disclaimer

Any negativity I've associated with my mum is based soley in my perception and told only from my perspective. Mum would certainly have stories of her own, of how negative I am or of how difficult I am to deal with, and she'd likely have enough material to write her own journal about how unfair I've been to her, or how damaging my influence has been on her life (or am I listening to someone else's words saying things other than I'm fine just the way I am? Oy vey)

As a family, we've pretended the way we interact isn't anything other than normal. As a mother and daughter, we've perpetuated that myth, so I don't know how she feels about the way things are. I suspect she's angry. As ungracious as it is, and as unflattering as it is to admit, I'm angry too, and bitter, and as much as I want to accept my life as it was and move on with who I am now, there's a greater part of me that wants to hang on to what my life could have been, if my family cared enough to fight as hard for my life then, as I do now. Except it's not right, nor is it constructive to lay that amount of responsiblity on someone other than myself. In reality, the quality of my life has never been anyone's responsibilty other than my own, and if I hadn't had to claw my way back, I may never have made it back at all.

Irrespective of all this, what was was, and what is is, but I'm hanging onto what could have been.

She's my mother and I love her, but with the distance between us, both physical and metaphorical, I feel we react to the history we share, rather than listen to the people we are now.

And I've totally forgotten my point.

It might have been something about taking the high road or about accepting her for who she is, or that there is no blame, there only is, or that little lambs eat ivy. Fuck if I know.

Stupid hormones.

Ben Hur

A cinematic experience of epic proportions, which could quite posibly be screened on my belly.

Sideways though, eh. I look less pregnant and more like if I broke wind, my pants would still fit.

Twenty two weeks and counting, folks.

nanna, part deux

Nan is an emotional void, that's true. She's never been your regulation lovey, huggy grandma, but that's just how she is. I asked her if she wanted to know about her great-grandchild, and she did, so we talked and she oohed and aahed with genuine delight over the ultrasound pictures. She's thrilled at the news, and excited because that she never thought she'd get to be a great grandma.

Earlier this week, I remembered events, and that led to greater insight to the destructive influence my mother's words may have been to my abilty to relate to others. Mum puts a lot of energy into trying to please her own mother, so it's not too far fetched to assume that she may feel threatened by the relationship nanna and I once shared. I say 'once', because where once nan and I were as close as two damaged people could be, now we're not. Mum has told me on various occasions that the people I love 'can't wait to see the back of me', think that I'm 'too much for them', consider me a burden, have their own lives, bla bla, no wonder I'm so fucked up, bla bla bla.

As an aside, I can't believe I've just now remembered this quality of hers.

Last week, I was with Dorothy, a women I've known since her daughter and I were best friends at school. Because of that friendship, our families became entwined, then later when I had no one, they found me again and her family became all I had. We shared time and our lives, and then it stopped. Last week, she told me her family wanted me to be more involved again, like I used to be. I remembered then why I'd moved away from them all. It was a memory I may have even suppressed, because no shit, being told I'm that onerous for the people who matter to me hurts. I remembered mum telling me that Dorothy felt I was 'too much', and I rememberd drowning in the shame that comes with knowing your existence is wearing the living shit out of the people you loved, so I hid. Dorothy assured me that they had never, ever felt that way, and never, ever would, and I saw the proverbial light.

Similarly, mum told me nanna had moved to Queensland because I was so difficult to be around, and coloured this news with tales of things nanna (supposedly) said about me once she was there. So I distanced myself from nanna too, to save her from who I've been told I am, and created a space between us so as not to be the burden she'd moved so far away to escape.

Now I think mum is quite possibly full of shit and that chances are, nanna's heard the same from my mum about being a burden to me. It could explain why she was so polite, and so very removed. Maybe she was scared to just be?

nanna news

My mother and grandmother both live in Queensland, and more specifically, in each others' pockets. This is the week though, that nanna makes her annual pilgrimage back home to visit....I don't specifically know. What do you visit when you come back to where your husband's ashes were scattered from a helicopter several years ago? Air? Ether? It can't be memories because thery never shared time in a helicopter in the middle of nowhere until he was in an urn and already dead.

This trip, like every one before, nanna is staying with her sister, my Great Auntie Esther, and after three days of missing each others' phone calls, we finally arranged to meet for a little family reunion over coffee at the mall.

Recap: no one in my family knows about this bun I've got going in this oven, so nanna was in for a shock when she saw me. Wanting to avert any cardiac arrests over the news of this illegitimate child, I warned her that I 'looked different' and that I 'had some news' to tell her when we met.

We met, we hugged, and I gently told her 'nanna, I'm pregnant...' Her eyes glassed over and her gaze drifted into the distance (was this a cerebral haemorrage?) and time stood still. Finally, she broke the silence as she turned to me and said 'that's nice dear. Now, where are we going for coffee?'

dueling gestational weeks

There's fifteen weeks difference between the left and right columns, and there's twenty more weeks to go.

I'm not sticking out a lot in front, but wide load much? Fuck! And those buff arms from fifteen weeks ago? Gone. Why is it that, when as far as I know there are no fetuses (fetii?) gestating in either of my arm pits, my arms are showing signs of being pregnant too?

say cheese, my arse

(or does that sound rude?)

Feeling rather industrious this morning, I finally orchestrated a meeting between the new digital camera and my growing podge. The result was several pictures of my fine self, t-shirt lifted and looking much like your Great Uncle Milton, moments after Christmas dinner and seconds before he pops his pants button to make more room for an after dinner mint.

My beli butone is cuter though, with way less fluff.

Then I loaded the software and connected the USB cable and....nothing.

Repeat as desired.

If anyone needs me, I'll be banging my head against a wall.

ps

While the significance of yesterday didn't elude me, the actual mentioning of it here somehow did.

Tuesday marked twenty weeks, rockstars. That's halfway.

Anyone up for a 'woot'?

*splash*

Another gym needs another aqua instructor, but rather than being a fill in for only one day, they have a permanent morning class up for grabs, one each weekday.

I currently work four days a week, and am as busy as a blue arsed fly on the fifth. Three of those days are afternoon shifts, so being insane, I could quite possibly work those mornings. Any opinons on this proposed lunacy are greatly appreciated.

Stella is going to call me back later today after we've both had chance to work out the logistics. I think that means until she's had a chance to find someone NOT pregnant. ;)

a little whine with your day, ma'am?

There's so much noise in my head, and rather than cohesive thoughts, it's mostly in images, and I feel like I'm watching scenes from someone else's movie.

I haven't felt good for over three weeks. At first, it was the cold that never was, then the one day sinus infection, and now it's the headache that keeps coming back. With the clarity of vision one gains with hindsight, I realise that while I'm not getting sick, I'm also not getting better because I'm run down and so very, very tired. I've only ever taken one day off before, one single day, for an injury that kept me off my leg for nearly eight weeks. (That's no exaggeration, mind. I could barely walk for all that time, then suddenly, it got better. Nothing ever showed up on x-rays or ultrasound either, it was just One Of Those Things. Weird) Then two Sundays running, I called in to ask if someone could take my 6am class because I'm too wussy to get up and take the damn thing myself. It's pathetic, considering there's nothing actually wrong with me - and god help me, I cannot afford to take time off. More than that though, I hate being Unreliable Employee Of The Month, and in the space of one week, it's who I've become. They're looking for a replacement for that shift now. I feel I've let them down, when what's really going on is they're looking out for me.

My actual, real boss sucks major arse, but the people I work with are totally grouse.

Speaking of grouse people, one of them just found out she's going to be an aunt. Dani's twenty one year old brother and his twenty (today. Happy birthday, moron) year old girlfriend are idiots expecting a baby. A planned baby.

There's nothing quite like financially unstable and completely immmature children creating and raising more children, is there? Good grief.

Dani is beside herself, as while she's not much older than either of them, she raised her brother while her mother and father drank themselves into oblivian. She's one of those people who should be on Oprah for breaking away from her fate and making a good life for herself and her brother - until Spoofy Boy and his idiot girlfriend decided a kid would be a FUN! idea.

While enjoying my day off on Monday, I got a call from another gym needing an aqua instructor, stat, to run three classes beginning in two hours time. I said yes, so while I was taking time away from my gym, I was also having an affair with another gym. Technically it was only a couple of aqua classes, but taking them signified so much more than a competancy achieved. Not that long ago, I would have been too chickenshit to grab onto an unknown like that. I'd have been too scared of fucking it up to actually do it. Now though, my first reaction was one of excitement, of grabbing the opportunity and learning from it. Fucking it up? Eh, it could happen, but I'd never know what I was capable of doing if I didn't challenge what I already know.

I've grown, methinks, in the last year, and am now less fearful...no. Wait. I'm just as fearful, and went through the familiar 'what if I get lost on the way there, what if they hate me and what if I'm really bad at this?', but rather than decline because of those questions, I accpeted in order to answer them.

I don't know who I barely recognise these days: the me that once hid behind her fears, or the me that now challenges them.

The relationship Stef and I now share occupies a lot of my incoherent thinking.

It's already too late for his daughter to know me before she's introduced to the concept of her new brother or sister. She'd have to meet a reality rather than share in an idea that grows into something more. I'm angry because both our children have been denied the chance to know each other with excitement rather than shock or surprise.

I realised something the other night. It wasn't a flash of inspiration or a moment of clarity, it was more a memory of something I'd once forgotten. I thought I was angry because Stef has abandonned this child - and I am, but I'm also hurting because he's abandonned me. He doesn't want this child, not because it's his, but because it's mine.

I've grown enough to realise this refelcts his deficits, not mine, but I'm also vulnerable enough to believe a deficit exists in me, rendering me unlovable and therefore, unwanted.

That belief goes way deeper than Stef and I. Our relationship merely echoes what I grew up with.

It spanned almost five years, and things had deteriorated long before we created this child. Not enough to leave him, but enough to know I soon would, and that made me sad for him. I'm the best friend he's ever had, but he didn't treat me like I was. He treated me like he was ashamed, and having met him so soon after his wife left, I understood his shame was more to do with his marriage breakdown than it was to do with me, but the shame continued and ultimately became a habit. As the years passed, I don't think even he remembered what it was that shamed him so much.

Despite all this, I thought I'd know him forever though, as he did me. I didn't want the relationship we had to continue, but I trusted him when five years earlier, he told me he believed as I do, that if both are willing, two people can create a friendship out of the ashes of something else.

He lied.

He's still married, by the way. I'm pregnant to a married man. I must have rocks for brains.

Geology aside, I still hurt, and when I hurt, I put a wall between my pain and that which causes it. I've been pretending Stef doesn't exist, but now I'm torn. I want to do the best thing for both of these children, and I know that giving my issues carte blanche over my actions isn't it. I know too, that achieving this 'best thing' is still dependant on Stef's willingness to want the same, but at least I can know I did my best. What's stopping me from finding out what that is though, is my fear of being abandonned by him again.

I don't know what to do.

One minute I know I should call him, the next I'm questioning why I want to call. Is it really for the children's sake, or is it for mine. If it's for mine, is it because despite all the shit, I hope for a reconciliation, and if I do, why? Next question: why do I even think I might be, underneath it all, harbouring that monumental delusion, when I know I want nothing more to do with this man?

Above all though, and as much as I want do what I can to give our children an opportunity to know each other, I want to protect my child from the shame that is so inherently Stef.

My mother still doesn't know of her only grandchild.

My brain hurts.

In other news, remember Milo, from 24? We fell in love last night, and then I woke up feeling inordinately sad.

That's not unusual lately, the waking up sad. Then I get up, and pretend I'm the happiest person in the world. I'm so good at pretending that even I believe my bullshit - until I wake up crying again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Speaking of 24, I've only just finished watching the first season over several, glassy eyed nights, and wasn't Terri Bauer was the most annoying twat EVER? I waited 23 hours for her to bite the biscuit, and the highlight of the entire 24 was when she did.

news in

Having called the plumber out because my shower is leaking into the wall behind it, this morning I was once again woken by the dulcet tones of Gorgeous Young Man.

This entry isn't to announce that my shower recess will soon be retiled (though, granted, that is thrilling news). No, this entry is to report that he thought I was in my early thirties.

*swoon*

I heart Gorgeous Young Man.

another tale of gel and soundwaves

Being part of a study, any previous scans posted here have been mainly letzhavvalooksic rather than diagnostic. Yesterday's morphology scan though, was strictly for diagnostic purposes. The sonographer noted my anterior placenta (sounds sexy, yes?), and told me that its placement explains why I've been able to feel fuck all movement. Seems we'll need to wait til the kid has thighs like David Beckham before I can feel any kick through that big, spongy, mattressy thing conveniently located between it and me. Then she took measurements of my baby's inside bits and pieces, and they'll be analysed by a radiologist, who will then report on any possible abnormalities or anomalies. I'll get the results when I see Dr Chris later this month.

Before I left, Chris came to see me after giving the preliminary images a once over, to reassure me that everything looked good so far, and did I have any questions? I did, and no, unlike its father's, my child's head isn't unusually Big or Giant.

let's talk about ex, baby

At the supermarket the other day, I was almost totalled by some lunatic pushing a rogue trolley. Before I smacked him over the head with my shopping basket I realised it was my ex, George.

As an aside, George has long been known as The Drought Breaker as by the time we met, I'd gained enough weight to not look like a freak, but hadn't had sex for something ridiculous like eight or nine years, which I suppose kept me firmly in the freak category anyway. Hmm.

As another aside, I'm on good terms with all but one of my exes, though 'all' suggests a vast number of them. There's only been a few, what with my long hiatus and all, and bar one, I share a good relationship with all of them. It's ironic that Stef is the only one with whom I don't.

So anyway, George has a four year old son called (wait for it) Christopher, who is in George's words, the best mistake he's ever made. It didn't take George long to notice that I'm pregnant now, and when he learned that my child is, like his son was, a surprise, and that it's just us making up this family, he looked me deep in the eye, placed his hands on my shoulders, and assured me me that 'This is a good thing. You know that, don't you?'. It was a lovely moment, so warm and tender, and I could tell he really meant it. Then his gaze dropped, and his eyes widened as he whistled appreciatively at my much bigger boobs. I could tell he really meant that too.

scan, chapter 2

I forgot to mention, during that scan the other day? We got to watch my baby playing with its umbilical cord. It had the cord between its hands and was pushing it from side to side.

I'm obviously gestating a prodigy, so y'all really need to start worshipping me more than you already do.

*ahem*

up your nose with a rubber hose, yo'

*warning* this boring entry may contain information that is offensive, deadly even, to rhinovirii.

I had a nearly-cold not quite two weeks ago. All the signs were there: the snot filled head and the crusty chest, and with last week being the only week this year that I could NOT take off, what with my aqua aeorbics course on, and potentially being too tubby to even do the next course, I was worried. Being pregnant, I couldn't take any drugs, so I scooted off to the homeopathic pharmacy for some Magic Drops.

This cold disappeared within a day, I shit you not.

Everyone at work has been sick these past few weeks, so I've been working a million extra classes in a veritable germ factory, so by last Monday, the tinging nose and the wheezy chest started up again. I started again the homeopathics - and lo! I escaped the germs and spent last week in the pool! Even surrounded a bunch of other suckers - who obviously don't know about witch doctory, oobie doobie, wriggle my fingers in your face medicines, because they ALL dripped snot for the entire three days (ewww) - I escaped with an unclogged nose and a clear chest. Weee!

That victory aside, I've felt a bit under the weather these past few days. Headachey, tired and generally bla, but put it down to working too hard and being run down. The massively dark rings under my enormously swollen eyes I woke up with this morning told another story.

I've got a sinus infection, and aside from looking like megashit, you know what that means?

Yes! It means another round of salt water sniffing.

It's not an extreme sport, though it could be considered as such.

Here's what you do: Take one cup of boiled, pure water and in it, dissolve two teaspoons of rock salt and one teaspoon of bicarb soda*. Allow to cool. Take one booger snatcher and rather than use it to snatch boogers, fill the bulb end with the salted water, stick the pointy up one nostril while blocking the other, and squish the muthafucking lot up your nose as you sniff. Hard.

It's not pleasant, true. Some may even call it diabolical, but I sniffed a load up each nostril not thirty minutes ago, and I'm already feeling better and that three day old headache has vamoosed.


*I think you heathens call it 'baking soda'. Make sure the ingredients contain ONLY soda though, cuz some baking sodas over here also contain cornflour, and putting cornflour up yer nose is not something I'd recommend, ever.

another day, another scan

For an hour yesterday, Nina tried to get a look at my baby's face, and for an hour it was hidden, as my baby, who for the purpose of this entry shall be named 'Reginald Stubbornbuttskipants' (and no, I didn't see any identifying body parts, but the alias amuses me) kept burrowing head first into my bladder.

We did get a really good look at some shoulders though.

This next one, if you get high squish your eyes up really tight, you can see....fuck if I know. A nose, maybe?

I think Reginald got a little bored, what with me rolling around to tip it over, and Nina hammering my belly with the transducer to encourage said tippiness, because then we got the finger. See?