Lolly and Me.... the Month-By-Month Retrospective

14 weeks - and to think I thought I looked pretty big already....


19 weeks - feelin' fine and .... looking anaemic??

22 weeks - the most flattering angle,
before I started taking on fluid like The Titanic


24 weeks - ahhhh, when I started to fall in lurve
(and still looking a tad on the iron-deficient side)


28 weeks, the night of our 7th wedding anniversary
and my drooling over seeing Adam Hills live


32 weeks - *whispering* she sees little people


36 weeks - no commenting on the spotty mirror, okay?
I can't reach it to clean it.

A-HA! So they ARE friends

Everyone needs something warm to cosy up to.

I prefer mine to shed less hair, but hey. Sometimes you can't be fussy.

Ok, hands up who remembers this

I LOVED this Christmas cartoon. It made Christmas morning. The abominable snowman who has it in for Rudolph, the sound of Rudolph's nose when it glowed (*wom....wom....wom*)..... the fatty fat Santa. All of it. Loved it.

Best. Christmas. Cartoon. Ever.


Other notable shows that made our Christmas mornings: Shirl's Neighbourhood with Claude the Crow and Norm the Kangaroo, and the obligatory 6am Thunderbirds screening. And kids these days.... they miss out.

This is becoming...

.. a pretty boring blog if you don't like dogs.

But I just have to share this.

Doing her bit for the Socceroos

Meanwhile, Miss Jazzus dazzles us all with her ball handling and deflating skills ...

Reenie's Getting Married

And she didn't even tell me. Ever since I've been seeing the ad for this show, Rene's Getting Married, on channel 10, I've been reading Rene (phoenetically, Renay) as Reenie. As in Pepperini. As in Pepper.

So now I have visions of a reality tv show of my old dog in a wedding dress trying to find suitable bachelors.

Any suitors out there who'd put up with a slightly snappish, jealous, brooding, shedding, whingey, deeply affectionate to a chosen few Kelpie? No hip troubles, still as deft as Harry Kewell with a ball (despite eyesight gradually fading), enjoys sprints in the park, nagging for left-overs and boasts selective hearing and as-yet unwavering indoor continence. Aged about 84. Applications closing soon.

"Well, hell-ow fellas"

To dry or not to dry.... THAT is the question

Drying my hair straight is no easy feat. Drying it properly, an even bigger challenge. Especially with arm fatigue in late pregnancy.

Found myself wondering this morning, as I struggled to keep my hands up, 'Should I just let go the straight look now.... or should I squeeze as many days out of my whimpy arms as I can?' More importantly, as today is my last visit to Dr Luffley before he a) goes on holiday and b) quite possibly sees me before Lolly greets the world, am I setting the bar too high?

Like..... after Ella was born, there was not a straight hair in sight. In fact, there wasn't even a dry one. It was simply shower, towel off, pin off face and scarper back to that cot quick smart. And while it's not a look I'm happy to display to the world, there's no real option when you've just had a baby. Despite what others have said to me about "You won't care what you look like when you have that baby in your arms", erm strangely I did still care whether I looked like shite or not - makes me feel better to not look like how I feel sometimes. It wasn't a matter of not caring, per say, it was more a case of 'Can't Do' because there simply wasn't any time.

So.What to do, what to do. I mean, I don't want it to look like I'm not down with the new baby thing by having lovely straight lustrous locks today and then all of a sudden next time he sees me I'm in hospital and I'm looking like the crazy cat lady from The Simpsons who has dozens of cats and only talks gibberish - her hair is a sight.... (but thinking about it, maybe she just can't keep her hair dryer up for long enough to straighten it).

Am I over-thinking this?

And as an aside...
Oh will that FUCKING DOG shut up.

Holding a lantern

Helpless.

Hold on, mama. Hold on, little Butterfly.

So many weeks to go yet and still so little can be done but watch over you tenderly from afar. Such a big decision for a tiny, tiny being. Surely you don't want to come now. Don't rush your life.

Why are some spiritually contractual journeys so damned hard?

And so we wait and we pray and we hope with all our might that your road is not as rocky as your brave big brother's before you.

Hold on little one, pleeeease.

It's a matter of plumbing

This morning, our early morning banter-before-rising went thus:

K: Dr Luffley goes away this weekend for two weeks.... Lenny, all the things that seemed so far away and that I said "I'll deal with that when it comes" ..... have started to come! My next milestone was to make it to my birthday and that's next week. And the one after that was to get through til Dr Luffley gets back, and that's in three weeks' time.

S: Hey who's replacing him when he's on leave? What's the dr's name?

K: Scott Pearce.

S: Hey! He's not a doctor!

K: Wha'?

S: Nah, Scott Pearce is the guy I deal with at Pipeline Magazine.

K: Pipeline....Magazine. You mean that magazine about the wonderful world of pipes? I still can't get over the fact that there can be enough to say about pipes that'd fill an entire magazine. Every month.

S: Yeah *convincingly* there is. *laughing* I wonder if it's the same guy.

K: *withered look in the dark*

S: Hey I wonder if Dr Luffley put an ad in the paper.... "Wanted: Someone who knows a thing or two about pipes."

K: Well, it's all plumbing, isn't it.

S: Mmm, yeah. Pipes and tunnels.

The importance of things

To Pepper:

P: See, I think if I go like this .... mmmphff .... and shut my eyes reeeally, reeeeally tight, your tummy might go away. And then if it works I'll try it on Jazz and make her disappear too. So it can just be us again.
Like old times.

P: Ahhhh, shit. It didn't work......
Well ..... do you still love me anyway?

To Jazz:

J: Hey, which is my best side, do you think?

J: Ok, is it this way? Orrrr....

J: This way?

J: Yeah, I agree. Full frontal is cutest. So, like, is the angle of my head ok? Do I look good in this? I am soooo trying to understand what you're saying, but honestly I'm more interested in....



J: ...trying to out-cute Peppy.


P: Does this mean ..... you don't love me anymore? I'm sorry, whatever I did. Just in case.
...... and I won't do it again. If you could just let me know what it was.

Carnage at the Hairdressers

"It was just awful. He just kept brushing and brushing and...... there he is! Oh Gohhhhd,
and he still has the comb in his hand. I'll be good, I promise I'll be good.
Save meeee, mummy."




The aftermath of an hour's worth of brushing. With possibly another two hours required.

Pimp my Rocker

And in a burst of exuberant energy (which lasted til about 10 minutes before the final stitch and then saw me starting to lose it, figuratively and literally, from not only the back ache but the steely pig-headedness to finish or be damned), I have shabby chîc'd a new bouncinette cover.

It is yet to be adorned with the obligatory "Grandma's handy skill" quilting effect on the flowers (which apparently will make the flowers raise above the rest of the fabric and look all cute n' puffy, she assures me), but it's done. Sans pattern. In one arvo.

*chest is puffier than a red robin*

And all made from scraps of material and quilters' foam.

Signed,
Martha Stewart

Q: When is a dog lover NOT a dog lover

A: When she has a dog living next door who creates so much helplessness and anxiety that she feels she may lose her sanity.

Our new neighbours moved in in October last year. So basically, they and their fucking dog (it's the only thing I can call it) have been living next to us for my entire pregnancy. The first time I approached them about how often he is barking when they are out was early this year, February or March. I was inundated with apologies, visits from him and her at my front door to explain what new wonderful method they were going to try. These ranged from a zap collar (which I think they never even tried because the guy was already voicing how expensive they are) to the citronella spray canister which squirts into the dog's face every time it barks.

They apparently took the citronella collar back to the vet to say it wasn't working and the vets were amazed that they had run out of citronella already...... yes, they were stupid enough to divulge this to me. Like proud parents of their over-excelling fur-child.

I called the council in March. "What can be done about this?" I pleaded. They took details - mine and the fucking dog's - and said they would send out information to us (that we needed to keep a barking diary to document the disruption) and also send out a ranger to visit the neighbours. This was apparently, as I understood it, a first step.

I gave up on the barking diary. My bad. But still the fucking dog barked on. Steve and I have, over the past months since Easter, resorted to our own methods of getting him to shut the hell up. A deep gutteral growl is all it takes now and he will be quiet. Pity the neighbour's wife and daughter can't do the same. He barks when they are home, he only shuts up if the guy is there (or if someone lets him in). When they are home, he even ignores me. So I prefer them now to be out so I can growl at the shit head.

Problem is, Lolly ain't that forgiving anymore. It takes several minutes sometimes to get up and get to the door, by which time Murphy's Law has prevailed and he's stopped. So I stand at the door, exhausted from the effort, and then hope he DOES bark just so I can reprimand him! It's a bloody nightmare.

Called the council again yesterday and downloaded their new and improved "So your neighbours have a barking dog and you want to maim it" booklet. Turns out, no one ever did go next door, they were never sent any information - it all came to us.

Oh. Actually, it seems the onus is ALLLLLLL on us. I have to keep a barking diary for a fortnight. I have to round up other neighbours as witnesses to the barking. I have to prove I have attempted to resolve the issue through the Dispute Settlement Centre of Victoria..... before the council will even step in. And the icing on the cake? I then have to keep the barking diary of the fucking dog's habits for another month "to monitor if the barking continues or improves as the result of any further action being taken".

What the?! The fucking dog's own owners acknowledge he is a nuisance barker. There is no dispute to settle. JUST SHUT HIM THE HELL UP!!! Whatever it takes. Call a trainer to come to your home, people! Seriously, is it really that difficult? Yes, apparently it is, because heaven forbid they should spend any money to train him - ok, it seems unfair from their point of view as the dog is not disrupting them. But if you've bought a pet and it's turned out to be a nuisance animal, for whatever reason, you are responsible for fixing it! Despite the $$'s it may take. It seems that because they are out all day and don't have to listen to it, they're not putting any effort in at all now. He is an intelligent, bored, untrained dog. And they are irresponsible for owning him in this manner.

As Steve very aptly said, if we decided to turn up music full boar at 2am tomorrow morning, we would be reported and the police would be knocking on our door for disruption of the peace. But I ask you, how am I supposed to accurately keep a barking diary of the fucking dog's every bark when I am trying to work, trying to relax (pah, fat freakin' chance) and trying to prepare for birth???

Gahhhhhhhhhhd people shit me sometimes.

These dreams go on when I close my eyes

Every second of the night, I live another life.

Yeah, thanks Heart. God I loved that song.

But I digress. Before I even start.

I had the most godawful all-nighter of a dream last night. I don't want to go into it again, suffice to say it was about the baby and wasn't all peachy. Just deeply rooted subconscious fear stuff. Luckily I had an appointment this morning with Dr Luffley, so didn't have to wait too long before seeing that lovely little person on the ultrasound screen again.

And what a show I was given.

Instead of being that little blob, or the squirming arm and leg buds, or the lanky bundle of limbs, or the little ball of chub squeezing its own cheeks... where once I could see the whole length of a body, what I saw today was so amazing I can hardly describe it in words. I was greeted by a face that filled the entire screen. With a face as large as, well, life. Sucking a thumb. Then taking it out and rubbing both eyes with pudgy fists. I was gobsmacked. And Dr Luffley said "Isn't it so amazing, it's like watching them in a cot or something!"

It was exactly the antedote I had needed to clear out the remainder of the nasty feelings from the dream I couldn't shake. It was too much. During the Q&A portion of the visit (which despite what some may think hardly ever happens - I never really have questions), where I had a full list written out which Dr Luffley dutifully and respectfully ran through with me, I lost it and began to cry. It is all so surreal. I tear up again as I think, just a month ago even, I didn't dare be so bold as to assume this would come. This day where I was planning what I needed to do when Lolly gives a not-so-gentle rap on the door, I never honestly allowed myself to believe it'd come so I didn't think about it.

Being forced to make some necessary arrangements, such as work out what I do if I go into labour when Dr Luffley is still technically on leave and not "on call" but promised he'd come in for us if it happened before he was back consulting and delivering.... it's all a bit much. The last of my fears - and I will only divulge as much as to say it involves cords and the disasters I have heard about in the last two years in the new parallel world in which I reside with other parents - was alleviated today. My question was answered. I was reassured. And I feel like I've buckled in for the steepest part of the ride. The end bit, the big finale on the big dipper!

I returned to the waiting room and kept it together very admirably, while performing a urine test, the result strip over which not one but two women pored for a tad too long until they even called Dr Luffley over in between appointments - ewwww, don't get him to look at my wee-stick! - who came back to the reception window where I was waiting, to reassure me the result was fine. I have no idea why I had to give them a cup of my pee (which was like liquid gold because despite being busting, my bladder now holds about 2ml of liquid at any given time and takes forever to refill). I forget what they were testing. All I know is, whatever it was, I passed. The test as well as the pee.

On the way home, I called Steve. By the time I got out to the car, I just wanted a good cry to release all the tension. I had hoped to join him for lunch. His office is about 15 minutes due south from there. But no, I had forgotten he was in the city in training all day.... so I kept it together a bit longer while I told him Lolly's antics for the morning, got off the phone from him and then blubbered on the way home.

Here's where it gets funny. I only really started to cry when I heard Private Eye, by Hall & Oats, on the radio. I had cranked it up earlier, and then on came this old classic. I was immediately transported back to the age of 9 where I sat as a passenger in our combi van, surrounded by my two brothers and sister, mum and dad in the front. We were returning from a day trip to Warrnambool back to our camp site at Peterborough (the yearly summer holiday destination) and I was perfecting my singing. I had discovered that I could sing quietly without anyone else hearing, or so I thought, if I directed my voice into the window. I honestly thought I was the only one who could hear me. As I belted out Private Eye, once more with feeling. And then Man Eater. So earnestly that I believed I was in the film clip. I think I must have had a Hall & Oats obsession that summer.

Well, turns out, my older brother did hear. And told me huffily to shuddup. For anyone who has seen Napoleon Dynamite, when I saw this movie I thought someone had followed my older brother around to get ideas for the character. Right down to the sullen bottom lip, hair and 'tude. It's uncanny how similar they are, I could be looking at my brother back in the early 80's, it's just too funny.

I remembered that in an instant today, driving home. And I felt, I don't know... I guess I felt sad for that little girl. That she couldn't possibly have known then what would happen to her first baby - I was baby crazy, especially at the age of 9 (and every other year, I won't lie). It would have snuffed a light out in me forever, right there. All the intrigue and beauty and mystery of babies.

And then I laughed. I laughed at myself crying while belting out a very poor rendition of Private Eye once again 22 years later, this time with big fat tears rolling down my hormonally chubby cheeks and no one to shut me the hell up. How tragic, above all, that it was Hall and Freakin' Oats that got to me. Shit, don't tell anyone. I'm so embarrassed.

God. What a mess of a post this has been.

Her father must be so proud

I speak, dear reader, of that modern day Nightingale...... J.Lo.

Now, for one so unlucky in love who has now professed to have found The One ("no really, this time it's fer real") for the third time, I fail to see how singing a song with a rapper - and I use the terms "singing" and "song" (and "rapper" I suppose) very loosely - that contains the words "you got what it takes to make me leave my man", I have to look wryly at that poor dog's dinner of a bloke who she's married to and say "..... Condolences (hastily) Just in case."

This is me... in a nutshell

I swear, if Lolly doesn't come out fashioning a dapper scarf, or bearing gifts of macrame pot hangers, I'll be surprised. I swear there is knitting or something similar going on in there at the bottom. And kicking to rival Thumper at the top.

This is so bizarre. I wonder if Ella would have been like this if she'd stayed in or if it's just Lolly's characteristic activity. I mean, Ella kicked and moved, but this baby...... despite getting a very chilled-out vibe from the Lollster, there's certainly much gusto behind those kicks and punches. I get full on lumpy bits, bones, my baby's bones!, rolling over my belly. I can imagine sometimes, when it's obvious a limb has become entwined with another, ankles uncrossing or a shoulder brushing against the inside of my belly.

In fact, I've started to quote that classic Austin Powers line quite often in these moments because I picture little Lolly doing the actions he does, feet and hands up as if pushing against a nutshell.

Setting the record straight - it's only fair

I only admitted to having one Phil Collins cd.

*deliberately very very small text* But I really have four. Six if you count the 2 Genesis ones.

And I shall call him....

Lovely Lenny.

Or ... Boy. I can't decide.

"Lovely Lenny, can you get me a drink?"

"Boy! I need a drink, three pillows, my magazine, the phone, the remote control, the toily, lunch, my hairbrush and a pair of pants."

Yes. I believe I can demand more with Boy.

Jazz takes her responsibilities seriously

Well this is us, another month down the track. I can't believe it's been four weeks since our anniversary (and the 28 week belly shot). It's alternately the fastest and the longest pregnancy in history, surely. Well, discounting celebrity ones, because they always seem to go for 3 years.

This is not a posed photo. Jazz often comes and sits dutifully in front of me now and just staaaares. She has taken to checking on my growing stomach often, she sticks her nose right against it and takes a big double-checking doggy sniff. Very delicately. She's very sweet. Funny that through all my other pregnancies, we didn't have her. We had needy Pep, who didn't pick up on it once, not even with Ella. But by 14 weeks with Lolly, Jazz was my overenthusiastic, severely over-waggy-tailed protector. I think she has a touch of The Shining. Except that she's neither a 5 year old boy with an imaginary friend called Tony, nor an old cook with a really big painting of a black woman with a massive afro above her bed. Oh, sorry..... have I just given away that I've seen The Shining once too often (the original, of course)? With that insipid, annoying bloody woman?

However, this isn't about Danny warning about redrum. This is about Lolly. At 32 weeks. And pushin' it. Reeeeeally pushin' it (the friendship, that is) right about now. Can't walk. I look at things I want/need, willing them to be within arm's reach so I don't have to put weight on my dicky right leg. But so far I haven't made anything levitate.

And I am thinking of asking Steve to get me a commode. Heh, hell he does everything else for me right about now. Why not get down to the nitty gritty and see how deep the rivers really run. Yeahhhh.

Thanks... for the memories

Those were the days

Who knew back then that the line would beget Jubjub, who begat Lolly, who begat.... mwahahaha. Patience, my pretties. Just a few short weeks and all will be revealed.

But gosh, doesn't a line on a stick just give you the tingles??! The fainter the better. It's more mysteeeerious. And that line on that stick in that link up there - it looks so fragile, so not permanent! How could I have had the balls to even hope? Holy farrrk. It's hard core.