aibiffity

And there's more!

2012-01-24T09:53:00.000+10:30

Road trip today for me and the beebs, back to noosa in a freakin' barina - which is FINE cuz we've already driven all over everywhere in it this past few whenevers.

Now let me tell you why this trip, my god.

We're in Rockhampton now but started out almost three weeks ago in noosa, where we planned a short trip to clear out my mum's house and a quicker one to see my nan a week, ten days, tops.

After months of The Numb, grieving (thankfully) started around about day 2, because it was hard and going through her stuff was like meeting another person.

We'd just finished up and her entire life was in a few boxes in the garage when we got the phone call that stopped the grief and called for action again.

My uncle, mum's brother, had died. He fell off his boat and just. died. No known cause. No signs of cardiac arrest, stroke, heart disease, nothing. His wife, my aunt, was there as were a bunch of their closest friends, and it is the most awful story of trying to revive him at the scene then in hospital.

So we went to rocky.

My other uncle, mum's youngest brother who's only five years older than me, lives here, and because nanna lived here too and was in hospital and expected to pass away eventually soonish, he needed us like, NOW. Losing mum had broken her heart and I believe that, on some level, she knew Wayne had died too. Nanna died the day before we left for His service in Sydney.

We came back again for nan. She's being quietly cremated today and, in time, will be brought back home to scatter her ashes where pop's were.

We planned on being here for her, and ended up being here because Mike had lost his entire family within two months, and while i lost my mother, my uncle, and my nanna, he's lost everyone and - wait for it - he lost his partner two years ago too so now he's all alone.

(and yay for inadequate punctuation)

This kind of stuff wouldn't be written into a movie script because the audience would be all "no way, this is too unbelievable" because IT IS.

And how are you? Really, Tell me, ok, cuz I feel like I'm on a different planet. possibly a crazy death planet, gah. Love you all, even though I ignore you like I don't xxxx

Really and truly

2011-11-20T07:59:00.002+10:30

Thanks for being here and for being present.

I must be in shock still. Yesterday was the funeral and I'm all Fine, Great, Superfantastic, Thanks For Asking!

And I mean it.

I think my brain is insisting mum's still living in Queensland and the last few weeks have been a really weird dream but still, nothing? wtf is up with that?

Little things try to get me but it's literally like a big, clangy door comes crashing down.

Take this morning, for instance.

I opened the bag of stuff the funeral director sent back, and the nightie I dressed mum in after she died to send her away in all clean and nice and whatever the hail was in there.

My eyes; I'm going to cry!
My heart; ow, that hurts.
My brain; Fuck that shit man *crash*

Then nothing.

and it's not a conscious "no, I can't think of that!" deal at all. Thought or image pops in then *crash* then I'm literally unable to follow the image or the thought to access the emotion.

am I broken, or what?

(this is not a rhetorical question)

6/6/1940-15/11/2011

2011-11-15T20:37:00.006+10:30

Mum died today a little before 6.45am.

and now I'm no one's daughter.

zygomaticus minor

2011-11-13T08:02:00.003+10:30

So in her assortment of unusual gifts, Swistle included The Anatomy Coloring Book.

Oh. MEMORIES.

I had The Anatomy Coloring Book around about a million years ago when I was studying anatomy toward my degree in irradiating people for diagnostic reasons at university. Our entire class had one and everyone LOVED it (good fun, effective learning tool, massive "wow it's like being a kid again" factor etc etc etc) except me because I hated coloring in when I was a kid (I know, okay. Weird.) and I hated it more when I was marginally older. I mean, my god, ALL THOSE LINES. Every time I went outside one my brain imploded with a sickening sense of failure and doom, which was pretty heavy shit for a five year old, so when I was older and given the opportunity to revisit the garment wrenchign angst of my childhood, I whored my copy out to the kid next door and she loved it for me and did all my stupidass coloring in homework for me and (surprise!) I never graduated from that course.

vigil

2011-11-11T07:55:00.004+10:30

My mother is dying. She has, at most, days.

I had to tell someone.

Lucky you.

reading

2011-06-13T11:19:00.003+09:30

this.

I don't know how it works, I'm not a dates person. I don't get sadder on the anniversary of anyone I know who's died. I don't approach their birthdays with trepidation, nor do I think of good times spent together and lose my shit

This is different, and while it DOES get better with time, this weirdass dates thing I've got going on, doesn't.

June 13, August 1st, pretty much all of February through to March, then there's November 11, December 1st, and August 4th.

They all creep up on me and punch me in the face, and without fail, I'm left wondering WHY those motherfuckers are trying to kill me.

Then I go "Ah [insert month here], I wonder if it's [insert specific date here]" and then it all makes sense.

Conception dates, dates of loss, due dates.

Time doesn't heal. What happens is the gaping hole in your heart becomes a part of who you are.

I still haven't worked out if that's a real downer or whether it's a simple statement of fact.

school sucks

2011-02-01T00:06:00.006+10:30

Tomorrow Daniel starts school. I'm not sure I was clear about how much I'm dreading this, what with all the Yay, Montessori! bizzo from yesterday.

I know this is going to be another era of Wonderful. I mean, when he was a newborn and there were all these one year olds and two year olds and, god help me, school kids, I was SO glad mine as fresh and new because those older kids must be a real DRAG. Each age though, has been wonderful, and I've not missed the age he left behind because I don't know why. It's not like he's getting more interesting or anything, you know? The goal posts change each day, I suspect, and each day reveals a different wonder than the last. Different, not better, but still, better.

But knowing what comes next is going to be another one in the never ending series of Wow, This Kid Keeps On Improving! is intellectual only. In my heart, I'm dreading tomorrow. Right now, as I type, I'm overwhelmed by the no going backness of it all. Daniel starts school again and we'll never ever EVER have what we have now, our little team of two, where it's accepted without question that wherever I am, he is too.

I've never once wanted to stash him somewhere so I can have some time to myself. Maybe when I was going through all that fertility stuff and I'd be on a table, having done the business, with a pillow under my butt and he'd be on the floor with some toys or a colouring in book or right up in my face asking why he can't go down THAT end of the table, a little privacy would have been warranted, but still, I can't remember ever thinking I didn't want him there.

He asked me the other day what I wanted to be when I grew up, and I made up stories of ballerinas and astronauts and whatnot, when really, all I ever wanted was to be a mum. I thought that had been taken away, that chance, when I believed my life was only ever going to be shaped by my eating disorder, and by then, even I had forgotten all I ever wanted.

I'll still be Daniel's mum, I know that, so why do I feel so unsure of who I'll be once he's at school? Where by "unsure", I mean "terrified". Talk about an existential crisis, what with the turning a certain age, my kid starting school, and that certain age also heralding a time when getting knocked up is REALLY off the cards.

Because while I gave up treatment at the end of 2009, I never gav e up the hope that some kind of miracle would happen.

As an aside, my period was eightg days late last month. Eight frikkin' days, when I'm never late and when there was some serious action going on on the very day I ovulated.

Motherfucker, is all I have to say about that. The universe or fate or just dumb luck can be an asshole some times.

So anyway, I don't want all the time to myself everyone raves about. I don't want to pursue my career, because my life is here, at home, with my child.

Okay, FINE. Not home. We're at the beach. GOD.

school (eep)

2011-01-30T21:56:00.003+10:30

I just finished putting Daniel to bed. It's the eve of his last day as a preschooler and tomorrow is out last day of being together, always.

I'm not looking forward to school, not at all.

A week or so ago, someone asked Daniel if HE was looking forward to school. He used to tell me he was, but he replied that that he's not, he just wants to be with his mummy. I wasn't there so I didn't hear him, and maybe that's why his answer changed.

So we don't talk about school anymore, and today Daniel told me himself that talking about school makes him sad.

Now let's talk about WHERE he's starting school.

Daniel was going to start at the Catholic school up the road (which, for perspective's sake, is like, FIVE MINUTES up the road. If you're WALKING), so we drove twenty kilometers along the expressway to check out a Montessori school because the directors at his preschool had mentioned it existed. Maybe NEXT year, in 2012, because a) TWENTY FUCKING KILOMETERS, b) the school already had 35 applications for twenty spaces, and preference was given to the kids who went to THEIR preschool, and something like 34 applications were from there, and c) the Catholic education system believes every child deserves a Catholic education ie if you're poor, they'll waive the fees. So a free private school education was offered to us even though I didn't even ask. The single mother thing was enough for them which, thank you Jesus. If I believed in you, I'd think you were the Bomb.

So anyway, he was set to start school and I wasn't going to go broke saving him from the cesspool of public schools in our area, yay.

When we met with the principal (who looks and has mannerisms so! very! much! like Daniel's father)(and his name is STEVE too, which is what Daniel's father is called by most people), he, personlly, was still two weeks away from issuing invitations to enroll, and he wasn't even going to CONSIDER Daniel because he already had 35 applications, we were only there to think about Grade 1. Maybe.

So we looked around the school and Daniel occupied himself by asking random questions about random shit, if memory serves.

The we went to Steve's office to talk about the school, and Daniel was still being all "YABBERYABBERYABBERTHOMAS?YABBERUNRELATEDTOANYTHINGYABBER", and we the grown ups were all "bladibla, 2012?", and then Steve said "I'm sorry. I keep INTERVIEWING you instead of talking with you, so I'd like to offer Daniel a place right now, to start here next term."

Well fuck. How could I turn THAT down?

To summarise, if you've missed the whole "MY kid is SHIT HOTTER than YOURS, okay, maybe not YOURS" tone here, Daniel impressed the dude SO MUCH, the guy invited us to enrol RIGHT NOW, which was TWO WHOLE WEEKS ahead of ANY other invitations going out because he hadn't CHOSEN any others yet.

And now, not only do I have to contend with my son starting school, I also have to get my head around being in the car for the rest of my LIFE because TWENTY KILOMETERS, people. EVERY DAY. TWICE.

INTENTIONAL CAPSLOCK.

so someone left a comment

2011-01-28T09:52:00.002+10:30

here, and Anonymous? I know. Christ.

One could more accurately comment that, hey, the last two and a half YEARS must have been SMOKIN' good times, aibee, because updating since then has been NOT THERE.

People, I WANT to write more, and I STILL write entries in my head as a running commentary on Life, The Universe, and Other Exciting Shit, but before you know it, two and a half years of my CHILD's's life have passed like it was the eighties ie before the internet,blogging/microblogging and photosharing existed, and I STILL haven't written that shit down.

So, c'mon. Ask me stuff. I might even answer it before The Rapture.

have a cool yule, y'all xx

2010-12-26T09:22:00.001+10:30

Merry★* 。 • ˚ ˚ •。★Christmas★ 。* 。*
° 。° ˚ *˚ ˚ _Π_____*。*˚★ 。* 。*。 • ˚ ˚ •。★
˚ ★˛ •˛•* /______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛★ 。* 。*★ 。* 。*
˚ ˛ • ˛• * ｜田田｜門｜˚ * ° ˛•˛* •˛•* ★

gift ideas for the single parent

2010-12-07T08:39:00.003+10:30

I'm a single mum (you all; "No, REALLY?") and our extended family situation can be summarised in four words: We Have A Cat.

So I get to pay for a lot of things.

Now, I might sound like an unappreciative prat here, but don't send someone like me flowers. They look pretty so will loosely add to the quality of my eyeballs' life experience for maybe a week, but the downside is you'll make my Bank Account Gland cry, and that Hippie part of me that eveyone else BUT me knows exists will feel SO BAD because you KILLED them, for ME, so I am personally responsible for the pretty flowers' demise and that will make me come back in the next life as a cockroach or a rock, so quit sending me flowers, you heartless bastards!

Someone like me really appreciates the gift of Not Worrying So Much, and to be frank, this gift comes in the form of You Paying For Shit.

Like electricity.

No kidding, nothing says Merry Christmas like the price of those flowers being redirected to my utilities.

It might not be Glamorous or Luxurious or even, Not Crass, for you to dump some cash in my child's education costs either, but that, unlike the damn flowers, has longevity. It's literally a gift that keeps on giving because his Education=HIS FUTURE.

Dude is already under the hammer because he's socioeconomically handicapped, so helping him rise above what the statisitics predict his future will be is a REALLY REALLY GOOD THING.

And in a single parent family, ten bucks is a big help, so don't think I'm asking for thousands here. I'm actually asking for UNDERSTANDING, not stuff.

Because you know what makes me Not Worry So Much even more than You Paying For Shit? Feeling like we're not alone in our march toward the future, and knowing that you care about us and want us to have what we need (Less Worry) more than you want us to have what you want us to have this holiday season makes me feel more loved than any stuff ever would.

art show

2010-12-01T08:29:00.008+10:30

Daniel's preschool artshow was last night. The kids had all been given a canvas that was apparently created from crushed diamonds or maybe butterfly wings because we had to pay $45 to take our artwork home. That included three! bonus! 6x4 photos of our spawn, posed in the playground and wearing the school t-shirt, that would have cost 36 cents to print at Harvey Norman's - and ASIDE ALERT; I give these people MY ORGANS each week, you think they'd a) drop the effing price of an effing canvas to what it ACTUALLY cost, or b) foot the effing bill and make it an effing gift because, MY ORGANS. EVERY WEEK, accompanied by GIGANTIC WADS OF CASH, so pardonez moi for not clutching my fists under my chin and exclaiming "Oh, how wonderful! A TRAIN!" when we've got a thousand billion trillion FREE trains at home already.

I'm looking at this latest train right now (market value; my pancreas) and I love it because it was painted by Daniel, and I happen to like HIM rather a lot, but I also know THIS piece was a swooshswishswoop with the paintbrush project because I am SURROUNDED by his Yay For Creativity! artwork here (this place is like the goddamn Louvre, but in crayon) and this one is much like any of the other ones I've asked him to paint, draw, or whatever "For so and so because they'd LOVE a picture from YOU", and THOSE ones are whipped out in lightening speed because his heart was reluctant and his eye was on something he'd rather be doing, ie ANYTHING BUT THIS.

fourteen

2010-11-11T13:47:00.002+10:30

It's kind of scary putting this stuff up here because it feels SO whiney and Hand To Brow Tragic to write out the memories in my head, when really, it's just life.

Which is what I do though. I tell myself that how I feel/felt isn't true, it doesn't/didn't matter, and is based on my own fantasy.

My childhood was great! I was the problem! They suffered though, because of me!

so I feel a) kind of embarrassed to be moaning and complaining, and b) guilty because THEY were perfect, and I WAS the problem.

Which I KNOW isn't true because if you're going to SAY that to a child, then your child is NOT the problem.

*****

I don't know what came before this, but fourteen is dirty. Hide her. Shove her behind you and do not look back.

But I KNOW I washed my hair regularly back then, and I KNOW I showered daily because I remember my parents bitching at me about it.

That's really all I remember. Flashes of being at school, and nothing of home, and dirty hair and being ashamed.

When I look at being fourteen, I can't see her face, it's hidden behind her dirty hair. I know her skin is a mess too. She picks at her skin, and all she sees in the mirror is freckles and scars, so don't notice her. Please please please don't see her.

Her mum should really take her to the doctor about her skin, because it's not that bad, but the picking is.

If my kid picked the crap out of her face, I'd be concerned not angry.

Everything about Fourteen is embarrassing. She can't go anywhere without being so aware of how awful she looks. she can't talk without hearing that voice, that awful lisp from that fucking plate in her mouth. Two years and counting and her teeth are getting worse not better.

I see this age and I wonder what on earth happened to this girl this past year. Seriously, what the hell happened?

****

Thirteen was destroyed by puberty. All the other girls' mums had put a brown paper bag with a pad in it in their school bags, but Thirteen had to steal one from her mum, and put in a paper bag herself. She's embarrased her mum hadn;t done it for her.

and she wants a bra so badly because she has BOOBS. Her mum tells her to wear singlets instead, but seriously? Singlets?! Obviously this mum REALLY wants her daughter to be a social outcast, or have all the boys tease her because THAT'S WHAT THEY DO, mum.

Getting her period was pretty exciting though because it's all the girls talked about because pretty much everyone was getting theirs this year

Thirteen was at home when she got it, and so glad her her best friend was staying over too, and her best friend had just got hers the week before and Joanne told her everything about what to do and squee! This is SO EXCITING.

Turns out, for Thirteen, it wasn't so exciting at all. it wasn't Crossing the Threshold Of Womanhood, it was the beginning of the end.

Thirteen's mum told her she'd have to keep herself REALLY clean now too, in case of the smell.

and at Thirteen her parents were already up in her grill about the daioy showering so, yeah. Right.

Highlight of Becoming A Woman was when Thirteen's brother had a blood nose all over the bathroom and her dad got angry at her and rewound the old It's Dirty bullshit on her thirteen and excruciatingly embarrassed about Girl Stuff ass.

Thirteen feels like it was ONLY about The Period, and with The Period came the Weight Gain. The PERFECTLY NORMAL weight gain that ALL girls go through at puberty.

Except Thirteen's mother didn't reassure Thirteen when Thirteen freaked out about The Thighs, The Hips, OMG, she agreed with her.

So Thirteen was also about the long, tortuous, and really fucking distorted relationship I still have with my body.

I still don't quite understand why Fourteen feels so dirty and ashamed though.

I mean, I CAN see it, but I really really REALLY don't want to.

****

To both you girls, I wish you could find someone to tell you you're okay. That your body is beautiful because it's meant to do a million billion weirdass things to you in one short year. I wish you had an older sister or an aunt or a school nurse or someone to tell you it's okay to want a bra, or that having your period isn't your fault. it's nature's timetable, you didn't mean to grow up to soon, you grew up when you were meant to.

nine

2010-11-05T23:27:00.003+10:30

Nine is good. she's gutsy, this one. Changed herself when she changed schools. Gone was the cringingly shy social retard, and in came the outgoing, chatty, self assured, kind of endearing blabbermouth.

I have NO idea how she did that, because seriosuly, that's a big task going from crying behind your mother's skirt one day, and leaping out of the box with your arms spread wide. I'm really glad she did because I'm still using the same body armour today. Except without the flying Arms. It was a total scam act then, and it still is now, so this one served me well. Thanks for that, Nine. I'm still a total game show host and you're the reason why.

Nine had the best teacher ever. Shout out to you, Mr Skeers. He was the only one in her entire school life who worked out how to challenge this girl to use her brain, without her becoming paralysed with fear. The rest of them were all "could do better", does not apply herself", and of course "talks too much", and these comments did not inspire her to walk harder at all. Not because she thought "fuck you, assholes" although she SHOULD have, but because she wasn't a non appling loser. She was TERRIFIED of failing, and that kind of bullshit really cemented the giant L she believed hung over her head. Other kids might strive harder and harder to win, some kids opt out altogether. Hello, me.

So he praised her for her attitude, her willingness to rebuild a complicated puzzle, handed to her in a plastic bag with the vague instruction "see what you can do with that".. He shared her excitement for resolving complicated number sequences. He was proud of the path she took to get to the answer, not of the answer itself. He showed her possibilities and he showed her how it felt to be an explorer, and that giant L disappeared for a while.

She was proud of herself and her confidence grew.

Then it all stopped.

Nine's mum had marched up to school one day and told Mr Skeers to back off, "My daughter's stressed and it's your fault".

It wasn't, but Nine's mum wasn't the brightest bulb in the Aware Of Self And Environment pack.

(As I write this too, I wonder if having a confident child where one had once had a retiring wallflower might have been a bit confronting? I do know that families have a working dynamic, and when one changes their role, the others work to restablish the stasis.. Hmm)

Nine wasn't collected from school until five most nights, and her mother was usually later than that. The first time she was, nine cried, literally. "Where WERE you?", and her mother got SO ANGRY she'd even asked. So she stopped asking and became so good at cramming herself into a hole every afternoon at 3.30. Don't feel, don't be. This is how you belong, this is how you survive.

She's spent her life being invisible, so she learned something else at school that year. She learned that she was couragous and determined.

She did gymnastics that year too. (Seriously, this Mr Skeers dude is totally going to get Facebook and I'm going to send him a giant high five). She wasn't particularly good at it, but only because she was fearful. What if, what if? etc, but she loved it. She never, ever ever in all that time did a back flip on her own, but nine never stopped practising. She'd ask for help each time, and she never gave up, and Mr Skeers never stopped reminding her she could do it on her own, whenever she was ready, and that for now, he'd be there helping her through.

Which is why I'm proud of nine. She asked for help and she didn't explode into a million pieces.

Nine seems to be a lot about her teacher, but it's really about her. He was pretty amazing, but unless she had the courage to BE different, she'd never have let him help her be amazing too.

****

You know what, Nine? If you were my kid and you were a chatty little non applying A grade student, I'd be HAPPY.

Your life has endless possibilities, and you don't need to be more like anybody other than yourself. You are perfect the way you are.

Now go dance and sing and when you need help, keep asking.

I love you.

investment

2010-11-03T08:38:00.007+10:30

For the next however long it takes, I'm to remember myself between the ages of nine and seventeen, and to think of the relationships I have now, with the girl I was then.

*****

Seventeen.

I can only picture her from the neck down. I know what she looks like, but I can't see her head. The outline is there, and it's small and birdlike, featureless and grey. That kind of freaks me out.

My initial thoughts are that I wish she'd go away. You don't do anything, you aren't anything. Jesus, you are SO LAZY it's disgusting. You are SUCH a disappointment, but as I think these things, the image of her turns away from me. She's walking away. If she's not there, I won't be angry, and if I'm not angry, my life will be better.

My anger fades rapidly now, because she's me and I know how sad she is. She has no idea she's sad, because she has nothing to contrast that feeling with. She has NO idea who she is. She's paralysed because she knows what she's been told, and she doesn't want to be THAT, but how can she not be that if she IS that? If she doesn't move, maybe no one will notice her.

If I could, I'd tell her to walk away. NOt from me, from THAT.

But she can't be left alone, because being alone is why she's here in front of me, so I take her hand. I'll look after her until she can look after herself, and then I'll look after her forever anyway, for the rest of her life, because it's going to take that long because this girl is so destroyed she can't even brush her own teeth without someone else lifting her arm.

And I feel sad for her, not impatient with her, because she's not even in there. All she is is a shell. I don't even where she is.

The Next Big Thing

2010-10-16T09:11:00.001+10:30

One of my friends is a singer. This is her voice, and this song is the reason they're now signed to a record company.

I'm so freakin' proud!

Creatitivity

2010-09-21T10:26:00.002+09:30

This is Daniel's giraffe.

It has a long neck,

long legs, a tail, and a whole lot of spots.

He made it for me.

I love it.

from Ted TV

2010-09-18T22:39:00.001+09:30

let's talk about stress, baby.

2010-09-16T09:50:00.003+09:30

When I went through (or go through) the whole shortness of breath WTF Where Is All The Oxygen? it's been stress. Not "just" stress. STRESS. Stress affects every cell that makes you.

Every. Single. Cell.

*****

My stress led to panic attacks. I couldn't breathe, my heart was constantly racing, and I had constant, crippling anxiety for two entire years. Every moment during that period, I thought I was going to die.

I was lucky: my retarded doctor put me on an antidepressant and, because I was SO stressed, put me on a therapeutic dose from day one. It took three days for my brain to explode and I ended up in hospital with seratonin sydrome.

Luckily, that led to a massive medication phobia, so there was NO way I was going to medicate my life back.

I had to turn inward to gain relief from the hell my life had become.

Understanding the physical process behind my "stress expression" helped me listen to what I could do to change my response.

Shortness of breath could be explained (in extremely simple terms and in one of many many avenues of shortness of breathednessishness) by: muscle tone increases when we're stressed. The muscles that are meant to move fluidly contract, so they can't do their job effectively and efficiently. In regards to breathing, what this means is diaphragm, the muscle, not the birth control, becomes shorter and tighter and is less able to draw air into our lungs. The muscles between our ribs, the intercostals, become tighter so are unable to allow the ribs to expand to allow air into our lungs, and our accessory muscles, the ones around our upper chest, neck and shoulders, the ones that should be reserved for times of physical exertion so we can draw more air in to our lungs when we've just, say, run down the street for the bus, or climbed a flight of stairs, or whatever activity it was that required more oxygen in our bodies to perform, are on ALL the time because we can't. get. air. in, so our breathing pattern is affected- and what do we do when we DO need more oxygen? We've got no standby muscles left to help us draw that air in, so simple tasks like making the bed, or stacking the dishwasher, etc, tasks we never dreamed actually required more resources to perform, make us breathelesss and tired and we wonder if we're going to die.

Panic attacks: explained. YOU'RE WELCOME.

Make sure there's no underlying physical explanation for your stress response: Your palpitations, your breathlessness, your heartburm, aches and pains, sleeplessness, etc etc ETC, but also don't discredit how much stress can make us feel like we're going to die. Or if not die then at least be uncomfortable, where "uncomfortable" can be anything from from "Mildy Yucky" to "I can;t live with this".

People die from stress and people kill themselves because of it.

It's not "just" stress.

And it's accumulative. It's not like, "oh, it was a bad day now I can't breath", it's more like every single frustration or fear that has been bunched down over the course of your lifetime adds up, then one day, when you're kicking back and enjoying your kids and your life and your family, you wonder why on earth you have palpitations, or heartburn, or breathlesness, or an unending tiredness that won;t be slept away.

These feelings, though, the ones we can still do something about aren't a bad thing. They're a message, and give us insight into how our lifestyle is affecting US. Our whole selves, not just our mind or our bodies. We ARE a whole.

Understanding the mechanism of why we feel the way we do, and considering the idea that stress doesn't happen TO us, it's a cascade effect we create with our thoughts, means we can own it, and when we own it, we can do something about it.

We can create peace in our lives via the same way we create stress. Both are a result of, among other things, neuropeptide activity, or chemical messages in our brain. And you know what creates that activity? Our thoughts. ,

Our thoughts determine how we feel,.

We learn to think the way we do, so we learn to feel the way we do, and we can learn to NOT think the way we do, so we can leart to feel differently tomorrow about the things we feel stressed about today. Okay, maybe not in twenty four hours but we CAN make the choice today to learn to, not manage our stress, but to transcend it.

******

Something to think about: If stress WERE a result of outside influences, Buddhist monks would be yelling at asshole drivers just like I do.

the Zen Project

2010-08-22T08:01:00.002+09:30

I bought myself a mood ring and the most awesome thing about it happens when someone asks me how I am. I hold up my middle finger and say "I don't know, motherfucker. Why don't YOU tell ME?".

I'm uncertain, asshole.

wuz funny once

2010-07-30T00:33:00.005+09:30

Wormhole to alternate universe otherwise known as 2006.

She lives!

2010-07-29T17:02:00.006+09:30

It's been one of those days today where nothing seems to get done when, in fact, you have not sat your ass down all day. It's now past five o clock and I'm still wearing what I slept in. Daniel nudes up to do a poop, which made tossing him into the shower easier, but he's still wearing the towel I threw over him-pretty much like one would throw a blanket over a budgie's cage- HOURS ago. At least one of us is clean though, right? And somewhat dressed. I never went to a toga party back in the eighties, but when I found Daniel reclining on the sofa a while back, gnawing on a chicken bone and looking like he fell out of a scene from I, Claudius, I totally wished I had.

Quick update: Nanna isn't dying anymore. She's made a miraculous recovery and her kidneys are all "what failure?". The hoardes of specialists called in to to consult on her case these past weeks concluded it was the radiotherapy that nearly killed her which, are they fucking NEW? NO SHIT is was the radiotherapy. Fuck, I worked that out, weeks ago. Where by "weeks", I mean "the second mum told me nanna's kidneys were failing".

The trip to Sydney wasn't entirely made of suck. Seeing nanna was good, and we had fun between hosptial visits. My uncle Mike was down from Rockhampton,and he drove us places and made sure we all saw things and did things and was generally a great guy. I liked spending time with him because, despite only six years between us, we hardly know each other but I've always had the feeling we were more alike than any of the other freaks I'm blood related to. Daniel LOVED him, and spent the entire time attched to him one way or another. Mike's around six foot four, which helped with the dogs (one little floofy thing that pooped on everything, and one MAJOR Gerkman shephard who was HUGE) and Daniel's fear of, because Daniel literally CLIMBED off me and over to and up to the top of Michael the first time he met the dogs.

Daniel went over well even with my other uncle, the one who hates kids. He and I only ever got along for, like, a year or two year of my life. Once I was hit sixteen, we got along, then once I got sick, I may as well have been dead to him already. Mum told me once that she begged him and BEGGED him to help me (dude is awesome rich)(and also, what kid of retard TELLS their kid that?)(HINT: My mother) and he refused, saying he didn't like my attitude. So there's that. He'd rather I died of my eating disorder than help me because of my attitude.

So anyway, OtherUncle doesn't like kids, and one night Daniel ran into OU's bedroom, the one with the wall sized flat screen. OU was in bed and Daniel hopped up, snuggled up to him, took the remote, pointed it at the tvand announced "LET'S WATCH CARTOONS!". OU didn't set the dogs on him and ended up even talking to him most days, all "And how are you, Daniel?".

My family is so weird though, y'all. Seriously. Seeing them as a bunch of flawed (omg, SO FLAWED) nutcases kind of helped tho, actually, even though it was WAY TOO much like living in the Cuckoo's nest.

And a Hornet's nest too, God. Everyone in my family is angry at me (STILL) for making my mum's life hard because I got anorexia and, according to her so now and forever according to them, did it to hurt her. Or some shit. For twenty something years. I've suspected they had the shits with me for all that time so it was kind of refreshing, albeit v. distressing, to disciver I've been right all along. When Michael told me HE'd been pissed with me forever because of the whole almost dying to annoy mum thing, it hurt. Quite a bit, actually.That HE'D judged me when he's been through a shitload of issues himself, what with the drug addiction and alcoholism, mad eme realise just how much of a criminal I just appear to them, and to have HIM blame me let me know the rest of them must blame me SO MUCH MORE, and must judge me SO MUCH MORE harshly than even he did.

"Did" because he also told him he was seeing the other side of the story during our trip. Let's pause for an Ironic Laugh because I was amazed at how well mum was behaving, and meanwhile Michael was all shocked at how badly she was. "Never seen this side of her", he said. "I get it now". Twenty so years too late though. I could have really used an ally when my life fell apart and no one caught me.

I left after that, because this trip was about nanna more than it was about me saying goodbye to her, and SHE must be pretty pissed at me too, and the last thing she'd want in her dying days would be the one person who's made her daughter's life a misery.

Fun times.

I've been really fucked up lately (as in, for way much longer than before this trip, which is why this trip was SO hard to take) about the way I was raised. The idea that we do what we need to to survive in our "tribe" was presented to me yesaterday at maybe the exact right time, and by the most unexpected source. I was at the physiotherapists having some dry needling in my ass (thank YOU, trolley guy), and we were also disucssing chronic pain, the emotional basis of, becaus after two years of this shit, I'd be an idiot to not toss around the notion that there maybe be some uynderlying pshychology to this, and HE brought up the ntion of how we were raised being a factor in how we feel pain. The tribe concept resonated, and it's something to think about in relation to ALL aspcects of my life, because in MY tribe, I tolerated alot of ill treatment, and I put up with it because I, as anyone does when growing up in an abusive envirnment, depended on them for my survival. I'm hard wired to believe love and acceptance comes in the form of neglect and judgment. I'm so confused about how to not make BE that person. I don't know how to not be silent and alone because THAT'S how I fit into MY tribe.

How does one learn to be a part of something different when recognising something different is much like asking a blind person to understand purple.

:::::

In other news, I found this on my computer today. Discuss.

Anyway

Update of Doom

2010-06-25T14:31:00.003+09:30

Nanna's dying. She was diagnosed with bladder cancer around a month ago, and is in Sydney being treated for kidney failure. Or, she went to Sydney to get treatment for her cancer, and now she has kidney failure AND cancer.

So we've got to go to Sydney sometime really fucking soon. My brother left today though, and that has changed my Not Wanting To Go status to OMGOMGOMGBLURGHHHH and I think I'm going to die, etc. I'm having panic attacks at the idea of being with my family AT ALL, minus my brother, and now that he's going to be there, being all "you need to grow up, aibee. Be an adult." to me, and I just can't take it anymore because all the shit these people say to me, and think they have the RIGHT to say to me, I believe, and I LET them go on and on and on and then I die. When I'm with them, I become that abused, neglected child again, the one I work so hard to not let affect my life, and yet, here I am, mumbltymumble years old, still being affected by who I was taught to believe I am.

Ok, WHAT?

Anyway.

Nanna's dying and this should be about making her final days the best they can be for her, and I need to get a grip and just GO.

In other news, I'm losing my shit over here, which has been a good thing because it's lead to:

I want to go into rehab. Not for drugs, gambling, drinking, sex with strangers, or whatevs. For my eating disorder.

I've been in therapy for years, am a BIG fan of counselling, do all sorts of self help, self healing yadda bla bla etc things to grow past the things that got me there. I've got a lot of insight but simply do not have the tools, or the knowledge of what self love is, what love IS, to not still carry around the same shit that got me to an eating disorder in the first place. Those core beliefs still affect my life so much, so they affect Daniel's life, and I don't want that. I want us both to have love in our lives and I am, at present, incapable of creating bonds in my life that will ultimately enrich HIS life. I've gained weight and made a shitload of progress in the last nine years, but that doesn't mean I'm in a position to emotionally provide a better life for my son. I FAKE at this job, and I'm good at it too, but I want to BE all the things that makes one while.

Now before anyone goes LL "but you're a good mother!" on my ass, I AM a good mother, and this is WHY I'm a good mother. I'm functional enough to go through the rest of our lives like this, but just because I can exist as I am, it doesn't mean I should.

Rehab is heart stoppingly expensive, but it's an upfront cost that provides for a year of treatment and ongoing support beyond that. I'd be better off in an inpatient program, but can't because there's no one to care for Daniel. I'll work something out because we both need this.

boxer shorts

2010-06-10T22:58:00.001+09:30

last night

2010-06-03T09:47:00.006+09:30

I dreamed Dad was alive. We were talking, and his arm was over my shoulder and I was leaning in against him. I felt safe and it felt real. It was the most uneventful dream I've ever had, but I reckon it was about the best. Then I woke up and was all "I'm SO GLAD Dad's not really dead!", then I remembered he is.

Fuckin' dream.

fluid filled cyst!

2010-05-29T22:15:00.002+09:30

Very sexy.

:)

I'm thrilled and humbled that, after not being here for SO EFFING LONG, you lot still are, and you still have my back.

Thank you.

xx

and I have a cold, GOD

2010-05-21T15:00:00.003+09:30

Knowing that 95% of breast lumps are benign isn't helping much right now.

Jane was recently diagnosed with breast cancer and she's had the surgery and it all looks good and she's totally going to be a breast cancer survivor, and yesterday she said something about small boobs and dense breast tissue and I figured I should probably cop a feel of MY small, dense boobs, so I did, which is why I'm quoting figures from a breast cancer site: there's a lump in my right boob (although I should probably call it A Breast now)

By some stroke of luck, I got to see my own doctor within an hour of the initial "OHFUCK" moment, because dude is booked a week in advance and the receptionist was trying to find me someone else to see that day ("her: "Dr Caddle?", me: "Uh, no. Apparently I'd rather DIE than see him again") when she squealed in excitement because someone had just cancelled! Just then!

On the one hand, I think this is really lucky. On the other, I think the universe gave me my own doctor because This Isn't Good.

Fortunately though, I was felt up by someone I know, and unfortunately, the lump I was hoping would be a phantom Empathy With Jane non-lump, turned out to be A Lump.

If you know me at all - then again, if you've been reading here lately you probably don't much about me because this place has become a virtual cone of silence - I'm not a drama queen and am being all logical and whatnot about this probably non cancerous thingummyjig in mah boob, but you know what else? THERE'S NO WAY I'M NOT GONNA WORRY THE SHIT OUT OF THE NEXT WEEK TO TEN DAYS UNTIL I KNOW JUST WHAT IN FUCK IT IS INTENTIONAL CAPSLOCK.

I look at my son and think my worst fears are being realised ie I'm shit scared of dying and leaving him alone. SHIT. SCARED.

It's not just irrational panic, either. I inhaled a cloud of asbestos dust around fifteen years ago, when some wanker from the council electric sawed a broken fence right outside my window, so now I've only got five to fifteen years to know if I'm going to die of mesothelioma or not. Wee!

Now, before anyone gets all "UNLIKELY!" on my ass, my dad died of mesothelioma. He never even SAW asbestos then one day, he DIED from it.

So I haz fears.

I'm also scared of being hit by a bus or any of the other usual ways of dying young too, just so we're clear, because I have a child and I don't want to leave him, so I don't think not wanting to die is particularly irrational.

But let's get back to the more immediate threat on my life ie The Lump.

I can't get an ultrasound until I get my period because hormonal changes make it hard to visualise or some shit. I'm guessingthat regardless of what shows up, there's going to be a needle biopsy, and I know all this because I had a lump removed sometime around the turn of the century, back when I didn't have a child then, was younger and therefore more invincible, but when they called me with the biopsy results I nearly passed out because I didn't realise just HOWSCARED I'd been about the results.

God, that was fun. The needle biopsy gave an indeterminate result, and the surgeon was all concerned because there were no duct cells, and the lump was irregular, and the effing needle monkey had exclaimed over the unusalness of the lump. "WOW, It's so STRANGE and HARD", and I was all"REALLY? I NEEDED TO KNOW THAT?". The surgeon wanted to do another needle biopsy, except when I asked her if we could just cut that bitch out instead, she said "I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED ARE YOU FREE TOMORROW?".

So it was cut out and it wasn't cancer and this won't be either.

Your job is to convince me.

GO!

Happy Mothers' Day!

2010-05-09T08:43:00.002+09:30

and here's my hot tip: You know how we celebrate Mothers' day by spending the day with her, taking her to lunch, being together, and just generally being in her face? Brilliant idea, DADS. If you really want to show some love and appreciation, clean the house and then LEAVE FOR THE DAY.

about a boy

2010-03-23T11:07:00.002+10:30

Daniel is four. He's in preschool now, and is such a nice boy, it's unbelievable. I'm his mother so it's my job to think he's the best thing evah, but when OTHER mums tell me how great he is,I think maybe I'm not so biased after all. Maybe he IS an amazing kid! He's sitting next to me right now, having some quality time with the dvd player. V educational, Dr Seuss is. Ahem.

For whatever reason (I don't know, maybe it's becasue he's FOUR) he's now learning the finer details on Being A Boy. Unfortunately, these lessons are coming to him thanks to the insecurities of parents who think that allowing boys to to experience and enjoy whatthefuck they want even if it's pink or has ribbons and bows will make them gay, and Daniel has started sprouting propoganda like "Pink isn't for boys, it's for girls. I don't like pink" when pink has long long LONG been his favorite colour, and "The Fairies is for girls", which sucks because I took him to The Fairies show last year and he lost his mind with love for the show.

Daniel wanted a pink sparkle balloon that day too, and the girl selling them looked at me with concern and sidemouth whispered "Is that okay?". Yes. It is. Except now, and probably forever, he's all "ew, pink is for GIRLS, and so is bling. Ptooey, yech, etc".

On the more traditional macho side, he LOVES Thomas the Tank Engine, and so does my friend's little girl. So there. Daniel gets up at night yelling "THOMAS!" in his sleep, and reports Thomas dreams pretty much every morning. Can we say "obsessed?" Or maybe it's just "four". Or, "boy". Or "Jury's still out on that gay thing".

He starts school in first term next year, so in January 2011, and is enrolled in a small Catholic school up the road from where we live. I'm not Catholic (anymore) but I'd like Daniel to have a start point for any spiritual journey he may wish to take.

His father's presence in his life is still sporadic, which makes things easy for me on the one hand, and harder on the other because it's screwing with Daniel already, and that makes my heart hurt.

On Daniel's birthday, Strep showed up at the front door after seven (S.E.V.E.N) months of no contact at all. Daniel ran around like an excited puppy, and I've never before or since seen such a show of (awesome, am weepy writing about it a whole three months later) Look At Me! as a thin disguise for what it was: Please Love Me.

When he left (him: "can't stay, the dog is in the car". me: "The DOG is in the car? Daniel's happy to see you and you have to leave because the DOG is in the car?" and that's when I let him have it. Right in front of his daughter too, but not in front of daniel who'd scampered off to find something else to impress his father with. ) Daniel had his second asthma attack ever. He'd had NO symptoms after hsi first attack: no cough, no wheezing, no shortness of breath after exercise, spring pollens, cats, NOTHING affected him. The doctor said then it was quite possible the emotional upheaval had triggered it, and then Daniel had a cough that lasted for another month, and it THAT ended up being his unresolved second asthma attack, and he needed preventor medication to get rid of it. So, really, that awesome paternal drift in drift out again experience cost Daniel six weeks of optimal lung function, and now several weeks of extra (steroid, so not yay) meds.

In that seven months, I contacted his father because sometimes you have to be bigger than the pissiness that gets me thinking "fuck that" because it's not about him or me bla bla BLA. Anyway, the calls and texts were ignored, and, well, fuck that. Let the ass shoot himself in his own foot. Which essentially means let him mess with my son's head. Repeat this in your own head over and over until your own head is being messed with. Actually, think it over once and reap the benefits.

It's a difficult place to be because there's nothing I can do that isn't like choosing which door to certain doom I'd rather Daniel took. So I do whatever might suck maybe slightly less than the other, but maybe not, good luck with that, suckah. If I tell Strep "Nope, too bad, If you can't commit to your own son, then piss off", which is what I WANT to do, then it's likely that, when Daniel is older, he'll feel I deprived him of his father. If I don't do anything, then it's likely Daniel's going to feel rejected, and he'll likely assume because of deficits in HIM, not his father.

Still though, Daniel is one of the happiest kids I know. He's secure and confident and makes friends easily and just loves to laugh. Everything is fun for him, and BECAUSE he's so nice and easy and funny and chatty, his life is a series of positive reinforcement from pretty much everyone he ever meets. I'm always impressed at how, even at four, he's so INCLUSIVE. If there's a kid in the (MacDonald's. Don't judge) playground, he'll make sure they're not left alone. He's a real protector too, and sensitive, and so kind. I've never (NEVER) had to drag him outside to force an apology to a sobbing victim of his preschoolerness. (You all: " and does he shit gold too?" Me: "well, now that you mention it...")

Of the two of us, I often wonder who's more adult. In the ultimate role reversal of Grown Up v Preschooler, I'm less predictable (thankYOU, PMS), and when I've succumbed to the black hole of Crazy, he reassures me "It's okay, mummy. We don't fight that much" when I apologise to him AGAIN for being such a monumental ass.

Which isn't right, but neither is PMS, so I guess it all evens out somewhere in the universe.

comments, etc

2010-03-17T07:42:00.003+10:30

How much does the new coment system suck? Effing haloscan curled up and died. Before it did, I got emails saying "log in here to save yourself" or whatever, then I tried to log in here several hundred million times and couldn't, probably because haloscan sucked and THEN died.

I'd adjusted to the whole OMGallmycommentsGONE thing, then halscan transferred me to this js-kit bullshit (which rhymes, FOR A REASON) without even asking (no doubt because after the free trial whathaveyyous, I need to PAY them for the privilege of using this complicated wtfness.

ANYWAY

Any idea how to get back to blogger commenting? I'm about to tackle my template again (AGAIN!) which is code for "stare blankly at screen, chew lip".

Later, dudes.

Edited to add: So I changed my comments back to blogger comments, and now there are no old comments here AT ALL. ANYWHERE. Which makes me sad because that's five years (!) of love thrown my way, gone. Obvs, all the "OMGNEWBABY! comments are gone too which I know I need to deal with but.....but....etc etc etc.

Lay some love on me, peeps. Let me know that duming the old to go to the new was a GOOD thing. Or! Tell me I'm a moron for ditching the past because things got too hard and log inny. Either way, I'm up for it because, comments, I has needs for.

is this thing on?

2010-03-16T12:19:00.005+10:30

I decided today to post something about anything, because this whole Not Writing AT ALL thing kinda bothers me, especially as I still think in Blog Speak, as in, several times a day I write something rivetting and amazing in my head and then do shit all about it in terms of keystrokes.

so, the decision was made and I went and cleared out a drawer, rearranged the bathroom cabinet, and bla bla bla'd my way through the morning because these other engagements were pressing and urgent and needed doing, just like every other freakin' day I decide to write something. Which, as an aside, is every freakin' day.

My (non existent) literary life is made of Dodge and Weave.

But there IS always something more pressing and urgent to do because, as an example, right now, there's a voice yelling at me from the bathroom (which isnt a euphamism for "bathroom". it IS our bathroom. It also happens to contain the toilet) because he's "FINISHED!", and I need to "COME HERE, MUMMY!", and oh boy, we all know what THAT means.

*waves crash on beaches*

Thing is, there's SO much to tell so where do I start? And can you see what I'm doing here? Telling why I haven't told.

Awesome.

So.

I got a new job last year, and it's perfect. I get to take Daniel to work with me, the boss is AWESOME, my manager is great, there is SO MUCH potential to upskill it's unbelievable, and there's also SO MUCH more work potential available to me once Daniel is in school.

Daniel is enrolled to start school in January next year. It's a private school, and it's just up the road. Deciding factors were: smal class sizes and Italian on the curriculum.

Since enrolling Daniel, and based on the latter deal maker, I'm still wondering why in fuck my parents sent me to a school that taught French. I was fluent by the time I left school. In French. I'm ITALIAN, for christake. Okay, I'm AUSTRALIAN, but my background is Italian, with a shitload of close family members living in Italy. Where they speak ITALIAN. What the fuck were they thinking sending me somewhere that taught only French? Oh, right. My parents were idiots. I keep forgetting about that.

That brief yet intensely bitter interlude brought to you by my face, because I just spent ANOTHER thousand bucks on it, and if they hadn't been idiots their entire life, my face would never have gone through the intense amount of bullshit that seems to be a) never ending, and b) a bottomless put of financial distress. On the upside, that last thousand spondoolies was to put and end to the major youchies in my front tooth that's been there since the first surgery. Seems my dentist is an idiot (my new dentist: "you need to get out of that circle (of orthodontists, surgeons, and dentists) because mistakes have been made, and no one will admit to them, so nothing will ever be done to fix them") and that tooth IS in danger of dying or whatever, because after the surgery and the orthodontics, the ONLY point of contact in my mouth was that one front tooth. It's still loose, but after the major reconstruction work done on Friday, I'm finally free of the intense pain. No shit, some days I wanted to either punch myslf in the face, or throw myself off a cliff. After three years though, I was so used to it that when the new dental receptionist asked me if the appointment was for an emergency, I told her it wasn't, so I got an appointment for, like, a month away. Then I hung up the phone, and went back to holding my tooth cuz it's the only way to stop it hurting SO badly. Then I thought to myself "whah?", and called her straight back and got an appointment the following day.

New dentist rebuilt a lot of my teeth with, fuck, I don't know. Das? and then I resisted the urge to pash him because FINALLY, you knopw? And then my insurance said "no, actually, we're NOT going to pay", and then I cried, and then I handed over my credit card and here we are, me ranting on bitterly about inconsequential stuff when there's so much more interesting stuff to get excited about.

Things like the ChiBall Method.

I just did a seven day intensive course and loved it so much I did a workshop stright away on top of that, and daniel got to spend time with his aunt, and his old daycare centre, and I got to change my frikkin' life because THAT SHIT CHANGES YOU. Semthing to do with shifting energy, which I believe in but others, maybe you, get all "wtf are you talking about fool?" over.
But traditional chinese medicine has been around for a LOT longer than regualr western medicine so there's go to be something in it, and in that seven days I got all crankypants, then I got all sad, then I couldn't stop crying, which was hihgly annoyig and, according to the course presenters, a really frequent thing for students to go through, then I had this dream where I was so desperately sad and full of grief and I was saying to a friend of mine who, in my dream, was all up in my grill saying shit like "you're different, get grip and GET OVER IT.", and I could barely breathe from The Sad and lay on the ground and was all, "I LOST MY BABIES. Don't you GET IT?", when really, I'M the one who's refused to Get it.

I get it now, after all this time. As a related aside, it took me a full year to be able to talk to anyone about it in Real Life. A smattering of bleahs here, and that was it. I see a grief cousellor now, still, and that helps. We talk mostly about Not Babies, so it's not like I feel like I have to sort through Grief and Loss and shit. I guess though, that Grief and Loss and shit colours so much of your (ahem, MY) life, that just talking about anything helps. Which it does, if only because I get to talk about Me for an hour every so often, and I'm fascinating. Ahem.

Anyway, I woke up the next day, kept bursting into tears, and then when I got to my course that morning, cried some more than laughed about it when the presenter asked me how I was.

And then I was okay.

I feel lighter now, and calmer, and my friends tell me I look younger and happier. It's not like now I can talk about dead babies or anything, so let's talk! I don't need to tell anyone how it's affected me, and I think that's because the only peson who needs to know how I feel/felt/whatever, was/is me.

How I teach other classes now has changed dramatically as well, and while that might seem like a weird thing to marry with grief and loss, it kind of isn't.

Uusally, I begin freaking out at least four days before my class is scheduled, write some choreography, change it, change it again, practise it over and over and painstakingly choose the music I'm going to use.

Now I grab my iPod, stick on some music, and wing it when the beats start.

It's such a relief to not feel I'm made of jagged edges anymore, you know?

ChiBall Method has a simpleclass format aimed at movement, not epiphanies and life changing creams, but it WILL have a positive affect on your life. If there's a class in your area, do it. Just once. This is not a paid review bla bla BLA.

And now we DO have a pressingly urgent engagement and we're off to the beach. I apologise for the deep and meanignful shit I didn't mean to include here today, but there it is. My life, as it is now.

I do hope to write here more often, and to tell whoever's still visiting all about how magically awesome life with Daniel is.

Because it is.

Love to you all,

xx

I can't get enough of you, baby

2010-02-05T13:24:00.002+10:30

Baby!
Originally uploaded by aibee

I seriously can't stop looking at this photo. That face, the hair, that itty bitty little hand etc etc ETC,. No kidding, its the kind of photo where you go "OMG look at his TOES!", then you see his hand and plotz over that, then the face, the ears, the HAIR. Then you repeat the cycle and find ever MORE to go apeshit over. Repeat.

He's on my phone too, so I can take him with me and look at him ALL DAY LONG, and I DO look at him all day long.

I need an intervention.

Because

*dundundar*

It's my dad.

I know.

WEIRD.

Confronting much to have this urge to blow raspberries on his little smooshy tummy? OH I THINK SO.

Geez, he was cute though. Like, seriously adorbydorbs cute.

nom.

HA!

2009-12-25T10:54:00.001+10:30

HA!
Originally uploaded by aibee

Merry Christmas, peeps!

with love to you and yours,

from me and mine

xx

Christmas Eve recital

2009-12-24T22:13:00.000+10:30

poet
Originally uploaded by aibee

Unrelated aside: Daniel's wearing reindeer ears. You can't quite see them because he's having a Reindeer Ear Malfunction: wind resistance became too much for them in the park the other day and *snap*. Still, the bells work which is why he wore them to bed last night*.

* 4 year old logic. I don't quite get the connection either.

birthday boy

2009-12-19T08:22:00.004+10:30

Daniel's birthday was last Saturday, and it was grand(issimo). Eventually, according to my now four year old. I'd wrapped all his gifts the night before, arranged them for maximum impact, then tossed a blanket over the lot. Camoflagued! And in the morning,. dude was yoinked out of bed way before he was ready, handed a banana and tossed into the car because I had, uh, things to do. Then there was swimming, then there was the obligatory communl showering after swimming (him, not me) and then when he'd effectively lost an entire half day of being four, I took him home, wished him happy birthday and (with flourish) removed the Gift Containment Device ie the blanket, and Daniel was staring RIGHT AT THEM when he asked "but where is mah present?".

I think he missed them because he was expecting A gift, and he was given a PILE of them. Or maybe he couldn't find them, what with them being right under his nose and all, because now he's (almost) A Man.

Kind of related Daniel factoid: dude thinks gifts are prettily wrapped boxes. He wrapped a couple of boxes himself (HIM. SELF) a few weeks ago and is still getting mileage out of them and .he carries them around and says "these are mah presents, mummy" and...that's it. Content irrelevant.

Mum sent him a parcel too, and I'd hidden it in plain sight (What? This box? Oh it's just a *mumbles*) so I kicked that over to him too and he thoought the BOX was his gift, imagine his surprise when I showed him that the box contained things.

I felt sad then, because it's a reflection of How Much People Who Don't See Him know him ie NOT AT ALL, not because I wanted better score for him, she gave him things that don't hit him in the Happy Spot. I feel sad for him that no one knows him like I do. He should have more people in his life, more people that would do anything for him, would drop everything for him, and who WANT to be with him, not because of what he represents, but because of who he is.

But! It meant I blitzed the Best Gift Evah stakes and Daniel LOVES his metropolis of Thomas paraphernalia. It's Track-o-rama at the Casa De Bee! And I'm expecting to be tripping over this shit until he moves on to girls and boobs and stuff.

We futzed around at home for the rest of the afternoon, because you don't give a four year old a bunch of Thomas stuff then suggest we go out to have some fun. We went for a walk late in the day though, and then planned on hitting Macdonald's for a rousing birthday dinner which kind of backfired because THINGS HAPPENED BEFORE WE LEFT STAY TUNED, and I'm staying in The Happy Place for at least this and maybe another paragraph.

Sunday we had a school picnic which was AWESOME. I love that after, what? Two months? We're making friends and are hanging out around a picnic table and sharing food. The kids all ran around, free-range style, and were looked after by everyone, so it felt less like a school picnic and more like what I'd imagine a a family picnic would feel like.

By the time we left, we had another kid on board and were running late for Daniel's MacDonald's Birthday Extravaganza, and still no cake! so I drove and Extra Kid told me HER mummy says bad words when SHE drives and I was all "Really? Not only me? *powerfist*", because Daniel yelling to that cyclist the other day "YOU'RE AN IDIOT" was a) TRUE, b) a lesson in ShutThe(Eff)UpOlogy, and c) a total PHEW moment when he didn't call the guy a FUCKING idiot.

Daniel's party was awesome. There were around 3o kids all running around, and not one (NOT. ONE) bit of fisticuffs broke ut. There was about that many grown ups too, and word is they all had a good time too.

dun dun dah

2009-12-14T07:22:00.002+10:30

So much to say, but never being able to find the time EVAH to update (well I DO find the time and then I fire up MacSolitaire and stare slackjawed at the screen and end up dreaming of winner conbinations involving black and red, clubs on clubs, hearts on hearts I think it must be like gambling ie intermittent positive reinforcement being a stronger something or other of behaviour leads to the intermittent Congratulations YOU WON pop up box being more important thatn telling you all about how awesome my son is and, srsly, how am I supposed to update when there is more gambling to be done?) means you get to enjoy my Should Have Been A Tweet style of updating. LUCKY YOU!

So I'm in the middle of my last ever DI cycle, in that, even with a weinerish LH of 7, I had a bunny ears air quotes procedure on Saturday morning (my son's birthday, Happy Birthday, Son!) in case I surged on Sunday because that's what happens, my ovaries get jiggy on the Day Of Rest which is a pain in the ass because the unit is CLOSED when my ovum is on the damn prowl. I'm going in today, to spend some quality time with the grief counsellor, and to have a blood test that will be sent to the lab while I'm talking about things that have nothing to do with grief at all, and there may or may not be another date with the reproductive material after that, depending on the results.

I've consulted my cervix and it's saying "I dunno for sure, but I think your ovaries did the biz yesterday, lucky you!", so I'm not sure there'll even be a repeat of the wonderful times to be had while laying flat on your back and wondering why in hell the apparatus required is as long as your arm.

Point being, if you pray to any thing or anyone, please pray for me.

Some study in 2001 (bla bla now discredited because some asshole wanted to take mysticism away from conception because of some shit about the authors being convicted of fraud [aside: when really, who cares about the methodology when the {supposed} results study gave hope to so many people?][and this is why I'm not a research technician]) showed that prayer increases conception rates, even when those being prayed for didn't know they were being prayed for, and those praying had no idea wtf they were praying for, they just prayed, and couples got knocked up at twice the rate or whatever number the authors made up proved.

It's SO HARD for me to ask for help, and I do feel like a total dick to ask for help in the form of prayer. My spiritual beliefs are very strong. They're not christian, but I believe that if we have spiritual beliefs of any kind, they all lead to the same thing, but in a way that is accessible to us, the who we are and what we are able to have faith in.

Which is a roundabout way of justifying a request for prayer.

When I probably don't need to anyway because if someone asked ME to think happy thoughts, I'd be all "No problemo! Bunnies, kittens, I'm SO THERE, yo'.".

So I'm just going to back away now because I'm making this more complex than it needs to be, because I'm shitawful at asking for help, and I'm just going to ask for help.

Please pray for me.

Thank you in advance.

xx

unrelated to each other

2009-12-03T09:36:00.003+10:30

The police were out here again last night and Oh Wait, I didn't mention that some asshole broke in to our home a month or two ago and - wait for it - didn't take anything, did I? That was hela creepy, actually, as per:

We'd went to work at 6pm, and then the store. Daniel fell asleep in the car by the time we got home at around 8.30, so I left the lights off, carried him in from the car, and plonked him on the loo before putting him to bed. There was stuff from the window sill all over the bathroom floor, and it was from the OTHER side, not the window opening side, if you know what I mean, and I figured the cat was getting old and had had had some kind of brain fart and had tried to exit via the wall or something. I put him (Boy, not Cat) to bed, went back to the bathroom, put the lights on and saw from the shelf on the OTHER side of the room on the floor as well. Then I checked the window for openability and yes, THAT function was On, thank you assholes who busted the lock.

Once I checked the house for leftover intruders hiding in the closet (which is the Scariest Job In The Universe, ESPECIALLY when your child is asleep in the room with the BIGGEST closet), I checked the doors and other windows and bla bla BLA.

Back door, WIDE OPEN. Stuff Inside, not taken.

The list of things not stolen included my laptop, which was on the table next to the kitchen which is where the back door is, ie pretty fucking easy to pick up, carry off, you know what I mean?

The police came, crime scene investigators came, fingerprints WEREN'T dusted for (wtf, Mr Policemans?), and they all agreed this was a leetle creepy, especially since:

a) my neighbour over the fence was away, and his back window was left wide open for his cat to get in and out of, which makes it SO EASY to rech through and open the back door without a key because his back door isn't deadlocked.

b) me: "So a lot of houses are being broken into in Shithole Neighbourhood then?"
policeman: "Uh, no. Just you."

c) me: "that's is creepy".
policemen: "yeah, it is."
me: "!"

d) NOTHING WAS TAKEN, which is creepy because either:
1) they were in my house when I pulled in the driveway and had to time to steal anything as they ran out the back door as we came in the front.
2) they came in my house because they weren't after things (omg)

Option 2) was the favorite of the guy who came the next day to fix the locks (aside: I spent ALL NIGHT in a house that WASN'T SECURE *shudder*) . I was all "Very reassuring, thanks a bunch." and he was all "I know, I'm sorry, but I see a LOT of this stuff and this IS creepy. You need to be careful.".
Awesome, eh?

Anyway, lock fixing guy checked everything and found that Every. Single. Door and window had been tampered with. The back window next to the bathroom window had been jemmied, the screen on the kitchen and laundry windows had been torn off, and the bathroom window had been fucked with enough to break the lock. The front window had a bigass handprint on it that the crime scene LOSERS had missed, but because it wasn't found til the next day, they couldn't do anything because even if it turned out to be whoever broke in's handprint; day after, means shit in court.

I've been REALLY conscientious about locking doors and closing windows since then, so was a leetle weirded out when I came home the other day to find the back door open again because, even wehn we're at home, or ESPECIALLY when we're home, it's kept locked. The front door handle has since gone all saggyweird too, like it's been yanked on so hard it buggered the Not Saggyweird function of the lock, and then kast night the front light was on when we got home. Could have been me, even though I went to tturn it on before deciding NOT to on the way out the door.

Other Stuff that probably Means Nothing but now that I'm noting CLUSTERS Of Meaningless Stuff, is now stuff that is Worth Noting, you feel me?, includes the medicine ball I nearly broke my toe on yesterday because it was There, ie Not Where It Usually Is, which is why I kicked it. Because I didn't see it, in case that wasn't clear. I didn't kick it because I was all "Mthfkr, get back where you belong!" *punt*. it weighs five kilos, it's not like it's going to blow in the wind, you know?

I keep feeling like someone has been in here (the open door I came home to again isn't helping) but without a key, I have no idea HOW, must be my vivid imagination, etc.

I went outside last night to feed the cat and Daniel's Ikea tent had been knocked over. Wind, I thought, even though it the struts had collapsed on themselves rather than the tent being blow over. In a sheltered yard. On a not windy day. Then I looked up and saw his wheelbarrow in the yard, on its face and NOT upright under the Window of Jemmy where I leave it as a wanky little noise making device to alert me to Dead Of Night intruders.

So I went back inside, checked for people lurking in the closets, and called the police, who confirmed that this is creepy, the door HAS been tampered with, the stuff I'm noticing needs to be reported every. single. time, even if it might just be me being a space cadet and wandering off with the doors and windows open, and do I have any crazy exes?

They're going to file an intelligence report ("which means...", the cop said, "..that I'm really smart?" I answered. Noted: cops have no sense of humor.) and I probably should have told them about Chris because I never told you how THAT ended, how about I do it now?

We DIDN'T get back together, or anything THAT stupid, but he was around because Out Of Jail, No Friends, Father Just Died, and I felt sorry for him, which just so we're clear, isn't the basis for a romance, because I did NOT go there.

ANYWAY. I figured I'd give him some time to settle into Just Out Of Jail Life. He was like a puppy or a project or I don't know what the fuck. I felt sorry for him because he had no one and I had no one and when my life was a lot, well, THINNER, than it is now, I'd have benefited from someone caring if I lived or died, you know? Then he began drinking and I was all, uh, no. not in my space OR place. So he threatened to kill me and hide my corpse where no one would find it.

I can't believe the shit I've got myself into in the past oh wait, I can.

***

About That Other Thing.

I had light bleeding for, like, two days. I barely needed light pads. I'm still spotting now, but not a lot. Nothing on Tuesday and now I really only see blood on toilet paper when I pee.

I have NO IDEA how you can miscarry when the bleeding hasn't even reached the Non Epic proportions of my usual period. No cramps, no flooding, no sad litle pieces of tissue being flushed out to sea, but I don't feel pregnant anymore. My uterus still feels swollen, but less so today, but my boobs are all "yo, punch me RIGHT HERE, I can take it." ie they don't hurt At ALL. Maybe when I squish them, but I bet YOUR boobs would hurt if I Test Squished them too.

I was at the unit yesterday to a) see the counselor and b) pay my bill, and even the receptionists couldn't wipe the dopey smiles off their faces. They'd all seen the Chicks Who Are Pregnant List and that I was on it, and while they also knew I'd been bleeding, these are women who GET me. Two of the nurses didn't say anything, and I expected that from them, while the others were highfiving me in the hallway. Karen, in particular, could NOT wipe the stupid smile off her face, which was especially nice.

I never told you about THAT either, did I?

Oops.

After my last transfer on my last IVF cycle, I was in the waiting room waiting for the progesterone shot in my ass, and Karen walked in. She asked if it was okay to sit down, which of course it was. Then she sat down and told me she was SO SORRY for being SO awful to me that past year. She took full responsibility and never once said something dumbass like "I'm sorry, but [excuse for bad behaviour goes here]". She didn't blame it on a bad day, or over work, or a misunderstanding. She said sorry, she should NEVER have spoken to me in that way, and that she actually quite likes me (she thinks I'm funny and that more patients should be like me[!]) and then she wished me all the best for the transfer. She understood if I didn't accept her apology and left it at that. Then we started talking, and since last November, she's become one of my strongest, most cheerleadingest champions.

She's the one who really gets me and my positivity. SHE'S really positive too. She's the one with no fear of saying "it's looking good!" when I get my (always high) progesterone levels back. Each time, without fail. The rest hedge their answers with things like "we don't know, wait and see", while Karen meets me on Happyland, that place when you don't know where things are going, so why NOT believe the best COULD happen?

So there's that.

My doctor walked in while I was waiting, and we both said "I TOLD YOU SO!", before he grinned like an idiot and wandered off after calling his his next patient in.

These are all good things, and pregnant still or not, I GOT PREGNANT.

The people that matter are celebrating that and aren't ready to give up on it yet, and even though I'm damn sure I'm not pregnant any more, I have hope because they do.

No matter what I fucking did it. I'm not walking away in defeat, I'm leaving knowing that, if it was meant to be it COULD have been because I fucking did it! So it's not meant to be and I KNOW that now.

I'd love if a new baby was on the way, and I'm scared of how far I'm going to fall when I know for sure there isn't, because I WILL fall and I have no "and now we can do this or at least we have next month or try try again" bullshit to keep me going, so it's absolutely NOT like I'm all Tra Fucking La about calling in for my results today.

I'm terrified.

***

And Daniel just walked in with a tube of toothpaste that "Esscuse me, I have to squeEEeeze it, to make the EEeNn, like on PlaAayschool. Hey mummy, esscuse me, I need a SpOOoon.".

the end

2009-11-29T10:59:00.004+10:30

Which sucks because I just took a pregnancy test.

I wanted this to be a late period. I wanted to know that I wasn't ever pregnant, that this wasn't a faint positive, and that I' not having an early miscarriage.

Pause here for dramatic effect okay, because I AM a drama queen and this doesn't end well.

I'm pregnant, and now I'm miscarrying.

hey guess what?

2009-11-28T15:38:00.002+10:30

No news.

Which is probably kind of significant news.

I haven't done another pregnancy test because the stores were all closed last night by the time we left MacDonalds because we were both having a great time, and I was all "OF COURSE the after hours supermarket will have them", but OF COURSE they didn't, and neither did any of the other convenience stores we went TO either. By the time I got to asking to teenage BOYS if their store had them, I was obviously desperate. Daniel was asleep in the car and I'd been driving an hour. One boy said "YES! We do!", and I said "Yay!", and then the boy said "Wait, I THOUGHT we had them...". Then the other teenage boy said "The petrol station near where I live has them...." and I said "WHERE?" and he lived on OTHER side of town which, helpful, but not, you know?

Then I worked this morning from 8.30, and I've only just got home now: hungry, tired, and with no desire to prolong the Not Eating, Not Not Sitting On My Ass sitch by driving to a pharmacy and delaying myself food and rest even longer by taking three minutes out to pee.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

waitingwaitingwaitingwaitingWAITING

2009-11-27T09:39:00.004+10:30

I had a blood test on Wednesday and I didn't call for the results and I didn't say anything about it to anyone because you all would be "GET THE DAMN RESULTS ALREADY".

But today I'm feeling restless and crazy and, while I'm not cramping, there's this round ball of cramp-ish (or pressure or I don't know) in mah belleh that it feels really weird so I called for the damn results.

First phone call: the phone wouldn't connect.

Second phone call: the call went to their It's The Weekend, Loser message, when it clearly is NOT.

Third phone call: Connected. Score, talk talk talk, and then the nurse trotted off to find my notes to give me the results and....they're not there. They must be in my doctor's LOCKED rooom and he isn't due in all day. Perfect.

So I went through the Facts As I See Them with her:

My LH on the seventh and the ninth of this month was in the forties, which means it probvably surged on the eighth. Ovulation occurs 24 to 36 hours later so THAT happened on Monday or Tuesday, the ninth or tenth of November. My day 21 bloods were taken on the seventheeth (progesterone of 56, wootwoot, as it's proof I DID ovulate) and my period was due on Tuesday or Wednesday this week.

Mary was all "Relax! Go for a walk! Bunnies! Kittens!", and I was all "Okay, good idea!", because I am a LIAR.

so let's talk about how INSANE I am

2009-11-26T08:35:00.005+10:30

So. Still no news if you know what I mean and I think you do.

I wish I was better at taking pregnancy tests.

Thing is, I'm actually really fucking scared that I AM pregnant. What the HELL am I going to do with a BABY??

Because continuing with fertility treatment has become NOT about getting pregnant, but about finding closure.

I'm old, this is SO UNLIKELY to work, etc etc yaddah, and I'm AT THAT POINT NOW, the point where I'm going through the motions (which involves lying on treatment bed, thinking of England ETC) and I can't wait for the year to be over because I will be SO RELIEVED to be DONE with this shit.

That's not to say I REGRET doing this. I'd have regretted NOT doing it. Fertility treatment is made of Win. It's not about having a baby, it's about challenging your worst fears (ie the NOT having a baby mindfuck) and coming out the other side with a baby or not. Having a baby is made of JUST AS MUCH win as not having a baby and being ready to let go, because you CAN, and you've SAVED YOURSELF from a lifetime of regret and all the what ifs and maybe ifs and god I wish I'd done mores.

Doing this is WHY I'm at peace now, it's why I'm happy to high five myself and MOVE THE FUCK ON.

Let me just say though, a month ago I wasn't at peace. A month ago I was sad and bitter and tearful because, until the end was in sight, I didn't realise how going through this has been keeping ME going. I lost hope and was in that crappy place where it's all What Now? OH YEAH NOTHING.

and then I sorted my shit out and I'm okay about it.

Oh, and I don't mean Going Through This as an experiential process either. I mean Going Through This as in one step in front of the other, the solution being the process not the outcome, the journey being the destination WHATEVER.

The conception rates for DI are SO LOW, as in, I have maybe a half a percent chance of getting pregnant doing this, but even THAT is being VERY generous, because I have around THAT much of a chance of getting pregnant doing it the old fashioned way anyway, because of my age, and DI is pretty much a Fail, even for someone who's young, fertile, and is doing it only because of male factor infertility or her social infertility. Not that you can do the latter in this state. We're still stuck in the dark ages where nuns and lesbians can't get medical help to get pregnant, not if their bits are all functioning.

(SO FASCINATING ie it's NOT)

And here I am now, with boobs that FEEL HUGE and HOT and not in a Mrreow kind of way, more in a BURNING kind iof aching way, and until NOW, I'd forgotten how much my rack hurt when I couldn't have been pregnant back then because NO WAY, etc. And look how THAT turned out

Additional weirdo things going on are: my eyes, my god, MY EYES. I keep not being able to see, like, five inches on front of me. Read a book? OH HAR. Good one. Then there's the cramps that I'm STILL having that started on the weekend and I'm NOT an I Get Period Cramps person. My pelvic floor aches like a motherfucker for a day AFTER I get my period (the internet: Good to know!), but cramps? Pshaw. They're not bad, but they're periodically (OH SNAP) there and wtf, you know? Then I scrubbed the floor on my hands and knees the other day, and didn't realise I was acting like a FREAK until I'd cleaned the whole house. And wtF is going on with my nipples?? Which is a word I can BARELY READ because my eyes, MY EYES, etc, but I can see THEM because okay TMI. Hint: visible from MARS. Then there's the peeing and the peeing and, oh yeah, THE PEEING.

And that second line that you can't see here. You guys are probably all "poor girl slash OLD LADY is delusional.", but I took the damn test to lunch yesterday, you bet your ass I did, and my two girlfriends were all "OHMYGOD", and I was all "HA. Take THAT, internet", until I realised the implications of winning THAT argument.

This is going to be SO embarrassing when I get my period later today or tomorrow or whentheeffever, so be gentle with me when I do, okay?

you bet your ass I enhanced it

2009-11-25T08:07:00.002+10:30

I peed at when I got home last night slash this morning at 3.40am. Then I peed again at 7.05 and took the pregnancy test. Work that out, okay? (hint: higher concentrations of hcG would be in an I Didn't Pee All Night pee)

And I got this.

Exhibit A:

And I was all *yawn*.

However.

Then I looked again and then I blinked and then I took a photo and then I jiggled the contrast and brightness and then I took THAT image to the internet. Behold. Also, click, make bigger, look closely.

Exhibit B:

I can effin' SEE that second line with my naked eye. Granted, it's lightlightLIGHT, but I can see where a line WOULD be, and what if No Second Line really means No Second Line AT ALL.

Conclusion: I'm not pregnant but man, it's fun to play the What If Game.

in short

2009-11-24T23:31:00.002+10:30

My period is due tomorrow and it'll probably come tomorrow NIGHT because that's how my uterus rolls, and because I've got an MRI* scheduled for tomorrow morning, I blew ten bucks on a pregnancy test so I can pee on it in the morning and then chuff merrily off to the hospital with no qualms about what if I'm pregnant bla bla bla, which of course, I am NOT. But what if, etc, hence the ten bucks, blown.

Yes I did another cycle this month. I do them every month and then not report on it here because how many times can you slam face first into the goal post instead of tossing the ball through it each without feeling like an idiot? Answer: about as many times as I reported here, minus one.

*I'll explain later.

(you: Schyeah, like we haven't heard THAT before)

before I faint

2009-11-24T08:30:00.002+10:30

because Swistle (because Jesus H, people. SWISTLE) linked to me.

This is how you don't 'poo.

Now go read some more archives because I swear, they're SO MUCH BETTER than running shoes.

And thanks ever so for dropping by! I'd LOVE it if you left a comment to say hello.

(I really really would :) )

I'm not paid to do this, obvs

2009-11-19T08:33:00.002+10:30

I've bought my last several thousand billion pairs of running shoes from running warehouse. Yes I opt to have my shoes travel halfway around the world, and agree to paying upwards of USD30 postage because the prices there, compared to prices HERE, are incomparable. Before I checked out the internets, after I'd ordered a pair of Brooks Glycerin (which, if you're askin', YOU NEED THESE) from The Athletes Foot, at a cost of around AUD275, it took fucking THREE weeks for them to get back to me and say they were STILL waiting on the order, next week, bla BLA. (aside is, if you have a "neutral" foot, you're fucked, especially in smaller stores, though WHY Westfield has a SMALL Athletes Foot is beyond my realm of understanding because Westfield = The Largest Shopping Centre in the Southern Hemisphere. Or some shit. ANYWAY, you're fucked because stores are chock full of "stability" shoes for all you pronaters out there, and us neutral kids can go suck it, apparently) Three weeks later, still no shoes, so I went online (hooray!) and did a search and my god, the prices were, like, HALF what we pay, MINIMUM. So I ordered from running warehouse because they actually got back to me with an actual real figure for postage to here, and I didn't need to do all sorts of bullshit like email copies of my passport or drivers license which, HUH? I used PayPal and, including postage, my new shoes cost LESS THAN HALF of what I would have paid here - and they arrived within days! and (haHA) the day they arrived, the Athletes Foot staffer called me and said "your shoes are here!". No shit they are, they're right here! In my hand, loser.

And I keep going back to running warehouse for each new pair I buy because, I look around each time, but RW CONSISTENTLY have the best price/customer service/shoes.

So anyway, bla bla bla. You're getting to read all this shit because I LOVE buying running shoes and I LOVE sale prices and they're having THIS sale and shoes are CRAZY cheap - and if you have a family or a running group or just a bunch of people who vaguely know each other, it just gets better.

If anyone cares (you all: NO NOT REALLY), I'm umming and ahhing over these Sauconys. Weep for me because they only have FULL PRICE Glycerins (which, ASIDE! even with postage included, are STILL cheaper than buying them here), probably because they're wicked good and people will pay. But the Triumphs look like they might be wicked good too, but I need to get my head around the whole NOT BROOKS?? thing first. Encourage me. Which you would maybe do if this entry wasn't SO BORING. I KNOW.

But go buy some shoes. Running shoes are like soul food for your feet.

TRUE STORY.

from baby to boy

2009-11-13T09:28:00.003+10:30

I have no idea what I was originally looking for (lost treasure?) but I found this one folder that Mac Guy had created when my old eMac theatrically crapped itself (think: smoke, flames, etc), which was a scary day because I'm suck at backup, so YEARS okay two of Daniel's life, which at that point was his ENTIRE life, was only patchily backed up. Anyway, I found old video off my old phone, and that led me to YouTube, because I'm going to upload the old videos I've found and call it "Backup", and then I found this video, and I thought "Well, I bet THAT never made it to mah blawg", because it's overly long and was only made because my family kvetched about their lack of presence in this blockbuster.

it's really hot

2009-11-11T23:17:00.003+10:30

We like the beach oh I'm sorry should I say LOVE the beach? So we go A LOT. It takes a fucking AGE to sunblock us both though, so I'd like someone to invent a Sun Block Booth that does the job in a snap.

We've both got wicked awesome olive skin. At first, I thought I was buying defective lotions and creams because everyone else and their kids were still lily white, and we were both SO BROWN. Then we went to the beach with some friends, used the same stuff, and she and her kid remained Casper-like, and my son and I ended up looking like we'd been basted in olive oil and baked for a half hour at 180 degrees.

I grew up BAKING in the sun because I rarely burn and a tan was considered HEALTHY back thens. Berry brown kids were HEALTHIER kid. We all had tan lines like that old Coppertone add. The Tan = Healthy delusion lasted for about one (OUR) generation though, and now my arms look like an aging farmer's. I found a spot the other day and began planning who Daniel was going to live with after my early demise. I ended up CRYING because it's dark and uneven - it has effing LEGS, for god's sake - and it appeared and grew QUICKLY and it has this halo of paler skin around it which HAD to be bad, and holy fucking shit, melanoma?? So I panicked until I saw my doctor, and tearfully presented my death sentence for his perusal and he declared it a freckle. A freckle that will probably disappear, because the Halo Of Not Death around it means my body (GO BODY!) has recognised the cells as being all Meh, and is cleaning them up.

We're in the middle of our first heatwave for the season, and for some reason, I think I LOVE heatwaves, even though I don't like them at all. I think they remind me of being a kid though. I think that's why I think I like them.

starting again, again

2009-11-06T10:00:00.002+10:30

Daniel's going well. He doesn't seem muay better than when we came home, but we ARE spacing out his medication and he's not on prednisilone any more, so I guess that means he IS doing better. Dude is still coughing like an emphasymic old man, and has needed extra ventolin (slash albuterol slash Sambuterol oh my god people can we stick with ONE name??) on two occasions, which kind of sucked because he isn't SUPPOSED to be asthmatic, not according to MY plan, so suckysuckSUCK that, for now at least, he kind of is.

(note to self: BREATHE. Also, focus on the good, you idiot. The GOOD. Fucksake)

Still and obviously, he's still recovering from the acute attack which was only a few days ago so it's probably to be expected that, while in this phase and while his airways are still all precious and flouncy and are still full of crap, any extra exertion could increase his symptoms.

And this is how my brain spends its time.

I keep reminding myself of the inconvenience of all this asthma crap. For him, not me. I mean, it's not me who potentially has to stop whatever he's doing to whip out his inhaler when what he really wants to do is keep playing (been there already) , or jumping on the bed (and there) , or riding around the block on his bike (and there too) , or whatever (AND THERE TOO). I feel sad that this might be a consideration for him for a good chunk of his childhood. Even if this wasn't a one-off event, he probably WILL grow out of it anyway (bright side!), but just because 1 in 5 kids have asthma too, doesn't mean I'm okay with him being one of them, you know? I don't feel pissed or impatient or anything. I just feel sad. And scared.

Remember how, when you first bring your baby home, you listen to them breathing, keep checking that they're still breathing, canNOT believe they keep on breathing because, so little! So vulnerable! No longer in your tummy! (um, only me?) Then they keep on living and you kind of ease off on the checking.

Yeah, well. I'm kind of back at point A. I stand in the doorway at night after he's in bed and listen. He sleeps with me so I wake up DURING the night and place my hand on his chest while I listen.

I know I'll get back to assuming he's got the whole Breathing thing down and doesn't need my worry to keep it up, but right now it's tiring. I'm tired. But I can't not worry, which is such a self defeating statement so let's just say I WON'T stop worrying. Not just yet.

He went to school on Wednesday. I wanted to keep him with me but really, school is more experienced with asthmatic kids than I am because of that 1 in 5 statistic. They have a copy of his action play, will have an extra spacer and ventolin to keep there at all times, and one of the directors is asthmatic herself so kind of knows a whole shitload more about asthma management than I ever will. So I handed him over, not just because I trusted them, but because I don't trust myself yet. This is all too new and I think and rethink and wonder if I'm medicating exertion, and then the medication improves his breathing and I have no idea where I'm going with this.

School. He went to school.

I understand too, that this isn't only about managing Daniel's asthma, it's about managing ME. I can't allow my fears impact upon his life, which is ANOTHER reason why I packed him off and waved him goodbye the other day.

I think parenting is a LIFETIME of doing that, of trusting your child is going to be okay, and of never allowing your fears for their success or failure stand in the way of them grabbing life and relishing every moment.

we're home!

2009-11-03T10:55:00.000+10:30

We got home late last evening. Daniel's doing really well, which is why we were able to leave, duh.

It's all so surreal. The last two days seem like they're memories from someone else's life, you know?

As Mary noted, Daniel HAS handled things with his usual "WHERE'S THE PARTY?" aplomb (dude still talks in capslock) so, when we were getting out the car early Sunday morning, I was LECTURING him, all "Daniel, don't look like you're having so much fun" because Daniel was all alert and happy and running around in the carpoark outside the emergency depaertment, and was totally BUZZED about being packed up and raced to the hospital. "Pretend to be sick!", I whispered through the side of my mouth as we walked through the doors "lay it on, mate, or they'll NEVER take a look at us!".

Jesus.

The triage nurse stuck on of those clippy things on Daniel's finger, and Daniel went over all Go Ask Alice with his hand in the air, all "whoa, man. I can see MOLECULES" or some shit, and I was clenching my teeth and willing him to Act Sick! Be Convincing!, and I may have even said smething like "remember our little talk, son?" because he was having WAY to much fun at this point. Granted, after dancing (DANCING!) in the carpark (me: "do you need to wee?", him: "no, mummy. I'M DANCING". me: *groans*), he was now hanging limply in my arms, but I figured he was just tired because it WAS 4am, and we HAD been up all night, when really and actually and truly it WASN'T fatigue, it was freakin' OXYGEN DEPRIVATION, probably from the I'M A BALLERINA!'ing he was doing outside.

Anyhoo, when his oxygen saturation came back at Oh Shit and I started crying for a millisecond, which was a truly dumbass thing to do because I saw Deebs' expression change from "WEEE!" to "OH FUCK", but shit, man. SHIT, you know? Because I've watched enough ER to know that this was Not Good, where by "Not Good", I mean "Truly Fucking Scary FOR REALS". The triage nurse paged the paeds nurse, and the paeds nurse stuck his head out of the resuscitation room and said something about NO ONE being available because they were ALL in the resus room, you know, RESUSSING, but triage nurse gave him The Eye and all of a sudden, we had that nurse AND a doctor, and were being rushed through admitting and the nurse stayed with us, which I realise now wasn't because he was waiting FOR us, all tapping his toe and checking his watch, he was there in case Daniel stopped breathing.

His sats dropped some more while we were at the counter, then Daniel barfed, and the admitting clerk was all "I can get this all later....." and we were rushed through some doors and the doctor was saying stuff like "are you SURE it's 85??", and I was actually holding it together, go me, and then Daniel was on the nebuliser.

*waves on beaches, sands through the hourglass*

The treatment worked, but ultimately, it didn't work enough so we were admitted sometime around 7am. I can't praise the ED staff enough, or the paeds staff who came straight away from upstairs once the order went through. The only waiting around we had to do was the Waiting And Seeing. Nebulised, then wait, nebulised, then wait. We didn't have to wait to be seen, for treatment, for results, nothing. Even radiology came straight away: by the time the doctor told us she was ordering a chest screen, the radiographer was at the door and confirming this was Daniel Bee.

He looked SO LITTLE standing in front of those BIG machines (Daniel, not the radiographer), and was very brave because that room is SCARY. All dark with machines humming, and he stood still, even when the two grown ups telling him there was NOTHING to be scared of, rushed behind a screen like there WAS something to be scared of. It's very humbling to be that trusted. I mean, in the scariest of situations, my son stayed calm and stood still in what HAD to feel like Mortal Danger to him, and he did it because I asked him too. Even when, to him, it probably looked like I was too scared to stay there.

Yesterday was agonisingly slow. He had a couple or three more treatments with the nebuliser in the morning

and would like you to meet Scruffy. Say "Hi Scruffy!"

and then albuterol in the puffer every hour for the rest of the day. I came home in morning to eat and shower, and came back again last night to do the same. We live, like, five minutes from the hospital, and while I felt SO GUILTY to leave him there, I really had to because by late evening, I was losing mah shit.

I did go through this alone. I thought I was Being A Weiner, and that I should be Holding It Together better than I was, but a nurse told me this kind of thing was HARD, but I'm me (ie stupid) and I still feel like I should have been able to manage how I felt. Feel. I hate that he wasn't quite asleep when I walked away from him, and I hate that I have to bargain with my head to get a grip because I KNOW Daniel will, when I sit with him at bedtime, sometimes bask in the glory that is me rather than drift off, and I KNOW the albuterol was helping him wallow in my presence, ahem, and I KNOW that leaving was probably the key to him kicking the albuterol high's ass and going off to sleep.

Whatevs.

At the moment, Daniel's on albuterol every four hours. We have an Action Plan that takes us through the next five days and tapers its usage until it's only as needed, which I hope means "maybe once a year, if that".

It MIGHT be like that. When we got to the paeds ward Sunday morning, the ward was half empty. By Sunday night, they were diverting ambulances and had closed the ED to all paeds cases because the ward was full and they were all respiratory cases. Thank you hot north wind + springtime pollens. It stirred up a LOT of known asthmatics, so it's not entirely WTF? to imagine a kid with hayfever so bad he hasn't been able to breathe out of his nose for two months would suffer a leetle more with that combination too. The paediatrician he saw this morning said he fits the profile, but as it's his first evah attack, we wouldn't be nuts to cross our fingers and hope it doesn't happen again.

Still, we can never leave the house again EVER without his puffer and spacer. EVER. And I imagine it's going to take a while to not worry (ie stress the fuck out) whenever he's not with me, which is really only twice a week because apart from preschool (oh yeah, THAT. No updates. I suck. He loves it, the end), we hang out together all the time.

Daniel says hospital was "REALLY GREAT", which considering there were bedside magic shows

balloons AND balloon animals

and all day non stop Thomasfests broken only by the all day, non stop access to Maisie, isn't surprising he kind of dug the whole ordeal.

He was ready to go home though

and is doing really well.

I'm tired and sad and scared and a whole bundle of emotions that are probably more due to sleep deprivation and lack of food than anything else because my boy is healthy and happy and HOME, and those things make me very, very happy so why the sad face, dumbass?

Rhetorical question, by the way. Feel free to have a stab at it though.

Love to you all,

xx

not a very nice day

2009-11-01T09:36:00.002+10:30

I've just come home for a shower, and will be returning soon with a Thomas DVD, some crayons and books, and Thomas and Percy, and a change of clothes and I don't know what else but I'm sure I'll forget something vital.

We've been at the hospital since at around 4am this morning, and Daniel's still there now, with Scruffy V.7 for company. He had an acute asthma attack last night, and at triage his O2 sats were 91, then they dropped to 85, and even after being nebulised(?) three times, he needed oxygen because his oxygen and god oh god oh god, etc. The etc being chest x-rays and admission to the paeds ward.

When I left, he was fine, having had three more sessions with what I thought had to have been a party drug, but what in fact was, albuterol, and he cheerily waved me away, all "BYE MUMMY!!" because he found cars and friends in the ward playroom, and was, you know, HIGH.

But still.

He'd already been to the doctor yesterday because he had a sore throat and I wanted to get right on top of it if it was tonsillitis. The doctor thought it was just a cold, so then I thought the night air was making his more chesty. I checked the internet when I should have called the hospital, and I second guessed myself when I told myself not to panic - not that I should have panicked, but I should have done something more than watch him and tell myself that labored breathing wasn't THAT labored. I thought he'd be better off at home than in an ER on a Saturday night, which he would have been, had it been just a cold and had he not been fighting for every breath.

People die of asthma, and (and you all know I'm not a drama queen, right?) last night, my son could have been one of them.

for prosperity

2009-10-30T10:10:00.002+10:30

Daniel woke me this morning by arranging my arms while singing the Teapot Song.

got pics?

2009-10-27T15:04:00.002+10:30

New photos! Are up! On Flickr!

planning for Christmas again, single parent style again

2009-10-22T09:26:00.020+10:30

Daniel's right into Thomas the Tank engine and LOVES building tracks through the house, so Santa planned in advance and lay-byed a big ass set that was on a 50% sale, along with a couple maybe three Thomas accouterments that were at around 30% off at Target, so we're cool for the big ticket items that are totally going to wig him out in a seriously good way. That's only four things to unwrap though, and the kind of fun that ONLY comes once a year ie the fun and subsequent memory of unwrapping and unwrapping and yet still more unwrapping will be over in a snap.

So I'll have Santa give him Shit He Needs too. If he needs clothes, Santa wraps them and drops them down our fictitious chimney because while I might not think a pair of Lightening McQueen underpants are ZOMG, I'm not nearly-four.

Same goes for socks, t-shirts, shorts ETC.

And shoes!

He needs new Ugg boots and Croc type beach shoes this year, so if I haven't already got them by then, I'm going to wrap and stash each one separately under the tree and arrange things so that other gifts will be unwrapped between the discovery of Uggs A and B, and NotCrocs A and B. Footwear Types A will (hopefully) be forgotten by the time Footwear Types B turns up, and when they do - because YOU KNOW I'm going to lead by example ie LOSE MAH MIND over the discovery, my almost four year old is going to be all joining in with the "HOLY CRAP, it's SHOES!", and his brains are going to explode and I'll high five myself because footwear is typically made of *yawn* but my genius just changed their chemical composition and now they're made of Awesome. Yeah!

But I probably WILL have got them by then so that's probably more of a Tip For You than it is a Reality For Us.

There'll be a ton of bits and pieces from the thrift store because Yes Way on the second hand stash, and I'm also going to re-wrap stuff from last year that wasn't a total hit then so preemptively vanished from where it was blithely dumped and forgotten about. That stuff might still not be a full-on win this time around, but the win will be that it all adds to the illusion of Massive Haul.

I figure it's the PROCESS Daniel loves so while I WANT to give him a WHOLE LOT of stuff he LOVES, I'm also together enough to not give an emotionally invested shit if I regift some left over crap instead. The gift itself, at this age anyway (hopefully?), is pretty much an added bonus, so my hot tip here is to wrap EVERYTHING.

Pencils and cases will be wrapped separately, as will be project/scrap/exercise and colouring in books. We use those school issue exercise books all year for drawing and colouring-in on the fly because they're small enough to stash in one of those large zippable pencil cases with his crayons and pencils, and we take them pretty much everywhere. Thing is, even though exercise books are an absolutley everyday item, FATHER CHRISTMAS exercise books are going to be made of Win.

Daniel likes those little tubs of fruit puree and you can bet your ass a handful of those will be wrapped and put under the tree too because it's not like he's gonna think, gah, Santa brought me fruit? He's gonna think OMGSANTABROUGHTMEFRUIT!! And he might even, you know, EAT IT. Which is something he doesn't do that often.

Daniel lives on air and Happy Meals (and he's allowed one [1] happy meal/week) so he is totally getting bigass box of (oh my god I am a marketing GENIUS) "Santa-Bix" *exaggerated wink* this year. It might be our only hope for breakfast, 2010.

(I'm TOTALLY running with this idea now so you can bet I'm going Santa Strategise and frikkin' WRAP everything from apples to frikkin' zucchini from now until close of trade Christmas Eve)

Last year, I got one of those two buck brag books and filled it with photos of Good Things for him to remember. He already had two Non Holiday versions but he still buzzed out when Santa gave him another, so now he's got three books of memories: two that evolved over the course of the last few years, and one that magically appeared and came from (imagine The Awestruck Face here) Santa.

Memories are more valuable than objects and research shows (bla bla bla yawn) that rich people aren't happy. They've got the means to what they think will make them happy, then they have it and they're not actually happier, so they buy that OTHER thing that will make them happy but it doesn't and so on and so forth. But! Rich people who buy experiences ARE happy, ergo, even if your kid is a poor, almost four year old, brag books and photo albums of memories = Total Gift Win.

(Aside: When Daniel was little, he used to get the only brag book he had at the time and flick through the pages going "Who dat? Who dat?", stabbing his chubby little finger at whoever it was in the photo with him. We'd go through all the names so that [ even though that bunch of motherfuckers NEVER do ANYTHING that suggests "Family" [I really shouldn't swear in a Holiday entry but, whatever], he knows who they are and that we're a family, and he'd BUZZ OUT. Then he'd say "Ooh Hollie?" [translation: "Where's Hollie?"] and his eyes would go all big and then he'd find the page with her photo and would hug it BIG TIME)

Daniel's birthday is in December too, and while it may be totally fucking WRONG to do this, I, uh, "edited" his gift score last year and "Santarised" it two weeks later.

But only the awesome stuff that got overlooked by other stuff he thought was SO AWESOME it shat all over the Other Awesome Stuff. Like, he lost his mind over a new Thomas backpack and was all "What Lego?" over the couple of sets that would have blown his diodes if the backpack hadn't come first. So the Lego disappeared and wasn't even missed, and then reappeared, at which point he lost his mind because "MUMMY! It's LEGO!! *headexplosion*."

I figure I gave him the gift of Mind Blowing Experiences more than I'd robbed him of birthday score, but still, Shameful Confession #378 billion.

Shameful Confession #379 is that that I'll doing it again this year.

And then there's the balloons. LOTS of them, blown up, tied off and dumped around the tree. The first time I did this it kind of backfired because NO WAY was Daniel going to go anywhere near that....suspicious looking crap in the front room.

I'm pretty sure that box of nappies (stage Hard Left) was a "gift" from Santa too

Times change though, and neuroses ease so yes, where we live and once again, this year Santa will be giving the gift of air.

And finally, a gratuitous walk down memory lane:

the gifts are all "LOOK AT ME!!" and he's all "CHECK OUT THIS MOLECULE"

change + me = nausea also head pain

2009-10-16T07:10:00.003+10:30

The time between talking to a preschool director and Daniel actually STARTING preschool took about 0.23 seconds. He's alseep right now, and has no idea his life is about to change today. TODAY, people, and FOREVER.

We've got orientation at 9, and we'll both be there for an hour, then we'll both leave and I will no doubt clutch my heart and wonder what in fuck I think I'm doing pulling my kid out of that noisy noisy disruptive childcare centre and putting him into something so vastly different with different children, a calmer atmostphere, with new playmates but no friends, and omg, NO TRICYCLES. Especially the tandem ones which up Daniel's Awesome Factor MARKEDLY when you see him tearing around the playground out back with a freakin' PASSENGER on board.

I guess I'm just worried (SCARED! I YAM SCARED!) this new set up will get in the way of him being a boy, a noisy, energetic, physical, boy, because Montessori literature (oh hai, did I mention it's a Montessori school?)(you all: No shit, hippie) inevitably mentions how quiet the classroom environment is. And then when we creepily lurked outside the school playground after our interview yesterday, it wasn't noisy there either, and I'm worried (SCARED!) that Daniel is going to have a lot of alone time because he's Different or Loud or, I don't know, maybe just New.

I'm also worried okay TERRIFIED that this is going to fuck with his world. Daniel has me. He's got no extended family, no father, no sister, no one outside of us (I'm making myself cry here), which is why we've stuck with childcare for that one day a week when I really don't need it for work commitments. The days he goes, I train one (1) client, then come home, eat bon bons and watch Dr Phil. Which is a lie, but still, I don't do anything that requires Child Free Time. It - maybe only in theory I don't know aaaargh - provides him with something predictable and a handful of someones outside of Just Us.

And on that cheery note, I gotta go. It's 7.45 and we've got to be there at 9 and he's asleep and I'm...not ready for all this.

> 140 characters

2009-10-03T08:50:00.002+09:30

Work called and I didn't answer because I haven't taught spin in FOREVER and Saturday classes are PACKED and the next time I make an ass of myself, I'd prefer to do it on a nice quiet weekday, the end.

day 1

2009-09-29T09:28:00.001+09:30

Usually I feel sad, dust myself off and aim for the next round. Last night I cried. I think I also did that thing where you punch the crook of your elbow with one fist and kind of power fist the person you've got the skeeves with with the other. So I kind of power fisted the sky-icular region. Because I am classy like that.

Actually, I could cry now, just like that *snaps fingers* but but Daniel's circulating and crying makes my eyes look like this *points to face*, and really, it's not very practical.

Which are rules for ME. I FULLY advocate ANYONE ELSE sobbing and weeping and rending their garments because showing emotion IS practical. It's too hard for me though, to let go. Too hard after YEARS of being Resilient and Tough and god help me, WHERE ARE MAH VIOLINS??

I would say I don't know why this particular Fail is so awful, because last night when I was clueless (ie IN DENIAL) I was all "WHY AM I SO UPSET IT'S JUST A DAMN PERIOD", but I know why.

After this month, and then the next and the next, it's over. Hopes and dreams and whatever shit gets me through two weeks of every month won't exist any more. I've been able to deal with how fucking hard this all is because of those two weeks, and I'm looking down the barrel of despair and soon there will be nothing to save me from that except time.

There's the old chestnut "at least you have Daniel" or that other (equally as irritating) one, "you should be happy you have Daniel" but you know what? Fuck that. He's WHY I'm doing this.

It's not like I'm all "well THAT one was a dud, let's see if I can make a BETTER one", you know?

So while Daniel DOES make me (so! very!) happy, having him also makes me sad too, because if it wasn't for him, I'd have no idea what I lost, and no concept of what I'm missing now.

I'll make this quick

2009-09-28T22:46:00.002+09:30

I got my period a half hour ago, and even though it wasn't isn't never is a surprise, it still sucks so exquisitely I can't find the words.

two updates! one day!

2009-09-27T17:54:00.003+09:30

and neither of them substantial!

So I'm trying to get us out of the house again to meet some friends in t minus NOWNOWNOW and Daniel is being a total space cadet, probably because we've been at a birthday party this afternoon. Not that he's on a sugar high though, maybe just an overload of social activities or I don't know. Whatever, really. Whatever it takes to make a pre schooler kind of okay a LOT frustrating (narrowing it down well there, aibee!)

General party observation: Every other kid there crammed its food hole with birthday food. My son ate NOTHING.

Then five minutes after we left and while in the car from Point A to Point B, he's all "I'm huuuuungry".

WTF, kid? SRSLY.

half assed updating

2009-09-27T13:39:00.003+09:30

I think my period is due today. It usually - except for that one assholeish time - comes exactly fourteen days after my LH surge, which we missed documenting, if not taking advantage of AHEM this month because...oh, never mind.

In short, my (undocumented) LH surge was on a Sunday and we know this because of the "estrogen rises and falls and LH levels peak in the middle indicating bla bla bla" bullshit, and the clinic isn't open on a Sunday so no bloods were taken, ta da.

My progesterone was a wimpy 42 last week, but mah rack is all "BACK OFF, MUTHAFKR".

And with that, you may now consider yourselves In The Loop :)

in which he sings

2009-09-24T17:35:00.002+09:30

disclosure

2009-09-22T09:47:00.003+09:30

I've been to the gym three times in four weeks and I'm not kidding, my ass has dropped.

...and I thought the internet might want to know.

YOU'RE WELCOME.

tumbleweeds go here

2009-09-15T09:40:00.005+09:30

I straightened my hair. WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN DOING THIS FOR, LIKE, EVAH?

:::::

I went outside last night and saw this really bright light ZOOM through the sky. Maybe it WAS a shooting star and NOT an Alien Spaceship, but it fucking WASN'T because there was this OTHER light in the sky that was flashingflashingflashing and it WASN'T a plane because plane lights go "flash.....flash...flash.." and THIS light was going NUTS, and it was SO FAR AWAY it HAD to be halfway to MARS, so it was the Alien Spaceship's scout. NO SHIT.

:::::

I keep waking up at dawn (this morning, 5.24! Awesome!) to worry about shit. It's really kind of sucky.

:::::

I've been sick for three weeks now, and that's really kind of sucky too.

I'm not sick sick anymore, but am so godawful tired I can hardly move but I have a three (almost four!) year old so have spent the better part of the last three weeks not resting up and getting over it so here we are.

My superawesome personal training client called on Sunday to confirm our session on Monday and said "You sound AWFUL. Now I'm not your mother but here goes: I'm cancelling, and you need to NOT do anything AT ALL for at least two days. Put Daniel in childcare, book him in for AT LEAST another day this week, then go home and watch TV. Call me Tuesday night so I know how you are because I worry." which is the kind of thing I say to others but never hear back so it was SO GOOD TO HEAR.

I've had other people say "You'll be fine! Come out anyway!" when really I'm not, which is nice too because it's nice to be wanted, but to have someone LOOK AFTER ME about killed me. So I took her advice and did NOTHING yesterday and I DO feel better today. Except now I've got to fight this Feeling So Much Better! thing and actually NOT do anything for at least another day.

:::::

Actually, I DID do ONE thing yesterday, and now the two week wait begins.

this child o' mine

2009-09-02T11:15:00.000+09:30

Daniel 's not even four but on some days I think he's, like, fifteen or something, based on his proximity to the remote control, and conversations such as these:

Me: "Brush your teeth please, mate. We're leaving soon bla bla etc"
him, in exasperation: "oh, alRIGHT" and then he practically rolls his eyes as he stomps off like some poor put upon child slave.

My favorite is when he says "are you coming, mum, or WHAT?' when I'm futzing around too slowly for his majesty.

He's got a bike at Easter, a real one, all green with a honking horn rather than a bell and it's a freakin' GIANT.

And soon he'll be driving and then he'll have a girlfriend, get married, and LEAVE HOME.

I can barely stand thinking about kindergarten, much less, you know, the rest of my LIFE yawning ahead of me with Daniel off with some other woman.

Yes.

to continue.

Now ask me if I've done anything about kindergarten.

...

No. Of course not.

But!

Daniel been taking swimming lessons since, ooh, April? At this age, they're more Not Sinking Like A Rock lessons, even though even after four months of this he still does-and it's not like he's not adept, it's just that lessons these days aren't about survival skills, they're about stroke acquisition, which I think is pretty ridiculous. I mean, they're THREE, how about some dog paddle? I dunno. Daniel, thank god, has loved his lessons pretty much from Lesson 1, which IS a bonus because for some of the kids, they might as well be called Screaming Lessons for the first few weeks.

Daniel's biggest trick when he's in the pool is to yell "WATCH ME!!" and bob under the water....

...and then bob back up again and shouting "DID YOU SEE THAT DO YOU WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN?" and then doing it all over again, repeat.

We're at home right now, and have been for ~~six~~ seven. stinking. days of me coughing up goob and trying to remember if life ever came without the Headache Option included, and Daniel has been excellent company, and I'm not even kidding. You'd think by now we'd be stir crazy, but we're not. Me because I'm too sick to care, and him because he really IS that awesome. Having said that, he right now this second asked me "WHERE ARE WE GOING??", and dealt with the "Nowhere, kiddo. We're staying right here again today *coughsplutterUNCLE*" rather well ie he said "okay!", and went and got the remote control and his Night Garden blanket and snuggled up next to me on the sofa, aaaand, it looks like we're watching some more Thomas The Tank Engine episodes.

He just kind of....adapts, I guess. Like, remember how he broke his collar bone a couple of weeks ago? He lasted about two and a half weeks with the sling until it broke irreparably after being McGyvered repeatedly with safety pins and bread ties for at least two of those weeks, because he was all doing the down dog, running around, and generally freaking me out with his broken collar bone antics, because while he was REALLY good about keeping his arm in the sling, he kept using his arm anyway, the little freak.

I guess if it hurt, he didn't do it, but he handled that whole time so well I kept thinking we must have got someone else's x-ray because NO WAY could THAT collarbone be broken.

Then we got a new x-ray maybe three weeks after the first to check on its healing bizzo and there it was, a FULL THICKNESS FRACTURE ie he'd snapped his collarbone is HALF, which was easier to see when it had started healing because I have no idea why. Increased bone density at the fracture site or some shit. ANYWAY, it's healed now, and he's got a nice little bump where the fracture was, and an another x-ray due in a few weeks, and that should be that.

right side, demonstrating how the left side SHOULD look

POINT BEING. Dude just rolled with it, I think is the point.

In other news, we've been collecting and recollecting (the same fucking) caterpillars for over a week now, and Daniel would like you to know "IT'S A BABY CATERPILLAR LOOK IT'S A BABY A BAYBEE". So look,

It's a baby caterpillar.

I've been trying to upload a video of caterpillars because I KNOW you all want to see that too, but for some reason, it won't upload. Cue collective moan of disappointment, I KNOW.

So we catch catepillars every morning, which is to say, Daniel points at but refuses to touch the them, and I pick them up and put the in the Caterpillar Containment Device. Then they eat the living shit out of the selected grasses and weeds we've chosen for them based on their particular palate, and when Daniel's asleep, I release them to the wilds ie I dump them on the lawn again.

I've learned that caterpillars are NOT migratory creatures because we generally find all but one again the next day - We have one lone caterpillar left in the containment device as I type, and we started out with twelve. We've seen butterflies as caterpillars though, and I like to think they're OUR caterpillars, transformed! and that none of OUR caterpillars have become bird food, because that would NEVER EVER happen.

Daniel loves Hollie too has no problems with picking her up and carrying her around. The end.

this is a) deep, or b) bullshit

2009-08-28T11:46:00.000+09:30

LH surge on Monday, August 17, insemination that morning and on Saturday the 15th, the latter being a COMPLETE waste of time because I would have ovulated on Wednesday the 19th.

So Saturday's didn't count for shit, and there should have been a third insemination on the Tuesday but the nurse in charge was all "she's had her two inseminations..." when I went asked "What, no follow up tomorrow? But we ALWAYS do one the day AFTER that surge.", which is HOW IT'S MEANT TO GO, and how MY SPECIALIST says it should go.

But I'm probably get pregnant this month anyway, because I've been doing everything wrong too, because fuckit, you know?

Progesterone was 47 on Wednesday, which is a good number, just like all the other months have been. Huzzah, bla *yawn*.

If I'm NOT pregnant (which, yeah), then we're going in with a camera to check for scar tissue in mah ute Friday week, because my periods have changed A LOT since the D&C last year, and I don't want some doctor say to me in several year's time, "whoa, scar tissue. LOTS of it. No wonder you got pregnant SO EASILY the first two times and then...*crickets*" (because my age has NOTHING to do with it, OBV) when we could find it NOW, if it exists, and DO SOMETHING about it while there's still time.

Because I really HAVE got pregnant easily in the past. Daniel? *Wham*, pregnant, without even trying, and then I beat the odds and fell into the 2% of Women Of A Certain Age who conceive twins on a two embryo transfer.

Which is why this is so hard to give up.

I've given myself until the end of the year, with a grey area from then to the end of February, when I turn *mumblemumblerhymeswithdoortydoor* years old ie When I am Officially Over The Hill.

Anyway.

I'm at the end of fertility, I know that, and the choice to have a baby or not is pretty much out of my grasp.

Even from here, though, I still believe that if you have a dream, even if the odds are absolutely against it, go for it. Do whatever it takes because it IS the journey, it's not JUST the destination that satisfies. And one day the opportunity will be gone and you have the rest of your life to wonder "what if...?".

I'm not a big advice giver becasue seriously, live your life how you see fit, and if I think you're doing it wrong, it's YOUR life, and who says I'm right anyway?

(Well, I do, but whatevs. Live, learn, enjoy the fallout from your exceptionally bad man choices!)

(what?)

But in this instance, take my advice, or I'll smack you around a bit until you see the light because a lifetime is a long, long to time feel regret. Don't let the want for something bigger than yourself float through time until your ability to choose is gone. Don't let that time pass without knowing what you can and what you're willing to do to make it happen. Whatever you choose to do, MAKE it a choice, because to paraphrase the Rolling Stones, even if you never get what you want, you will inevitably get what you need.

from when the internet was new. Ish.

2009-08-12T08:53:00.010+09:30

alternate title: Post old shit (with photos!) and call it "A Blog Entry".

On 22/06/2007, at 11:39 AM, aibee* wrote:

Hi Tina It's been ages since we've caught up so here's the latest news:

Daniel is eighteen months old now and has been walking since February. We were at my brother's house and he just stood up and walked across the yard - and that as that. No more crawling.

He's talking a lot too, and has a whole range of sounds that I recognise as words.
"mi" for milk
"mama" for shower (I don't quite get that one either)
"hungy" is hungry
"ow sigh" outside
"bee" is bin
"sid dow" sitdown
"dee" is drink
"wow wee" is wow wee. That one's so cute!
"happy"
he asks for a "cud deh" when he wants a cuddle, and of course, there's "ub" when he wants to be picked up.
"cah" car, "ba" bus, and when a train comes he gets so excited he about has a fit before calling it a "cah" which, yeah....

He understand SO much though, and is constantly amazing me. Things he doesn't understand include the phrases "come here", "don't put your cereal up your nose", and "quit putting my toothbrush in the toilet", but for the most part, you tell him something and he'll go ahead and do it. I'm having trouble using this technique to get the vacuuming done, but with perseverance, I'm sure that one day I'll have my own personal valet. Ahem.

Yes. To continue.

He also put his own nappies in the bin. Now, before you go "eww!", they get wrapped up in a little bag first, so he takes the bag by the handle and trots off to the front door saying" ow sigh, bee!", then we go ow sigh and he hands me the bag while he wanders off and sticks his nose in the lavender bush. Boy loves him some lavender, and he's pretty keen on the rosemary too. He often walks up to the car too, then bangs the door and reaches for the handle before demanding "cah! cah!" because he loves sitting in his car seat and going for a drive.

He stamps his feet when he's happy, and he squeals when he's happy too. Loudly.

I often show him the photos I took of you both when you came here for Daniel's birthday. I point to you and tell him your name and explain who you are to him, and this morning when he saw your photo, he said "tee-ya". Not bad, eh? :) And he calls himself "da-do", sometimes while pointing a chubby little finger into his chest.

As I type this, he's sitting in his high chair next to me pouring his water into his porridge and is making the biggest mess. And squealing. He squeals at such a high pitch that my eardrums hurt. I like it though, because it shows what a happy little boy he is.

Among the several million things he likes to do, including but not limited to stashing plastic crap in the printer, pulling out the contents of my purse, showering, "sidding" down on his personal sofa, reading, pouring his totally watered down porridge onto the floor (eek!), shoving stuff under the fridge, pushing every. Single. Button he can find, he likes to 'talk' on the phone. Unfortunately for my budget, he's sent like, a billion video message around the world.

Here's a few pictures of his gorgeous self.

I hope you're well, and remember, you're always welcome here. :)

love,
aibee* (and Daniel xx)

*not my real name (you all: [shockface] REALLY? [/shockface])

ducks&bread&ducks&bread, etc

2009-08-02T09:51:00.006+09:30

Daniel is THERE because we're going to feed the ducks. The DUCKS, y'all, the DUCKS.

Then we got to the pond
(or as the council would have us believe, the "billabong", to which I say "Ha ha. Good one.")
and there were ducks.

Over There.

"DUCK!" Daniel said, and they did.

and Daniel was all "I meant the NOUN, homies, not the VERB."

And the ducks were all "Check out the BACK OF ME".

"Dudes. BREAD!", said Daniel, and the ducks said "The BACK! Of ME!".

Meanwhile, I was daydreaming: "...L'Orange, Crispy Skin, Peking...".

and then ducks kept at it, all "We're WALKIN' AWAY", and Daniel was all "You're WADDLING.", and I was all "And you're FOOD.".

They wouldn't even SWIM.

Memo to the ducks: what the fuck, duck?

So we're heading out to feed the ducks again this morning. We're hoping the little fuckers haven't eaten in a week and will be a little more appreciative of our bread tossing skills today.

And.

That's about it really. Ducks. And bread. A pictorial essay. I don't know how I keep up with it all.

this time, last year

2009-08-01T08:29:00.001+09:30

Not just a day in the life

ball, dropped

2009-07-30T16:18:00.003+09:30

Speaking of periods ie let's talk about practicalities and not not being pregnant (what?)

I started using sponges a while back and I give the two thumbs up.

Now you can all shut up because I'm not THAT much of a hippie that I LOVED shoving dead sea creatures up my clacker, because I didn't like the whole OkaySoWhatIfItBreaksOnExit? anticipatory anxiety I was getting the whole time I was using them, even though a) they're actually not that fragile, and b) if they break, you just scoop around up with there and swoosh any bits out.

ANYWAY

That never happened to me, but the information is there, should you ever need it.

Do you guys have the Manicare brand over there? I bought one of their round foundation sponges, sterilised it in a vinegar solution and cut it in half so they look nothing like the Cut To Shape instructions the seas sponge people had on their web sites, and I don't need to tell you what I did with them, suffice to say it was NOT applying foundation.

My periods are really light, which is why I went with smaller sponge pieces, but if you've got a heavier flow, you could probably use a whole sponge, or shove two sponges up there. Or half a cow. Or I don't know. Something.

They do need to be VERY slightly damp to Not Apply Foundation, and you've got to squeeze out as much water as you can because if you don't, your pelvic floor will do it for you when you sneeze, cough, laugh, blink, breathe, THINK, fgs. Not that it'd be a tragedy ie it not like you've just repeated the whole Wet Pants Incident Of Second Grade (not starring me, thank god. I'm using someone else's misfortune here) so no one will be standing around wondering why there's a waterfall going on under your office chair or anything, but it IS a little confrontational to squeeze excess water out of a sponge with YOUR COOCH while you're buying stamps at the post office.

Warning: If you have a latex allergy, you might also want to check what make up sponges are made of. Or just stick with the dead sea creatures or fur balls or whatefver in hell the REAL hippies are doing these days.

You take them out them every few hours, depending on your needs, which is REALLY easy to do. You DO have to poke around a little to find the edge, but not much AT ALL as they get heavier as they absorb your flow and will drop (especially if you fake Squeeze A Poo Out a little when checking) so it's not like you've got to reach up to your thyroid gland every time you need to do change it.

Then you rinse it under the tap and put it back in. Repeat.

If you're not home and rinsing in a public bathroom sink doesn't appeal, keep a few small zip lock bags on hand and go out with as many sponges you think you'll need in a day. Put the used ones in one bag (OBV) and keep the fresh ones in another (OBVx2)

If you clean them as you go, they rinse really clean. If they do stain - and sea sponges do - just soak in weak hydrogen peroxide solution. This doesn't make them cleaner (or germ free etc) than soaking in a vinegar solution or boiling lightly for five minutes will, but it will make them more asthetically appealing.

Pros: You can have sex while wearing them (BONUS!!) and I REALLY like that they do NOT feel like you're wearing anything AT ALL, even if you ARE having sex. In that instance, the first time, it did get pushed further up that I was comfortable with (emotionally. Physically my bits were still all "what sponge?) ie there was NO WAY I could find the damn thing OHMAHGOD, but it didn't end up in my circulatory system via my uterus, and it DID drop and if I'd waited rather than panicked that first time (because OMGWHERE?) I wouldn't even HAVE a story about that one time when I thought I'd lost a sponge up my vag. And they don't give me cramps like tampons ALWAYS do.

Cons: none. NONE.

So go try this out, because it really is SO MUCH better than your store bought sanitary products because maybe I have the potential for reading Braille with my girl parts, but I can ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS feel tampons, and wearing pads isn't always practical.

There really is no neato way of ending this so....

post, interrupted

2009-07-28T09:05:00.003+09:30

This month, I really tried to do away with this year's stock sequence of LH Surge, Ridiculous High Progesterone Level with Rack Update and Magic Eightballesque Musing ("so, what do YOU think is going on in mah ute?") because it was all inevitably followed by a collective Moan Of Disappointment when my period arrived.

and when I say "really tried" what I actually meant was "no longer gave a shit". But without all that repetitive crap, what was I reduced to? LAWN UPDATES, that's what. You can thank me later.

Anyway, this year, this blog has been like watching That Guy. The one who's got the ball and is running down the field dodging and weaving and OMG, the crowd is going WILD. Then he trips over his shoelace and drops the ball, the end.

Because if I wasn't writing about THAT, I'd be writing NOTHING.

For about a year now (that's a HINT, by the way)(one I did NOT buy because I am SO SMAHT), it's been like a blender is in my head and everything has been SO overwhelming. My doctor (Dr G) says that it's because a whole lot of everything HAS been SO overwhelming, so that's a GOOD thing because I'd hate to be living The Perfect Life and having THAT be too hard to deal with. Better then, that life HAS sucked, you know?

I've been seeing DrG regularly because of that Being Run Over By A Whole Lot Of Trollies thing from last year (three ruptured discs! Yippee!), so this one time I sat there and commenced with the crying, all I can't cope! Am not coping! I will TAKE THE CRAZY DRUGS! Because NOT COPING! Depressed, OBV!

But he said I wasn't depressed (me: THANK GOD. Except...no chemically drowning out of mah pain? *plans trip to The Bluff* ), I was someone who's life was out of control through no fault of her own (if you don't count the COUNTLESS sprints down the football field. I take full responsibility for continuing to run down the length of the field shouting "whoopee!" without first checking my shoes)(that whole thing where my life's plans were BLOWN out the window by The Trolley Thing though? NOT MY FAULT. woe, etc)( And then there's that little Other Thing, the thing where I lost a pregnancy)

Oh yeah. THAT.

so it took me about a year to realise that I'm GRIEVING.

(you: NO SHIT)

I think it took me a year, denial of said aside, because it took that long to realise this whole loss thing is, like, PERMANENT.

I've been so busy not losing my shit, I forgot I went though the saddest most awesomely difficult thing I've EVER experienced.

Annnd, I've been through it alone (*cue violins*)

When my due date rolled around this year - which really, could have been any time from February third until March the third, everything went black, but I didn't get it. For that whole time, I didn't know WHY the lights went off. I just figured life FELT like shit so I didn't hurl myself off a cliff (mostly - okay, ONLY, because of Daniel) because I figured that while it FELT so real, it had to be only my potato peelings and NOT relisty, it would go away eventually, bunnies and kittens etc.

it didn't.

Then June crept up and it smacked me SO HARD.

And I still didn't get it.

It was only when I was talking to a girlfriend about being pregnant last year (in the carpark at MacDonald's because MaCafe= best marketing plan EVAH, and the carpark because kids are assholes and will TEST you the ENTIRE time you're telling them "go out and PLAY" because you want to drink your coffee and enjoy some grown up company and they WON'T LET YOU, not until they're all sitting in someone else's car doing NOTHING except, you know, SIT), that I realised THAT five minutes was the MOST I'd EVER talked to anyone.

and then I realised it was june 14, 2009, ie The Beginning Of the Equal Happiest and Singular Saddest Event Of My Life.

So I did the sensible thing and called the grief counsellor.

The one I tried to emote to last year but who I ended up discussing everything else EXCEPT loss with instead.

By this time last year, I'd been newly and bunny in the headlights pregnant ie gobsmackedly and over-the-moon happy, and then I WASN'T pregnant, and at this exact time last year I was waiting for it to be over so I could start again, just like none of it ever happened.

Thing is, when you lose babies - and it doesn't matter if your loss occured five days after you got that double line, or YEARS later, it's still your child's lifetime gone in your lifetime, and YOU ARE NEVER THE SAME AGAIN. EVER.

If you DO lose a child later in pregnancy, or sometime after that child was born, it's a recognisable loss.

If you lose that child early on, it's all "it's for the best, move on, think of what you have, it would have been too hard with two, God's will, you can try again". You are told SO MUCH SHIT by people that mean well that it's HARD to even imagine your grief is real.

The pain of NEVER knowing your child is just as real as the pain of losing a child you've met, or of losing a baby you've felt kick, but somehow an "early pregnancy loss", or a "blighted ovum" lacks credibility.

My dreams - YOUR dreams - for our lost pregnancies are just as real as ANYONE'S for THEIR lost children.

I don't think you can compare the pain factor here. I don't think you can say THAT woman is MORE deserving of understanding - from others, but mostly, from HERSELF - because she felt a kick, changed a diaper, proudly watched a graduation ceremony, that that woman over there, the one who's grieving because she NEVER got to experience those things.

One of the hardest things, second only to That Fateful Day, was the understanding that this sadness NEVER goes, the wondering what could have been will NEVER go, this gaping wound in my heart will never be healed. I'll just get used to feeling this way. I'll get used to missing two little lives I never ever knew.

I feel like I'm letting Daniel down, that I WILLINGLY put myself in a position where I could be forever changed, so I feel like kind of a dumbass to continue with this delusional shit that might but probably won't end well.

and on that note.I've got to go. This is a disjointed entry that needs a fisnish but I'm late already and this is the most I've written in a long while about stuff I should have been writing about for a year and if I don't hit Publish now, I probably never will.

Momentitio. This entry WASN'T going to be about The Sad, it was meant to be about Not Being That Guy.

But fuck that.

My LH was 30 whatnots on July 14, and 34(!) the next day. Insemination occured on July 15 and 16. My (effective) day 21 progesterone was last wednesday and came in at a respectable 57 thingummydoovers, which felt SO MUCH better than the crazy inducing high notes I've been reachingn all year, ie no sore boobages, no INSANITY! and is still GREAT when thinking pregnancy (remember, a non pregnant cycle prog is around 20-30) .

My period is due in the next day or three, and I have THE most gigantic rack right now, and The Sore, OMG.

All this in a week.

BECAUSE I AM THAT GUY AND I STILL HAVEN'T CHECKED MAH SHOES.

Okay, now you can go.

let's play a game

2009-07-24T09:44:00.004+09:30

It's called WTF Is Up With My Back Lawn?

Aside from the mad landscaping, that is.

That shit was laid about two and half years ago (which, as an aside, is why I have that obnoxious donate button over there on the side bar. In the event some passing philanthopist drops by and needs to know where to dump his thousands of surplus dollars) and as far as I know, didn't come with a built in self destruction device. Moreover, it's a WEED. My back lawn is a vast expanse of weed ie you can't kill it. And yet!

This is what looked like before the big bucks were splashed around:

Holy shit, right? So I'm not totally negativo about what we can see here:

I KNOW. Holy shit! Check out the transformation! etc

Except it should be GREEN. And THIS is what those brown patches look like close up.

They look just like DIRT, maybe because they ARE dirt.

My lawn guy said "I dunno. Beetles?", so, seriously, wtf IS is up with my back lawn? Because, sportsfans, it's NOT beetles.

and that's when I died

2009-07-10T09:26:00.006+09:30

Daniel went to the chiropractor for the first time ever the other day and that went well, and I totally DIDN'T include the Sarcasmo Tone when I said that. He held my hand and lay on the table his little body was cracked and stretched and when he got off the table he was, like, TEN FEET TALL, which is a slight exaggeration, but he DID get off the table looking a little spaced out.

We paid our bill and spent some time shooting the breeze with the receptionist, all like we usually do, nothing out of the ordinary going on here, but when we were leaving the (VERY crowded) waiting room, he got a little antsy. Probably just being post-adjustment weird or maybe he's just three or something, and he didn't want to leave. So I reached for his hand and said something non threatening and true like "Let's go, chuff. You want to go meet Mallory and Jane at MacDonald's, don't you?" and Daniel recoiled in horror and yelled "MUMMY, NO! NO!! PLEASE DON'T BREAK MY OTHER ARM!!".

snacktime with flourish

2009-07-08T09:02:00.006+09:30

eta: for the CAT, people. I don't ~~always~~ ~~often~~ ever let my kid eat off the floor. Geesh.

wish

2009-07-04T10:08:00.002+09:30

if I could reach it, I'd totally kick my uterus's ass

2009-07-02T08:21:00.002+09:30

Not pregnant.

Thing is, I've been keeping notes for the last five months of Cycle Observation. The unit thinks I'm a whackjob, but I when I call for my results, I ask for the numbers, not just vague shit like "you're heading toward a surge", or "yes you ovulated last week". I want the detaily details and I can write them down on the corresponding page in my diary because somewhere in my head, they make sense.

I did one of those online intelligence tests once upon a time, on that assessed the TYPE of intelligence you have as well as your IQ, and according to that, my brain does some kind of sequence recognition shit, in that I can predict patterns and create patterns and recognise patterns and patterns patterns patterns bla bla BLA, and it was a RELIEF to read a generic explanation of an actual recognisable and KNOWN manner of thought, because it exactly described ME, and if it was on the internet, it had to be RIGHT, and also, maybe I wasn't such a freak after all because hey, there were 0.2 per cent of OTHER freaks in the whole population of earth that think the same way so I'm not alone, but they probably all hide in laboratories and think up mathematical equations and stuff, which I do not, and the people I DO mix with ie the 99.8% of the population who DON'T think like that, always tell me to not think so much ie to NOT BE ME because I'd be SO MUCH HAPPIER if I wasn't ME and I probably would be if I could perform miracles like self lobotomies but I CAN'T so fuck off.

ANYWAY

What that means to YOU, sportsfans, is that when I say stuff, you can pretty much assume it's not going to be random.

I get my period within fourteen days of my LH surge, not usually, not maybe. ALWAYS, and while five months tracking LH surges might not be a 100% reliable predictor of future unterine bahaviour, it's a pretty good one.

So when I come out and say things like "Pregnant?!", it's NOT just wishful thinking. It's because holy fuck, y'all, I MIGHT BE pregnant.

Even the unit told me "Monday at the latest, this is looking good" when I called Tuesday to ask when I was due because I figured I must have stuffed up the dates somehow.

And then I got my period yesterday, a full seventeen days after it was due, because my body hates me and wants me to be miserable.

And because the Universe likes a good joke, I was also on the phone with my mother at the time which made the whole experience a BILLION times more enjoyable.

Every other month, I've had a period. This month, I've lost a dream.

And that hurts.

In other news,

2009-06-30T22:44:00.000+09:30

Underpants Awareness Week has officially commenced.

My period is anywhere from two to five days late which, what else could it be besides menopause? Which it CAN'T be because blood tests CONFIRMED I ovulated, and LH levels taken at the time suggest it all happened anywhere from sixteen to nineteen days ago.

Oh. My god.

clavicular damage

2009-06-30T14:30:00.009+09:30

Daniel was knocked to the ground yesterday when he was run over by or ran into the path of a tricycle at daycare, proving that he is indeed a male of the species, and that he does in fact have the requisite tunnel vision that proves his testicles aren't just for show ie he really IS a male of the species.

So I ditched work and took him to the doctor at around 4.30 yesterday, and he poked and prodded and reckoned that, at most, his whatsamacallit on the end of his shoulder bit might be a little bruised. My brain was all BUT WHERE'S THE BRUISE? so the doctor gave me a request form to shut my brain up, but told it to wait until morning to do anything rash like having my son's pain adequately assessed. Which was his super nifty clever trick to shut me up because the kid would be FINE by then, the end.

But he wasn't, so I a) cursed the doctor, b) kicked myself for LISTENING to that bozo, c) took deebs off for an x ray anon, and shortly thereafter, said hello to Baby's First Fracture, and d) repeated points a) and b) prn.

Daniel's doing really well though. If you ask him, he'll say that yes, it hurts, but only if you ask him, and you'd never know unless you did, so I've been keeping up the six hourly iboprofen to help him with that. He looks all pathetic with his collar and cuff sling on, which would drive me NUTS, but he's even coping with THAT really well too. I had thought we'd need to swap the sling for duct tape if we wanted to keep his arm immobilised for the next four to six weeks, but he's a smart kid. He worked out pretty quick smart that his shoulder hurts less with his wrist held up, so hasn't fought it and listens when you remind him to leave it on mate, it feels better if you do.

And he does.

my little (fractured) champion

this one

2009-06-29T07:33:00.004+09:30

::::

Aside.

Last month, my LH surge came fourteen days before my period did.

This month, my LH surge was sixteen days ago and so far, no period.

(Ta Da with Flourish goes here)

you can throw your alarm clock across the room but, etc

2009-06-26T09:54:00.005+09:30

Daniel spent from Still Dark O Clock onwards kicking me in the neck, punching me in the kidneys, whining about wanting ice cream (which, seriously, wtf? He likes ice cream, but not THAT much), closing in on the 50mm of bed space he'd allowed me and pushing me closer to the edge (literally AND figuratively) and generally being a HUGE pain in the sleep deprived ass.

MY time from Still Dark O Clock onwards was spent escalating from patting him gently and softly saying things like "Shhh, there there etc. Go to sleep, darling sweet child of mine, it's not morning yet bla puppies, kittens, etc", to shoving him off me and onto a more respectable side of the bed, and hissing "Shut UP you little rodent for GOD'S sake, it's the middle of the frikkin' night GO TO SLEEP!"*.

Repeat.

Eventually I ~~beat him into submission~~ ~~smothered him with a pillow~~ ~~hogtied him and crammed a sock in his noisehole~~ got to sleep again, but only after AT LEAST an hour of this crap, and only because the little shit had exhausted a) himself and b) all available avenues of annoying.

Snore.

THen the home phone rang at Almost But Not Quite Light O Clock and Daniel was all "IT'S YOUR PHONE IT'S YOUR PHONE IT'S YOUR PHONE" and I was all peeling myself off the ceiling

and that's how my day started.

Joyously.

How about yours?

*OHNOTREALLYGEEZ

quickie

2009-06-24T09:25:00.002+09:30

Progesterone was 73 whatevers this month, which is good and still has my hopes, if not up, then at least, prepped, even if the entire year's worth of ridiculous high levels have resulted in a repeat order on feminine hygeine products (and remind me to tell you about THAT).

Anyway, I saw my specialist before this last cycle commenced - because NO SHIT I've done it all again - so FINALLY someone looked at the aggregate of the last few months' hormone levels and TOLD me so that finally *I* got to look at the BIG picture and not just the day 21 view of things.

My oestrogen has been crazy high too, which explains (in part, at least) why I've periodically felt like I'm losing my freakin' mind, and also suggests I've been ovulating at least two eggs each cycle.

THIS MONTH, it LOOKS like my oestrgen chilled the fuck out. Or it WOULD look like it if whoever took my bloods on the day that MATTERED, ordered an oestregon level as well. Which she did not. We've got the day BEFORE to compare with though, and THAT day IS lower than the same day god even I know I'm not making any sense.

POINT BEING. Possibly (much) lower oestrogen this month, same cuh-razy high progesterone = one egg released which, if things are going down the same way as the previous months, SHOULD mean a comparatively lower progesterone. Which it is not so, possible Yay! moment, right there.

Fingers crossed.

consider this a PSA.

2009-06-09T17:43:00.006+09:30

I got this in an email today. Or yesterday or something.

Until Thursday, and maybe probably pretty much only in Australia, the first fifty prints you order are only one cent (ONE. CENT. FFS!) each at Snapfish with the coupon code 1CENTLATAU9.

They'd probably also dig a little punctuation but y'all, seriously. ONE CENT PRINTS. Ergo, my ability to punctuate has been fried by the excitement.

cheat post

2009-06-08T12:34:00.002+09:30

1. I've (FINALLY) uploaded a cajillion photos to Flickr.

2. I'm not pregnant.

same shit, different month

2009-06-01T14:49:00.003+09:30

So yes, what we thought were day 21 bloods came back at 91 bla bla whatevers for progesterone last week, except I started spotting not even five days later, which progressed to more spotting on Sunday, which progressed to less spotting today which is wildly exciting news that suggests my bloods couldn't have been day 21's, more like day 23's.

Lesson time: Day 21 is when your progesterone is highest, then it rapidly falls into obscurity, your endometrium sheds, periods are endured, and so on and so forth.

Point of which is, if my day 23 was still a whopping 91, my day 21 must have been in Whoa, Dude, territory.

the internet: wow, this is why we read your blog. It's educational and interesting. Also, it helps me sleep.

ANYWAY

I called the unit this morning to cancel my beta for tomorrow morning, but Sue checked the dates for my LH surge and then she looked at the results for my progesterone level last week, carried the four, divided by nine, and came up with "hmm".

Crickets chirped, cogs turned.

And then she said "We can't rule out pregnancy", which is when I commenced banging my head against the wall because, god, seriously?

So, let's at least get some fun out of this repeat of the entire year's worth of periods, shall we?

Pregnant, or not? and give reasons, okay? Even if they're "Not, because you're OLD. GIVE UP, freak".

Except somehow I suspect a comment like that would read "because your old".

ANYWAY

Keep in mind that I'm not going to a) hate your ass if you're mean to me because, yay, you READ my blog?! I fuckin' LOVE you, man, and b) go over all "but you SAID I was and I'm NOT and it's all YOUR fault for getting my hopes up, HATE, etc" if/when/whatever the results come back in as expected ie NOT, because I'm Don Quixote that way, and anyway, you READ my blog. I LOVE you, man. Yeah.

:::::

In other (thrilling) news, I'm listening to iTunes as we speak, and my fucking speakers just blew out their bass.

Right then, as a kind of blogpostfinaleantifinale.

(could be a sign, etc etc bla yadda)

Hey, you know what sounds like shit without bass? EVERYTHING.

Next up, a DONATE button in my sidebar.

whoopdidoo

2009-05-25T22:04:00.004+09:30

My LH surge (37 *yawn*) was on May 15, which was a Friday. Ovulation occurs 34-36 hours after the LH surge bla bla techincal talk BLA, so I ovulated sometime on Saturday, Sunday or Monday, depending on which side of the surge the blood test was taken.

SO ACCURATE.

also,

ANYWAY

Today's test was the (kind of around about) day 21 progesterone test. Blood levels on this day over 10nmol/L indicate ovulation has occured, and levels around about 100 nmol/L suggest you might be forgiven for clutching your hands under your chin and saying shit like "Oh, wouldn't it be lovely if dot dot dot?".

TWO MONTHS of that shit followed by nohting more exciting that a PERIOD means that when you hear THIS shit: "aibee? It's 91 nmol/L", you might be forgiven for slugging on your vodka, drawing back (heavily) on your Benson& Hedges, adding more water to the rocks in your kickass sauna, and dismissing the messenger with a VERY bored "meh".

Then again, wouldn't it be lovely if....?

(and wouldn't it be [questionably] HILARIOUS if dot dot dot question mark because I had actual real ess ee ex on Monday and it ended up being a case of, uh, sorry about that if youknowhatImeanandImsureyoudo no shit you'd think we were NEW at this the way THAT turned out end transmission)

Mother Of The Year

2009-05-25T07:13:00.003+09:30

It rained all day yesterday, which I actually like, but it does cramp our social style, so yesterday we didn't even leave the house until after five pm, and then it was to go to the store to buy:

a cauliflower
bread
and a twiggy stick for Daniel.

ie, Thrillsville.

We had tried to leave the house earlier to get to the mall with its indoor teeny, tiny play ground, but on the way to the door, I tripped over a toy truck, and the ensuring chain of events didn't pan out so well.

I swore.
then I kicked that motherfucker to the end of the damn earth.
but it was articulated toy truck so somewhere mid-air, became TWO projectiles.
the lighter, less deadly end went that way.
and the heavier, pointier, motherfuckinger other end torpedoed straight into Daniel's knee.
(aside: which was a feat of magnificence because damn, I had NO idea I could kick loop shots like that)

Daniel almost cried but then COULDN'T because OMGAGONY, and I TRIED not to cry because it was MY fault and I HAD to keep my shit together for HIM because I just DESTROYED his kneecap -BUT OMFG I JUST DESTROYED HIS KNEECAP - and there he was, clinging to me, his ATTACKER, unable to breathe and looking at me and wondering why why WHY his mummy just beat up on him.

I still feel sick just thinking about it.

He sat in my lap and held me tight and then the tears ran down his face but his mouth just stayed wide and gapey with no sound coming out, and I rocked him and told him it's okay and that accidents happen and it never ever means bad things and that I love him SO MUCH, and I only apologised once even though I wanted to keep saying "I'msosorrysosorrysosorry" amd KILL myself by way of penance, but I don't want Daniel to learn from me that saying it once and meaning it isn't enough.

And then he fell asleep, with his arms wrapped around my neck with his head under my chin, and both of us sitting awkwardly on the floor.

And then I fell asleep too, on the FLOOR, and by the time we woke up it was too late for the mall, hence out thrilling trip to the store.

We conducted surveillance on McDonald's afterwards though, and Other Kids were located, so we stopped and went inside. I drank a bucket of decaf cappucino and read the Sunday paper, and Daniel ran around like a lunatic with the Other Kids, and then we came home, him to a warm bath and me to a floor scrubbing session, which I do NOT recommend because scrubbing floors is bad for your health, if this headache I woke up with is anything to go by.

and after Daniel went to bed, I lost my mind.

I hope it's hormones, and know it probably is hormones (other women get PMS. aibee goes nuts between [effective] days 14 to 21) but it feels o real and I'm convinced I'm decompensating FAST.

Today is day 21. I get to go back on 1.25 mg of Valium* this morning and I get to go to the gym and spin through this My Life Is In The Toilet No One Loves Me conviction, and will no doubt be flying with the fairies by 11.20 and wondering what in fuck THIS *gestures widely* was all about because, bunnies, kittens, etc.

Also, today is for blood tests**, which in part explains why I'm up so early. The other part is explained by the waking up every. damn. hour until now, at which point I figured I might as well get up and be (semi) functional.

*four and a half days on, two and a half days off.
Days on = 1.25mg x 2 + 2.5mg at night.
The 2.5mg kicks my ass, but means I don't wake up feeling like agonised shit.
The 1.25mg makes me MORE energetic, gives me CLEARER thinking, and greatly improves my and my son's quality of life. My doctor says this is because a) constant pain and b) my dandy stressfree life AHEM are Heavy Duty, and just enough muscle relaxant redirects the energy it takes to keep mah shit together to doing shit like, you know, actually LIVING.

**because NO SHIT I did another round of Air Traffic Controller insemination. Huzzah.

happy mothers day

2009-05-10T21:35:00.007+09:30

I hope all that it applies to had/is having/will have a great day.

Mine was spent tending, first to the needs of my dumbass back which went *whammo* this morning, and then to the needs of my adorable smooshyface once that valium kicked in.

aside: I know my life is stressful. Not PERCEIVED as stressful, IS stressful, but it's clearly taxing my resources more than I realise to keep a lid on it all because I took a half of the half (what?) valium prescribed to me this morning at my emergency woe is me doctor's appointment, and it gave me MORE energy that I've had in ages. Half the day was spent cleaning and decluttering and moving furniture and whistling merrily away because The Carefree And Possibly Even Happy was IMPRESSIVE and my GOD, the motivation I had to DO stuff was IMPRESSIVE INTENTIONAL BOLD CAPSLOCK ITALIC too.

Then we went to the store soley and specifically to buy me some dark chocolate covered ginger because it's an addiciton and I totally need an intervention of THAT one, then we went to the park and Daniel rode his bike and played with a succession of park visiting children (and again, the minuscule drug hit paid off because I ran around with him and pushed the swing for EVER and didn't feel exhausted like I usually do and was an all round better mother and I'm gonna milk this muscle spasm for a LONG time seeings as the treatment outcome was a] I can feel it but also, what crippling pain? [which was kind of weird because I COULD feel it but didn't give a shit] and b] wheeeeee!) and dug in the sand and lost his mind each time a train went past, and then we went to MacDonald's (AGAIN)(not for the food, geesh. For the COFFEE [me] and the "coffee" *exaggerated wink* [him]) and he got to play with ANOTHER succession of children, and then we went to the store and then we came home and then we read a book together and now he's asleep and I'm looking forward to my second prescribed dose of valium and this time I'm taking the WHOLE half (wahoo!)(also, what?) so THAT should kick my ass in a MOST delicious way, happy mother's day to me, the end.

no surprises here

2009-05-04T09:44:00.000+09:30

Remember how I said my funbags don't get all premenstrual on me? Because it's true. They don't, or they didn't, which is I don't get what's up with them NOW.

I mean, they were all whiny and assfaced last month, too, and for TWO months now, my progesterone has gone from sitting in the regular You're Not Pregnant Zone of around 20ish on day 21 - which it did even when I was on progesterone supplements, FORCRYIN'OUTLOUD - to zooming into the stratosphere, and the only explanation I can come up with is that someone, somewhere, is fucking with me.

My period arrived on Satruday, so the answer to the question of when it's due was, obviously, Saturday.

Feeling sad about it is one of the hardest things to do because what I THINK is that I've put myself on this impossible journey, why on earth do I DESERVE to feel sad when I KNOW what the outcome is going to be ANYWAY?

But I DO feel sad, even if I don't know HOW to feel sad, and even if I DO know the sadness is actually quite monumental. I'm not just sad about this month's lost (ridiculous) hope, I'm sad for what the future inevitably holds. I'm SCARED of how I'lll feel when it's all over, because I can't see how I'll EVER be ready to not want more of the lusciousness that's sitting on the sofa watchign Playschool.

If Daniel walked in now, he'd ask me why I was sad, and then he'd hug me, and then he'd tell me HucyTheCat needed to give me a hug, and then we'd group hug, and then I'd feel better and sadder at the same time.

simple maths eludes me

2009-05-01T00:06:00.002+09:30

(and to the giant bunch of weirdos who just yelled at their screens, "it's math. MATH!!": it's NOT, because don't call say mathematiC, do we? Now go correct your bunch of weirdo friends)

Okay, so they're just boobs and there is that thing called PMS that generally inflates your hooters to LongLowWhistle proportions anyway. Check on that.

But they still hurt and are kind of hot and also lumpy. SO SEXY.

Anyway, the mathS question is this, because somehow I missed out of fully understanding exactly WHEN your period is due: when is my period due?

Let's assume a standard, tickety boo twenty eight day cycle. (which mine was this time, HOW CONVENIENT)

If day 14 was on the seventeenth of this month, day 21 was LAST Friday, and day 28 was yesterday, when is you period due? Today? Or yesterday?

my rack

2009-04-30T10:00:00.005+09:30

The first thing I did this morning was put on a bra because I really don't dig being whapped in the face by one (or both!) of my boobs.

Or as Daniel calls them, "bewbs".

The next thing I did was take it off again because I really don't dig having bits of myself smooshed out of my bra cups and into my armpits, so the NEXT thing I did was find that bra that never really fit before but now, aaaah, relief.

DON'T GET EXCITED

But!

The ONLY period in my LIFE I've ever EVER EVER willingly, no, desperately donned a bra fifteen seconds after standing up in the morning began almost exactly four years ago, and ended more than two years after that.

(also, holy canoli, you haul! Dig all those words! I used to WRITE STUFF *shockface*)

I'm not exactly all "OMGOMGOH!MAH!GAWD!". I'm more in the "Wow, would you LOOK at these things. How did THAT happen?" camp. I suspect too, that if I were a guy, I'd be STILL be standing in front of the mirror with my eyes bugging out of my head, what with the being smack bang in the middle of the "PHWAAAAR" zone and all.

There are no other signs of bunintheovenitude, so keep your hats on. Or not! I mean, I'm doing that Lift One Foot, Place It In Front Of The Other, Repeat thing for quite some time now, so I'd LOVE it if someone wants to get all excited, PLEASE DO! If you think the Boob Sitch is reason enough TO get excited.

the internet: BUT THEY'RE NOT THAT BIG.

tales from the outbox

2009-04-28T14:52:00.005+09:30

Found, attached to an email I sent way back in June, 2007.

No kidding, the things you do when you're avoiding writing class plans, eh?

This is the ONE and ONLY iMovie blockbuster I've ever made because Jesus H, people, that shit is HARD.

ANYWAY.

Enjoy. Or not. Your choice :)

resulty goodness

2009-04-27T12:40:00.003+09:30

Day 21 progesterone this month came back at 65 whatchamacallits, which is (bla bla *yawn*) a very good level if you're looking to get knocked up.

Thing is, it was Negative Nurse who gave the results and even SHE went beyond "good" and into the "great" zone. With exclamation marks.

So maybe I SHOULD get excited?

(discuss)

Sixty five whatevers also explains the Gigantorboobs - which are quite impressive (to me, everyone else in the world is still looking at my b cups and wondering what all the fuss is about), and it also probably explains my losemyshitacular mood.

So now we wait. Until Saturday, which is a throwaway, if you've taken to keeping detailed notes on mah stuff.

(oops) I did it again

2009-04-26T09:20:00.003+09:30

I went in for more Day 21 bloods on Friday because ho yes, I DID go ahead with another donor insemination cycle, so bla bla, it's not over til the fat lady sings bla but I'm pretty darn sure I ain't no knocked up chick.

The whole thing has been so rote this month, not that it wasn't last month, but last month my body was all "mreowww!", and this month I was all "what? you're kidding? I'm OVULATING??" ie So! Not! RRRRRandeh! and because of which, it kind of surprised me that I was actually fertile AT ALL this month. Easter break probably had something do do with it (not that religious holidays kill my libido, but because I don't really know why that might have been a factor oh look something shiny), and the fact that the unit fucked up my dates.

I told them I got my period on the third, and they told me to come in on day ten to start a new cycle. "Come in on the fifteenth", they said, WHICH DOESN'T ADD UP. Which I knew but didn't really care about because the theme of this month appears to be Whatthefuckever, Dude.

So! The whole shebang took place on the seventeenth and eighteenth of this month.

The [euphemism] procedure [/euphamism] (aside: the inseminator thing is about 3 feet long NO KIDDING and the only way I can explain that amount of superfluous length is I CAN'T) on the seventeeth was with TWO nurses standing at my business end of things because one was a LEARNER and this was the FIRST time she'd done it, and why not have as many people as possible crammed in a room and looking at my girlparts. The experienced nurse talked The Learner through, and LN did well, then ExN turned away for an instant and LN chose that moment to extract the speculum, which she did by winding it closed - which was joyous for my twat but So! Not! advisable following an insemination procedure - and whipping it out. Experienced nurse has explained to me THREE times (ie each day of the last month's effort) that it ISN'T a good idea to do a) the winding down or b) the whipping out, because of the potential for the deposited whatevers to unpool itself from the front porch of your cervix on the winding down, and to go flying through the air (okay, OKAY. Leak out) on the Whipping Out, so when she turned back and saw the Ta Da! moment as the speculum was theatrically flourished in the air (OKAY! REMOVED WITH NO FANFARE. AT ALL. But STILL), her eyes flared a little before she got a grip and didn't slap her hands across her horrified mouth. My guess is LN got a quick primer on speculum removal shortly thereafter.

On the morning of the eighteenth, a) I had to drop Daniel off at a sitter at fucking 7am which is worth a mention because MY GOD, and b) the nurse was that negative one that says dumbass things like "your bloods are looking good, which is SURPRISING/AMAZING/UNBELIEVABLE considering you~~'re an old hag, look at your~~ AGE", and who does dumbass things like whipping out the speculum so fast she flung the [airquotes] reproductive material [/airquotes] all over the wall. OKAY. It leaked onto the sheet under me, BUT STILL, it did as much good there as it would have had it been wallpapered. I was pretty pissed about that because she should have known and done better because she's done this a BILLION times. She didn't seem to give a crap though, probably because she thinks I'm wasting her time anyway, what with The Old and all, upshot being, TWO days' of business ended up in places other than where it was meant to be, ie on the sheet under my ass and no where near my damn cervix.

So no doubt this month will be filed under I Spent A Lot Of Money And All I Got Was This Wet Patch.

But still, day 21 bloods were done and I'll call for results tomorrow, not because I think I maybe just could be pregnant, but because numbers keep me sane. I get a certain (weird, no doubt) satisfaction from getting the technical information. Probably because I' m weird.

splash

2009-04-23T15:19:00.005+09:30

First swimming lesson!

Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen

2009-04-21T16:39:00.004+09:30

We'll wait a week for his new 'do to settle and or reach its peak appeal factor, and then if it still warrants, we'll do something about reducing the Cousin It slash Westie resemblance then.

Twenty bucks says that even if Daniel is brushing his hair back to expose his eyeballs and telling me "mummy I can't SEE", none of this will actually happen and no cuts will ensue and his hair will grow and grow and people will start thinking he's a girl again. Which they do already because of The Pretty.

But!

His hat fits again!

What'll likely happen is this: we'll get him a shorter cut when it's springtime again ie in five months, so then he'll have all of summer to grow it back to being a toasty warm insulating layer on his head just in time for NEXT winter ie in a YEAR.

I call this: planning a head.

OH HAR.

haircut

2009-04-19T10:22:00.007+09:30

Daniel had one yesterday.

His last cut was short and cute

but it's coming into winter so some kind of built in beanie action would be sensible, you know? But when I said "Leave a bit of length in", I think the stylist heard me say "give him a mullet".

She took ages to do it, and she's chipped into his hair A LOT, so A LOT of it ended up on the floor, so technically speaking, she's done a GREAT job of preserving the length because he looks like the kid you figure is DUE for a haircut

I...don't really like it.

What do YOU think?

things to do today

2009-04-11T09:00:00.003+09:30

Go here

Vote for Kaelan, aged 9

Pass this (VERY! IMPORTANT!) message on

Squee!

negativo, dudes

2009-04-08T08:44:00.002+09:30

Blood results came back yesterday and I'm not pregnant, not even a little bit, which is SO not surprising, but saddish nonetheless.

"Saddish" because I can't think about how I feel.

"Saddish" because this was just (in wanky bunny ears air quotes) lost hope.

Nothing more, nothing real.

You know, I don't feel I've earned the right to just be SAD.

Losing a pregnancy is losing something and someone that exists. A failed IVF cycle hurts just as much as losing a pregnancy, and each embryo that either doesn't make it to freezing or doesn't survive its thaw has an exquisite pain all of its own that equals that of a failed IVF cycle.

Meanwhile, on the one hand I'm all "thanks for the superhigh progesterone level, Universe. It was PEACHY!", and on the other I'm shaking my fist at that bitch, all "what the HELL was up with THAT shit? Quit fucking with me. Jesus.".

And changing the subject DRAMATICALLY, I'm teaching my first ever ever ever EVER spin class today and I feel SO SICK right now. Not because I'm harboring some kind of germ or anything, because I'm SO FREAKIN' NERVOUS. If by "nervous" I mean "LOSING MY SHIT OVER HERE UPPERCASEUPPERCASEUPPSERCASE".

I was going to DO the class this morning anyway because I LOVE SPIN, then I got a call and the girl who normally teaches (a bitchin') class is sick and could I teach it instead I was all "yeah, sure, no problemo!" because apparently I am a consumate LIAR because there sure IS a problemo, and the problemo is NOT limited to the FACT that I truly and honestly feel like I am going to DIE.

still over (but)

2009-04-06T14:09:00.002+09:30

Show of hands who had their period when they were pregnant?

Not that I'm pregnant, but fuck it, what if I AM?

I mean, the only sign I'm NOT pregnant is my period. The one that's SO light it lasted for two days, really only needed one light pad a day, and is now only a spot or so every few hours.

I don't feel pregnant, right? Which is EXACTLY how I felt when pregnant a) with Daniel, and b) Bill and Ted.

Then there's that 100nmol/L thing that even the reproductive unit are saying is weird.

And I'm still crabby, and SO tired I couldn't get out of bed for a blood draw this morning. I had one this afternoon instead though, so god knows when the results will be back in.

Stay tuned.

it's over because it is

2009-04-03T08:57:00.002+10:30

So.

I guess I'll do it all again next month.

Thank you for being the only people I can share this with.

This is all so private, this mission to create a family while single, poor, and old, because Single, Poor and Old also looks kind of Stupid, Misguided, and Delusional, even to me, so I keep it to myself, go alone to appointments, and don't talk to anyone about how this all feels.

It, for what it's worth, feels stupid and misguided and delusional, but what if it's not? What if it's NOT?

And that's why I keep going.

I look at my precious, precious son, who is EVERYTHING to me. Having him was all I could ever want, and that's WHY he's not enough. BECAUSE he's everything. He's filled my life with so much of everything that his very existence leaves big gaping holes where there could be more of everything crammed in, a thousand times over.

If we never get another child to share our lives with, that's okay too, and if that happens, Daniel WILL be more than enough because he already IS.

You all have a great day.

xx

motion this

2009-04-02T10:10:00.006+10:30

The lawyer (not THE lawyer) I engaged/hired/whatever one does with a lawyer last year impressed me during our first interview, which is why I whatevered him in the first place. Then at our second interview I was all "what the FUCK, dude? Who ARE you??".

He wanted to settle the case now for a paltry sum because "the insurance company is being difficult", which - correct me if I'm high here - IS THEIR JOB. They're HARDLY going to pay my bills because someone asked them to, and my understanding (but am possibly high!) is they're paid to make sure the company who pays them pays (what?) AS LITTLE as possible, and it's HIS job to navigate what should be, to him, a lawyer with twenty five years plus experience, a cakewalk.

IF we settled and IF Paltry Sum WAS accepted and paid out by the insurance company, it barely reimburses me NOW, much less reimburses me, pays my legal fees, AND provides enough pay any FUTURE bills.

If the insurance company DOESN'T accept the offer, though, then I'm screwed because where do you go from there? "Uh, can we have A More Paltry Sum instead then? Please?", which, if they didn't laugh at us and they DID accept THAT offer, the amount wouldn't even cover reimbursing my costs NOW, much less pay my legal fees.

Paltry Sum, by the way, was based on what my lawyer deduced from my doctor's report. The one that said fuck all because lawyerish DIDN'T tell me he was requesting it so I didn't even TALK my doctor to my doctor beforehand, so the report - from a general practitioner, mind - consisted of "I saw aibee in October and, uh, yeah. That's it.".

If Paltry Sum was based on a COMPLETE report, I'd be all over it because I don't even want a lawsuit. I just want my bills paid, but to get my bills paid I need to sue, and if I sue, INVARIABLY all the "pain and suffering" and "loss of income" and "loss of earning capacity" bullshit gets haggled over, when I just wantmy bills paid until this pain settles. Not "is gone", settles.

So I called my law firm and spoke to some big shit who deals with I don't even know what because I need a lawyer I don't need to audit, you know? One who, when they say "abc and d", I say "alrighty then!", and I am NOT getting THAT vibe from THIS guy. I'm getting the "but SHOULD I settle now? Or should HE wait til SOMEONE knows a little more of this injury's longevity? Or should I settle NOW? But what I need to keep up with the three times a week sessions for more than three months? But maybe I should SETTLE now, get it over with..?" vibe which I SHOULDN'T be getting from a guy who's meant to do all the worrying for me.

SO, big shit spoke to lawyerish and lawyerish spoke to me and dude BAILED on me so a) I need a new lawyer and b) I was RIGHT about homeboy all along. Not that I wanted to be because I'd rather have resolved things with him because I liked HIM, I just didn't like that he'd made his recommendations based on shit all.

updated fyi

2009-03-31T08:15:00.008+10:30

I'm pretty sure I'm NOT pregnant.

of anyone thinks otherwise, please submit your reasons here because I WANT to think that maybe I am.

Sure, my boobages are sore (and lumpy. Jesus god, what is THAT all about??) and I'm a bit mood swingy cranky, and I HAVE felt "different" this last week, I don't feel different ENOUGH. IN any case, anything "different" I've been feeling can be neatly away by a progesterone level I've never seen before, and that level can be explained away by I don't know. I have NO idea how my progesterone got up that high in an unstimulated cycle but I bet being an old fart has a lot to do with it.

AND, my belly is too flat. Or, it is when I wake up. It DOES get to Is She Or Isn't She proportions by the end of the day, but all in all, too flat.

Speaking of which, my belly is FLAT.

Ever since I had Daniel, people have been eyeing off my poochy midsection and crowing "oh, and you're PREGNANT again!".

Which you should NEVER do unless the woman in question is CROWNING right in front of you.

I did all my core strength thing but I might as well have been doing NOTHING because NOTHING worked and I just accepted the pooge as a) old age and b) once upon a time I had a baby AND I'm old aged.

Then I had that boring back injury last year, and after a long time of poking and prodding and not getting anyway with my physiotherapist, I finally said "look, you can wiggle your finger into that sore bit in my back FOREVER, but it's not making it better. Give me some rehab already oh look this is a PILATES studio. Ever think about THAT, bozo?", so I started doing Pilates not that long ago. The new physio jammed her fingers into my tummybits and then told me to clench my undercarriage as hard as I could. So I CLENCHED and she said "So, incontinence is a problem then".

Because my pelvic floor (which you can feel in your tummy, nothing weirdo was going on that day, okay?) was THAT weak.

It's not, and I wasn't, by the way, but still. THAT weak. HOW EMBARRASSING.

I mean, I've been SHARING my actual pelvic floor this entire time and since June last year, it's gone from being able to shoot ping pong balls across the room to Is It In Yet? and I DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE. OH THE SHAME INTENTIONAL CAPSLOCK

But anyway, I started doing one-on-one Pilates sessions three times a week, doing the MOST basic stuff and FAILING, which was MAJOR suck, but now I'm up to two classes a week and one private session, and soon I'll be let loose in the studio on my own, and suddenly, like about two weeks ago and seemingly overnight, my pooge went flat...okay, flatTER. It's almost like before I had Daniel - and I'm FOUR years older now so I'm in the Automatic Pooch Zone ANYWAY.

Pilates, people. It will ANNIHILATE your pooch.

And jesus H, after that s,idebar where was I?

Three and a half weeks pregnant IF I'm pregnant, which I don't think I am because I don't feel pregnant except for the boobs and the crankypantsedness, and shouldn't I be CONSTIPATED by now?

(which is a throw away clue if you want to answer this question: Guess who can poop?)

I WAS headachey last week, I DID have cramps, and it DID feel like someone had stuck a sandbag in my pelvic cavity during that time too.

So I don't know what the fuck. I'm all signless this week. Except for the boobs and the crankypants that can be explained by 100nmol/L progesterone thing that can be explained by being pregnant. Which I am NOT.

Then again, nothing has been peed on yet, not even the cat (what?), so I guess it's not over until it is.