I warned you I'd do this!

...and you didn't believe me, did you?


If anyone needs the number of a good sanity-checker when in London.... call 155-400-R-U-OK and my second cousin will be only too glad to assist with your dilemma.

Tip: Particularly useful in familial situations or if you mash the banana that was in your bag into the lens of your husband's digital camera. Also handy to throw big cups of coffee over by accident. Answers to the name of Bonnet-wearer.

Money-back guarantee: never gets mad at you, looks long-suffering if you take it too far but has a never-fail smile and wit.

But wait, there's more. This month, you get a free set of Prét-a-Porter steak knives, the little plastic ones. He'll nick a set for you. And one of them naff teaspoons too if you ask nicely.

They're obviously not watching Bert's Family Feud

Sorry, Bert, but..... c'mon, it's either the time slot or the show. But somethin's just not workin' for ya. Is it, buddy?

Quads cracking up

I love you too, Pepsi

"It's Pepe"

I mean, Pepe.

Sooooo....

The Lolster was happily kicking away at my placenta-buffer today on the screen. Well.... YA COULD KICK HARDER, THAT'D HELP! It seems it's grown across the entire front of my belly now, hence suddenly not being able to feel anything in there. So, to you, Lolly, I say: please position your size 7's on either side of your little home and practice your kicking there. Doooon't do it against mummy's front because otherwise she might go a little bit of crazy. That's my Lolly.

And on an entirely different note, I just need to get out: no matter what decisions are being made on behalf of little people in my life and in Steve's life right now, out of their control, I will never stop trying to contact them. I think any parent who, for whatever reason they think valid (when child endangerment is obviously not an issue), could suddenly deny their children contact with people who were previously very much in their lives, need to take a long hard look at the selfish reasons why they are doing it. It's not me who is hurting. It's them. Of course, I'm sad to not see them anymore, but I just wonder how it could possibly be justified to small children...... They will work it out for themselves one day, just like we had to. So disappointing that the mistakes of past generations appear to have reared their ugly heads again. Glad I'm not responsible for making the decision to cut ties, because I know I would never do it to my children, unless I feared for their physical safety.

At any rate, it's a sad reflection on the selfish and mental state of the decision-maker who's denying them access to us....

These here are crazy times

So I get a call on the weekend. It appears my estranged mother has been sprouting off to anyone who will listen that she "feels" I am pregnant and will have a baby in November. Interesting choice of month, given that's when her birthday is (mother is the most hung-up-on-dates person I've ever come across).

Of course, she doesn't know I am pregnant, but that's not the point. The point is, what if I wasn't? What a bloody cruel thing to be putting out there. Does the woman have no.... actually, sorry, she doesn't. I forgot. It's all about her, this life. Thaaaaat's right, it's the main reason why I had to sever contact with her in 2000.

Now there appears to be a scramble by some people to contact me and not only advise me she's started saying this, but then to ask what "I" want to do about it. Cue me with a look of mock surprise saying "Er...... try nothing?" I mean, this is coming from the same woman, the "mother", who wrote me a Christmas card the first year we were getting through Christmas without Ella, and in it she sprawled in big capital letters: "Why haven't you had a baby yet, are you too GUTLESS?" Before you wonder, yes she does know we lost a daughter and she a granddaughter that year - I guess she just forgot. I knew it was written by a mad woman, I knew she has probably (conveniently or otherwise) forgotten she ever wrote and sent that to me. But I can't un-read something like that. It's astoundingly insensitive coming from anyone, but from your mum? No matter what her mental status is, it's still hard to read something like that and just *bounce back*.

So I've left it with this caller that they simply. Do. Nothing. They've expressed it's going to be "tough" to lie, but they'll do it "for me"..... to which I said, "There is no need to lie, simply say 'That's a nice feeling, let's hope you're right'."

I mean, we're not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. I've been sitting here getting more and more nervous since about Saturday because I haven't felt any movements that I can discern since then, not for lack of feeling/listening out for them either. And previous to this, I was getting at least one rumble or kick per day since about 15 weeks.

Needless to say, the last thing I want right now is a bombardment of phone messages and wild letters from a crazy person professing they "knew it", they had "a vision", when I'm wanting to just curl up in the foetal position and rock back and forth because I'm unsure everything's ok at all.

*sob* I can't even say I want my mummy....!

WHAT??!

We're out of Meaty Bites???!?!?

Ok, this is getting serious

I bought fitted cloth nappies today......

I was all prepared, had made my choices and bookmarked the sites so that in a few months' time, I could purchase them at the last minute. Things like that make it real and I guess I wasn't ready to get them until I was sure I'd need them. Mobiles and other things - blankets and making sheets - they're less personal. I don't know why nappies, of all things, hold such esteem in my scheme of things. Maybe because, of everything, a nappy is synonymous with "baby"? When little girls play "babies" (I know I did, endlessly), mostly all the play consists of is a lot swaddling and dressing of "babies" in nappies.

But I couldn't go past this deal. A girl was selling a bulk lot, assortments of just the kind I had planned to buy only "if and when".

Oh God, please don't let this become some sort of foul jinx. I can't believe I'm at the buying nappies end.

Wasn't until I did it that I realised, good Lord we're going to have a baby - another person, a beautiful, new, unique individual - sharing our home with us soon. And it will be their home, one that's been waiting here for so many years just for them. Oh my God.

Le Pathétique

Nooo! Take it again! I wasn't ready.


Did I move? I think I moved. Yeah... pretty sure I did.


Ok. This is it. This is my best pathetic look. How'd I go?

All backed up

From the prescription pad of Dr Steve, on the inevitable pregnancy-related constipation and resulting potential for straining that can and does sometimes occur:

"Don't force out today what's due out tomorrow."

Noted.

You got twenny bucks?

Your typical 5.30am conversation...

K: Lenny.... you awake?
S: Mmmphf
K: Well, see, I was just wondering....
S: *heavy sleepy breathing*
K: ....why are those sandwiches called elevenses?
S: Well, you know a bakers' dozen?
K: Yahh
S: It's because they take a bakers' dozen and take off the two crusts at either end so then you're just left with eleven. Elevenses.
K: Naaooooo, that's not right. A bakers' dozen doesn't refer to the number of slices in a loaf. It's the number of bakery items in a lot.
S: *silence*
K: *stumped by silence* Isn't it? That's not right. 'Cause there's not 13 slices in a loaf of bread. Or is there?
S: *breaking in on above out-loud train of thought by K* Ok, the real reason is, you remember Mary? Listen... remember Mary?
K: Mary?
S: Yeah, Mary, she was one of King Henry the IIIV's wives. See, she invented elevenses.
K: What? How do you know this? Did you go google?
S: *ignoring* Henry IIIV wanted a sandwich and she made one one day and because she was his eleventh wife and he was a bit of a pansy and he cut off her head, he called her sandwiches Elevenses. 'Cause she was his eleventh wife.
K: Naaoooooo! .............*unsure because S sounded so convincing* Really? Nah! Why wouldnt' they be eleventhses then? *thinking reeeeally hard, too hard, about it*
S: Lenny...
K: *musing* I always thought, as a kid, that they were called Elevenses 'cause after they cut the crusts off each edge of the sandwich, they cut them into three fingers and after you've eaten one, you're left with two. And that looks like the number eleven.....
S: Lenny...
K: Was it really invented by King Henry the IIIV's wife Mary? You're tricking, aren't you?
S: You got twenny bucks?
K: Wha'?!?
S: I've got this bridge I want to sell you....

Meet Lolly's parents, Steve and ..... Stevie .....

Apparently, according to The Way It Is According To Steve, I have suddenly become the best friend of Malcom Muntz, of Malcolm In The Middle fame.

I talk of Stevie, Malcolm's wheelchair-bound wheezy, outta breath friend. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, funny boy.

.......it is kinda hilarious, actually, because I do have to sometimes punctuate my sentences in strange places by way of a breath every few words, a la Stevie fashion. The need to do this is heightened when I've exerted myself - after walking any distance (from fridge to workstation or kitchen to bed). Pottering. Brushing my teeth. Posting here.

Phew.

What the....

Note: if you click on this link you are navigating away from this bit of webspace that's free from adult site links and rude images and lots of naughty swear words....

So just don't blame me if you view this at work - don't worry, nothing "nasty" pops out at you on the link but it's on one of those sites that's got a million "Click Here"s, just letting ya know.

Cos I'm courteous. It's all part of the free service.

(video starts on load)
Mr Bush giving his State Of The Union address - remixed

BRING ME TWO CORKS.... STAT!!

Honestly, I don't know which one of you it is, or whether it's both of you. But I cannot stand it anymore!!!!!!!

STOP FARTING, DOGS!

This is a desperate plea. You both look so innocent, one either side of my workstation. Asleep. Nose under your front leg, Miss Mena (smart move, young lady, maybe it's you) and head over your curled up paw, Pepsi (but you're old so perhaps you've lost your sense of smell and don't care... it could very well be you)

My nose. It burrrrrrns! My eyes, they water!

I told Steve the other day that I could not afford for him to not cook up your casserole dinners, because the canned stuff just wreaks havoc on your insides and I have to pay for it all day. It appears the habit of pffft-ing into the air at regular intervals, like one of those ruddy Airwick scent dispensers, has become a joyful habit for one or both of you and it makes no difference that you now have your proper meals back.

Well. As Steve said this morning..... "At least it's not Chum night."

Sticky Lolly

I have been struggling with a few things lately regarding this pregnancy.

Now that the initial will it/won't it stay stage is out of the way (and I've only ever come this far once before), I am free to look forward to meeting our little Lolly - for those of you not in the know, Jubjub became Lolly on this day when we saw a real baby and not a blob on the screen.

Only thing is.... this is a scary territory for me. I've read other people's posts about how people they know assume they are "over" their lost child simply because they are continuing on and nurturing another life inside them. It's a really sad, and very incorrect, assumption. I have already started to feel myself grappling with how to handle this. On the one hand, the joy is wonderful and welcome. I want to give this baby the best possible start and am opening my heart to it as much as I can right now, and it's no push to do this.

Now on the other hand, where is Ella in all of this? Some people around us already find it quite difficult to speak to us about her, and I fear that with another baby on the way, she will be well and truly be pushed to the back of their minds. How relieved they will be when there is another baby to focus on and they won't have to search for something to say to us.

I'll never be over losing my daughter. I know that rationally, people know this. But their actions speak louder than their unspoken words and you can feel the discomfort in some people. For the most part, I've surrounded myself with people who understand and who are already there for me. I am not interested in re-establishing lost relations with people who have been unable to handle supporting me through the worst two years of my life. Why the hell should I have to share only the good, capable side of me with them? Particularly when I've always, always stayed and supported some of these others even when no one else would.

Nup. The deserters can stay deserted ...... and get their just desserts.

Am not! Are too.

He works hard for the money

So hard for it, honey...

To see a seamless three-hours-in-the-working-day of El Stevo, separated by a night where I assume he came home, click either of the links below. I find it amusing to press pause at odd places to see what face the squirrel with the acorns in its cheeks is pulling. Funny that one of my most enduring nicknames for him is Beaver. He is certainly making himself appear busy like one. It's all done with smoke and mirrors.

The big file download (approx. 5mb)
The itty bitty file download (fast download, 2mb file)

All this talk of tv has made me google

I just found this tv guide for the 1985-86 season and my God, I want to be back there. All that grouse telly! Hardly any of it has probably stood the test of time.

I'm only just now realising the extent of my misspent youth.

"How 'bout Buddhism?"

It's a widely known fact to those who have endured me for years in real life, but a little known secret on the www, that I am a movie-tv-line-oholic. If there were M-TVL Anonymous meetings, I'd have to go.

Obscure lines from dumb movies - point in case, the title of this entry (where's it from? Anyone? Anyone? Vooodoooo economics...).

On another note, my last few entries of baaaad tv also prompted this list of flashbacks from a friend:

Werewolf
Masquerade
Cover Up (with that Jon-Eric Hexum guy who died when playing Russian Roulette)
Dark Shadows (the remake)
C.H.O.M.P.S
C.H.I.P.S.
The Littlest Hobo (there's a voice, that keeps on calling me...)
Grizzly Adams
BJ and the Bear

Tick, tick.... can't say I know Cover Up .... tick, tick, yep, tick ..... and to this I would like to add the even more obscure:

Manimal
The Tomorrow People
Hollywood Beat
and Monkey, not that you could call that one obscure..... (the power of Monkey wazzzz.... IRREPRESSIBLE)

I loved Manimal. I think I also had a crush on that guy too. Geez, apparently I wasn't fussy.... did you see his photo? He could change from a man into a raven, into a panther..... yeah!

Now see here

This is not John Gage from Emergency!

However, this is (not the poor fella on the right who they cast alongside him, how mean).

Got it?

And finally... the respect I deserve

Don't know if it's just Victoria getting this tv commercial, but there is a safe practices sort-of community service announcement about checking your bbq's and the gas pipes to ensure there are no leaks.

The ad finishes with a very sombre woman saying "Treat gas with the respect it deserves."

Cue the luffley husband piping up and calling out to me:

"I respect you! I respect your gas, okay?"

Huh. Like THAT plea is gonna stop me.

Oh! About the prego stars....

Must just address that it is NOT 'jealousy', in my books, that causes us to think this way. No way, uh uh, Mz Tato. You are spot on in your previous comment.

And my goodness, just saw the ever-"gets it" K77's comment..... that's exactly it! You've added points there that I meant to say (no, really...what? stop looking at me like that, I did mean to!) - especially about the apparent shame of celebs who've had procedures to get their bundles of joy, who don't publicise that. Sure, some would say leave them alone, who's business is it. Well, to that I would say, if pretty much everything else is free domain, particularly if they're partial to an interview or two during pregnancy, then I say hell, yes, they almost have an obligation to say how it went down for them!

But you know, the bloody media would turn it into a big sob, woe-is-Julia type article that would end up not helping anyone. Doesn't it make your blood boil? Or your brown eyes blue?

*late edit* With my head in my hands, I realise that .... in my last post, I admitted to performing imaginary lip-syncing concerts to my 'boyfriend' (could he have been my very first?!), Johnny Gage. Oh, the shame of it all.

Get this blog to Rampart!

There is no excuse for my tardiness. Well, ok, there is. I've bin busy. That's no excuse.

I have, however, been fruitful while I've been away. I've found this (and, oh, if you're not on the same page as me with remembering this short-lived spin-off series and romanticising about the two couples like I did as a swoony 10 year-old, then..... I don't want to know. This show WAS the best. At the time.)

I've also finally found people who are on my wavelength. They really understand me. The issues that have concerned me for years. My hopes, my fears, my ..... everything. Come and meet them here! (you'll have to scroll down) In fact, they say everything I've been wondering for years. And their zealousness comforts me so I know I'm not alone. Perhaps I should just redirect my blog addy there.......

Have I gone too far? Mwaaaahahahahaha. But c'mon, you DID love John Gage didn't you? (He was MINE in my head, I dreamed about him, I visited him in America, he came and watched a school concert - all performed in the privacy of my wallpapered bedroom, of course)

And lastly, a new favourite site to frequent: Jump The Shark - ever heard of the term?

Ellanor

Happy birthday, you gorgeous guiding light.

In my thank you's to you, I forgot to thank you for waiting til I'd showered and straightened this thick mane of mine before breaking your waters. I felt very fresh!

You're beautiful. A beautiful soul, so sure and peaceful! Have you finished yet? Is your mission complete? You've been such a force in our lives and your coming catalysed so much for so many, even now 2 years on, that I couldn't possibly recount.

I know you're off up to something because I don't hear from you anymore. Not since September last year, when I felt you RIGHT by me in the middle of the night when I woke to feel the strange sensation of that IVF pregnancy leaving me. You were right there, you know I know you were! Smiling. I'm not sure if you give me strength or just confirm the strength I have in me. I'd like to think it's the latter, because I wouldn't want to rely on you. But, wow, you've continued to open me up to some amazing things. I think the secret is to remain open isn't it, my girl?

I like to think of you as off somewhere, like a young adult who's gone travelling after leaving home. I can imagine you elsewhere in the world, the daughter who is so busy living she never calls home. But the distance and the inability to contact each other doesn't mean we're not connected does it? You chose us, we really are so blessed. We kissed goodbye two years ago but it was also one massive hello. It truly was. You're eternal. You proved to me that we are all eternal, and if we have the ability (because I think you must be a special powerful soul to be so loud!) and yet others still living have the ability to hear us, we sure can live on. I firmly believe that, having shared this experience with you.

I feel very very privileged to claim you. But you're not just mine. I knew that the moment I met you - you were here for everyone, not just us. My God. If only I'd known what that really meant..... lucky I didn't or I would've lost my nerve well before you left again. I never saw you as a baby, I still look at your pictures and don't really see a baby because I know you deeper than that, and I found it difficult to say you were "my baby". You were always Ella in conversations with nurses and doctors. It was uncanny the respect I felt for you, I didn't expect that. And just when I was starting to see you as more vulnerable, you left. It is very beautiful to me.

My darling, I do miss having you here so terribly much it still hurts. But only on this special day do I feel the sorrow. You know we still have work to do, and living, so you're happy in your place and I'm so glad you're there.

Love you more than any keys on a keyboard or words from my mouth could ever express. Just continue to feel it and reciprocate whenever you like.

Pucker up, buttercup

Why am I sooooo offended by the news today that Brad and Angelina (we're on first-name basis) are expecting???

Is it the fact that it just doesn't seem that long ago that doing the shopping was a covert operation for them so no one could see them together?

Is it the fact that the resultant child will have ridiculously plump lips with all those combined genes?

Is it because I am feeling for poor old Jennifer Aniston? As much as you can feel for someone you've never and will never meet and who has more expendable income than she knows what to do with wisely.

Is it because they already HAVE everything?

Why is it when you see a celebrity couple who's announced they're pregnant (is it possible for a couple to be pregnant? I've always giggled at people who say "we're pregnant" - surely it's just the woman who is, but that could be just me), if you've ever struggled to conceive yourself, you think "Oh heck even THEY'RE having a baby now" and want to wipe the smiles off their faces? I go through phases where I can't pick up a magazine for a lazy checkout flick because I am sick do death of seeing happy happy joy joy stories about these deliriously giddy new mums. It's a bit overdone don't you think? It's like those publishers just think that's all we want to hear and see! So sad to think that these women (cos they mostly are in these positions) don't consider their fellow women, the ones who are suffering infertility. How is a woman who can't get or maintain a pregnancy supposed to feel safe picking up a New Idea to inanely flick through the glossy gossip? She can't! It's impossible.

Don't get me wrong, I can see right through the paper-thin ideals of these publications that seem to think that all women who read them are taking a 10 minute coffee break from the vacuuming and ironing and getting husband's dinner ready, before she reapplies her makeup and fixes a bow in her hair and smoothes her apron so she can look refreshed to greet her shirt and tie-wearing dear husband at the door and take his briefcase for him. Of course women want to read nothing more than "I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. My family is now complete with the arrival of Wilhelm Jake Cruise Wahkeen Bodiddly III". They're so see-through! The stories so similar! All they have to do is change the photos - which are also the same: celeb mum lying across pristine white bedspread with perfect, clean baby, both looking at camera. Or throwing baby up in the air, wide-pan shot so we can suitably ogle the star's sterile-clean, everything-in-its-place living room.

It's so unreal. Puts so much subliminal pressure on so many women to live up to that kind of ideal and feel unworthy if they don't.

Mags cheer me up somedays. They fill some sort of fluff-quota in me that I sometimes seek. I'll admit right now that I don't read them for the articles. It is all about the visual for me. But geez, I dunno, these prego star stories are just wearing so thin. Buzz off, Bec and Lley-Lley, please stop flaunting and go enjoy your baby in privacy. Tom and Kate? We-hell, I'll leave that right there.

And now Brad and Angelina? The impossibly wonderful, charity-giving, adoptive mega-uber-stupour-superstars now pregnant?

Please somebody make it stop.

Introducing... *trumpets heralding*

Jubjub.

Behold the blob that will make my dear Dad scratch his head, turn the scan 90º clockwise, then back 180º and say, "Where's its 'ead?"

...it's on the left, if any of you are too scared to enquire...*angry eyes*

There's something seriously wrong with me

I find dressed up dogs tear-streamingly hilarious. The bigger the dog, the better.

This photo courtesy of cuteoverload.com

Crisis averted

Ok, two people were made happy tonight.

I got to stop giving myself whiplash from checking over my shoulder for Kujo the huntsman.

And Steve got to see what happens to said new pet in the cyclonic action of the new Dyson. Hmmmm....

Time Check

IT. HASN'T. MOVED.

Not even a flinch.

So, that's:

Inches spider has moved since last post: nil
Work done since last post: Er....... next to nil

If I have to look at this, you do too

Shhhhh, aww! It's asleep, bless. *panting* Don't let the beauty of the sleeping beast fool you. They have sharp, pointy teeth, they suck your blood, they leave toilet seats up, they they they... steal small defenseless kittens and play push monkey with them behind shelter sheds.

I wonder if it's sitting over there above the bookshelf looking at me and thinking, "Holy SHIT! What is that big, loping, pasty, pudgy, hairy thing over there in MY house? Better keep my eye on it until Dave gets home with the kids so he can ..... 'get rid of it'...."

And if you're wondering why the shot's so blurry, well you just imagine an arachnophobe holding a camera up close enough to a huntsman so she can put it in as Exhibit A (when her husband comes home to find her quivering in a corner and asks why she got no work done), and that should just about explain it for you, dear blogee.


Oh and before any of you chortle about the book titles - yes, that most certainly is "What Katy Did" and the full L.M. Montgomery series of Anne of Avonsleigh/Greengables, and a bit of Pollyanna chucked in at the end for good measure. Never opened a single page of any of them, cross my heart. The Trixie Belldens and Hardy Boys/Nancy Drews to the left of that, however........

Home schooling

I wants me one of these for our little guys. Gee, that Albert is one smart pupil. Worth every sent of the US$12 to make your fish look like it was actually doing tricks (other than it being just that fishy habit they have of...you know....swimming past shit).

The harder they fall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's only 10 o'clock in the morning

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

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

But still. It went like this:

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

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

O/D on THIS

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

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

Enjoy.

It started with a kiss

Like this...









And then she had to go and wreck it.

























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

























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









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









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









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









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












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









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

Is this Hagrid's offspring?

Because I see a likeness.

Say 'Estelle' louder for me

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

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

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

A blip on the radar

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

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

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

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

The manic pants-checker returns

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

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

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

Two part cliffhanger ep

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Island of Leisure and no tikis

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


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

Doctor's orders

Doctor Steve, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

The girl's gotta have it

Ats'mah grrrl!

The Lowdown on Twisties: Balanced Translocations 101

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Crouching driver, hidden huntsman

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

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

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

That's how it always, always goes.

I'm Kirril and I'm a serial POASer

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

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

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

Thank God I have no more tests in the house.

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

This is where I do my best...

Relaxing.

Reading.

Sitting.

Crying.

Thinking.

Laughing and enjoying being alive.

Grieving.

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

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

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

We love it.



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

One more time for the people at home

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

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


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

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

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

I kid you not

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

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

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

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

I don't get it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

D'oh!

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

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

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

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

It was the BLURST of times??!

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

Take, for example, the following:

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

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

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

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

The Water Lily

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

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

Henry Lawson

School for the gifted

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy To Be Stuck With You

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

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

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

And the worm turned

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

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

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

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


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

For my geeky friends

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


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

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

and finally ...

1. 'I thought I fixed that.'

The true meaning of Christmas

Another year of wondering what it's all about.

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