he was whistling a jolly, tuneless whistle, and in case that wasn't enough, he clomped very loudly up the three steps to the front porch (making the three itty bitty steps sound like full on steps to be reckoned with), and in case that wasn't enough, he was also loudly jangling/fumbling with keys for far longer than was usual.

I stood bolt upright, stark narkered, and ran to the far corner of the sunroom. Without my previously hastily-strewn clothes. Why I did that and not just throw on my clothes, I do not know. Guess I got the guilts. And I was no cool cucumber back then. Not when I was nude, anyway....

While I did prancy nervous steps on the spot, shaking my arms (like Homer when he's missing the Chili Cookout) and eyes wide with "oh God, oh God"s, I watched as Steve simply stood from his seated pozzy on the couch, hoiked up his pants in one swift move, did up the zip and sat back down to "continue watching the cricket" innocently.

Meantime, Dad's in the front door by now, putting keys away, whistling gaily. "Hello!" he bellowed characteristically joyously. I spurred into action and called out a greeting in reply, pulling my crumpled clothes towards me in a mad scramble (they were all inside out, which could have been deemed romantic because of the "heat of the moment" passion that got them that way but were now just a fucking nuisance to turn the right side out and make presentable again). Pulling on my top while Dad carried out some conversation with me as he slowly made his way through the kitchen to, I don't know probably grab a knife to skewer Steve with, I amazed myself in hindsight at how deftly I was able to use the chit chat as a decoy to what was really going on in the next room. Just that swingy-door between us.

I jumped into my pants and whisked them up, replying conversationally to everything Dad was saying about his day. Never one to just leave it at that, and I guess to prove to myself that I had triumphantly averted danger, I sauntered towards the closed kitchen door, chatting with Dad all the while as he stood in the kitchen reading the mail.

It wasn't until I'd almost rounded the dining table, hand outstretched at the door, that I felt my other hand brush past a rogue piece of material at my side. What was that? Looking down, as if in slow motion, I realised it was a pocket. It took me a second or two to realise that I hadn't pulled my pockets inside out in my haste.... oh no. Far worse. I had put my pants on inside out, complete with undies on the outside as had been the state they'd been discarded in originally. The hoppy, unsteady banging on the old stumped floor I made as I struggled to literally rip the stitching off my undies to get them down and step out of them brought me to not only Steve's very amused attention, but also caused Dad to sing out, "What're you doing in there?"

Needless to say, I waved that off with some excuse and breezed in through the kitchen door, undies scrunched in a tight tight ball in my fist, which was now stuffed inside my pocket. And I continued to, probably very flustered-looking and giving away eeeev-er-y-thing I'd just been doing, carry out my conversation with Dad.

I think I got away with it. He certainly never said anything. But then... he's too proper to, even in gest.

And from that day on, after I recounted the story to very amused girlfriends, I was known as Supergirl, given my supposed preference to wear my undies on the outside.

Ahhh! A camera, I see you have mmmmmm

I have never seen a more worried-looking, unsure Yoda.
But shit, it's funny.

Hey, who knew Yoda had a grey muff?

A kick and a punch for the end of the month

I had a scan and Ob. appointment today.

Now, I've been a bit in the doldrums over the weekend. Lolly was not being incredibly accommodating because the kicking and tumbleturns had stopped for several days. On top of that, I feel fat. Nay, let me correct that: I AM fat. Except it's difficult to tell the difference between fluid and fat. I meet some people who say to me how "neat" I look and then just one person in the crowd has to say "Gosh you're huge" and I fall into a guilty heap that I'm going to constrict Lolly with all this blubber-fluid. Like when the neighbour who I never speak to - just cos, it's not a standoff or anything - she comes over, dainty and all Kath n' Kimmyish, and says to me, pointing, "Mmmm you're pretty big" in agreeance after I said I felt I'd put on a lot of extras around my face, arms and now legs. I hastily made my goodbyes and came inside and had a teary-fit.

Aaaaanyway, so I was blubbering on the couch *cough*with a bag of raspberry bullets*cough* kind of like, all weekend, just hanging out for my appointment yesterday.

The first thing Dr Luffley said was that I looked wonderful *sob* (he must have a chart of things he has to say before a woman leaves her appointment with him, because I swear, he tells me I look well or 'good' even when I've done my buttons up and missed one so there's a gape in my shirt and I've had only 3 hours sleep and forgotten to brush my teeth). Then, he took a look on the ultrasound monitor after I said I'd noticed the kicking had dropped away and I was hoping it was just because Lolly had turned. First, he said 'What a very sweet face' *sob sob* and showed me that, indeed, little Lollybubble has gone head down and is facing my right side with back curled the height of my left side. Then he said "So let's see if you're right, where do you suspect the feet are?" and I pointed. When he placed the wand at that spot on my belly, there was this big Hang Ten symbol of a foot - a perfect, could-have-been-a-cartoon foot, splayed across the wall of its little home. We watched as two little frog legs then kicked playfully against my placenta on my right side. Hence, I hadn't felt much because it's like kicking into a mattress, I guess.

I can't believe Lolly is bigger than Ella now. I'm finding it really hard to keep trusting we'll be in that room soon and will be staring straight into that lovely face. I don't want to begin to imagine how emotional I will be - I'm not really looking forward to being 'out of control' with all of that.... but I know I will be. So we're just keeping ourselves surrounded by people who we know will support and boost us through this last bit.

Oh my God. This last bit. There's, like...... less than 8 weeks to go. EEEEEEEP!!!!!!!!!

Here, have another funny dressed-up dog (I'm so weak. And they're so hilarious):

"In your satin tights, fighting for your rights...

...and the old red, white and bluuuuuuue."

Wonder Whatwhatwhaaaaat!?From here, of course.

Can't. Breathe.

I shouldn't listen

It started out innocently enough. But now I can't get it out of my mind, first thing in the morning it's what I think of. It's like I'm being called and I am weak for it. I think I am addicted.

Yes. I have been in love with IC Strong Iced Coffee now for at least 6 months.

The problem is, I didn't cover my tracks well enough. And Steve found out. It first started with
one empty 1.5L bottle in the recycling bin, with another on the go in the fridge door. To anyone not suspicious, this wouldn't be interesting. But ohhhhh no. Not my Steve. So I've been sneaking around behind his back. Taking the bottles straight to the wheelie bin. Shuffling off to Safeway (my dealer) during the day.

Then, in the ultimate act of stupidity a person with my addiction could make, I asked him to grab me a bottle once, about two months ago when he came with me to help me shop. 'Great!' I thought, 'I can get him to go up to the dairy section and I don't have as far to walk then.'

Yeah. Good PLAN, Einstein.

He came back, bottleless. I looked at him searchingly, checking his hands for the familiar brown container, carrying my fix. But instead, all I got was a lecture on whether I knew how much "those things" cost. My head hung. My heart sobbed.

It's been at least six weeks since my enforced cold turkey. At first, I couldn't even look at that section of the fridge as I passed by. A few weeks passed and I took my first glance, just to see if they're maybe on special, I said to myself. But there were none. There was a gap where they should have been. SOLD OUT! I thought. That'd be right.

And then, I succumbed about a week ago. I knew the section of flavoured milk was right at the end of the fridge, next to the Yakults. And the drinking yogurt. I sauntered up to the edge of the dairy case, held my hand out, and in what could very well have been a scene from a movie, I let out an audible gasp as I saw my hand in front of the spot where it SHOULD have been. No gap, no price tag. The real estate once taken up by my beloved liquid gold had been closed over, taken up by inferior Ideal Dairy and Mooove brands as far as my welling-up eyes could see.

When I got home and relayed the devastating news to Steve, he re-enacted how it must have gone down these past weeks at the IC Strong Iced Coffee factory:

*looking at imaginary endless computer-paper report and scratching head with pen* I don't get it, NSW's figures are good, SA still looks great, Victoria is fine.... but shit, the Whatman shipment isn't shifting. What's happening, people? If this keeps up, we'll have to close the doors.

Yeah, laugh it up, Funnyboy. They've stopped supplying my dealer! Now my only chance is to find some grimey servo that stocks them. And then we'll talk about how expensive it is for a 1.5L bottle of the stuff. Because you've now forced your pregnant wife to go scrounging around every Fuel Zone in the area .... and if I find a bottle, even if it's $3 for a 500ml bottle, you can bet your moccassins I'll be getting it.

*whimper* I can't stop thinkin' about the juice.

All We Want For Christmas...

...is a helper monkey

A bit of a grab-bag of thoughts

Had a really good appointment with my homoeopath yesterday. Despite our shaky start, I really do feel like I've been well supported by both his experience and, of course, the practice of this modality.

Ended up talking about a few things I didn't realise would come up. Namely, I felt free to say (admit) I had, up until the ultrasound last week, assumed my body couldn't carry a child "properly". In contrast, he sat there and said how impressed he was with how I've come to this point - no coughs, no colds or other infections (madly touching all wood within reach) bare little fluid retention, a relatively calm disposition apart from a couple of times along the way when the wheels have understandably come off.

I don't think even I realised how deeply wounded I have been by the, while always with best intentions (or so they portray/say outwardly), comments of various people since we had Ella. The offers of surrogacy, the assumption of prematurity this time - although even I was told that medically this would be the rule rather than the exception, most likely.... It's all woven itself into my view of myself as a mother capable of nurturing her as yet unborn child.

I want to scream from a mountain to however many people can hear me: BE CAREFUL, be so careful, what you say to other women - other mothers - in my position. It's not helpful at all to bloody receive offers of carrying your child for you. For heaven's sake. And I (stupidly) graciously thanked the person who offered, perpetuating their assumption that they have somehow helped or been so generous. I can't believe I contributed to puffing out even further the chest of someone who has been such a negative impact on us since Ella died (and well before, but that's for another blogspace entirely).

Well. It stops here. I feel so blessed right now. Today is the day my waters broke with Ella - in relative, gestational terms. And instead, I'm going to my breastfeeding class. I feel fit, happy, relaxed........ so excited and ready to lay eyes on this little Lolly in two+ months *saying out loud for effect so Lolly stays with the program*.

Steve Cuisine

Every time we have pizza made at home, Steve prides himself on making "the best". You may recall he's like this with toasted cheese sandwiches too (not to be confused with cheese on toast) - a certain one-time backpacker could confirm this.

Over the years, Steve has not only perfected the topping side of things and settled on a crackingly good fresh dough base, he has also perfected the now obligatory pizza-making theme music. I don't know the name of this tune (sadly, I even googled "pizza music" but I couldn't find it, strangely enough), suffice to say it is hummed like this:

S: *with much gusto and sudden over-abundant masculinity* Yut da-dut dah-dut dah-dahh, de-yut da-duddilly dahh.....

The contrast of this with the accompanying hand actions is so funny, when the hand actions involve the intricately delicate placement of chicken, pineapple, little champignon mushrooms and the likes.

If only he'd try to throw the stiff, pre-made pizza base in the air and pummel it unnecessarily as well, then I might just mistake him for authentic Italian after all.

28w6d scan...

Weight: 1562g (Ella was 1581 @ 30wks )
BPD = 7.45cm (29w2d equivalent)
HC = 26.63cm (29w1d equivalent)
AC = 26.95 (30w5d equivalent)
FL = 5.7cm (30w0d equivalent)
Peace of mind: priceless

It's the hard knock life .... for dogs

'Stead of couches, they get beds...
'Stead of inside, they're out instead
It's the hard knock life.




Miss Hannigan, signing off.

Happy annivers'ry, baby, Got you on mah mi-hind

Love a bit of Dragon in the morning.

It's our seventh anniversary today. Can't say we're wowing it up. I'm currently trying reverently not to poke the bear.... he's in bed and I want scrambled eggs with tomato on toast at a local cafe who does them to perfection. That, and we have a $5 shopper docket voucher - buy one main, get one for 5 bucks! We're nothing if not classy and bargain-hunters all rolled into one.

This was us seven loooooong years ago:


How groomed we were. How innocent and young we looked. How skinny. And........ blonde.

This is what seven years of marriage, six of which we've been trying for a family who'll actually stay and play, can do to you:

And I cannot believe it, but I have never, not once in all these years, been pregnant on any of our anniversaries. So this one is extra special. Here's us last night, at 28 weeks:
And for good measure, and also because I'm feeling generous with the photos today, I give you:

Steve's view of the world (and me):
Is it me, or does it look like he sees things through a fish-eye lens from his height??

Happy anniversary, baby.

Can you just do something for me?

Straighten your thumb and first four fingers. Keeping them straight, bring the tips of your fingers in together, like a pinch.

That's the only way I can liken the image on the ultrasound this afternoon as Dr Luffley and I giggled at Lolly with all four limbs over head. One minute I was looking straight in the face of this beautiful little baby, with arms and fists beside ever-chubbying cheeks. The next minute, the hands stretched lazily above Lolly's head and a foot appeared between both fists.

And I am cringeing all over again when, as we were marvelling at "how did both those legs get....over....there", I quipped "I used to be able to do that." Oh the shame of having a mouth that speaks before the brain thinks.