Save Ferris

Watching the news last night. About the new ferris wheel going up in Docklands.

Me: A ferris wheel?! COOL! Can we go on it?
He: Yeah, did you see this? It looks amazing. Views to Geelong across the bay.
Me: That's.... *sombre all of a sudden* That's a pretty long way.
He: It's going to be huge. Thirty storeys high.
Me: *scattered* I don't like heights. But I like ferris wheels.
He: *pausing image on screen* See? Thirty storeys. See that building in the background just behind it, that'd be four, maybe five storeys.
Me: Geez *squinting*
He: That's enormous!
Me: *stares hard at screen* Gee, wow the actual wheel is pretty small. How... how do you even get up there? Is there a lift up inside one of the poles?
He: *looking at me, back at screen, back at me* That's the spokes of the inside frame of the wheel, Lenny. They haven't finished building it yet.
Me: Oh.
He: *imitating someone getting very sick rotating around a couple of metres' radius* Whoa! Whoa! WHOAA!

Do you want me to hit him for you? Or hit myself?

Get OFF me friggen case!

I think I have unfortunately happened across the most bored GP in the state. And also jinxed myself when replying to a friend's query yesterday about whether I had heard from the doctor lately.

Now, last time she phoned I don't think I mentioned it here. Seemed too blah and unnecessary at the time and so much other stuff was going on. But, and let's not forget I only went to a GP at all to get a bloody referral for the xray and Paed, since seeing her and walking out of her office feeling humiliated and on edge about the LGBB's mental capacity (after the GP claimed she was "concerned" about Lolly's lack of proper words - 'tis true, she STILL cannot recite Tennyson, there must be something wrong), I have had four phone calls from this doctor. Four! Unprompted. Am starting to feel slightly harrassed.

First off, before we'd even arrived home after seeing this doctor, she had left a message on my machine telling me to not make an appointment with the Paed on her referral, but to come back and see her instead after getting the xrays done. I said aloud to nobody after hearing her message, "Bugger that."

Then, after the weekend we went and had the xrays done on Monday. I phoned the doctors' surgery and advised them I'd be collecting the report the following afternoon once the GP had sighted the report and xrays. Fairly standard, right? But next morning, she phones me. Says "Now, you wouldn't have had time to get the xrays done yet - have you had them done? No?"
And I said that yes, we had managed to get in the day before. So without missing a beat she goes, "Well, I have the xrays and report here.... blah blah blah."

Odd. The girl is odd. But what's annoying is, she's projecting her oddness! I feel like she is suspicious of me, as if I don't have the LGBB's best intentions in mind. Anyway, I told her
I was coming to get them (they were all perfectly normal, despite this GP warning me I'd probably need to take Lolly to a neurosurgeon before we'd even had them done) to take with me to the Osteo.

That was all a bit of a fizzer for her I think. Because then she called and said, "Now, you haven't made an appointment with the Paediatrician have you, remember I told you to come and see me first." By this point, I was thinking nobody would believe me if I even began to tell them about this increasingly bizarre contact from a GP I had no prior relationship with (it's not as if she cared, I can tell she doesn't care, she's just self-important). And I told her firmly, "No, we are going to see Dr Denny Crane next Monday, we've seen him before and I am quite comfortable getting his opinion overall, thank you." She said that was fine. Good for her.

So. A week and a half passes from the time we see the Paed. Who I told her we were seeing. To discuss the normal xrays. She calls yesterday and asks if we've seen the Paed. YESSSS! Fucking yesssss. And stop calling me, you're worse than a telemarketer, lady! I tried - probably in vain - to inform her with a back-off tone that we were quite happy with where things were at present, that Lolly is improving markedly with the osteo treatments and is seeing a physio next week to discuss some exercises to help her realise she can now use her new and improved stretchy bendy not-sore limbs and body to get about. And you know what she says? "Well, I need to ensure you're still doing something....blaaaaaah de blah blah blah." What a nerve. Maybe she thinks I caused Ella's death. Maybe I've been doing something secretly sinister to lose all the pregnancies she saw up on the screen. I don't often think people are ghoulish or misguided about our journey, but goddamn she is creeping me out. Am suspicious of what she's flagged - images of a red sticker with "Watch mother, signs of neglect" are popping into my head.

Seriously, what does a GP think their role is (or this particular one, anyway), d'you think? I merely went there to get a piece of paper from one doctor to another specialised doctor. End of story. I guess I could say I like her dedication. But I have never ever had this much attention from any doctor and I think it is misplaced, certainly not coming from a best-of-intentions place. If she calls again, I will be calling her superior.

Has anyone reading ever been so pursued by their child's GP, who has no prior history with seeing the baby? I know I should be flattered (bwahaha I am kidding) but all I have is the heebie-jeebies. Like one of those Sandra Bullock "I AM NOT CRAZEEEEE!" movies where she loses all her identity and just has mockingly nodding white-coats coming towards her with a needleful of crazy-calm serum.

Talk about jumping through medical hoops. She should be a fucking ring master at a circus.

These dreams go on when I close my eyes

Here's the funny thing.

There are two people (who once were very important and influential women in my life until they chose to remove themselves from it) who keep coming in to my dreams. One regularly, the other not so much.

It's really amazing to be offered the insight into ... is it higher conscience/the higher self? Out there in dreamland? Anyone care to attempt an answer? Bueller? For they are not merely dreams, these specific ones, I feel as if they're more like tutorials on offer for me to learn or gain insight from before the book slams shut and I'm awake again.

The person who only flits in occasionally still has a sort of Maxwell Smart-esque metal door slammed around her psyche. That's fine, I don't want in anyway. What I note, though, when I interact with her, is that she keeps me at a distance, as in life. It's really interesting to see that she's very heavily built up protection around herself including even her higher evolved self and, dang, the woman is good at it. She knows what she's doing and she ain't afraid to use it. More power to her, I say.

The other person is far more accessible. There's no lofty airs or hurts (which is something that isn't easily able to be worked around in conscious life), she comes and mostly sits by me. Or comes and seeks me out, as she used to when we were communicating, and while it's pleasant to see her, I am more guarded now. This one in particular keeps popping in unexpectedly. It's as if she is allowing herself to forgive herself and me for what's transpired between us "down here" and I am kinda glad her soul realises it's free to love. That's nice. Incredibly affirming too, that even though she is still wounded and, I feel, sending hate vibes, there is a place we can lift out of our stalemate and be together again (somewhere above the astral level of human muck and thought forms that are hanging stagnant and coagulating together, it's very hard to penetrate and I didn't realise we could but of course we must, otherwise it'd be darn crowded here on Earth). I am just waiting. I've always had my door held open for her and yeah, I am bloody hurt - but mostly hurt that I have been so misunderstood. Perhaps this place is where she is rising out of her pride. I have my pride too. It's what is holding us both back, although I keep offering olive branches and so far, they're just p'ffing into oblivion. I have no idea how she receives them (cards for birthdays, invitations to things, etc.) but that is part of her game play and I understand that. She can't do anything else yet. And neither can I! So I'm stuck sending stuff and she's stuck not able to respond. Hrmm.

This sounds sooooooooo incredibly trippy and Stevie Nicks and sort of "I see dead people" of me (well, ok, so I don't see them and have it on their word that I never will, we have an agreement - although, I did see Ella once recently, but that's beside the point). But this is it. This is my reality. Oh hell, look, it could just be my own subconscious trying gently to take the weight off me long enough to slip me off the hook (I put myself on it, don't you worry) where these people are concerned. But ... no, I really don't think so. I think I'm travelling, well I mean I know I have done that for a few years now (since losing Ellanor actually) but previously, I was always sort of in service or moving up the ranks - must start cataloguing my dreams here for any interested parties, they're intriguing in their timelining, if nothing else. Now it's moving into something else, or at least, with this one person in particular it is.

I am not pondering them too much. Just wanted to acknowledge them (her?) for what's going on. And somehow, admitting it to more than just myself seals things, puts the ink on my journey stamp. Heh... another page stamped in my Rite of Passage Passport.

Sunday: The exposé

Uhhhh yyyyyuh.
Daddy, you talk crazytalk.
You haven't been patronised til you've been patronised by a LGBB look.

Mummy, you are just toooo funny with your teaching me the open/close thing on this door

C'mere, ya big cutie and gimme a kizz

Lolly imparts her patented Glasgow Kiss, whereby lips do not meet
but foreheads do. Hard.

This is it. My best pensive, reflective mood shot.


Didya get it??

It's a sign!

I love signs. I didn't even see this one coming.

Having researched prices for Gold Bug toggle slippies (that's slippers to you and me, Russ) for some months now, wanting to buy the next size up as Ms Bigfoot, daughter of Mr Bigfoot, grows her feet at an alarmingly Sideshow Bob Terwilliger rate, I gave up the search. I'd start, find no good specials online or in the shops, give up. Repeat every so often until I began to notice them not even being stocked on the shelves anymore. And if they were there, never in the LGBB's size.

Nooooo!

So today. In my inbox I receive an invitation to check my address at a fave online store to gain use of a promotion code that deducts $5 (I'll do anything for a discount, even a measly one) off the total, if you go on to buy anything. A whole 5 bucks! Yee haw.

I browsed around and yada yada yada. Don't need any booties. Don't need newborn swimmers. Don't need..... well, hellOOOOOOOO terry toggle slippies, my best friend because Lolly can't rip you off her feet. And in size 12-18 mth, no less. Why... at this rate, cos y'know I've got $5 off the total and all, I'll even go another pair in the next size up thank ewe very much.

Best part? They're discontinued. That's why they've been disappearing from everywhere. And now I feel all lofty and proud because I bagged me some more. Along with the pair I bought heavily discounted from Toys R Us because the packaging was damaged (pffft! that was apparently worth a $7 discount too, the fools, all of them FOOOOOOLS! I would've paid full price!), the LGBB will be in slippy heaven for the next two years.

Things to ponder while you're sitting in Emergency

• This is the most exciting Friday night I've had in a while.
• How can I punish the dog responsible for putting me here?
• How the hell did THAT guy get in and seen and out again within the hour when it's a 2+ hour wait? He don't even look sick, that limp looks fake. WAIT YER TURN, CHUM.
• I think I am destined to spend the rest of my life typing one-handed.
• What constitutes dinner from vending machine buffet? (answer: the oversize cookie, I have it on good authority).
• No one will believe that a JRI (Jazz Related Injury) could have caused me to saunter off to Emergency. But it has. I can do a 13 hour posterior labour and birth with no drugs, yet the dog over-extends my bad wrist and I nearly black out. Go figure.
• What's that light spot on my dark pants (answer: chocolate from VM dinner - I chose the fund raiser choc bar - which you discover after you lick your finger and use it to try and rub the stain in/away and then go to relick absent-mindedly without a second thought as to whether that could have been unwise and thank God you tasted chocolate).
• Why is it that my teeth chatter when I'm in shock?
• I guess this is it now: we've reached the stage where we drive ourselves to hospital if it's necessary (hey if my bud can do it while she's dilating and having contractions, I can sure as hell set the Commondore to smoothe speed and turn the wheel with me good arm).
• What if you were brought in due to a sex-related "accident"? It's not as if you can't hear through the curtains between each bed.
• Ooooh... I hope someone with a sex-related injury comes in so I can be entertained for a while.
• Wonder if they'll give me good strong drugs. And then... DANG! Still breastfeeding *slumps*

CONCLUSION: At that time of night and in my state of pain-induced delirium/hysteria causing bouts of giggles, and after 3 1/2 hours there, the only incentive I need to swing past Macca's for "a shitload of chips and a McChicken burger please" is to be warned to take the (good, working so far) drugs with food.

And yes. I typed this all with one hand - a frustrating minor detail for a 80+ wpm typist.

Cheek

It seems the pattern has repeated again. You'd think I would have got it by now (or at least remember it for next time, next time).

It seems that since our Paed visit, the LGBB has deemed it the right time to throw me and her Dad a bone. Like all the other times, even before she was born, when we've held out and held out, always thinking she'd come good (with whatever) but squealing "Mercy!" at the last minute and turning to something or someone outside of our family unit to adjudicate.

She's done it again. Like a good bluffing poker champion, the LGBB has all of a sudden *mock surprise* started to bum shuffle. In a circle. Always in circles (just like the spinning-on-tummy manouver). I'm happy with a bum shuffle. Even if she doesn't crawl and just gets up and walks - probably will, just to thumb her nose at that health nurse - I'll be satisfied.

On the basis of the evidence we're building up regarding how our little trickster works, Steve and I have agreed we're comfortable now with leaving go any referrals (we are expecting one to a physio and a neurologist) because we just don't think they're necessary - never really did, but it was my fear of leaving it and then something being discovered later that made us pursue at others' insistence.

So if she's not doing anything more significant in two months' time, we'll do the rounds again.

But geeez, the cheeky little minx. She didn't even wait a week to start progressing after the appointments (Lolly says "Tugut-tugut-tuguh" affirmatively over there).

God how I love her.

Though I may regret this in the morning

Is there a morning-after type antedote for wanting to take back giving out your raw, unedited versions of your innermost thoughts?

FAAAAARK and double fark.

I've been making PDF's of my book chapters. Am nauseous glancing (and then becoming obsessively involved in) one in particular and I can't stop the bouts of crying. Reading my words and knowing that at this very moment, they are probably being read (albeit by one of the people I would trust my life with).

It really aches. But at the same time, it's so goddamn cathartic that I wonder why I didn't do this sooner. "This" being, getting my editing team on the case.

But oh FAAAAAARK just once again before I sign off. STEVE! Where are you with that pizza, boy??!!! I need to eat in glutonous amounts.

Warning: may not have actually happened

I was feeling a bit lonely so I decided life would be more fun if I had a pet. So, I went to the pet shop and told the owner that I wanted to buy an unusual pet. After some discussion, I finally bought a Centipede, which came in a little white box to use for his house.

I took the box back home, found a good location for it, and decided I would start off by taking my new pet to the pub to have a drink. So, I asked the centipede in the box, "Would you like to go down The Queen's Head Pub with me and have a beer?"

But there was no answer.

This bothered me a bit, but I waited a few minutes and then asked him again, "How about going to the pub for a drink?" But again, there was no answer from my new friend and pet.

So, I waited a few minutes more, thinking about the situation. I decided to ask him one more time; this time putting my face up against the centipede's house and shouting, "Hey, in there! Would you like to go to The Queen's Head Pub and have a drink with me?"

A little voice came out of the box:..........

"I heard you the first time! I'm putting my f*cking shoes on."

Definition of disaster:

Your iTunes crapping out and giving you the "spinning wheel of death" (frozen time-out symbol thing on a Mac) stuck playing a song it had jumped to ... a song you never knew you had: Motown Philly (Boyz II Men).

Close runner-up in second place: admission of owning a copy of the above.

There comes a time...

...in every blogger's life when the true depths of their private lives is revealed.

This blogger's time is now.

He: I wonder if gelati men (or women) get mobbed.
Me: What are you on about now?
He: *serious concern in his voice* Like if he goes out to the shops. And he has to take the work car. Is he mobbed by kids.
Me: How... what made you...
He: *voice trailing off* It'd be awful. Everyone would notice you.
Me: Lenny...
He: You wouldn't be able to go anywhere.

And then it was too late. He was off, in the land of gelati van man drivers, imagining them at their children's sporting events - "No, I'm just here to watch my kid play soccer" - out getting the milk from the local Safeway - *crying voice* "Noooo, I just. Want. To get. Milk".

It continued well past my bedtime. And into this morning. But I have to say, I was in stitches and haven't given his repertoire on the subject nearly enough kudos here. I bet he did it just to see if I'd blog about it.

He won.

Previously on SimpsonsLover

We left the progression of the LGBB's lack of crawling on a high, if unanswered, note. The osteo treatments heading in the right direction. The xrays reported to show no abnormalities.

In this instalment, we learn:

• The Paed appointment (with Paediatrician Denny Crane - ok, so that's not his real name but it's what we call him because of certain resemblances) today gave us more questions rather than answers.
• Lolly reeeeeeeeeally doesn't like being manipulated by way of limbs being pushed and pulled in an unrelaxing manner (who does?) and is not shy to advise as much.
• Her fine motor and communication skills are going swimmingly but for some as yet inexplicable reason, her gross motor skills are underdeveloped.
• We're not to be concerned (uh.... yuh, get back to you on that one, but Steve seems to have that down pat).
• We have to take the LGBB to a Paediatric Neurosurgeon asap and also a Paediatric Physio before our next appointment with Dr "Crane" at the end of October.
• Mummy must try not to spend too long Googling sentences like "why can my child carry on a conversation with me but doesn't even attempt to weight bear" and so forth, or alternately rocking in a corner in a puddle of her own wee about all this.
• We must really have left an impression (what sort we'll never know) on the maternity ward staff. We popped round for a visit as we were within cooee of the hospital. Our favourite midwife was there and she appropriately squooshed Lolly's rosy cheeks and blew her hair and got coy smiles from our little poker player, who most certainly was not giving away her hand today, not after the insult she received from Dr Crane. In the hallway, several other midwives stopped to say hi and they still remembered us. Back from when we had Ella and obviously now Lolly too. Remembered Steve was Steve, remembered our surname. It was a really nice acknowledgement. The predictable murmur in my ear of "so are you and Steve planning another one?" put my stomach in instant knots - I'm still pulled by that thought. When we wandered round to see the Neonatal Office Administrator who we also always say hello to if we're in that hospital and who we drop off the annual NICU bed sheet donation on Ella's birthday, we passed a new mummy being wheeled in her bed from seeing her bub in Special Care. She was glassy eyed. Not happy. Not anything. I felt for her so much. It surprised me though and I was able to benchmark my healing progress: I didn't feel envy. Usually I feel envy. But all I could (ashamedly) feel was "Thank GOD.....", just so thankful I'm not in the remotest position of having to cope with the prospect of all that anytime soon. But then I was wistful that I couldn't just click my fingers and pop a baby out.

In other news, the LGBB treated us to a (caught on film) long conversation at dinner last night. Over a hearty meal - which most impressed Dr Crane - of blue grenadier (like, the whole freakin' massive Daddy-sized piece) and a bowl of vegies which she fed herself entirely, oh 'cept the broccoli because that can bite her - the LBGG was able to communicate that she wanted Bazz to come inside.

I was recording a bit of her eating at the table when all of a sudden she turned to me and garbled something (very meaningful by the earnest look). So instead of simply humouring her, I asked her to repeat what she said. Again, she made the same sounds "O'! ....Doh!" with a mock-surprised look, raised eyebrows and splayed hands. Then she looked towards the glass side door to outside and said "Jah'!" I asked "Jazz?" And she repeated everything again, with added exaggerated peering around her highchair suggesting she was looking for the dog. So I said "Would you like mummy to let Jazz inside? Should we let Jazz come in?" and she cheered gleefully. Now I ask you.... is that a child with a developmental delay?

But still, that niggling worry is there. So I am really pleased that Dr Crane, Denny Crane (oh come ON, one of you must have seen Boston Legal and know the type of character I'm talking about), is ordering an exhaustive investigation. He did admit it was unusual to see a child of her age not weight bearing for any significant amount of time, nor even holding on to us when we hold her (hence this goddamn tenosynovitis that still plagues me) - her upper torso is stiff (we call her a bird with broken wings because of the way she holds her arms when we carry her) and her legs dangle limply. Rarely does she wrap her legs around our waist in an effort to assist at all, so she usually ends up slipped down to our knees if we've had to let go with one arm to do something while carrying her.

We'll get there. But 'scuse me while I just stay quiet and/or lay low and/or write copious delirious posts here avoiding the topic for the next two months.

Nature's candy?

Ok, whose cruel idea was it? I woke this morning with a song in my head.

Brace yourselves. You might get it stuck in yours too.

You'd think it meant something. Some leftover from a dream perhaps. Something I could head shrink and get a morsel of insight from. Perhaps I'm missing whatever that is. Because the words that are repeating are:

Millions of peaches, peaches for me
Millions of peaches, peaches for free (and in my head, the "for free" bit runs together like the "Free for free" guy needing his teef fixed on that health insurance ad)

Peaches come from a can
They were put there by a man
Nature's candy in my hand or can ... or pie

Oh, and *gotta get the drawl right*

Movin' to the countreeee gonna ead a lodda peachez

Someone please. Get me a gun.

And herein lies the difference

When I'm working on my book and get to a really hard bit, when there are tears and cries involved, my old girl Pep will suddenly appear by my side. At the really hard bits, I even get a paw placed inside my hand. She is totally incredible. Reads my emotions as if they're her own.

So because I am currently listening to various voice files and sifting through which ones to turf, tucking into oh, just the tastiest, thickest-icing-est apple cake I've had in some time while I work, Jazz's nose appears up under my arm. At first I thought 'Oh look, Jazzy's getting better at knowing when she hears a different tone in my voice."

But no. She wants some food. I love her ... optimism.

Paint

Finally! Now I can really create some masterpieces. Where has this been all my working life?

You know someone's Thesaurus got a good beating when...

...you receive four of the most intriguing spam emails in a row, sounding strangely similar yet very, oddly different.

Case in point: the makers of (apparently) a wonder drug that makes your manhood more man than the next man have obviously spent loads of time trying to get around that tricky old thing called a Mail Rule. Their English is dubious. But their spelling is exemplary in comparison to certain Russian temptresses who keep asking me to write them.

Even the best spam filters don't stop all the rubbish when you have a penile enlargement (oh dear, watch the hit rate on my blog climb now) company vying for your business. They're dogged with the "advertising".

First, we have Phase #1: Confusing Use of Nouns and Verbs.

Females always giggled at me and even fellows did in the public john!
Well, now I whoop at them, because I took Meg, a dik.
for 3 months and now my phallus is extremely best than civil.

So, ar ar, very clever use of a comma, makers of M e g a dik.
But then we move on to phase #2: The Use of the Word "Whizzgiggled" - Is It Actually a Word?

Baronesses always whizgiggled at me and even blokes did in the urban comfort station!
Well, now I laugh at them, because I took M eg ad ik
for 5 months and now my prick is immensely more than usual.

Despite never having heard of the dunny being called the 'urban comfort station', I could have taken this for a real sentence, had it not been for the word 'whizzgiggled' (and Baronesses in place of Girls for that matter).

Phase #3 starts looking desperate:

Chicks always smiled at me and even men did in the municipal bathroom!
Well, now I hee-haw at them, because I took Me - ga - Di k
for 7 months and now my dick is terribly best than national.

Anyone who dares use hee-haw has my vote. But then it's on to Phase #4: Tried To Be Too Clever and Blew It (no pun intended):

Dolls always whooped at me and even boys did in the civil john!
Well, now I giggl at them, because I took M_E GA D IK
for 3 months and now my prick is quite preponderant than usual.

That was just poor and sloppy, that last one. It reads disjointedly, it's missing a letter and a word. Really quite disappointing.

They were going so well too. My interest was piqued too. Oh well. If they don't sound professional, I won't trade with a business.

Inching along

I'm taking the LGBB to get her pelvis and hips xrayed in an hour. Don't know why, but I am really nervous. I'm panicky at the fact that she has to have them done, even though she'll be whipped in and out in no time. I know there is less radiation in getting an xray than there is in taking a plane trip (who knew?!) so it's not that.

Perhaps, without going into it too much, it's just the fact that this is medical intervention. Will it always be like this with my living children? I am feeling quite nauseous and have the familiar upset stomach that has accompanied me before when I've had to take her to see a doctor or like the time we had her heart ultrasound done when she was 8 weeks old (now THAT was hard). Even though the result was a resounding "all normal!", I was almost at teeth-chattering stage.

So whether they find something today (which will be treated and we're onto it and will get her the best possible care around) or not, I have decided I'm allowed to be scared. I can cry and probably will - am welling up now, as a matter of fact - because this is my daughter and anything medical that intervenes, at the moment, is still really scary stuff. When Steve and I were sitting in the ER with her a couple of months ago, I literally separated myself from her. Just like I did with Ellanor at one point after we found out about her heart. I get scared that they are going to find something and tell me something is wrong with her - and "wrong" in our experience has been reeeeeally fucking bad.

It's irrational. It's worst case scenario (obviously). It's ingrained in me. It's how it is. For now. I'm ok that I am scared, it's allowed to be like this because it's how I feel - doesn't mean I like it, but I am relieved I recognise it (it's a path to not making things so OTT, which I hope to have levelled out a bit by the time the LGBB is really getting into scrapes that I need to be tougher for). There's time to work on getting past these things and I guess if I had more time to get used to the idea - say, for instance, I had had more warning that she would need an xray in so many months' time - I'd have had plenty of notice. But this went from ultrasound "sometime" to xray ASAP just three days ago. And the urgency and step up in diagnostic measures has just unnerved me a bit.

So. Better go get presentable, I guess. And put on my game face. Hmmm, which one to wear today...

Balloon-dog days

If there's one thing that will cheer me up no end, it's a dose of good dog-teasing. I thought I'd been exhaustive in the past, inventive even. Certainly contributing. But I have never done this before to a little doggy called "BAZZ!" who just does. Not. Take. NO!!! For an answer command.

So I did it. With the leftover helium balloons from the party last week. I tied them to her.
It was surprisingly handy. Kind of like when they knew where Jaws was because he had the floaties darted onto him and the little buoys bobbed and disappeared before he launched, we could tell where Miss Mena was as she skirted a sofa, sniffed along a bench, snuck a lick of the highchair. All from one vantage point. I should patent it. Balloons For Naughty Dogs. I reckon there'd be a heeeeuge market. And possibly all labrador-related.

Party on, Libby.

The tortoise and the hare

Can you guess who's who? And you'd be right! I'm the hare. Lolly is most definitely the tortoise.

First and foremost: the messages, the posts here, the emails - you guys are the most awesome extended mothers' group! Couldn't do without this sounding board, so thank you (once again!), it's great to have reminders and have stories shared.

I am keeping mental track of the "oldest baby" I've heard of who crawled. My old record was 14 months, but the Big A has been stripped of her title! Yes, I have found someone whose baby didn't crawl until 16 months ... AND this same lady (a GP, no less) has a friend, also a doctor, who didn't crawl til she was 17 months. I know people have stood up and walked much later (thanks for that reminder, K, about the 2 year old - see? had completely forgotten about that) and 23 months is the record there. But it's the crawling age I'm keen on right now. Who knows, the LGBB could get crawling and then think "Stuff THIS" and just walk. Can happen. Does happen.

Although I had some of those milestones squirrelled away, I could never quite shake the fact that when the LGBB went through her tanties (which weren't your typical tanties, as in they were not attitudinally-based, they were more writhing, "get me out of this body" type things which I put down to being "usual baby stuff" all this time) it couldn't always be teeth. Or a cold. Or reacting to me.

Turns out, there HAS been a reason. Which makes me feel only slightly better (given the fact that I didn't pursue it - mainly because it seemed pretty futile, you go to GP's and they don't suggest much and even a Paed wouldn't have picked up on what she's got going on as it turns out). But at any rate, guilt trips aside, I'm still supremely glad we found it now.

As luck would have it, the very morning I called to secure an appointment with the Osteopath* recommended by the LGBB's Aunty, she had a cancellation that same afternoon?! I thought love, I thought presh, I thought bewdy. And I also thought, more intelligently, I was on the right track. Whenever something happens easily like that, I get that confirmation that timing has been everything.

Not much point wasting time berating myself and internally scolding and feeling guilty. There was no better time to start investigating than now (did I mention in my last instalment that I'd not had the ultrasound investigation done on Lolly's hips, when it was referred back in January?) and this treatment modality was just what I was considering, but I always like to go by recommendation and had never had one in the past. Turns out, the LBGG's Lovely Aunt (herself a naturopath) knows, oh, just the nicest, bestest one! Pity she didn't remember to tell me til this far down the track... but again, symmetry! I believe it's the right time in Lolly's story for her to be getting things corrected now. Before may have been too early. Who really knows?

When we met Dr H (I'll just call her that, I have no idea if osteopaths are doctors.... come to think of it I'm sure they're not, but what the hey), I immediately felt at ease. The LGBB was her usual charming self, perched on my knee. Dr H took a full, and I mean full and complete, history. Right away, she picked up on the slight laziness in one eye, her out-turned right leg (both things I'd noticed since day dot, but they're so subtle you can hardly tell) and not that there was necessarily anything sinister about these things, the eye especially, I was just impressed by her thoroughness and attentiveness. She also picked up uneven leg length - oops, that'd be my fault she's had that passed on to her - and I don't know what is done to correct that, as mine isn't that bad so was never treated with proper shoes (contributing greatly to my abysmal back problems). When she told me what my health nurse said (about insisting Lolly MUST walk, "or else"... it's just like what you said, Allie!) was a "bunch of crap", I almost asked her to be my BFF. Well, ok, not quite.

Treatment was soooo subtle I couldn't tell it was being done. Just a simple hands-on thing while Lolly lay on her back, with Dr H's hands under her working points on her lower spine and cranium, and played with "the nice lady's" toys.

Quite simply, what we have here is a case of compression stemming from the posterior and forceps delivery. Dr H said that on a scale to 10, Lolly's been coping (quite admirably, she added) with about an 8 or 9. The pressure on particularly the front/forehead as she was pushed into my pubic bone - eeeeeeeeeeeeeyouch, oh yes I seem to recall that now.... *crossing legs* - and then the forceps pulling would have created huge force. I think osteo's learn to feel tissue damage (in fact - scrambling for leaflet - I'm certain I read something about that being part of what they do) and correct it, or rather, release something somehow to promote the body's normal healing process. Awww.

The LGBB has been carrying heaps of tension and pressure. Dr H said several times she was amazed at how calm and quiet she is in light of this. Even during the treatment, which lasted ages, must have been at least half an hour if not more, Lolly just lay there very happily, smiling, having a chat, playing, but then there were points where she looked squirmish and uncomfortable fairly soon after Dr H said she probably would ark up due to what she was doing at the time. Most impressed once again with my little girl's solidness. I knew it before she was born that this was her. Seems she'll be (if it's at all possible?) even more laid back and relaxed and I'm so relieved she'll be feeling some relief with this treatment. She deserves a body to match her personality.

Dr H noted that the LGBB flexes/coils her body - hence preferring being seated and not weight bearing on arms or legs - because it takes the pressure off her head. Must be sort of like when you get those throbbing blood pressure headaches. Actually, how Dr H described it was to imagine you're squatted down and then covered tight in plastic wrap, head to foot. When you go to stand up, there is enormous dragging on your head. Obviously, it wouldn't be that extreme, but to understand the feeling it was a good analogy for her to give.

Apparently, usually sleep is affected, babies are irritable and restless and hate being laid down - again pressure on the head. Of these things, Lolly isn't really troubled by any of them but I will blame her bouts of inconsolable irritability on it (Dr H said - before I'd advised that she goes from peaceful angel to raging rage-o-rama one day to the next sometimes, but not lately - that growth spurt times for the LGBB in particular would have been quite awful and that does fit in with her pattern). And I will also blame the fact that she hates being tipped upside down on that too. Haaaaates it. So that was another reason we weren't doing those usual suggested exercises to promote mobility - like the rolling over the fit ball to reach the ground thang - because I could see that, for some reason I couldn't work out, Lolly got so uncomfortable and immediately whingey by it. I guessed she didn't like the whole "which way is up" thing but it was something more physical than that.

So, we're going back next Wednesday. We have exercises to help with cross-patterning and build up muscle tone. We have to check sometime over the week for asymmetrical fatty-folds (don't you love those fat folds??) not that Lolly really has them on those skinny long legs of hers, which will tell us if there is anything "out". We have to get an ultrasound done within the week if I can manage it, if only to rule out anything going on structurally in the pelvis. She suspects there may be something there because she splays her legs more than straightens them, but mostly she believes that it's the extreme tightness up Lolly's back into her head that is preventing her from even wanting to stretch out and get going.

But most importantly? Dr H's homework for me was to not worry. To not beat myself up and not worry. There is nothing she saw to suggest the LGBB won't/can't move eventually. She said there is some stagnation in her gross motor development but she's by no means delayed - if anything, it's wonderful she's getting treated now because if left, then hell yeah we may have been looking at splints or if it was left even later, possibly surgery if I'd allowed her to sit and sit and sit (but I'm talking for, like, another year or so.... and I guess sadly some parents do do that - I kinda understand why they might not investigate, but where does 'taking things as they come' turn into a little bit of denial?).

Dr H told me the LGBB might get some better sleeps out of this. Better??? How do I squeeze more out of a babe already doing 10-12 hours a night? But she was right. We're pushing 13 hours here this morning, it's 8.30 and counting. Heh *buffs nails* I've even snuck in a coffee already.


* why do I always think Osteopathy has something to do with Ostrich husbandry when I see the word Osteopathy??

Welcome to Fedupsville. Population: me

Well, it took almost thirteen months but today I finally cracked.

I know when I crack. I come over all resolute and spent-like. No energy to even encourage anymore. I have a maternal child health nurse breathing down my neck that if the LGBB does not crawl, I (*I*) am going to have some serious issues on my hands - I kinda tuned out to her but gathered it was something to do with important connections in the brain not being made if she doesn't do it - and that whatever I did, I was not to allow her to walk before she crawled.

Ok, before anyone rolls up their sleeves to hit the keyboard, I know. I know! If she is going to stand up and walk out of this house in order to find anything more amusing than the toys I keep plonking her in front of in an effort to entice forward motion, then that is her. We are all individuals (together: Yes.... we are all individuals). She can chat to her Little People and do the whole nappy-on-the-teddy routine already, she's heading into imaginative play in a big way and inspects everything closely. So she's quite clearly a thinker rather than a doer or mover.

Despite recognising Lolly as a kid with her own timeframe on all things movement, I am starting to grow a rather unhealthy concern (read: paranoia verging on obsession) about the fact that she's now reverted to lying on her back or her stomach and not even attempting to roll to either side. I had figured it was because she knew she didn't have to, that eventually someone would come along and help her and sit up. Or roll from back to front/front to back. And I honestly do still think she is a bit too smart for her own good in this manner.

Just so I can get them clear in my own head, the facts are:
• she pivots when she's on her tummy so she does tend to swivel around and find toys that way. If I leave her long enough, sometimes she's happy to play that way (but let's face it, if you know you can sit and play, who the hell wants to lie down to do it with a Fisher Price whatever stuck right in their face?), but the line is fine between happy to play and starting to whinge - once that starts it's hard to pick a split-second gap to pop in and encourage her to sit up on her own.

• I've observed that she doesn't weight bear. She can. But she doesn't. There is a huge difference. I have seen her put all her top weight on her arms and keep her head up, for instance, for as long as she likes. But when I go to encourage her to sit up, for example, that big noggin stays firmly on the ground and she acts as if her arms are made of jelly. I end up feeling like I have a 9kg ragdoll to position.

• As with above, I've seen her on her hands and knees - she will not do this on her own but if she finds herself in that pozzy she'll rock and she'll stay up as long as it amuses her.

• As much as I have observed these weight-bearing things, I get concerned at the grimacing and crying that sometimes accompanies them and when she does this and wants to do anything else but, I worry that she is in pain or otherwise restricted in her joints somewhere. But then, how come at other times she is fine with it? A fellow mother's group mum says she's never seen Lolly so animated and physically active as when she is in the pool. She suggested that her free and over-the-top movements in the water may be because she feels weightless and if there is any pain or pressure on the ground, that she doesn't feel it in the water and that's why she looks as if she could take off and do a lap or 20. I tend to agree, although I reckon she just loves the water so much that that is why she forgets herself and becomes Splashy McSplash in her little corner of the world. She really does lose herself in the water, it's 30 of the most mind-blowing minutes of her week.

• I have begun to tell her she will do these things when she wants to do them badly enough. Perhaps she doesn't want to roll over. Or sit up. Or reach for anything. I know this is not true, the aggravation is there but the desire obviously doesn't outweigh the necessity to move. It is a way for me to keep my cool and hear a calm voice in the house. After a 30 minute crying session this morning, from finding herself on her back and throwing a tantrum and using up her energy that way instead of *just* throwing an arm and leg over her body to get to another position, I put her to bed 45 minutes earlier than usual. We're both exhausted.

The health nurse has always directly and indirectly indicated to me that it is through my actions. If I can recall, in the memory banks of my mind, I have been told specifically that because my last baby was taken away, I am somehow doing everything I can to make this baby comfortable and not get upset. What I hear in what she says is that I don't have endurance enough to tolerate the LGBB crying and just cave and give her what she wants. And I think it's comments like this that deny me the right/opportunity to just sit back and relax and not force the LGBB into positions she doesn't want to be in (who can play and zoom little figurines through the air from their tummy??). But then I'm back to feeling guilty for allowing her to sit virtually all day.

For starters, I don't know any attentive mother who would allow her baby to cry without trying to assist or encourage. As it stands, I have no idea if 30-odd minutes is far too long. In that time, I come in, I tell her I love her, I try to encourage her to do something with her limbs without actually doing the weight bearing for her, I position her legs and arms as much as I can to show her, I get down on the floor and re-enact what she needs to do so she sees me do it. NONE of this helps. And I've been given no nod to say whether I am doing enough/the "right" thing.

I'm not going to ask this particular nurse if she thinks I should be seeking further assistance with Lolly. I don't trust her judgement on the matter and think it depends more which day I see her - her answer could be different on two different days. The general consensus up to this point in time is that she's just slow to move and will do it all in her own time. But at the age of 15 months (my time limit set by the health nurse), I am starting to get right nervous that I'll have a finger pointed at me by some professional who said my window for improvement was months ago and I've ruined her development, or could have done something about it long before then.

I don't know if I want to seek professional guidance. One part of me is scared they are going to say she's got something going on and that is a fear I don't think I could face (though of course I'd have to if it is the case), and the other part of me is scared that I'll be looked on as a mother who is trying to rush the natural progression of her particular child.

It's so frustrating because we've seen it, plenty of people have seen her use her arms, use her legs, see the strength in her body overall. But she doesn't seem to apply it. And then I go back to "Yes but maybe she just doesn't need to yet"...... So if she doesn't need to and so many people are confident and telling me to chill about it, what do I do about the people who are on the other side saying "Oooh she's a baby who has been put in the sitting position too much, she will have frog legs, you are ruining her hip development" yada yada yada?

For peace of mind, today I have placed a call to get things started. If it were just the not crawling thing, I think I'd wait it out. Coupled with my other observations that she appears to be resisting the whole body-in-space thing (oh yeah, she doesn't like her torso to be tilted beyond about 45º so that's kinda hard if she ever wants to get down to the floor from where she's sitting) and has stopped rolling as well, I guess I need to bite the bullet and face it.

Houston, we have our first word

The LGBB treated us to her first non-Mummy/Daddy-related association yesterday afternoon.

And the word? Typically Ostrayan, it's...

BAZZ.

First time she said it, looking directly at Jazz, Steve and I didn't even mention it though we both heard her. Second time, it was unmistakably meant for our chocolate brown vacuum mouthed idjit dog.

Of course, for the rest of the day Jazz was Bazz. She didn't seem to mind. And did what all self-respecting younger sibling would do: she went and annoyed the shit out of Pepper.

Say ahhhhhhhhh

Bazz is just lying there innocently, doing nothing (yeah right), and
if Peppy gets in the way it's her owwwwn fault

What do these two have in common?

The LGBB and Bill Maher?


Well, quite simply, funnyman Bill Maher is sporting the hairdo that Steve insists on combing the LGBB's hair into when it's wet. Seriously, he goes into old man in a barber shop mode and slides that little white comb over her dear head, taking her from sweet little shiny-cheeked, freshly bathed daughter right into Larry King territory in a moment and it scares me.

Not least of which because this is the result the next morning (note even the part is on the wrong side, how uncomfortable!) Poor little girl, it took me all day and several wettings-down of her unruly mop to get it tamed.

Just in time for the next bath....

The LGBB's new mummy

I really wish Justine Clarke could just come over and .... live-in, actually, would be a great help.

After avoiding and limiting and distracting otherwise, as much as my patience and this ongoing searing pain in my arm will allow, I am succumbing more and more to just the plonk-in-front-0f-tv method of child amusement. It rips me to pieces. Why was it that I had so much more time and attention and tolerance for everyone else's bloody kids over the years? At child care centres, kids in our family, friends' children. There are only so many times in a day, apparently (and previously unbeknownst to me), that I can jovially ignore and distract the LGBB from her whinging - yes it's started up again in earnest, now with added guilt trips - and I hate myself for my lack of patience with her.

She watches two episodes of Play School a day. I avoid having the telly on during the day at other times in the background because I have just never wanted her to get involved in tv that much and I don't like the programs and commercials that can come on when you least expect them. The undercurrent of having it on there as she plays is not what I planned.

But, well if I can't say it here I can't safely say it anywhere - FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm just going slowly insane. I feel like the tv is like the evil Star Wars emperor. Willing me to join the Dark Side. Allow my child to put her brain into Park and watch 'whatever' as often as I need her to. See? As often as I need her to. I haven't got enough in me to entertain her all day and as her demands increase (and oh boy, have they what) I just cannot keep up. I need some brain-park time too! But I can't even go in another room again at the moment for long. I just tried to eat breakfast in the kitchen while she was in the living room right next door. I got indigestion from making myself stay there to eat, fooling myself I was going to take my time and let her sort it out. Which I did. And she didn't, by the way. But I still got upset eating and making myself not go in at least until I'd finished.

Of course there's nothing anyone can do. There's nothing that can't be suggested that I haven't probably thought of and/or dismissed already. Am quite certain a lot of this is tied up with not just my upbringing and nature, but the path that's befallen me so far - I have always been aware, since Lolly started to become a sitting-upright person with her own wants, an incredible amount of guilt over not wanting it to be "like this" (thinking that surely, after all that's come our way and all we've lost, I ought to have this suit of armour on to deflect such banal, mundane little things that crop up as daily aggravations such as this). Shouldn't I be able to weather the hugest storm? This whinging is smallfry in comparison to what I've already coped with! *wry Road Runner-esque smile to camera*

It's a funk that will only right itself once a) I am not in constant pain (can't take painkillers or wear my brace at the moment because i am waiting for homoeopathics to work and dear GOD HELP THE HOMOEOPATH if they don't... he told me to give it 24 hrs, 48 at most... that's tomorrow night to you and me, Russ), b) I grow a mummy-patience tree out the back, c) I reduce my workload, or d) the LGBB ACTUALLY STARTS TO MOVE AND DO THINGS FOR HERSELF (which I realise will lend itself to further gripes and incidents, but at least they'd be new ones and not these same issues we've had ongoing for coming up 5 months, at least, now).

C or D are the most viable options. Though of course A is most desirable right this instant.

How can she go from raging cries with me to sweet trills and whispers with Justine (who's on the screen right now reading a book... to Lolly) in under 2 minutes flat? Where are my sweet trills and whispers?! Oi! Tanty-girl! *fists on hips* What gives? And where's your damn manual, by the way???

Question:

This woman has reappeared again.

The almost harassing phone calls had suddenly stopped recently. Messages were not being left so frequently. I heard nothing pretty much straight after I posted last time about the situation.

Hmmmmmmmm....... she rang last week and I absent-mindedly (read: stupidly?) answered the phone, deep in thought working at the computer. That sounds harsh, now I read it back; I don't mean that in any other way than, I simply haven't the energy to allow her to bounce off me at the moment. I find her abrasive on me now, almost cold-hearted (though she's not, I know it's a heeeeeuge defense mechanism she's got built up there and good on her for finding one if it got her through her life, that's not my business) in her drilling for information. Actually.... thinking about it some more, I realise now that the feeling I get is kinda like she's cheating on her homework and looking to me for the answers she's been stuck on. I almost feel protective of divulging my 'stuff' about healing regarding Ella with her, as if she's trying on my answers to see if they fit her and I don't know why that makes me hostile, but it does. Perhaps because I don't hear anything back from her about her feelings. She won't go there. I will, and the fact that she won't and I do is fine, but I draw the line at her pressing me to offer up what she won't give me in return.

Anywho, it started to slowly dawn on me that perhaps she's back around for a reason. Seems a bit more than a coincidence that she's been virtually hounding me, albeit because she's probably wondering why I'm avoiding her calls, since I've started really getting stuck in to my writing.

I don't know if I mentioned, but she too lost a baby. About 20 years ago now, I'm aghast to count. I can still remember asking my friend (me being the biggest baby-crazy adolescent around) where her little sister was because I knew her mum had had her and that she was in hospital but that's all I knew and it had been weeks and weeks that her mum was back but no baby. Always no baby.

She'd been the same gestation as Ella, born in the same hospital, died in the same NICU. Bits and pieces have come out over the conversations I've had with this mum over the past few years and I gather that she was being told by "them" that there was no brain activity (she used a rather more vulgar term, I guess it's her way of thumbing her nose at life in general, and possibly to buffer the hurt of the knowledge of the brain damage), due to complications during the birth process - botched, but I can't remember specifics - and she emphatically swears she knew there was something behind her daughter's eyes. For three months, she waited and paced. And then they switched off the machines. It gives me chills to think what she went through and what she saw and heard, especially if she knows (as a mother does) that "they" were assuming to know more about her daughter's condition than she felt she could stand up to and disagree. I know all too well what it's like to advocate for your child and her best interests, so soon after giving birth and coming to the realisation that it's not all warm and fuzzy and Kleenex and Huggies with all newborns, and trying to appear unfrazzled and coherent enough to argue with the white coats about best interests. Oh God Oh God Oh God.

Back on that night, my friend said simply, "Baby (name) died. That's all there is to say and we don't talk about it." It was an instruction, not a sharing of information. She was telling me not to ask any more questions. I think I must have just said "Oh" and kept eating. Her family were all there, as I recall we were all sitting round the table as her mum was busy in the kitchen, within earshot.

How sad for them, as I think about it now. I had never seen my friend's mum as anything but positive, light-hearted, fun (though I was assured it wasn't 'fun' to have a mum who was seen as fun... I think I understand that now), trippy hell yes but very big-hearted. And since losing Ella, I see her as so much more fragile than I ever did before. The mum, not my friend (I don't actually see my friend, haven't in so many years I don't think I'd recognise her).

Her mum was supposed to come to Ella's memorial. She was a no-show. She phoned some weeks later and gave her apologies. She'd been so matter-of-fact and "You've gotta celebrate! Have fun! Rejoice her life!" Bit too much yee-har for me but I just took it on board because that's what she has always been like. But when she didn't turn up to our not-so-whoop-whoop celebration of Ella, I wasn't all that surprised. She told me when she called that she was all ready to come but when the morning came, she just couldn't do it. No big revelation there. So the good-time fun-girl can be serious after all??

It was after this that the conversations, rare thankfully, when she phoned started getting weird and unnerving. Hence why I now try to avoid contact with her. I don't think she is grounded much in reality (well, not mine anyway) and has been hit pretty hard between the eyes with things she probably couldn't or wasn't given the space to deal with over her own daughter's death, after I lost Ella. It's a gift I hope she has found useful but I don't know.

And now, back to my point *rummages through brain* Maybe I'm supposed to utilise her reappearance again after a couple of years of silence. I'm going to be sitting quietly with this one and really asking the Whatever, am I meant to seize this chance to work with a mum who lost a baby all that time ago and ask her some questions relevant to my work and possibly quite healing for her? Is that it?

Cos otherwise, it's about as useful as having a mozzie in your tent.