Rosie's Growing Snow Peas.

Wordless Wednesday. The silly season in pictures.

2012-01-04T07:00:00.000+11:00

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Farewell 2011. I salute you.

2011-12-31T10:00:00.001+11:00

"we're only living for a day or some days gone by.

you'll take it in each moment

Never notice what you had until it passed you by. Passed you by.

Take it in. Take it all in.
Now is the time that will not come again.
Take it in. Take it all in.
This is the day and it's here for the living."
The Waifs.

Angel head and I were dancing with lolly once again thus morning around our living room. Our girl has spunk and her rhythm is amazing. We're dying for them to see how our girl dances at childcare. Let's just say it's not demure. And it has style and pizazz.

This song came on the iPhone dock and it seemed somehow appropriate. Christmas night a well-known Australian celebrity chef lost his family, 3 daughters and a gorgeous wife, and his home to a house fire on the sunshine coast. I have been consumed with thoughts about it. Existential ones. What's this life thing all about? Why so much suffering? Why do we live just to ultimately die? Did I mention I'm a deep thinker? Perhaps you already knew that.

Today is the last day of 2011. Some years are gentle on a soul. Some are tough. I know folk for whom this year caught them off guard. I know it was a difficult year for many. For me, 2011 was a divine gift. It is with me forever. I will write that number over and over again for years to come. It is my daughter's birth date. My much loved and anticipated, longed for, sweated for, bled and wept for, daughter's birth date.

What is there left to do but to live the good days? There's no use living in fear for what might come or how much you have to lose. You simply have to take stock and recognize the more gentle parts of life. You have to count your blessings when you find them and where you find them. You have to know when this was your year.

And it was. There is no need for guilt and apologies. These are the days and they're here for the living.

We will not pass by this way again. Take it in. Take it all in.

Thank you 2011.

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Baby All I Want For Christmas is You

2011-12-22T07:00:00.002+11:00

I dont want a lot for Christmas
there is just one thing I need.
I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree.
I just want you for my own
more than you could ever know
make my wish come true
Baby all I want for Christmas is you.

I happened to download the Michael Buble Christmas album the other day. Who didn't right? And I happened to hear this song as I danced around my sunlit room with Lola. It kind of stopped me in my tracks and my throat caught a little. This song used to capture so perfectly how I felt while waiting to fall pregnant. Christmas day has long felt hollow to me. There was all the colour and activity and festivity around me but it only served to make me feel even more profoundly lacking. I missed with all of my heart something I never had. I missed my baby.

I now think of this song as the infertile's Christmas carol. All infertiles will know what I mean. Every word fits in this song. The grandest present would just never come near to filling that gaping hole. It's the darndest feeling. Knowing that underneath the tree would not lie the single gift you are hoping for. So what would be the point in unwrapping.

So it was in this sunfilled living room dancing to the infertile's Christmas song with my baby that I marked the occasion of a dream fulfilled.

This Christmas there is no wistful longing. My heart is not elsewhere. In the place of the emptiness there is a fierce freaking bubble of life.

I have seen the lights twinking in her eyes. She has unwrapped her first ever Christmas gift.

And I have spent hours long into the night struggling to assemble children's toys, poring over diagrams that lack a single word.

May it be the first of many. I am so excited about my first Christmas as a family, building and creating our new traditions along the way.

And while everyone is unwrapping their presents, I will be joyfully beholding mine.

May I take this opportunity to wish you all, our dear friends, a joyful and happy Christmas. May all of your dreams come true. A special prayer for all of you who are trying to complete your families. You're in our hearts and minds.

Wordless Wednesday: Happy effing Christmas.

2011-12-21T09:37:00.001+11:00

Because these ones are much more fun to catch!

Linking with Faith Hope and a whole lotta love, My Little Drummer Boys, and Ai Sakura

Point and shoot: creating a baby's outside play area with petty cash.

2011-12-19T07:42:00.002+11:00

On the weekend I turned this wasted paved area behind me in my inner urban courtyard...

Into this very functional and bright baby play area.

In around 2 hours for around 200 dollars.

All it took was a sail over my clothes line. Three meters of faux turf, foam mats, and a click together playpen.

At everyone's favorite hardware shop angelhead followed me while I muttered my grand design. She could not see my vision. She may have doubted me. Needless to say, she was pretty impressed in the end.

The click (more like shove and push in a way likened to giving birth) together playpen is to keep the puppies from using the faux turf for toilet type purposes.

The green foam mats now go all the way around. I had to buy a few more.

It's now ready for the swimming pool grandma bought for Christmas and the sand and water tray angel bought which we will set up in the dark on Christmas eve.

Happy Christmas lolly! Now we can play outside.

And I can still hang out my washing. Besides, watching the washing dance in the breeze is also stimulating!

Time outside is good for the soul and the imagination.

Do you like it?

Thanks to two blue shoesFind her here for the faux turf inspiration!

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Dear Lola. These are my thoughts on childcare.

2011-12-16T07:00:00.007+11:00

To my darling Lola.

Today I lay on my bed with you and laughed and smiled at you. But it was through my tears. I watched on the way home from our walk the way your little head bobs in the pram looking this way and that. Taking everything in. And I wondered what it must look like to you. Everything was green and bright and you sat in just your nappy and a top, and I remembered the things I will never forget. Like walking through the changing seasons. Wrapping you tight as a tiny infant and laying you amongst the blankets in your bassinet to keep warm. And then when it became apparent that you needed, no, must see out, I changed your seat. Do you remember those cold afternoons. And then the snug of the house when we got home. The sepia colour of the lounge room as the light changed and faded.

And now it’s warm and there’s excitement all around us. Tinsel, lights,songs, occasions. And I too am so excited about your first Christmas. But my heart is so heavy, I might drop it.

I watched your little bobbing head and I wanted to tell you about how things change. How they must. Why they must. No longer will we have the same routine that we have created together. A long and languid breakfast. You chewing and sucking on your toast. No hurry. The only pressing thing is to get you back into bed within two hours or you don’t cope so well. Our books together. Our walks. Our walks. How I love our walks. I have had the luxury of being a stay at home mum for 8 months. But it was just that, a luxury.

In a perfect world, I would always be with you, while you needed me. But it is not a perfect world, lola. It is a hurried capitalist world, run by businesses and money, and I cannot simply hunt and gather for you. This is the way I will provide the best life that I can, for you.

I hope you understand that. Not now. But someday.

I will hate taking you in on that first day. I do not even know how I will compose myself. How I will miss this. How I will miss you.

You are such a brave and happy girl. I am certain you will accept this change with your usual grace and patience, the way you accepted my often bumbling efforts as a first time mum. You have taught me how to be the strong, capable and happy mother that I am. You have shown me in the most profound way how to make the moments, the precious seconds count. All that is good in life is made all the more so because of you.

Please know, Lola. I am always a heartbeat away. You are never alone, even if it may seem it. For the rest of my life, there will always be someone thinking of you.

I love you, my soul. We will find the time to enjoy slow toast, and to walk through the seasons. We will steal it if we have to.

Wordless Wednesday: festivity in instagram

2011-12-14T11:03:00.001+11:00

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How not to make friends at mother's group.

2011-12-13T07:00:00.004+11:00

Mother's group is one of those things. They are either fabulous, or completely disastrous. They can be a place of moral and emotional support, or a mean place of competition and bitchiness.

I must admit I wasn't sure what to expect when I first rocked up at mine. I rushed through the door into the already crowded community house room, packed to the rafters with prams. I was uncertain where to park my own monstrosity. The child was asleep in there so I didn't want to leave her in a corner somewhere. I tentatively sat down on the edge of the group feeling like an imposter. It was still difficult for me to identify myself as an actual in real life mother. I had made the physical leap, but not that mental one.

Mercifully my group turned out to be one of those warm and supportive ones.

I could tell you some yarns about the mental, I mean maternal health nurse that ran it, and the day the newspapers came to visually document the unusual baby boom in the area, or throwing my child towards another mother in order to run to the bathroom, still in the throes of the after-effects of the incontinence that came with whole push a person out of your vajajay deal, and then there was the hairloss. Oh the hairloss. And what happens when you get 10 or so moulting women together in a room, and then add to that, 10 or so moulting babies. Shudder.

But I will have to save those yarns for another time, because this post is going to be a helpful post for new mothers about how they should approach and embrace their whole mother's group experience.

First and foremost, do not feed another woman's baby with your own tit. This should go without saying, but there was a whole hullabaloo about this not so long ago on Mamamia's website. Here is the link if you want to freak the hell out. It does not matter if the baby is hungry and the mother is out. This is not a developing country and it is very likely the baby was fed not so long ago and will be fed again shortly. Breast feeding another woman's child should only occur in an end of the world disaster. Repeat after me, breast feeding another woman's child should only occur in an end of the world disaster. It is a similar category to drinking your own urine. Last resort. I am glad we are all clear on that.

Secondly, if perchance you are at a local park and you happen to sit yourself and your child in the nest of one of God's living and crawling creatures, and hypothetically speaking one of these said creatures crawl up your legs, and you do not yet know if it is a spider or something equally awful, do not, I repeat, do not freak the hell out and grab this creature and throw it on to the nearest pink and chubby bubba. Not yours. Like, someone elses. Okay this really did happen to me, and thankfully the mother of this pink and beautiful bubba was very, very gracious. And to my credit, I very quickly grabbed the ugly and now apparently HARMLESS bug from that beautiful dumplin leg. I mean really, when it comes to creepy crawlies, it's every man for himself. However, we are now selfless, self sacrificing mothers and we will throw ourselves in front of trains and give up our last M&M for these very same pink bundles. So it doesn't look good to the other mothers that you will save yourself and sacrifice one of the smallest members of the human race to the yucko enemy, at the first sign of an attack.

This is an evolving and unfolding post which I intend to update regularly as issues arise. But I do wish to leave you with one last, and perhaps the most important point.

Cut your child's fingernails before each group. So in my house Wednesday is nail cutting day. Last week I forgot to and I had to warn all mothers to keep their angelfaced babies clear of Edward Scissorhands. It is one thing for your child to tear up his or her own face, or poke your eye out, but it is quite another thing for him or her to slash another baby. If you would like your child's future report cards to begin with, plays well with others, here is where you must begin.

This happened to my own baby's angel face. Thanks to little Claw-len. She still bears the scar and I am afraid it has signalled the end of her modeling career.

So in case your wondering, that is why I threw the bug on him.

So there.

Postscript: I love my mother's group, and I hold no real grudge against Clawlen. Edward Scissorhands slashed another child the week before so I cannot take any sort of moral highground!

(Scarface)

Point and shoot: But the prettiest sight you'll see... And the winners are...

2011-12-12T09:01:00.001+11:00

There was recovery from illness and the grumpies.

Christmas shopping to be done.

Presents to be wrapped.

Twilight strolls and imagining when I will own this house.

Moments to enjoy.

First icy poles to suck and refuse to share.

Enjoying my own hearth and home.

A bit of a cold blast.

And a giveaway to draw.

And the winners were... (Lola's random choice!)

Trish for the nativity.

And laura for the apptivity case. (this piece of paper had to be rescued before it was devoured.)

Congrats to Trish and Laura. Please dm me on twitter or send address in a comment not to be published!

Linking with Sunny and Scout. Gorgeous blog!

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Wordless Wednesday: Blessing day

2011-12-07T07:00:00.002+11:00

I am not a supermum

2011-12-06T07:00:00.085+11:00

It's true. I am not a supermum. My supermum day went ass over tit. Seriously.

It started well. I wrote this post where I declared to you all that 7 months is easy. Whatever happens, I know her. You remember the spiel.

I bet all you seasoned mothers were smiling smugly into your lattes and frappes. You were, weren't you?

When I was little and I used to say something to somebody that I shouldn't have, my mother would be standing behind them holding her mouth open wide and tracing her lips with her fingers. Translated, this meant big mouth. I would have to keep a poker face and know I would be in trouble later on.

Well I am sitting here pulling that very same face. I jinxed myself. Bad. I should have known better than to put it out there that things were going so well for me.

For no more than two minutes after I hit publish, my day began to spiral downwards in a dying blowfly fashion.

The girl woke up grumpy, too early, and because I had been writing my blog post, nothing had been done in my kitchen, in my house, no preparations at all for the big day ahead.

I had tossed up whether I should tackle the whole three events planned for the rest of the day. As a single woman, three events seems like a piece of cheesecake, but for a new mother, it's like conquering everest and crossing the poles all at once. Swimming seemed like the likely candidate to kick off the event's list, and how in hindsight I wish I had done it. That damned hindsight.

But a quitter I am not, and despite all odds being stacked against me, I did it. I still regret that I did it.

Since I had run out of time for the day's preparations, and had a whingeybum on my hands, I could barely even scrape myself together. I felt like I was never going to leave the house before it was time for her to sit her Year 12 exams.

We finally left the house at 10:55 and was in the pool in time for the 11:00 lesson. I was rightly proud of myself when I recounted to another Mum all the odds that were stacked against me. I gave to her the full details of the large poop that I had to clean 10 minutes before the lesson, and the fact that when I went to pack her swimming bag, I found the wet smelly bathers her dad had left in plastic bag with the spare nappy, change mat and spare swimming nappy the week before. This is where the mother told me she would have quit. Any normal person would have wouldn't they? But no, not this crazy lady. I shoved the poor child into a full rashy, and threw her into the carseat like that. It did mean I didn't have to do a thing to her before we got into the pool, which was helpful.

The little darling shivered through her lesson. A better more experienced mother might have realised that the child does not normally shiver through her lesson and perhaps the said child is not well. And like a good and established mother, they would have taken the sickly child home to rest.

I blundered along.

She cried like I was torturing her in the change room. Another clue for a good mother. I chided her. It's not that bad.

She fell asleep as soon as I buckled her into the carseat. Um, another clue!

At my lunch event she cried when I tried to remove her from her pram, and whenever I tried to touch her. She offered no smiles to anyone. This is the traditional charming friendly warm baby who makes friends with strangers in waiting rooms. Hell, woman. CLUE!

In the process I had forgotten her dummy then dropped the spare car one on the floor beneath the table, under my foot.

And finally I dragged the poor sick thing to the baby sale because apparently it couldn't wait and apparently I had missed every sign she offered me that she was producing a nasty virus. It was only there that it finally dawned on me that perhaps my baby wasn't completely well. Well congratmebloodylations.

And just because I am not superstitious, and felt free to say out loud to all and sundry that my baby is a good sleeper, I have been hit with the full force of the fate I dared to tempt, and the past four nights have seen me battling for hour upon hour in the cold and lonely night trying to settle a sick and frustrated baby. This includes pram walks in the rainy dark, and the old push back and forward in the lounge room. I do realise that at this point all my dear friends currently enrolled in sleep school are thinking that it serves me right.

And, it probably does.

I hereby declare that I am not a supermum, and I have just eaten a large and cold serving of my own words.

Belch.

Can I have my happy baby back now... please?

Christmas decorations and a Christmas giveaway

2011-12-05T10:57:00.000+11:00

The Christmas tree is a symbol in itself. It was originally a pagan symbol, a symbol of evergreen life in the midst of winter sleeping and death. In the way that Christians are sometimes accustomed, in order to squash early pagan traditions, or transform them, they placed their own celebrations on top of the existing ones, and many of the original symbols persisted, as they do. This is why you find rabbits, the pagan symbol of fertility, in the Christian celebration of Easter!

The Christmas tree is a celebratory symbol for many families, binding them to their own family traditions, the past, and the future. A Christmas tree will always remind me of my own Grandmother, smiling and fanning herself through the stifling summer heat in her chair, children bolstering through her too small house, presents stuffed under its plastic branches.

Even the decorations are symbols themselves. Baubles represent the apple that Eve stole from the tree of life, and then there are the bells, stars, tinsel, and angels. Many of us own keepsake decorations that remind us of times gone by. Made by little hands. Bought by special people. These take on extra special significance.

This year a teddybear decoration given to me from my Grandmother in 1983, a cheap Avon bear, hangs below a new decoration. A porcelain bauble to celebrate my baby's first Christmas. I hope that in many years to come it will hang on her own tree, admired and celebrated by her own children, and her children's children.

Last year I sent a very important symbol to my friend Roccie. You can find the story of that one here.

Do you have an important symbol hanging on your tree?

To celebrate Christmas symbols, I am giving away a Little People Christmas nativity. For your chance to own this before Christmas, simply follow my blog, write a comment or your own blog post about an important symbol to you and your family. Leave a link in the comment section to your post. Retweet for a second entry. Friday will be the last day for entry and the winner will be announced next Monday, (December 12).

There is also a second prize of a Fisher Price Apptivity Case to protect your Iphone of Ipod touch in small hands to put under your tree this Christmas.

Prizes will only be shipped within Australia by regular post.

the end of my maternity leave

2011-12-01T09:22:00.000+11:00

So here’s a thing. In part of my role in my job I do things like marry people, and other such things. And when I was last marrying someone, I was standing in the chapel, that joined to my temporary office, where I pretty much grew my baby, and I felt like I should offer up a word of thanks, to you know, like the heavens.

So on Saturday, in that chapel, I am having my small lady blessed, and we are saying a ritualised thank you for this most wonderful thing that has happened.

I have been on a rollercoaster this last week or so. One that grabs my guts every now and then and gives it a firm twist, and tears come to my eyes, and I’m ever so grateful and sad and moved all at the same time.

Christmas is coming and it’s my absolute favourite time of life, but it brings me to a bitter sweet place this year. You see, all that planning and preparing and waiting for this little miracle has culminated in this little pinnacle that I am sitting on currently. And quite frankly, I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. I look back on this year with absolute awe and wonder. What a year. The best of my life yet.

In planning this little ceremony for Saturday I have been building a power point to document and celebrate this Lola journey I have been gliding upon. From an enlarged still image of a teeny tiny embryo, to a bulging spilling belly, to those blurry and bumpy first weeks of a newborn, first smiles, first giggles, walks in the weak afternoon sun despite the bitter cold, desperate to get out of this too small house and break the tedious day into two distinct halves, to this surprising place of absolute and utter indulgent joy. 7 months is a breeze. I know her. Whatever arises. I know her. I know how to soothe and comfort her. I know how to make her laugh and smile and sleep and play. There is no discipline in this 7 month place, only learning and growing and guiding. Seeing, touching, tasting.

Here is where I finally pause and offer up my thanks.

Now is when I need to do it. In the last few weeks of my maternity leave. In this dreamy time that I will always remember and hold to. When it was me who lay my baby down for her morning nap, me who watched as she chomped and gagged on her toast, me who was lavished upon with those happy morning smiles. Not someone else. In another place, cluttered with other children and snot and 10 cribs in a corner.

I will remember the sun and hours squandered on the floor. No place to be and nothing to do but to be here. In this time. I no longer know myself without her.

Christmas will herald the sweet end of this exquisite year. It is hard to imagine her not being at the centre of my day. But I am reminded about how fortunate I am to have had this glorious time with her. And how fortunate I am to be her mum. And while I cannot believe that all of these months have flown by already, and how I wish I could have lived them forever, I look forward to the future, to seeing my little girl grow and continue to learn, and watch as the wonderful little person she is, ever unfolds.

So thank you. Thank you to the heavens. For truly, I’ve been blessed.

Sending my love to Roccie on the birth of her blessing. Enjoy this terrifyingly wonderful time, Roccie.

Point and shoot: waiting for the holy child.

2011-11-28T10:21:00.001+11:00

It's the season of waiting and anticipation for the long awaited and holy child to be born, and it's the first time I am not waiting for my long anticipated and holy baby to come. Lo she is here in the flesh and dwells joyfully amongst us.

See her new teeth!

On Sunday we set up our tree while Lola ate and played and whinged in her high chair. Quite frankly she wasn't nearly as thrilled with the whole occasion as I hoped and planned she would be. The whole drag out the dusty box containing a splendid plastic tree was pretty uneventful for a 7 month old. But once the tinsel was up and shiny toys hung beckoningly from its branches it suddenly gained greater kudos.

It's truly marvelous to be cherishing and celebrating the gift of the holy child finally rather than just all the time waiting for it.

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Wordless Wednesday: 7 months

2011-11-23T07:00:00.015+11:00

Christmas in the air.

2011-11-21T10:12:00.002+11:00

We are smack bang in my favourite time of year where the celebrating begins and the weather is beaming and how could anything possibly be wrong. Period. Christmas carols pipe from every shop and I am suddenly in every Christmas movie ever made. Only outside there is no cold and snow, and I am wearing my summer frock instead of scarves and boots and beanies. We may not have the nostaligic winter Christmas over here, but we have cherries. And beer. And we go to one another's houses for bbqs and swims and the hotter it is and the more we droop the more the world smacks of Christmas.

I have become less and less housebound and I have been out every day for the past 3 months or so. If I stay home Lolly becomes bored and grizzles. We go for lunch, and swims, to the beach and Christmas shopping. Madam Miss is the pefect angel out. It gets to her nap times and I slip her pram into recline, hand her her comforter and dummy, and seconds later she is peacefully drifting. I have the world's easiest baby.* Truly. She gained her first tooth on 7 months to the day and she has been sleeping like a kitten.

I did go through several weeks of rough nights, which around here means waking three or four times a night to insert the dummy, after which she settles in for another couple of hours. Until she needs her dummy again. I'll admit to feeling hard done by, but keep firmly in my mind two dear friends who are really struggling. I mean really. With babies who sleep for an hour and a half at most. One has just finished sleep school, and the other is on the list. After this period of unsettlement concluded, I realised I had a child who now was verging on the side of toddlerhood than newborn. She grew inches. I was on the edge of tears buying size 1 for my 7 month old.

But with the growth came intellectual development, and she is an extremely sociable and delightful little girl. And while oftentimes she will now growl and speak in a voice likening her to satan's spawn, no joke, she sounds demonic, she self-settles for every nap, after rolling on her tummy and playing happily for a good twenty minutes. Laughing when I roll her back on to her back and tell her with pretend seriousness that it is bedtime.

I took her to the beach where we met with several babies from my Mother's group, or Mother's club as angel head likes to call it. All the babies tentatively and daintily dipped in their toes and clung to their mamas. My lolly jumped up and down in the cold Melbourne ocean and sat down to laugh when the waves washed into her tummy. She thrusts herself into every experience.

Lola met Santa for the first time and while all the Santa's helpers at David Jones tried to distract her in order to trick her onto Santa's lap before she could get a look at him, I quietly disagreed and turned Lola to meet Santa. I only worried that she might cry when I realised how daunting he really did look. But Lolly looked on with curiousity and then with her regular grace and bravado sat on his lap. I was as proud as a mama could be.

She shows no sign of separation anxiety, and while many other children around us the same age are wanting their mamas ALL THE TIME, Lola tends to like anyone and everyone. I am happy that she is so secure, but sometimes I quietly wish she would need me. But still, her face lights up when I walk in the room. I like to think a little more so than when anyone else walks in the room. Maybe.

I am so excited about sharing my most favourite time of year with my littlest companion. I have never felt so much joy in my life as when I am with her. I spent my 40th birthday with my lola and my angel head. A quiet celebration as I wanted nothing more. Everyone around me seemed surprised I didn't want a big shebang and I have been trying to understand it myself. I think it is because my own parents were so young, and I was 22 when my mum turned 40. It was a terrible time in their lives. Unhappily married, and the start of Dad's affair and their ultimate marriage demise. I intend to approach it in my own way.

This is the Tiffany necklace Lola chose for me with the help of angel.

I now have three little embryos in the freezer. Three was a little disappointing. My eggs have aged. Lola was the fourth of four, hence my nervousness. I am thinking I will do another cycle in April. Just for a bit of a guarantee. However, we all know only too well that in this game there are no guarantees. Que sera sera I suppose. I am grateful for the blessing I have already received. I will face that bridge when I come to it,.

For now, let the cherries and the beer and the bbqs begin. Bring it on, Santa.

* If you are struggling with a difficult baby, take comfort in the fact that having an easy baby means that naturally I will have the world's most difficult toddler or teenager. Or both. And you will cruise through these stages. Watch this space.

What I know about babies: birth to 6 months

2011-11-18T22:32:00.003+11:00

1.Read the good baby books before your baby arrives.
Everyone follows the pregnancy books from week to week and suddenly they find themselves with a newborn in arms and no clues. Because my baby was discovered to have a massive cyst at my 34 week scan, I went on sick leave. In between shopping for my new baby to keep my mind off it, I read the books and even went to a sleep session run by my local council. I was the only one whose baby was still on the inside. One of the best things I ever did. While I certainly did not ascribe to any particular school of thought, it certainly gave me the opportunity to think about what I would be comfortable with, what issues I might face, and what I might do. Actually, I prepared myself for the worst. Ultimately I did not need to.

2.In your first week as a mum of a newborn, do whatever you need to do to survive.
Forget about creating bad habits and beginning as you mean to go on. Get yourself in a good place and then you can sort everything else out. This means buy a co-sleeper even if you do not intend on bed sharing with your baby. My third day as a new mum found me rushing out to the shops to buy one. I was scared out of my wits to share my bed with this tiny helpless thing but she wasn’t yet sleeping in her bassinet. I needed sleep. Dear God I needed sleep. I put her in her co-sleeper for a couple of weeks until I was back in my right mind. I moved her when I physically ready to confront the task at hand. In fact I just moved the whole co-sleeper into the bassinet. Once you have had a decent sleep you can manage anything.

3.If you are not against them, use the dummy.
So many of my friends said that their babies refused the dummy. I don’t think many babies are big fans of them at first. They would naturally prefer the real thing, and hell, why not. However it does seem to take some persistence. Hold the dummy in the baby’s mouth and offer it regularly. My baby did not take to it that well initially. But it has been a godsend. Especially as she had colic. It did not always work, but was often successful. I found the Nuk dummies are the best shape for a very young mouth, and for a colicky baby, go for the latex and not the silicon. The latex are a much better suck. Trust me, I tested it myself. Apparently only Australian mothers like the silicon and it is because it looks clean. But European mums like latex dummies. I can tell by my baby’s sucking noises that the latex is far superior. They are more difficult to find, but well worth the effort. Good chemists usually stock them. The dummy does create some dependency. My baby sometimes wakes in the night and asks for it. It is not a major effort to roll over and place it in her mouth (her cot is beside my bed). However, she goes straight back to sleep with her dummy, and from 1.5 weeks of age has not asked for a night feed between the hours of ten and six, or for anything more than a dummy replaced. And I am a well rested happy mama.

4.Sleep props are your best friend.
Sleep association is highly effective and works. Since the day my baby was born I have placed her in her bed with the same routine and with the same props. She will sleep anywhere as long as she has these. It was immediately obvious that my baby hated being wrapped. Consequently I used gro/sleeping bags instead. I have a variety that are suited to the variations in weather, including very light muslin ones for balmy evenings, such as tonight. Our sleep routine looks like this. This includes naps as well as night time. A book before bed. Dressed in sleeping bag. A cuddle. Placed in bed with dummy. A musical seahorse playing. And a small soft comforter placed beside her. At almost seven months she has come to love her comforter and recently at night I have watched her stir, and reach out and grab her comforter herself. She holds it against the side of her face. Sometimes when she was very tiny and very distressed from colic, she would press it very hard against her little face. She regularly fell asleep with her comforter over her face in which case I simply moved it once she was asleep. When we are out with a pram and I am ready for her to nap, I just place her comforter in her pram and she knows what I want her to do and she goes peacefully to sleep. The seahorse has been excellent. I know that if she is not asleep after three play throughs that it is a difficult night and some extra support is required. If she has not settled after three play throughs, (I have not done controlled crying, but have sat beside her and rocked her and patted her while she has cried without removing her from the cot. I don’t leave her side when she is distressed.) I remove her from her cot, cuddle her, walk her around the house to calm, and place her back in when she has settled. When establishing nap routines, if she does not sleep after three rounds I take her back out of the cot and wait once again for tired signs and put her back down, usually with much greater success.

5.Under three months old, do what you can to teach your baby how to sleep.
This includes rocking, singing, speaking rhymes, stroking, and use sleep props. It is preferable to do these while they are in their cots or bassinets. If all else fails hold them to sleep. Young babies need to be taught to sleep. After three months you will need to allow them as many opportunities to self settle as possible. I have a very secure self-settler. This is not accidental. After a couple of months of age I have never fed her to sleep, but rather have kept her awake during feeding and put her to bed awake. I place her in her bed and walk away to do something, such as put some toys away, and come back a couple of minutes later. She has never been left to cry. As soon as she cries I go in and comfort her in her cot. When she has calmed, I will leave again for a short time. I regularly check in. If she does not settle after some time I will use the above methods to help her to sleep. In beginning self-settling it is best to choose a time where you know they will go down the easiest. I found this to be the morning nap. Then begin with other easier times and work up to the most difficult one.

6.Don’t stress about a cat napper.
I really wish I had have learned this one earlier. Robyn Love says she never solved this issue of cat napper and I believe her. I have one, but I did remember reading about a change in sleep patterns at 6 months and many cat nappers sleeping for longer at that stage. And this has happened for me. Often she will now sleep for 1-2 hours in the first morning nap. When younger she would sleep from 20-40 mins. I wasted many hours and distressed the both of us trying to encourage her to sleep for longer. I hated distressing her and will never do it again. Cat nappers do not make the days easy. You get 20-40 minutes to rush around like a mad thing cleaning up and trying to organise your life. Learn to live with this. With a cat napper the golden rule before 6 months is never leave them up more than 2 hours. You get a much less grumpy baby and a happier witching hour/s! For a 2-4 month old, do not leave up for longer than 1.5 hours. Watch for the tired signs, but not the over-tired signs!

7.Teach your baby the difference between night and day.
When you travel overseas, the best thing you can do for your own jet lag is the solution here. Go for a walk in the sunlight. The sun acts on the circadian rhythm and helps your baby begin distinguishing the difference between night and day, and develop a pattern that you will be much happier with. Also, my favourite midwife in all the world gave me the best advice I ever had. After a week of walking the house from midnight til three in the morning with a screaming baby she suggested I bath the baby at 10pm, to relax her, then feed her and put her to bed for the night then. I acted on this advice at 1.5 weeks of age, and have had 6 hour blocks of sleep since. Gradually I moved the 10pm bedtime back 15 minutes or so each evening until by three months of age she was in bed each night around 7. Thanks, Cath Curtin! She even has her own iphone app now.

8.Colic sucks.
My baby had colic, diagnosed by the paediatrician. Apparently it is a fairly common and natural thing that most babies have and do, and in fact is supposed to be common to all young mammals. A survival thing perhaps. What it means is that babies often cry at the end of the day, for no particular reason that can be discerned, and they are completely inconsolable. This happens from the age of three weeks to three months. It peaks around 3 months and just when you think it has gone it re-emerges worse than before then suddenly disappears forever. WTF. Very little works to console the baby, and usually it means crying it out. You can try slings and car seats and lullabies and baths and sometimes miraculously it works, and then the very next day it doesn’t and never does again. The only thing that was dependable for me was to take my baby into a darkened room, lie her sideways on the bed with her head on the pillow, and rhythmically pat her shoulders and bottom at the same time. As my friend from twoblueshoes says, it is like some crazy baby voodoo. It seems to work more often than not. My baby would end up falling asleep in an exhausted heap this way, and once I knew she was out, completely, I would move her into her bed. While at the time it seems like an eternity, it does not last. It does not last. See the purple crying website for further information.

What is your best advice for new mummas?

Wordless Wednesday: the top our dear friend roccie bought me before I was born!

2011-11-02T12:47:00.001+11:00

We love you roccie

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Point and shoot: bird watching in williamstown

2011-10-31T11:04:00.001+11:00

My last term of maternity leave and lolly and I are making the most of it.

Shopping, sunshine, walks in the park and coffee.

In other news. There are ten fine looking eggs almost ready for our pickup on Friday or Saturday. Hopefully a little brother or sister in there somewhere for Lolly.

They will be stored in a freezer until perhaps about this time next year.

I turn 40 in two weeks.

This will be last of my viable biological baby making material.

Wish us luck for some strong little snow peas.

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Wordless Wednesday: how modern mamas make their babies.

2011-10-26T08:27:00.001+11:00

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Lola is 6 months

2011-10-24T21:14:00.000+11:00

You never forget a good golden book. I have been recalling one a lot recently. "Where has the baby gone?" The little protagonist runs around the house finding evidence of the baby but no baby. Where has she gone? Of course the baby turns out to be her, and she is now all grown up.

Not so long ago I beheld the long awaited gift of a teeny tiny baby. I was frightened beyond comprehension. I did not know myself. I had birthed into the world from my own body a real live living thing. She was absolutely perfect to look at. I was stunned. Surprised. I thought for sure she would be squashed and funny looking. Nothing prepared me for the beauty of this creature.

Nothing prepared me for any of it.

Nothing ever could.

That night I thought I would never sleep again. My mind, my body, my whole existence had been stretched. My body bled and my mind reeled and I wondered how I would ever be the same again.

For the next month I sat on the couch beside this little sleeping thing. I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. She too had trouble adjusting to this new life, and many an evening she would yell and shout and I had no way of knowing how to comfort her. I willed time to move forward, to where she would be five, or seven, and we could be friends. I had seen families, and they seemed pretty nice. We would get there someday.

In the meantime, she smiled at me, gazed at me, touched me, listened to me, talked to me, licked me, sucked me, and laughed at me. We read books together, walked through the afternoons together, danced, sang, ate, watched tv, bathed, slept, swam, and played together.

Tonight I held her in front of herself in the mirror for her to laugh at, and found myself saying aloud, where has the baby gone? For there in the mirror is a girl, a cheeky, beautiful, strong, happy, healthy, lovable girl.

She is smart, charming and funny and really loves people. I walk into a room and she gets busy making friends. I hear a chuckle and only need to turn and search the room for who has made my girl laugh. Old people play peekaboo with her, and everyone else gushes over her and tell me I'm lucky and that she's a doll. I already know this.

And now that I wished it away, I want all that time back.

Before I became a mum, everyone warned me that my life would change and that it is damned hard work. But nobody told me about this joy.

This insurmountable growing delicious joy.

And the sheer love.

Happy 6 months Lola. Our joy.

wordless wednesday: Great Barrier Reef

2011-10-19T08:45:00.000+11:00

ten things you should know about travelling with a baby

2011-10-18T22:07:00.000+11:00

So you want to go on a holiday, but where do you start with a baby? It seems like a good idea, other people do it, but you're not that brave, or are you?

As I posted pictures on my facebook page of my holiday, people commented that I was brave, and they would never have travelled when their baby was so young. But do you know what? We had a great time. And here's why.

1. Travel to a family friendly destination. '
Before I fell pregnant last year I visited Hamilton Island, and there were plenty of babies. I thought if they can do it, then I can do it too. So I set my mind on it, and I did it. Lola loved it, and we really felt she grew up on the trip. We loved seeing her enjoy herself so much. Hamilton Island is the perfect destination. Always a high chair on hand and a medical centre, pharmacy and general store. If you happen to forget anything, you can always buy it. And it's still in Australia, so you needn't worry about being in a foreign place with a young baby.

2. Ring your hotel before you leave and they often can provide you with a portacot and high chair.
I did not know this but a friend told me. So I did not need to carry any of these large items with me on the plane. They were good quality too. Upon request the hotel even provided us with a microwave so I could continue to sterilise with my easy baby sterilising bags. These are fantastic. And easy to pack. Even though Lola is approaching six months and I can probably ease off the sterilising, holidays were not the time to do it.

3. Invest in a good baby carrier.
I have an ergo baby carrier that I cannot recommend highly enough. My girl is getting large and is far too heavy for me to carry in the baby bjorn. It puts too much of a strain on my shoulders and neck. However the ergo places the weight on your hips and waist and is far easier and you can go for far longer with a heavy sleeping baby. I felt so confident and safe going up the airline stairs, and travelling in the buggy, a speed boat (she slept the entire ride!), and bush walking. It was also the only way I could get Lola to sleep on the plane.

4. Invest in a good light weight stroller.
In my case it was a Maclaren of course. It is suitable for sleeping and small babies, so I could be out and about and trust that Lola could still comfortably take her naps. Put a sheepskin liner in for added comfort, and use your sunshade from your normal pram. Dont forget a muslin wrap for a light cover to shield from sun and breezes, or simply as in Lola's case, security. She loves to hold her blanket against her face when she goes to sleep.

5. Take a bottle for taking off and landing in the plane, or breast feed. Use a chuppa chup for older children.
Baby's ears are very sensitive and they need to be encouraged to swallow to assist in easing the build up of pressure. Lola had a cold prior to our trip and to help keep her nose clear we used fess little noses. As she was sleeping during landing I put her dummy in to keep her sucking and swallowing. Despite all my anxiety about this issue, there was absolutely no fuss. (For longer trips on the plane such as international flights, you can take your car seat with you. We all know how often babies enjoy sleeping in their seats.)

6. Invest in a good quality swim seat.
Baby's first time in the water should be fun and safe. Lola loved her swim chair. You also want to keep their sensitive and vulnerable ears outside of the water. A long sleeved rashy and a legionaire's cap for swimming are also invaluable.

7. The problem of solids.
Lola has only recently begun solids, and it was to present as a bit of an issue while travelling. She loves her vegies at home but the poor darling gagged all the time on the store bought vegies. I just wasn't committed enough to cook vegies while away and puree them so I gave up offering her the bland store bought food and fed her plenty of fruit and full cream natural yoghurt instead. Why can't anyone make a decent vegie for a bubba! If you have any advice on this issue, I would love to hear it. It was a good opportunity to offer Lola some new tastes, and pineapple to suck on was a real treat.

8. Keep a flexible routine.
If you try and stick to something rigid, you will stress yourself and baby out. Relax and go with it. In a sense Lola returned to her small baby routine. Awake for an hour and a half and then a nap. She tired more quickly. I just watched for tired signs and set her up in her carrier or stroller for a snooze. I didn't really keep track of the times too much. The first night after a very early rise and a 3 hour plane flight meant that Lola had a meltdown and we ate dinner in our room, but thereon after we ate at restaurants and she slept happily in her pram.

9. Take risks and be adventurous.
Your baby is probably up to it. After contemplating over a few days whether we should go on a half day trip on a boat to an island I finally suggested we go to my angel head. She was rapt and said she was going to suggest it but didn't want to push me. It was a small child friendly trip on a boat to a small island to feed fish, and go in a submersible boat. I didn't count on the boat going that fast, nor on the unexpected walk through beautiful scenery that we took but it was all easy and wonderful with Lola in her carrier. Again take the muslin cloth with you as it keeps the wind and sun off, but doesn't heat bubba up too much.

10. There will be small melt downs.
But ride them out. It is all different and new and sometimes challenging for the little miss, but she was a champion and we weren't the only ones doing it. The most wonderful thing was when we arrived home and Lola realised where we were. She kicked her legs and squealed, looking at everything as if she had never seen it before. It was almost as if it reestablished that this is home, lola. This is home.

Point and shoot: holiday!

2011-10-10T13:38:00.001+11:00

My baby is a star! She is a born traveller.

And a natural water baby.

Recovering from her cold but such a trooper.

She is such a happy baby.

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My sick bubba

2011-10-06T09:28:00.001+11:00

We are off on a holiday to the whitsundays on Sunday. Hoping she's all better by then.

Any tips for flying with babies? Especially snotty ones?

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Wordless wednesday: show time!

2011-09-28T09:47:00.001+10:00

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Point and Shoot: 1st birthday parties

2011-09-26T16:27:00.000+10:00

First birthday parties are so much fun.

Especially when you're 5 months old and there is an animal farm.

It is the first time you've been nibbled by a goat.

Touched a duck.

And tried to put a bunny into your mouth.

Playing point and shoot with lovely lou at Sunny and Scout

Wordless Wednesday: Lola's entry into cover cutie. It was worth a try.

2011-09-21T09:24:00.000+10:00

Feel free to vote here :)

Playing wordless wednesday with my little drummer boy and faith hope and a whole lotta love.

To Lola, on being 5 months today

2011-09-20T10:15:00.001+10:00

And so Lola, you are 5 months today. I cannot believe it has gone so fast. I spent years waiting for you. I waited through infertility, a long pregnancy, and then suddenly you were here. I had no time for reflecting on your arrival. I feel as though I can finally breathe and think, and you are already growing up.

There are occasional glimpses of that tiny baby you were, but they are few and far between and it feels like monsoons ago. Because here you are suddenly, bright and curious, stretching out your little pudgy hand to touch everything. Noticing everything. Tasting everything. Laughing. Yelling. Singing. I feel at a cross road between loss and riches beyond measure. I miss my little baby and feel like I want to hang onto her forever. But I see you are a person, and there will be nothing holding you back from this journey forward to your own life.

You quit the breast and now there is no umbilical link between us anymore. I feel severed from you. It establishes you all the more as your own little being. You belong to me but you don’t. I’m here to nurture and guide you as best as I can, make sure your needs are met, but there are many things I will not be able to control. It scares the hell out of me.

I see it will not be long until you are 1, then 2, then 3 and 4. I mourned the passing of winter, realising with a jolt amidst the blossoms and the daisies, that it was the winter where you were a baby. Never more.

But you are learning, and growing and bursting forth like your own blossom and I am excited about each new step you are taking. I am in love with who you are. I remember that it was you who kicked me from inside the womb, you who I cried over when they found that massive invasive cyst inside you, you who cried like a feeble little siren on the evening you were born, and you who has finally noticed that we have dogs, and laughs out loud at them, kicking those little pudding legs to get near to them.

Today I will take the time to hold you, while I still can. I will celebrate all the mundane things I must do for you, such as wipe your nose and change your bum. For I know in time you will do all these things for yourself. And I will miss it.

Today I am so thankful that I am the one who is your mum.

point and shoot: washing weather

2011-09-19T09:09:00.001+10:00

My ornamental cherry is weeping blossoms and bees. The jasmine is profuse in my little courtyard. It's not huge, but it's our patch.

And this is how Lola and I hang the washing out on the sun gentle days.

After a long winter, it might be a little sad that such a nice day heralds a grand day for washing. But it always is the small things.

It also means long fine days for showering grandmas with kisses over coffee.

And tshirt weather, for the first time ever.

Playing point and shoot with sunny and scout

...brains in your head and feet in your shoes

2011-09-15T21:06:00.000+10:00

... oh the places you will go!

Children who struggle with literacy will have a much more difficult time at school. Children who begin prep (1st year of primary school) without the language and literacy skills of their peers realise very quickly that they are already behind. The danger is that their self-esteem will suffer, and they will quit before they've already begun.

We can do much to assist our children with language and literacy before they even step foot in a classroom by allowing them as many opportunities as possible to engage and play with language and speech. Like any good relationship it should be positive and fun.

Talking to your little one often, explaining what you are doing and why, will help them immensely. Naming objects is good. You will notice that they watch you and your mouth intently. Nursery rhymes and singing are also fantastic ways to engage your children with language. Their benefits are numerous, not only limited to developing language, but also for bonding, and providing your children with resources to control their emotions and feelings. This is why lullabies are so effective in calming babies and assisting them to sleep.

Babies who are read to will develop a 40 percent larger vocabulary than their counterparts. This is significant. Literacy is a vital skill and the foundations begin early. Children's brains are wired for language and even that tiny little squirmy squished up newborn is developing skills he or she will need for the rest of their life. Very soon that newborn will recognise the sounds and structures of their native language, long before they begin talking, and will also begin babbling, testing out the sounds and patterns of speech.

But when should you start reading to your baby? Is it ever too soon to begin?

I wanted to start reading to Lola early to pass on my love of books. Finally I had a child I could read to. However, I had no idea where to begin. I tried pulling out a couple of board books and other short story books to read to her at a couple of weeks old for which she held absolutely no interest. I was disappointed but persisted. I didn't get anywhere.

One night as Lola screamed and cried in her colicky way I started speaking rhymes that I could remember as the sound of my voice and the repetition seemed to have a calming effect. The one that worked that night was, "Mr Brown can moo, can you?"

The next day I dragged out the old hard cover, Mr Brown Can Moo". I read it from cover to cover and had an engaged audience. We haven't looked back. Initially I lay her against the pillows as I read to her. She was not interested in the pictures, only watching my face. Now she sits in my lap and we look at the book together.

Great Dr Seuss books for babies also include, Green Eggs and Ham, I wish that I had duck feet, the shape of me and other stuff, oh the thinks you can think, the foot book, the eye book, in a people house, and marvin k mooney. After this list had been exhausted we moved on to include (Non Dr Seuss, but in a similar frame) I'll teach my dog a hundred words, and hands, hands, fingers, thumb.

It is the rhythm that works and I read them before each nap time. It keeps the routine positive, and quietens her. If she cries or loses interest I just put her to bed and try again another time. Sometimes I read two of them. She is now just under five months old and would sometimes prefer to eat them. Dr Seuss board books are brilliant!

It is also great to know that Dr Seuss' own mother used to recite rhymes that she could remember to him when he was an unsettled baby, and that is where the influence was thought to have come from.

Also, his early reader books were created around the most common words in usage. The first of these was, The Cat in the Hat.

Wordless Wednesday: Our joy

2011-09-14T07:53:00.000+10:00

Linking with My Little Drummer Boys and Faith Hope and a whole lotta love!

Point and shoot: a changeable season

2011-09-12T11:26:00.000+10:00

And so after a flurry of sunshine and daisies, madam winter reasserted her old self and hence we were treated to another burst of her brutal coldness, resulting in hail and wind and rain. But between the dark clouds and rainstorms there were flashes of brilliant sunshine making for a very unpredictable few days.

My household has also been been bombarded by one of winter's finest legacies, the common cold. My baby girl is licking snot and this is a whole new realm for me. It's hard to watch her struggle to breathe in her desire to suck her dummy for her much needed comfort. And tell me dear seasoned mummies, how do I avoid catching this damned bug when she is sneezing snot to kingdom come and all over me?

I see the weekend is bringing some much needed sunshine. Things are beginning to look up. Hoepfully my girl will be well by then and we will be able to shake this cabin fever.

Playing with Sunny and Scout.

There's a wild thing in all of us.

2011-09-08T20:40:00.001+10:00

Tonight my girl was a wild thing. I fear bathtime may never be the same again. My girl has learned to kick, wildly, sending mountains of water spewing over the sides of the baby bath. It was completely delightful to her. A wickedness gleamed out of the blue of her eyes, and there was no stopping her. I doubt she even remembered I was there. She was caught in a moment, connected with something primal. Come to think of it, there were plenty of moments when she was inside me that she kicked like a mad thing. Sometimes I almost leaped out of my own skin. It was like she was remembering her previous home. At least in that wet place, nobody needed to drag the towels out of the cupboard to mop up the floors before someone killed themselves, namely me.

There's a wild thing in all of us. Something deep, something primal. A whole other place full of our darkness and light. Our demons and dragons, our hidden monstrous selves.

The domestic scenes that we have created around us do not accommodate these parts of us so well. Lamps get broken, floors get flooded, beer bottles explode like grenades. (Truly, did you know glass is STILL turning up from that particular beer bottle!)

Maurice Sendak knew all too well the way our domestic worlds could contain and even stifle us at times. As a child who was regularly unwell, much of the world continued outside his bedroom window, where he viewed it from. Later, the influence of such a childhood would emerge in perhaps the greatest children's book ever written, "Where the Wild Things Are".

This story appeals to every child and inner child who knows all too well the feeling of being cramped inside the household, and an overly domesticated life, and the need for escape, a wild rumpus.

The book has it all and begs to be read aloud over and over. The illustrations demand to be explored and devoured.

Here is something you may not have noticed about the book.

As the story unfolds, you will see that the words are situated on the left page, and the image sits well behaved on the right. You will also see that the picture is relatively small. However, as the story progresses, the illustrations take over the page, and the words are rendered less and less space, until there are none. The imaginary world has over taken the domestic and logic one. Here, in this place, there are no need for words.

This is the same place where my girl is splashing. She is completely unaware of my presence.

This is also the place where your children run completely wild, and your words hold no power over them.

However, as we all must ultimately return from the wild place into the domestic realm, so too do the words reappear on the page and reassert themselves. On the final page there is no image, only words.

Max has returned to his room. He has reconnected with himself.

Something else you may like to know. In children's story books, food is equated to love. When Max misbehaves, his food is taken away from him, and when he returns, tamed and well-behaved, his food is also returned.

Doesn't it make you want to pick it up and read it to your own little wild things?

Wordless wednesday: first glimpse of the ocean

2011-09-07T08:41:00.002+10:00

Playing with my little drummer boys and faith hope and a whole lotta love

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Another baby.

2011-09-06T12:20:00.001+10:00

Lolly and me are off to see the good doctor Mac Baby today to talk about freezing embryos for a future brother or sister for Lola. I'm not ready yet but my eggs turn 40 in November , which is practically prehistoric in egg years, and by now they are probably hobbling around on their last legs, wearing nets over their purple rinsed hair and smoking winfield blues outside the rsl. I need just one more favor from the feeble dears before they start taking daily bus trips from their aged resort communities and drinking wine over lunch. They're not called retirement homes anymore or old people's homes as we once knew them. No. They're resorts and if you have seen one lately you will know why I'm looking forward to my retirement.

So anyway, the good doctor Mac Baby. I'm simply dying to put lolly on his desk and say, here's one we prepared earlier!

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Point and shoot: upsy daisy

2011-09-05T09:12:00.002+10:00

This is what our walks looked like last week.

What's not to smile about?

Playing with sunny and scout
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2011-09-04T21:49:00.006+10:00

So Papa G, formerly known as daddy2be celebrated his first father's day. Between you and me he looked more than a little chuffed. Angel says she saw a hint of tears when Lola's chubby fist clutched the card we organised for him, and he took it and opened it. Inside were no words. Just two orange little iddy biddy inked handprints.

As is tradition, I commissioned angel to find the tackiest present at the father's day store at her school. We are loving the mug with the accompanying key ring. See attached. This tradition was birthed in the dark years of trying to conceive. Every mother's day angel head carefully selected the tackiest present in the mother's day store from the future Lola. It is what she thought Lola would choose for me should she have been here. She would also commission a student from her class to draw me up a card. It made me teary every time, but in a nice way. All I can recall now is awful purple satin coat hangers.

My eldest niece at the ripe old age of 8 refused point blank to buy her dad a gift from the school father's day store this year. The reason being, as she pointed out to her mother, was that it was all shit and he didn't need it.

Lolly spent the day with her dad and because his family live nearby to mine, he dropped her there afterwards and that's where I raced to be with her. He proudly explained all the information I needed regarding when she was due for her next feed and nap. He also let me know she drank the full 180 mls of her bottle and had two wet nappies. We were all amused by the last piece of information. All I care about is that she is not sitting in her own excrement and that she had her fill when she wanted it. She certainly isn't wasting away and the details are not so important to me. But it's cute that he is so diligent.

Happy 1st Father's Day Papa G. You make a wonderful father. I'm glad I picked you for my baby.

Happy Father's day to all the dads out there. Gay and straight. While I wouldn't say you were entirely necessary for happy healthy children, I would say you're somewhat nice to have.

Book Week: Reading and Kids

2011-08-31T21:47:00.009+10:00

Notwithstanding the fact that I am a writer and an English teacher, as well as a student of literature, including children’s literature, my love of books extends back as far as I remember. My childhood would have been bereft if not for the characters, creatures and stories that filled it.

One of the first books I fell in love with was Burglar Bill. An odd little story about a burglar, who happened upon a baby in his nightly takings, and cares for it until he finally runs in to Burglar Betty, the baby’s mother, of course. Together they make a good life and Burglar Bill finds a new calling as a Baker.

Later the worlds of Enid Blyton would open to me, and it was then I knew I had found my thing. Reading and writing. Growing up I lacked a great deal of confidence and ability in almost everything, but hand me a pen or a book or a spelling test, and I could take on the best of them.

I am saddened about talk of book stores dying, and that people seem to think that the digital era can offer substitutes for the humble book. Give me a hard cover, with thumbed pages, or a gleaming new book that squeaks when the pages turn, give me the smell of new ink, and the gloss of a picture book with big dancing words, over an impassionate android screen any day.

The book is alive and well.

Each nap time I read to Lola. Her bookshelves are filled with Dr Seuss, Enid Blyton, Golden Books, as well as a whole cavalcade of new and old books. She sits spell bound, listening to a language that is new for her, pouring over pictures of things she has not even seen in real life yet, piecing together the marvels of this world in which we find ourselves in, receiving each idea discovered and imagined since humanity learned to talk, dream and write.

Each Thursday over the coming weeks I am going to dedicate this space on this page to spend some time exploring some of the best books for children, both old and new.

I hope we can share ideas and stories and celebrate the role of books in the lives of our kids.

What characters did your children choose for book week? My niece made a gorgeous Olivia Pig!

What was your favourite book when you were small?

Wordless Wednesday: a walk in the park

2011-08-31T08:20:00.002+10:00

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Playing with my little drummer boy and faith, hope and a whole lotta love.

Point and shoot: here comes the sun

2011-08-29T09:11:00.003+10:00

As the leaves turned golden and blushes of red we anticipated and prepared for her arrival.

When I labored to push her into the universe the leaves swept silently and unnoticed into the wet street outside my hospital window.

As the autumn season passed she was too small to notice the fading sunlight.

And now as the earth turns on its axis once again the days lengthen and delightfully warm.

Lola is noticing things for the first time. Blossoms. Birds. Breezes. Jasmine. Daisies.

Last week Lola's hand met the lush green grass for the first time.

This week will be Lola's 3rd season and her first spring.

Happy spring from angel head, me and Lola.

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Episode 2: Constructing my rainbow family - Identity

2011-08-25T21:52:00.004+10:00

When I was small Santa brought me a doll that made my heart burst. She was beautiful. She gleamed in the early light and smelled of new plastic. Untarnished. Charmingly dressed. A baby who rocked her head, kicked her arms and legs and cried until her dummy was placed in her mouth. (Ha! If only it were that easy!) I loved that doll. I loved her until she literally disintegrated from my love. Literally I loved her to bits.

First of all her legs fell off, and my father who generally did not contain such sensitivities, in a moment of rare compassion and sentiment used a white tape to restore them, woven like a nappy around her. Later I would leave her in the sun on a terribly hot day and sadly, she was not reclaimable after that.

I shared with angel head in bed late one night about my beloved doll. She suggested, as she does about all manner of things, look it up on ebay.

The same doll, in better shape, now sits on Lola’s shelf. A piece of my childhood for her keeping. It still is a charming sort of doll. She may not agree.

As a child I loved dolls, in the same way I loved dresses and headbands and all manner of things girly. When I was denied a barbie from my parents I instructed all my friends to buy me one for my birthday party. I ended up with every sort of one, much to my delight.

I hated all things sport, especially the football I had to go and watch my brother play every Saturday morning. In fact the only thing pleasurable about footy was the pies and a can of drink.

Also, when I grew up I wanted babies. I mothered my dolls, and my pet cats almost as much. Heidi the Siamese happily allowed me to dress her in dolls’ clothes and push her in toy prams.

There were very few clues to my burgeoning subversive sexuality.

Except that husbands didn’t feature much in my future dreaming. And I loved a few of my pretty teachers with devotion.

I knew I was different.

But it was a gigantic leap to figure out just exactly who I was.

That would come much later.

Wordless Wednesday: An intimate sunfilled moment

2011-08-24T08:41:00.007+10:00

Linking with Faith hope and a whole lotta love and my little drummer boys

Point and shoot: spring weather in Melbourne. At last.

2011-08-22T08:20:00.003+10:00

The day was fine, simply divine, and so like the rest of Melbourne we uncurled our cramped selves from the house.

We headed to williamstown by the bay to join the cast of a million strollers. For years I dreamed of bringing my own pram here. I got to live a dream.

The damsel seemed to enjoy herself. It was her first time in a sun hat!

In Melbourne we know a damn fine weekend when we find it. The rest of the week is set to be great too so I plan to make the most of my maternity leave.

Enjoy your week fine friends!

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the constructing of my rainbow family: episode 1

2011-08-18T10:40:00.003+10:00

Today I surrendered my baby girl to her dad. I wanted to cry but didn’t. Instead I watched through the rain splattered window as he buckled her waving limbs into the seat of his car. He could have just as well been buckling my very soul into that seat and pulling out onto the quiet street to visit with his family. She is only gone 5 hours, but it gives me a chance to have a long and luxurious shower, clean the entire house, shop, and grab some lunch in Yarraville.

The other day in my inbox an email arrived from the Rainbow family group list with a mum to be seeking information about co-parenting. She is preparing for the birth of her baby and hadn’t expected to be so overcome with feelings of protectiveness, and a worry about sharing her babe with her donor.

I felt compelled to write to her and let her know I was happy to discuss my experiences with her.
In composing my email to her, I began to think about the process of this journey, and thought I’d share some of it here. The ups and downs, twists and turns, and the joyous outcome who currently sits quietly on my lap watching these letters appear on the screen, having just woken from her nap. She smells unfamiliar, of a sickly sweet perfume I assume belongs to her Nanna. It is an odd thing to notice, but I send her out for the day, fat and loved and smiling. She comes home to me, fat and loved and still smiling, but smelling like a little parcel that has been passed from unfamiliar arms to unfamiliar arms. It leaves me wondering if they can smell me on her, if she reeks of the love and stench of my own household. If when they nestle their faces into her fuzzy little head that they will notice that there is a mother who loves her more than hope and life and all that’s good, and has packed a small bag of familiar things, comfort and warmth, a knitted hat, a change of clothes, her favourite toy, and sent her to them in absolute faith and trust. I hope so.

Co-parenting is not that unique in some aspects. Couples split, children spend time in more than one home. However, intentionally choosing a father for your future baby, not out of love, or lust, or any of those traditional methods, is a new frontier. I even beat the liberal green politicians.

If you knew me in real life, you would know that what I did that night was of pure boldness, a brazen desperation that led me to the site where I happened upon the future father of my future child. All events from that point on led me to this gorgeous moment in time.

Over a series of posts I will share with you my coming out story, the story of how I became to be a mum, and my yet untold birth story. How it came to be that a small odd child reared in a conservative, restrictive Christian family, emerged as a beaming liberal lesbian mum.
Watch this space.

Missing my baby who's with her daddy today. For wordless Wednesday.

2011-08-17T13:40:00.002+10:00

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Linking with faith,hope and a whole lotta love and my little drummer boys.

Gymbo

2011-08-12T09:14:00.001+10:00

And so for mother's group on Wednesday we all partook of that special little program otherwise known as gymbaroo. Me and lolly rushed in late, nearly forgot to remove our shoes and naturally I was the only no clue mother who wore a dress and tights instead of pants. So that made for fun times when we had to kick our babies in the air with our legs.

The ladies running the program were all of 19 with those blue polar fleece vests covered in lint that meant they looked like they could just as easily have been working with animals as children.

I begged and pleaded with Lola inside my head to not enjoy this program so I would nit be compelled to enroll her. This meant that while every other baby found at least one activity to dislike and sook through, Lola the fabulous grinned from ear to ear through the whole event. Apparently gymbo was completely and absolutely fabulous. I especially liked the part where we had to flounce around and walk in a circle with our babies to the chicken dance. Not. Luckily I was mindful to keep a determined hold on Lola when we thrust them head first into the centre of the circle, which naturally she loved. I've never seen her so pleased with anything. We had to fill in a form with a yes or no to indicate our interest in enrolling. I left it blank as I was so completely torn. How can I deny her such outright pleasure. It might be really good for her character and development.

But those blue linty vests and dancing in a circle to the chicken dance and using dirty old soft toys to teach Lola about cows just left me feeling silly and like I wanted to wash my hands, so pretty much a mental case self conscious paranoid mother. But oh how lola smiled and her curious eyes shone and how she loved being bounced about.

Will my desire to see her so happy find me in a stinky germ infested warehouse once a week tossing my delighted little girl into other babies' faces, wearing practical track suit pants and socks on my feet?

Stay tuned. I guess.

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Wordless wednesday. Tummy time.

2011-08-10T08:03:00.002+10:00

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Linking with my little drummer boy and faith hope and a whole lotta love!

A solid debate.

2011-08-08T07:58:00.001+10:00

And so my little girl continues to grow. We took photos of her in her baby bath last night and she's so big it almost looks ridiculous. We compared to earlier shots of her in her baby bath and grieved a little about the fleeting moment that is babyhood. It already feels like it's slipping through the cracks of my fingers no matter how tightly I try to hold on to it.

Lola will be four months on wednesday. And now we encounter the solids debate.

A friend's toddler had a recent and terrifying encounter with a peanut. He lost consciousness on the way to the doctors. Luckily she thought to give him antihistamine when a reaction became apparent. Now he is not even two with an epipen as a new toy alongside the zurg that he asked everyone to 'buy it', flashing around a cardboard image of his latest obsession.

His mother saw an allergist in the process of learning to manage her latest challenge along the rocky road through toddlerdom. The specialist said four months was an important window to introduce a bub to foods. She missed it already with her next baby. The debate raged also in the Age newspaper a few weeks back. They labeled the peanut allergy issue in the west as an epidemic.

What to do what to do... We have a strong history of allergies in the family. I have had eczema all my life and bad hay fever. In my family you have these or asthma. Though our asthma is relatively mild.

After much deliberation I introduced Lola to pumpkin on Thursday. I knew this beefy baby would love it. After holding it in her mouth for some time and letting it dribble down her chin, not knowing she should swallow it, she was soon slurping loudly on the brightly colored spoon. Very cutely, she pushed her mouth down and over the spoon rather than let me place it gracefully in her mouth. Later she was found to be licking the high chair tray.

Welcome to the world of food Lola! May it be a long and prosperous journey. Now we just need to work on your style darling!

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Wordless Wednesday number 1

2011-08-03T07:44:00.004+10:00

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Linking with faith hope and a whole lotta love and my little drummer boys

Together for a year

2011-07-25T08:37:00.001+10:00

Today I realize with full gratitude that today a year ago snow pea 2&3 were placed within me. snow pea two was big and well and snow pea three was smaller and less developed. We always wondered which pea was the snow pea who could. We speculated at first that it was the runt. Now we are fairly certain it was the big gleaming one. Lola measured ahead at every scan, was born just shy of 9 pound and is now in the 97th percentile.

Yesterday the boys added the extra panels to the stokke to make the full sized cot. I hadn't realized when I put her down for bed the night before that it would be her last night in her bassinet. I might have marked it somehow. Yet another transition. I no longer have a newborn.

It may well be because she is such a good baby but I'm already clucky for more. After wanting to be done with my pregnancy I've started already glancing longingly at other pregnant women.

I turn 40 in November. The ticking of the clock is like the grand finale fireworks. I'm not yet ready for another but there's no way in hell I'm leaving it at one. Lola and snow pea 3 were my last embryos. My eggies are not getting any younger.

My plan is to do another round of ivf before or around November and freeze any embryos. That way I hope to buy myself time. That way there's no real rush. Now just to convince Lola's dad the eternal accountant to forget about his pocket. Lola needs a sister or brother and I cannot leave this momentous experience at one.

My baby girl lies beside me having just woken. She has realized that this voice belongs to her and she can control it. She is practicing a series of ahs. Long ones. Short ones. Some with emphasis.

Lola my joy. Our joy. With us a year today.

Angel says we should have called her joy. I say not technically at six o clock in the evening.

My snow pea who would, could, did, is.

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A working mum

2011-07-17T23:00:00.002+10:00

Today in a bookshop I found a picture book about my mummy being a working mummy. I started to read and had to swiftly put it down before I lost my dignity in that little book shop.

On Wednesday I meet the director of Lola's childcare center before her hopeful acceptance for 2012. I had to fill in forms about her fears, loud noises. Likes, dr Seuss and music. Security blanket, bunny comforter. Routines, tbc. Allergies, tbc. Strengths, happy and engaged.

Angelhead wants to buy lottery tickets so I can stay home.

In the meantime every minute is precious. Even the hard and
mundane ones.

Also in the meantime my girl continues to grow up. Every day a new and sweet mile stone. She is interested in everything. Doesn't wish to lie down when she can sit. Holds and grasps anything she can in tight little fists. And babbles and laughs and just plain sends her voice up into the lounge room ceiling in determined and certain ahs.

Every night before I lay her down in her shrinking bassinet I hold her a little bit more tightly. How can love just keep growing like that?

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3 months.

2011-07-12T22:35:00.003+10:00

For three months now I've been a mama. Tomorrow I will be initiated into motherhood in the traditional manner. Mother's group. I still feel like an imposter.

I don't know what the real mothers do. I'm just making it up as I go along. Like usual.

Everything says I should have a routine. Sleep feed play. I'm all over the shop. How much of a routine can you have with a three month old when life keeps interfering? Really. I could use advice here.

The one routine that I have that I love is this. The girl lets me read to her before naps. 2 or more books. Dr Seuss. She's not interested in the pictures just the sing song of my voice. She watches me intently. Often laughing or smiling.

My aunt says her grandson also loves books. He lives in Sweden and has Swedish and english books. He speaks both languages. I have started to play Dora songs for Lola. Another language might be useful. Because at this point I'm afraid my girl will grow up speaking only in rhyme.

This time last year I received my last two embryos. I could never have imagined that in a year's time I would be reading dr Seuss to a precious chubby miracle.

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Hold on to your babies.

2011-07-02T09:56:00.002+10:00

One of the reasons I left it so late, among several, to bring babies into the world is this. The world is not a safe place. Why would I bring a child into the world to suffer struggle and ultimately.. Well you know. I can't even bring myself to utter the word.

But eventually biology took over and the urge was incredibly potent and well here she is. And now I'm left like a fierce lioness forever to defend my little cub from any such thing that would want to hurt her. It does keep me awake sometimes.

I'm sad the world is such a place.

I'm sad that such highly evolved creatures can be bad and hurt its own young. As a mother holding the most profound thing in the world against my chest I'm loathe to believe that such a person can exist. Who could hurt something so small and defenseless.

This sad creature's mother protected it enough for it to be grown and here. Babies are a lot of bloody hard work. Labour. Somebody labored for him. He was not left to starve and shrivel in a dark corner somewhere. Perhaps he ought to have been. If only she had known. Or was there a reason for his badness. Did she ignore his cries, his demanding needs? Who can say.

The reason I ask is that a month ago somebody's poor baby, a 13 year old girl was snatched on her way to school. She's never been seen since. I cling to my baby and ask for god's blessing upon her all the more.

The predator is out there still and last week made two more attempts on two more somebody's babies. My sister's babies live in the next suburb. I texted her and begged her don't let your babies out of your sight.

How did the world become to be so that complex advanced creatures could pray on their own young? Why should I have to stand like a lioness on the edge of my hearth and fend off an enemy. No wild creature. My own kind.

Bless our babies.

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Bound for Hollywood

2011-06-24T10:37:00.001+10:00

So it seems I have a tiny drama queen on my hands..

Lola just after her needles...

Yesterday was lola's two month needles. She cried boisterously. Louder and heartier than any other baby there. We comforted her. I felt like crying the same that I could allow someone to intentionally hurt my baby girl like that. What made it mote crushing was that she was happy and smiling at the nurses before they rudely and in her mind, unexpectedly jabbed her. And then again. That cry of pain and betrayal damn near killed me. Other mothers stuck theirs on the breast but I couldn't make enough milk for a kitten let alone Buddha belly. I'm in drugs and getting somewhere.. But would have only frustrated her. Still I felt like a failure handing my poor baby a bottle instead of a warm soft booby.

Around two hours later lola started screaming. And screaming. Angel says she's hungry. I say can't be still a while to her feed. We argue. I feed her. She seems hungry. I fail again as a mother.

She sleeps briefly after paracetamol and wakes screaming again. She doesn't stop. I am anxious something is wrong. After speaking to mama Mia I call nurse on call. The nurse can hear Lola screaming as can the entire planet and she says not normal. Doctor immediately. I call doctor and they say hospital. I am a wreck bundling Lola into the car and driving to the childrens. She settles. Maybe a coma I think. Mama Mia and mr Darcy meets me there. We rush in. We register. And Lola starts smiling gorgeously at my mum. With sound. So laughing. We wait and wait and Lola snoozes peacefully. I look at all the pale sickly faces of snot ridden children around me and take my happily dozing daughter home. Drama queen with slightly neurotic mother. Much.

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Little Buddha belly...

2011-06-17T08:58:00.002+10:00

My pocket rocket is almost six kilos. In the 97th percentile. She is meaty and squishy. I'm not a big woman by any stretch of the imagination. Must come from her dad's side. She is lovely and solid to cuddle.

I haven't told you yet but they're removing lola's father from her birth certificate in what seems like the most ridiculous and sad thing ever. The very law I fought for to recognize lesbian mothers as mothers means there is no way to include her father in the certificate even though that's always what we wanted. I wanted a father for Lola and angel head was not here when I began this journey. Lola will now have a space on her certificate and no second parent. I'm devastated.

The law keeps reciting the best interests of the child but it's hard to see that removing her father by all intents and purposes could be in her best interests. He will have to get a parenting order.

Melbourne ivf should have let us know this during our counsellung but did not. And we can't really afford to fight it.

So there you go. Despite having a lovely interested father, legally she is the child of a single mother.

The law is an ass.

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Two months

2011-06-14T09:33:00.001+10:00

Tomorrow will be two months since Lola landed in my arms and its almost year since she landed in my womb. I often wonder if these powerful emotions are even more powerful when you've been through a trial in order to have your baby.

Let me start by saying it's not all it's cracked up to be. A lot of the time it's damn hard. All these dreams and visions of wheeling a perfect baby around town. Well it's there and it certainly feels luxurious after you've watched everybody else do it for years but you dont get to see the awful hours between 6 and 10 pm... And nothing compares to the terrible mother guilt. How much future pathological damage have I already caused her. Sure she grins her toothless mouth at me in delight and gazes on my face like I'm perfect but one day she will spit out three devastating words to me and I will die. How will I tell her about all those pooey nappies that I lovingly changed for her. That nothing was ever too much trouble for me because oh how I loved her after longing for her so much. How often I will still catch a glimpse of her gorgeous face and still feel undeserving of her after everything I went through. How I see that little face in the pale morning light and cannot believe she is mine. I pass her around generously at events because she is mine and at the end of the day I get to take her home. I get to spend all those quiet hours with her like now. On the nursing pillow. Breast feeding in a sleeping dreamy state.

Not only do I have a baby. But she's stunningly beautiful. She smiles laughs blows raspberries and falls asleep on my chest. The hard work fades in comparison. The experience is full. There are as many dimensions to it as there are to her.

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Life with Lola

2011-06-06T17:25:00.001+10:00

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The follow up ultrasound revealed no sign of a cyst in Lola. It completely resolved itself. No operation needed. I am thrilled beyond belief. I never dared to dream that it would simply disappear.

Lola is a smiling crying sucking farting shitting wriggling machine. She sleeps like a trooper between the hours of 11 & 6 so her mumma is not at all sleep deprived and feels very lucky and mostly high spirited.

Although Lola's refusal to sleep during the day and a very healthy witching hour means mumma doesn't eat much. Witches hour has seen mumma rocking the pram vigorously beside the stove trying to cook her dinner.

Lola has a bizarre obsession with the book case. It usually calms Lola and makes her smile and laugh more than her mumma does. Mumma cannot figure out for the life if her what exactly is so appealing about the said bookshelf. Whatever floats your boat my lola!

Back to the witches hour for mumma! I wonder what time I'll eat tonight.

One year on...

2011-05-24T15:37:00.001+10:00

On Thursday it will be a year since I began this blog. Well I got my baby and I never dreamed that one year on I would be here. On maternity leave holding my sleeping baby in my arms. Every now and then she sucks on her dummy. Outside the autumn leaves fall. Miracles do happen and dreams do come true.

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My girl is a month old!

2011-05-20T15:57:00.003+10:00

And already she has reached 5 kilos. She is not fussy about food and I can't seem to fill her up. She is on breast and bottle and drains both. I was scared I would get in trouble from the maternity health nurse for overfeeding but she says to fill her up.

She is charming and engaging and smiled broadly before three weeks. She is alert and it's an effort to switch her mind off to sleep. Please dear child sleep! However she has slept 7 hours a night from 1.5 weeks except for the last two. Thanks to her growth spurt and insatiable hunger. So I'm not even sleep deprived.

Have you ever seen a more cheeky face on a 3 week old?

Angel head and I separated ourselves from her for as many hours as it takes to eat out and catch a movie. She stayed with her dad for those hours. All we could do for our entire meal was talk about our girl and weep over our immense blessing. When the credits rolled we couldn't get out of there fast enough to pick up our beautiful baby!

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My first mother's day

2011-05-08T20:47:00.001+10:00

I underestimated the impact motherhood would have on my heart and soul. Never have I felt so vulnerable. So moved. So emotional. So privileged. So overwhelmed. So soft. So happy. So awe inspired. So in love. So raw. So real. So exposed.

My lola has touched me and taken me to a completely unfamiliar place. Never have I loved so hard and much.

There is the fear of the unknown. An overwhelming sense of responsibility. A beautiful perfect soul has been placed in my care. And how shall I respond? How much do I let her cry to establish a livable routine for our life together? I want to hold her all day but will I spoil her? She would happily lie at my breast all day but I cannot do it all night can I?

She has already broken my heart again and again when her cries leave her wrecked. Cries I can't soothe not with a dummy or rocking or my terrible attempts at singing. All because I need her to sleep in her own cot beside me not in my bed. Broken my heart with her vulnerabilities. Her smallness. Her needs. Like when the new born nappies began to leak everywhere because she has outgrown them. I couldn't get to the supermarket fast enough to upsize. The way she reaches for my breast in her sleep hungry for comfort. How does one do this awesome job and remain the same independent and strong person, always in control. The truth is that I'm no longer in control. I'm floored. Changed. Dramatically altered. Where to from here as I reconstruct myself. My future. Our life together.

I'm not the independent woman I once was. I look to angel head more than ever. Need her in a way I never did.

I adore the relationship she is building with our Lola. Am relieved Lola has more than just me. And she is brilliant with her. Has retained the strength and beauty she offered throughout the birth and those first few days of no sleep and no clue! Thank you angel head and though you will not accept it. Happy mother's day to you. You are beautiful.

And lola's dad is shining on through it all too. Taking home dirty washing. Gazing in complete adoration at his daughter. And never overstepping a line.

This time last year I faced a lonely day and my first failed ivf cycle. Today I hold glory in my arms. All the pain of infertility and child birth is gone.

I pray I am the best mother for this gorgeous growing gift.

She is more perfect than I could have ever dared to dream. An ultrasound two weeks ago indicated that it seems the abdominal mass is a collapsed complex ovarian cyst that appears to resolving itself. For now the surgery has been cancelled.

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Meet lola

2011-04-24T20:49:00.001+10:00

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Lola the great

2011-04-21T01:05:00.001+10:00

Angel Head here : )
I'd like to personally announce the safe arrival of the most precious bundle of joy... Lola the great!

Rosie my love was the strongest most amazing woman today! Did some heavy duty laboring... What a trooper! I will never ever forget this day and the strength and courage my Rosie showed! My Wonder Woman!!

Mum and bubba are doing wonderfully!! Lola the great was born on April 20th at 6:13pm...weighing a beautiful and healthy 8'15 pounds... 51.5cm's.

Wow! Wow! Wow!
She is absolutely perrrrfect and gorgeous like her mother!

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Farewell childlessness. Farewell pregnancy.

2011-04-19T15:12:00.001+10:00

I'm off to be induced in the morning! Thanks for all your well wishes, blessings, and advice. I hold them close to me.

I'm overjoyed to leave behind years of ttc and childlessness. I'm also very happy to leave behind the discomforts of pregnancy.

Most importantly, I'm overjoyed to finally meet my little strong determined snow pea and plant kisses finally on her head and hands and feet and cheeks and lips.

I'm not afraid of the process we must go through to meet each other. My fears revolve around her safe arrival only.

Here is a final picture just for roccie of my baby's home for the past 40+ weeks.

The next time we meet I will be a mum.

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The day of the due date...

2011-04-15T17:05:00.005+10:00

So we have reached the day of the EDD and Lola is intent on staying, just as I expected.

However, if she does not arrive on her own by Wednesday I am being induced. We are so excited. We cannot wait to meet our Lola. Despite the process we must endure in order to meet our darling, it feels better than the best Christmas ever.

This time next week, I will finally be a mamma!

39 weeks and 4 days...

2011-04-12T20:26:00.003+10:00

Obstetrician says Lola is in for the long haul. yay. She hasn't dropped all that much and there are not many signs that she is getting herself organised to grace us with her presence. From all indications, things are rather cramped in there but that does not seem to have encouraged her to pack her things at all. I can feel her thick little thighs and legs moving around in there and know she is nice and chub.

Lola is due on Friday the 15th of April and is expected to weigh in at over 8 pounds. Anyone want to take a guess at the day and time and weight. I would be really happy with tomorrow. I am very ready. It takes me two years and a crane to turn from my lsft hip to my right hip in bed, and I will not eat pizza again this pregnancy. I have eaten it two fridays in a row and have had the most terrible marathon night with reflux. These are the moments that I think I cannot possibly do this pregnancy a minute longer.

However, it is actually turning out to be a blessing that Lola is running late because daddy2be has enough on his mind. His niece who is an IVF twin herself, now 9 years old had a clot burst in her brain. It was terrifying for all of them, and has left the little doll with parts of her head temporarily removed. Angel. She is however, despite all of this, traveling in the right direction, out of a coma and responding. D2b is very close to his nieces and this is a major event for him.

Angel breath and I made a build a bear to brighten her day, complete with a striped raincoat and gumboots with love from her cousin Lola. Apparently her little face lit up and it was a perfect thing to have done.

If you're in a praying state of mind, further prayers for Lola's little cousin would be greatly received. I know how powerful your prayers all are.

Lola continues to thrive and here is a picture of us on the monitor. All the midwives say that is one happy little baby in there. Yes, she is. Apparently a little too happy in there.

Update

2011-04-01T16:16:00.001+11:00

Lola is weighing in at 7 pound 14 oz! She is happy and doing well. Her mass has not grown which tells the obstetrician that more than likely it is a harmless growth. Furthermore her head is heading south.

I'm waiting for my Lola!

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38 weeks!

2011-04-01T14:08:00.001+11:00

And so I'm currently at Freemasons awaiting my next scan to see if lola's abdominal mass has grown. Two weeks ago it had not. My obstetrician used the c word for the first time. He said it was a good sign because cancers are rarely static. Here's hoping it hasn't grown again!

Lola remains as feisty as ever. The happy midwife said she'd be a dancer last time I had a fetal heart trace. She was going off! The next midwife to come and check her rate said this one's a groover. As I type this on my iPhone she is kicking in such a way that my hand is shoved up and down from my belly. I swear you could notice if you were sitting across from me. The midwife declared her a very happy baby. Her strength is admirable and keeps me going.

It's April 1st today and Lola is due in two weeks. Nights are marathons for me as I'm so uncomfortable. At the last scan she weighed 6.11 pounds and the doctor says she will be 8.5 at birth. While I'm nervous about delivering my hefty girl the obstetrician tells me the bigger the better for her impending operation. I am happy to meet her now at anytime soon though!

I know she is active and well. I have come to know those feet all too well that sticky out from my side constantly. I pray to god her growth has not grown.

I'm off to peek at my showgirl!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Uncommon...

2011-03-17T07:50:00.004+11:00

Daddy2be and I met with the surgeon from the Children's yesterday who had the MRI images in front of him on his computer. This was much more professional and comforting than the doctor in the room next door who had google in front of him. Should a doctor need to google? I'm not so sure on that one. Mind you, it seemed I knew much of what my doctor was talking about thanks to all my own googling. So I walked away with not much further in the way of knowledge about what we are dealing with, but there was comfort that whatever this is, Lola will be in good hands, and I will have to simply trust all those who will be involved.

The surgeon said we really cannot be completely sure about what we are working with until Lola is born. He mentioned the word uncommon a number of times. This is because if it is attached to Lola's ovary, which we cannot be sure of even with the MRI, it is very large. It is not necessarily a teratoma but it could be. It still even could be a coccyx teratoma, but they usually grow outward, on the outside., from the backside. However, Lola's is on the inside. This does happen, but again it is uncommon. If it is a teratoma, it could be malignant. However, after surgery the prognosis is excellent. She will need to be monitored for the next 5 years to make sure it doesn't come back.

We are still heading for full term natural delivery. He doesn't think it will do much more in the next four weeks. After this, it will depend on symptoms. From the MRI images, we could see that Lola had fluid in her squished bladder, in her belly, and in her bowels. This is good as there is no blockage. We also saw the mass. It is larger than her bladder, and tummy. 5.5 cms to be exact. The first thing to establish will be Lola's feeding, and if this goes well, we will probably have a couple of weeks before surgery. They will also perform blood tests and ultrasounds on her to establish whether or not this is a teratoma.

If Lola is struggling, they will transfer her straight from our hospital to the Children's. He said if this were to occur she would go to neonatal and it would seem she has disappeared into a black hole. Hopefully this will not be the case.

If worse came to worse, and things got bad before Lola's arrival, I would need to have her elsewhere with a more highly equipped neonatal unit.

The surgeon concluded that there were no warning bells for him that this is a life threatening event. I am clinging to this hope. He did say, however that this is one of those things in life where there are no guarantees. Again, all we can do is move forward with faith and in the knowledge that we are in some of the best hands in the world. Although I did have some doubts after we flicked through the MRI image which clearly demonstrated that Lola is a baby girl, and discussed in the length the possible involvement of the ovary, when the doctor said, she or he, do we know the sex yet... Um well, I am assuming that we have a baby girl here. Should I be worried about your expertise? I am hopeful that he was perhaps thinking we might have wanted to keep the gender a surprise, and he was trying to back pedal a little. But seeing as there was no mention of testicles and the like, I feel that we were all fairly clear on the sex.

Again thanks to all of you for all of your beautiful comments and thoughts. It is a wonderful thing to know that Lola is being upheld over the world.

We are getting close now. 36 weeks tomorrow.

My little trooper...

2011-03-11T13:51:00.003+11:00

The results are in. It is almost certain that this tumor is attached to Lola's ovary, and thankfully, not her spine. It is very large, fills her abdomen, squishes her bladder, and goes right up to her liver.

But Lola remains strong and shows no sign of distress despite all of this. At this stage we are heading for a full term delivery in the traditional way. I must confess that a c section was not the worst thing to confront about this whole ordeal. Now it looks like I got to go through the whole labour and birth thing. But who's complaining. If my girl is this strong, then so must I be.

Next week I will meet the paediactric surgeon who will remove the large mass from Lola's little body in the first weeks of her life. There will be difficult days ahead, but this looks to be something that can be fixed.

I am incredibly relieved and thankful. Thank you to all of you for your prayers. We are in a good place.

Today the sun is shining and lola and I had fish and chips and a coke in the sun to celebrate. 35 weeks today. I can't wait to meet you, my strong little Lola. I am already proud to be your mamma!

The trouble with MRIs and reflux...

2011-03-10T10:12:00.004+11:00

And so I had my Foetal MRI yesterday at Royal Children's Hospital. That place is like a city in its own right. It was filled with people. It's sad to think that so many children are sick.

I had Maccas for lunch. Not something I ordinarily would do. There really wasn't anything else appetising on offer. I looked in the Deli and could not find a single thing I liked. So I settled for a small cheeseburger meal and a small orange juice. I left half my juice, and only ate around 3/4 of my cheeseburger. I really wish now that I had not eaten lunch. I would have loved a coke but was told not to consume any caffeine within two hours of the scan as it was best if Lola was asleep. I adhered closely to this because I confess, Lola and I are partial to our Mochas. And in fact, when I went for the foetal heart trace on Monday, Lola was sleeping sleeping and her heart remained the same. They need an awake baby for a good heart trace so we had to try and wake her. Icy cold water made no impact on Lola. The chocolate muffin didn't either. The midwife was very keen when I suggested I send Mama Mia downstairs for a mocha. The mocha did the trick straight away and Lola started bouncing. Her heart moved in very pleasing patterns from 130to 170 and every one was happy. So I did not consume a coffee or coke before the MRI. I wish I had not consumed the cheeseburger or orange juice either.

I cannot remember the last time I lay on my back during this pregnancy. Lola is heavy and she squashes my bowel and it's very uncomfortable. Moreover, I have terrible reflux, and have to keep my head elevated. So as soon as I lay down to be strapped into that massive machine, I could feel cheeseburger and orange juice knocking at the back of my throat. They asked if I was comfortable, which of course I was not. The foam felt hard against my back, and I had to keep swallowing. I told them I had reflux and they elevated my head a very small amount, then moved me deep into the guts of the machine.

My reflux worsened and it did not help that it was hot in there. I used all my self control to keep my lunch down. It didn't work for long and I made a big heave into my mouth. I tried to tell someone, with my mouth shut. After some 'are you okay' into the microphone, and 'mmmm mmm' from me, the machine spat me back out slowly. Someone ran to get a sick bag and I emptied my load into it. And then again and again. Angel head stood with tissues and sick bags and told me to let it all out. I kept going, with no control but figured it would be better out than in. It was rancid smelling, and I could not believe how far such as small lunch could go.

The technician thanked me for holding it and not letting it out in the machine.

Then I finally lay down to move back into that machine. If it wasn't so important for the health of my baby, I would have left then and there. But I knew it was vital.

My lunch remained at the back of my throat. How? Where did all that food come from? And I followed all instructions. It did not help that I had a very heavy contraption strapped over my bump. I willed my mind in a way that I never had, to persist, persist, persist... I had to regularly hold my breath anywhere from 8-20 seconds. I kept telling myself it would soon be all over and I would be in the car on the way home. This too shall pass. But it didn't. It kept going and going and going. I would swallow, and breathe and hold my breath. After each instruction I waited for the words, we're nearly there now Rosie, and they never came. My back ached and strained and cramped. Lola shuffled and kicked. A voice on the microphone said we will have to do that one again, someone moved. I don't know if it was you or the baby. It was the baby I told them. I felt her. I did not blame her. The machine was very loud. I don't know any foetus that would sleep through that.

Finally I pleaded with them, are we nearly finished because I am extremely uncomfortable. 5 more minutes. This is the last bit. And again it was time to hold my breath. But my lunch refused to remain in my pipe any longer and I called out, I am going to be sick. And I was. I had a sick bag but it takes a lot of talent to get all of it in, while your lying in a machine on your back with large headphones on. It kept coming and I felt it in my hair, down my neck and knew beyond doubt that this time, it was in the machine.

They asked me what I said. I said, I have been sick.

I was pulled from the machine finally covered in my own vomit. Ever so glamorous. I was extremely embarrassed. I even managed to splash poor angel head in the process. We reeked.

It seems mercifully that they must have received enough images to let me go. I will know at 8:30 tomorrow morning something more about Lola's condition. Today will be long.

Please continue to uphold my baby in your thoughts and prayers.

Lola the strong

2011-03-04T17:54:00.006+11:00

Lola and I went to see the obstetrician today and we monitored her heart. She is very strong and healthy and that at least is a relief. Our MRI is on Wednesday, there is only one foetal MRI contraption in the whole of Victoria, and we will not receive any results until Friday. I will go in weekly for scans and twice a week for a heart rate monitor. I would live there if I had to. The likely outcome currently, MRI pending, is that Lola will probably come early via a C section. And she will have need an operation. My girl continues to be strong, and even the happy midwife was somewhat taken aback by how strong her movements are when I showed her the video of Lola in my tummy last night. Thank you all for your thoughts and prayers. It means the world. Yours.

Lola and I need your prayers...

2011-03-02T07:45:00.006+11:00

I am hesitant to write all this because I fear I am a little superstitious at times. It comes from my Grandmother, always throwing apple peel and salt over her shoulders at any given moment.

I read so many blogs and frankly a lot of them scared me. Life doesn't appear as smooth as you'd like it to be. I felt like keeping a blog was inviting in drama, fodder to feed the blog. I've had enough drama in my life. I'd like a nice quiet one now, where nothing much happens except normal every day life. it doesn't really make for interesting reading, but frankly I don't care.

So I have steered away from blogs to get on with my normal every day life. Okay maybe I peek in at a few every now and then. People I have gotten to know. Journeys I am quietly following. Relationships I have established. I don't want to read morbid details. I just wish to see that nice things are happening for them and people do get their dreams.

Everything has been going well for me, angel head, and lola. She is certainly growing and making her presence felt. I am almost 34 weeks pregnant and getting excited about meeting her. Things hurt. I know I have split a muscle in my abdomen from her weight pulling my petite chest out and down. I complained about this because the pain is significant. I have also been kept awake at night from aching hips, and reflux and heartburn. ALthough my brain is fried, I really believe there is such a thing as baby brain, and I told my dear friend I had reflex and heartborn. All these things I can live with. And they are minor on the scale of things.

I was very excited but not without some anxiety when I went to my 34 week scan. Mama Mia, angel head and daddy2be all crowded the room to get a peek at our baby. The more the merrier right.

The scan began with lots of normal, normal, normal. As someone who has not really in some senses been able to identify with normal, I have been surprised at how comforting normal is. At one stage I blurted, we love normal.

However, I began to notice that there was a dark object on the screen, and the probe kept coming back to it. There were no more normals, and a sense of hush arrested the room. Our smiles were almost frozen as other parts were referred to as good, but I couldn't help noticing this dark little cloud, and the way the probe kept returning to it.

I knew instinctively it wasn't right, and when she said, the baby is growing well but I do have some concerns, I was not at all surprised. I was more surprised by my own tears as she spoke to be with a great deal of metered honesty and concern.

The mass is not supposed to be there. Maybe Lola needs to empty her bladder, and maybe if we came back later, it would be gone. I knew it wasn't that simple. Lucky for us Rrrrricardo, the foetal scan anomaly specialist was coming this afternoon, and we would have another scan by him.

After plenty of waiting and speculation from my obstetrician, and some sense of do not worry as many of the worrying features of masses are not there, such as a blood flow to it, tears in waiting rooms, nervous talk, we met with Rrrrricardo. The mass had not been peed out unsurprisingly, but Lola had moved enough for Rrrrrricardo to see that it was not attached to particular organs.

But the image and Lola's position was not certain enough to establish what the cyst was attached to. It seems likely it is attached to the poor little darling's ovary. It is big. It fills a third of her abdomen and has pushed her bladder aside. Her girth is large, and it measures at 6cm. Okay so I openend the letter for my ob in the lift. But I needed the details.

The main concern is that it is not attached to her spine, and the way to ascertain this is with an MRI at the Children's hospital. It is apparently more to rule it out. Nobody would be very specific with me about what that would mean so I assume it is bad. Apparently it is worst case scenario.

Rrrrricardo and the lovely scan doctor were very honest with me and this I appreciated. The cyst is recognised as a teratoma. I knew what this was from biology, and when she discussed the germ cells containing foetal matter I knew this more than likely meant that Lola's eggs, stimulated by my own pregnancy hormones, have become excited and started growing. There may well be teeth and hair in there.

My poor, poor baby. I worry she is suffering.

The likely outcome, according to my obstetrician is that we will monitor her closely after the MRI to make sure the cyst doesn't grow. Her heart must be monitored to make sure she is not in distress because of pressure on her organs. On a cyst scale, hers is very big. She may need to be introduced earlier to the world than expected. She will need a Paediatrician after her birth, and maybe an operation.

What we have is that she is a good strong baby. Her heart beat was normal. At the moment she is healthy.

I want a plan of action, a way forward. I am finding this uncertainty taxing. I have spent many more hours holding her and acknowledging her strong movements. I want her to know I am here. That I will fight all the way for her. That I will go into that MRI machine even though the idea perplexes me for her. I will do whatever it takes to keep her well. The hard part is that we all know the womb is the safest place for a 33.5 week old baby, but mine is not necessarily.

I am still waiting for an MRI scan appointment two days later. Sitting and waiting. Anxious, and anxious wait. Thank God I can feel my baby moving. Strong coordinated moves.

The obstetrician asks, is there anything else I can do for you right now. I say in a soft voice, I know it all seems trivial now, but can I take Zantac. Zantac is fine to take, and I have been getting some sleep in between worrying, without burping, and burning and getting up for regular swigs on Mylanta.

My poor Lola. The word normal left the room, and rare took its place. The chances of Lola having this cyst is 1 in 40,000.

Despite all of this. I still feel pretty lucky. Others left Rrrricardo's room with worse news than myself. My baby is apparently healthy, for now.

God bless my Lola. May she be happy, healthy and strong.

30 weeks and where to even begin...

2011-02-05T15:06:00.004+11:00

I am on the home stretch now. 9 weeks and 5.5 days to go until my EDD. I have written a birth plan... I can hear all of you laughing. I know, an oxymoron right, but I have an idea at least as to what I would like.

I have finished my nursery. It seems early but I am back at work full time after my 7 week break and I could not fathom spending the weekends clearing, cleaning and setting up. Afterall, the plan is to work up until 6 days before my due date.

Sleeping is getting uncomfortable. My hips ache and I need to take about ten toilet breaks a night. Once I dreamed I was being kicked hard from the inside. When I woke up I was being kicked hard from the inside. Sometimes I have so many limbs moving inside me I am certain that anyone watching on would notice. This seems to happen particularly after a meal or a sweet treat.

My office has been moved to the top of a big steep hill. Of course it has. With stairs to boot. When angel head came with me to help me unpack in the holidays she said, we should get you one of those crates with wheels from the reject shop to carry all your stuff in, including your heavy laptop. I laughed in her face and told her not to be ridiculous.

My first day was unbearably hot and I trundled up the hill and strained and grunted and called her, breathing like a maniac into the phone and said, can you please get me one of those crates now. I love my new crate.

We had a small baby shower for Lola and my nieces made cupcakes with a beautiful sign with her name on it. It was a gorgeous summer day and we sat on the Williamstown foreshore and ate and played a few fun games.

We went to the Gold Coast for our baby moon and it was beautiful mostly. The drought has well and truly broken in our sunburnt country and we were very lucky to have only one slobbery wet day. After we left the floods hit Queensland and most other places, and last night I drove through a foot of water that looked like a river just to get home. My garden is greener than ever which just seems to defy logic. Usually this time of year the grass is crisp and my pots are dead. Now it looks like a jungle out there. Usually we are praying about the fires, this year we are praying about the floods.

I do realise I am just about the slackest blogger in the world. I have been on holidays and busy and cleaning and nesting. My house has been scrubbed within an inch of its life. There's just the cupboards to sort through now before we meet our darling.

And I only have so much energy.

Angel head and I have been watching birth on youtube. Apparently not a great idea. I know this baby has got to come out somehow but surely in this day and age there is a better solution. I am worried about angel bum during the labour because when I went to give blood for the gestational diabetes test, which was all clear and normal like this whole pregnancy, normal is such a blessing, she was gagging and faint and can't stand the smell of the hospital. This is going to be somewhat interesting but she assures me she can be strong when she wants to. I bought her red bull and put it in my hospital bag in any case. Maybe if I just source some valium and vodka we might just make it through somehow.

Much to my delight morning sickness has returned. I am not sure if it's thanks to the return to work, or the third trimester. Apart from this I am feeling pretty good except for an ongoing pain in my left side, which my obstetrician tells me is just simply my ribs splitting apart. It is especially pleasant when there is a foot poking out.

It seems bizarre that we are down to single figures now in counting the weeks. We are all very excited to meet our Lola. There is a single reddening leaf on my weeping cherry, the first sign of the approaching autumn. Ordinarily I would already be mourning the loss of summer. However, this year, it is with a little quiet smile that I can observe the gentle passing of the summer. Some dew on my car, a falling leaf, because my Lola is coming in the autumn. She will be born around Easter. In the year of the rabbit. My little bunny!

Growing pains

2010-12-16T20:10:00.003+11:00

My little girl is progressing well and packs a powerful kick. I can actually see it from the outside. The obstetrician said I couldn't have asked for a better scan. She is normal, normal, normal. I love normal. She is even measuring a day ahead and he said women like me should get pregnant more often. I might have tried if it was easier.

There is just one, ah, slight problem. I am having trouble going. On Melbourne Cup Day I found myself stuck on the toilet labouring for sometime. After much discomfort and very little joy, I found some success. I lived in fear of it happening again. It went well, for a while.

Then one morning before work, I had no joy. I found myself at the chemist as its doors opened. I was very lucky to happen upon a lovely pharmacist who when he could not locate the information he was looking for, called his Mrs who was a Child Maternal Health nurse and she gave me some great advice. This worked nicely... for a time. I was so bloated and swollen that morning that while he was on the phone to the Mrs he looked over my bump and declared, third trimester, obviously in response to her questioning. I was too humiliated to tell him I was only half way through the second. Blush!!

Last Saturday I could not move my bowels for love nor money. And I desperately needed to. It did not help that in trying, there was a certain little lass who would kick and pummel my bowels throughout the process. Not helping Lola!

In pure desperation I gave myself a mini enema. Something I never dreamed of doing. This demonstrates my absolute desperation. Thank the lord this worked and was a swift smooth operation. Traveling well again for the time being and drinking lots of water and juice.

My little lady continues to use my bladder and bowels as a punching bag. It is the strangest feeling in the world. This morning when I woke up she was unusually quiet. It dawned on me around 9 that she had not put in her traditional program of using my innards as a trampoline. I spent time trying to wake her up. It wasn't until I sneezed that she gave a small kick. Ah! There you are! Then I wished I hadn't woken her. She kicked beneath the seatbelt and then rolled right over so I thought I might throw up from the sensation.

My girl is strong, but please tell me, when will I stop worrying about her from minute to minute?

Angel and I head to the Gold Coast on Saturday for a baby moon. A last hoorah! We are staying at an indulgent resort. These will be our last child-free summer holidays.

It's a girl!

2010-12-01T10:44:00.002+11:00

And her name will be Lola Rose! She's been named for years! This is the best day of my life. I'm going shopping for some pink!

An open letter to Roccie

2010-11-30T17:15:00.005+11:00

Dearest Roccie,
This time last year I dropped into my local primary school fete, the school I hoped to send my one day child. I had been trying to conceive for a year and a half with no luck, and had been to an IVF appointment where I was told I would have to wait another 6 months before I could begin because my donor sperm had to be quarantined and stored for 6 months before I could use it (even though I had been using it fresh for a year and a half already). It is an Australian federal law. Not necessarily a bad one as two women had died in Sydney from infected sperm. It felt like an eternity to me.
At the fete I was so overcome I cried in the midst of the crowd.
There was a little store there containing cards, gift tags and Christmas decorations that had been drawn by local children, and printed onto these various items. I found this Christmas decoration and it touched my heart. It was drawn by a small girl and had been embroidered onto the material.
I hung this on my Christmas tree and it reminded me to keep hopeful that this child I long for would one day be here to celebrate a Christmas with me. It is immensely symbolic for me.
Setting up the Christmas tree is a very meaningful tradition for me. When I set it up I look back on all my decorations given to me over the years by old friends, or bought from the various places I have travelled. When I set up my tree I think about all the things that have happened over the year. When I pack my decorations away in January, I look ahead and wonder what will happen during the year, and where I will be in my life when I next open this box. For the past few years it was a baby, of course, that I was hoping and praying for.
Two weeks ago I purchased a new decoration of a baby deer to hang on the tree as a symbol of my growing gift and the baby I will hold in my arms next Christmas. The nursery will be decorated in a story book theme (I am a writer and a teacher and student of literature, including children’s literature!) and a dear will also hang above my baby’s bed.
When I unpacked my decorations to put the tree up on Sunday I found my hopeful symbol from last year. I knew immediately what I wanted to do with it. I might have kept it as a reminder of the fulfilment of dreams, but there is something else I am compelled to do with it.
I held it against my swelling belly and me and angel head cried together, arm in arm, beside our tree. Dreams do come true.
It is now on its way to you, Roccie. I don’t even know if you believe in Christmas trees but it’s yours to do with it what you will.
May you find your dream, Roccie, and may this be a symbol of hope for you also.
All our love,
Rosie, Angel Head, and Cleetus, who, should he or she be less than modest tomorrow morning at 9:00am, should reveal his or her sex to us.
We will hold you in our hearts this Christmas.

another year older...

2010-11-15T18:29:00.003+11:00

Well, tomorrow is my 39th birthday.

For the past two birthdays I have not wanted a single gift except that I might conceive my little baby. The need was desperate and both of those birthdays were haunted a little with a sense of anguish and longing. Christmas was experienced similarly. I was well aware that the time was passing, I was getting older, and this would all only get harder.

This birthday I will carry my baby in my tummy and delight in its little kicks. I do not need anything else. I feel very, very lucky.

I look ahead and am delighted that I will spend my next birthday will my little babe in my arms.

Happy Birthday to me. Emphasis on the happy part :)

making it up as we go along

2010-11-14T19:50:00.004+11:00

I am not sure how you're supposed to do this, but so far it seems to be working okay. I have learned a great deal about the flexibility and graciousness of people. This situation may just make a family after all.

Today I met Clee's grandmother and grandfather, great aunt, aunt and uncle and three cousins over an afternoon tea. Around this table of saints was also gathered Angel head, mama mia, Mr Darcy (mama mia's partner in life), Daddy2be, Daddy2be's partner in life, Mr V, Mr V's Mama and me and clee. Clee must've had a heads up that this was all about him or her because s/he bounced about more than s/he slept. It may have also had something to do with the half a glass of champagne, Mama Mia's cheesecake smothered with berries and chocolate, chocolate slice and soft drink.

I felt very much at peace that these would be some of the people that Clee would grow up amongst.

Daddy2be's father was a once a long haul truck driver and he only found out his son was gay a year or so ago. He took it better than anyone expected and to be honest nobody expected to see him today. But he was there and I really rather liked him. Daddy2be's mum only found out about Clee a couple of months ago, but she seemd to manage the whole affair remarkably well. You have to feel for good careful living people who find themselves thrust into the complexities of the modern world. But I do appreciate the graciousness and meaningful way everyone went about it. Clee even received the gift of the most gorgeous softest white blanket from Mr V's Mama.

Everyone, absolutely everyone thinks Clee is a girl. Apparently because of the way I am carrying him or her. Clee's little cousins got excited about Clee waving at them during the ultrasound and they would all like a girl please.

Daddy2be's Mum brought the family photo album with pictures of baby daddy2be. He was a little more funny looking than I expected. Cute, but funny. I was trying to imagine what Clee might look like with a combination of our features. I had to drive home and bring back my baby album. Everyone laughed at my chubbyness (and my bad temper that caused my tooth to fall out very prematurely and then grow back too early and far too large) and got excited about me winning champion baby at the Albury baby show.

So Clee exists at long last and we have come together to get to know each other. Good people from different backgrounds doing this thing that we are doing in the best way we possibly can. I continue to trust this rather unusual process. We are Clee's family. Welcome among us little Clee. We may not be perfect, but as in the manner typical of families, we are yours.

Thanks very much Miranda Kerr...

2010-11-10T19:09:00.005+11:00

And so, I am in the position of saying goodbye to my girlish figure. Suddenly people are looking very small and wafer thin to me as I am in the process of expanding. I have noted that my thighs and arms have turned to cottage cheese and swing in an unbecoming manner. I wonder if I will ever see my old self again. It seems somehow ludicrous to keep all of my old dresses because I cannot imagine ever fitting them again. But I am holding onto them in blind faith.

I have developed a hefty appetite. I still have morning sickness which the dear ob doctor tells me places me within 10 percent of the population, but once the nausea clears up in the morning, I need second breakfast. This consists of either marmelade toast or a muffin. I have become one of those mothers who carry food in her bag all the time. Only, the child I am providing for is making demands from the inside. For the first time in my life, I feel like it's a little bit okay to eat a lot and often. I am particularly fond of a boost juice, or a local smoothie. And at a meeting this afternoon, more than one eye brow raised as I went back for second helpings of the provided afternoon tea.

I feel like I am pregnant, and it is okay to expand. I am working very hard to overlook the wobbling arms and listen to all those people who tell me that I really do look beautiful pregnant. Apparently I am blooming. Not just expanding, but glowing and all of that.

I was doing okay at feeling okay about all of this.

And then this morning my preferred breakfast television promises me a picture of Miranda Kerr pregnant. I am seriously hoping her arms are all wobbly too. I keep checking the t.v during my morning chores.

Sadly for me, she is in fine form. Stick thin with a lovely neat bump. Smooth. Tidy. I am mad. Did she not go through a fully carb era? Can she settle her stomach in the morning with something other than cocopops and a muffin? Could she actually shift her skinny arse from the couch during week 6-9?

I feel she is doing all women an injustice. Give us pregnancy please, as one time in our life where we can celebrate all wobbly and round. Where we can flaunt rambunctious and outrageous fertility.

My pregnancy book explains to my partner that I might just be feeling a teeny bit insecure about my burgeoning bulge, and that they should continually remind me that I am a pregnant goddess, and not just a lazy assed carb consuming ravenous incubator.

Currently I am feeling as though Miranda Kerr is pulling off the pregnant goddess thing very nicely, and me, well, nevermind. Leave me to my couch. It's almost eating time again.

Charming

2010-10-25T20:37:00.005+11:00

I’ve been away a long time. I’m overworked and have been crook again. Pregnancy is charming.

I work at an important school and the position I hold is kind of important too. Moreover, it’s an important time of year.

Last week we had our very big very important speech night. I spent two days in rehearsal for my important bits. Of course, the rehearsals went very smoothly, even though I was quite sick throughout. I thought I was pretty stoic and managed everything reasonably well.

Until my moment on stage of course.

Just prior to the announcement of my special bit, I had a strong urge to cough. I was sitting amongst the important people and directly next to the most senior person in the room.

She leans and says to me, are you okay, Rosie.

I say, yes. Of course.

She says, have a drink.

I do merely to be polite even though I know it will do nothing for my developing cough.

I try and cough inconspicuously before we head to the stage.

The announcement comes on.

We are off, on our way to the stage.

We sit on the stage as the important procedures unfold.

My cough becomes more and more insistent and the more I try and soothe it by making tiny coughs and clearing noises, the more it grows.

It is not long til I must address the audience of a few thousand.

A student is speaking, reflecting on her role and her time.

I must exit the stage immediately before I make a terrible mess of myself. I am almost choking. My throat has constricted.

I leave the stage like a threatened field mouse. I hope it is not completely obvious and humiliating for us all. I exit stage left and luckily for me, I happen to be sitting on the end right next to the stairs.

I immediately descend into the darkness of backstage and hold tight til I am through the large double doors and safe from hearing distance.

And I cough and gag. Water streams from my eyes and I cannot control this. I recognise the asthma part and while everyone is thrusting water in my direction, I am trying to ask for an inhaler.

The first aid kit is thrust open and its contents interrogated. For a minute it looks like it isn’t there which seems negligent for an asthma friendly school. But it emerges, and three pumps later, I begin to regain control of my faculties.

As I come to, I also become aware that something is running down my legs.

It seems like a lot and I am completely and utterly horrified. I do not know the extent of the damage. I am wearing my academic gown and at least that is something. But I do wonder if I can safely sit down for the rest of the night.

Without humiliation. For the rest of my mortal life.

I return to the stage in time to say my bit. And while my voice is feeble over the microphone, I do not cough and I finish with relative professionalism.

I leave the stage and head right to the bathroom. There is not that much damage.

Maybe it was sweat.

Or both.

I am okay.

I am 15 and a half weeks and already this is memorable.

Also, I have ordered a stokke mini sleeper, with the adorable tiny crib, and I have a pram.

This week I apply for maternity leave.

Shit. This is real. I am having a baby.

I think I look more fat than pregnant but.

Morning Upchucks...

2010-10-13T20:51:00.004+11:00

Just when I thought the morning sickness was done and dusted, it reemerges in all its former glory.

Yesterday, for example, I awoke feeling a little off, as per usual. I made my bed with my normal commotion, the sound that has come to symbolise the morning for me. Uuurgh! Pause. swallow. Breath. Uuuurgh!

The dogs know I am awake when they hear the advent of my daily gagging.

But rarely I follow through. It's harmless. I am used to it.

But then there was yesterday. I ate my current cereal of choice (it changes regularly nowadays... chuck one up and you need another), sat on the couch until it had settled, and then went back to the kitchen to put my bowl in the sink.

And there it was. Menacing. Ugly. You may think it perfectly harmless but it sent me into a fevered frenzy of violent retching that saw my half digested rice bubbles fill the bottom of my sink. So violent in fact, I peed myself a bit.

Yep, there was a potato sitting on my sink. Just a plain old potato. It wasn't rotten. It was just itself. And it damn near killed me. I had accidently left it out the night before.

So last night I got smart and cleaned the kitchen of all things that may turn malignant by the morning. All that was left on the bench was an innocuous glass of water. Or so I thought.

In the dull grey light of early morning I noticed the glass had a dirty ring at the top of water line. It caught my attention. I looked closely at it. What the hell?

A moth had drowned itself in my glass overnight.

No cereal this time. I hadn't even gotten that far. Nope, just stomach acid. And another change of underwear. Damn. When will this end?

sprouting...

2010-10-10T18:40:00.007+11:00

So apparently there are side effects of pregnancy that I had never even previously considered. Nobody ever in my whole life warned me about this, and I am beginning to think that a) I am unique, or b) it is one of those subjects we do not discuss. I suspect it is the second option, but I am breaking taboo here because I think I should have known about this, and I think everyone should be prepared.

Apparently pregnancy can be a glorious time for women. I know people who say their pregnancies are this some kind of amazing stage for a woman and that they cannot wait to be pregnant again and they feel all powerful, complete and feminine etc. I am quietly waiting for this stage of pregnancy because so far this is what it seems to me.

Firstly, it is all bloating and sickness and pain and leaking and tiredness and the grumpies and the CBFs and untidy houses and neglected work. It is worry and dreams and hunger and thirst and nothing to eat that I would want anyway. It is headaches and cold and hot and happy and sad and uncontrolled sooking. I will be talking about somebody somebody once knew and the next thing I know I am crying on behalf of the planet's suffering.

As someone who longed and pleaded to be in this condition for years I am not complaining about finally being here. I just want to state matter of factly that it is certainly no bed of roses. However, lying on the ultrasound table leaking floods of tears as you watch your baby lifting it hands up and down and sucking on them is a bloody piece of work and something I wouldn't miss if I lived 22 different lifetimes.

But noone spoke to me of hair. Look, it's the bane of my life anyway. I have two moulting dogs and a head of hair. It sticks to me like a guilty crime. Thank God for the dyson. (No I am not being paid for this post but if dyson want to reward me contact me ;)) However, now I am finding that it is sprouting from places never previously considered before.

For example, I have found random pieces of stray hair growing half way down my thigh. This is a girl that has never needed to shave above the knee ever. Angel head told me on the couch the other day when I couldn't be stuffed keeping up my below the knee shaving routine that my legs looked like her dads (!) Last week in the shower while admiring my swelling belly, I find three random hairs right near my belly button.

AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF TODAY... I was writing on my laptop and felt my nose was even more itchy and irritated than usual. I was rubbing and blowing when I realised the irritant was firmly attached, and growing marvelously OUT OF MY NOSTRIL. Yes, like an old church man, my nose hair is curling out of my nostrils.

Is there some kind of pregnancy hormone that reverts us to our cavewoman ancestors?? And evolutionary wise, what would be the bloody purpose of that? To ward off all men and any other interested parties?

Needless to say I have spent the afternoon plucking out nose hairs. Dear God, please don't tell me I am the only one... For shame.

my baby is happy, healthy, whole - hallelujah!

2010-10-04T20:22:00.004+11:00

It was all good news for me today and I feel so incredibly happy and relieved.

My darling baby seemed overly fascinated with his or her own hands, particularly the one on the left. He or she continually raised and waved it above his or her head. It was like a new found and wonderful thing. On the occasion she or he stretched out his two legs and jumped. I cried. It was like no experience I have ever faced before. I am in love.

I heard a strong heartbeat and mercifully, the nuchal fold was very thin, meaning a very low risk of downs. In later discussions I was informed that the chances of downs is now 1 in 1,100. Trisomy 18 is 1 in 11,000. The downs is a particularly great result because my age factor alone equated to 1 in 92.

The midwife gave me another surprise scan afterwards just to see the baby move, because she said it was so much fun. Hell, why not. And for the first time in my life, nobody needed access to my cho cho. I felt like a real grown up having pants on stomach ultrasounds.

My baby is measuring perfectly at the expected 12 weeks and 3 days and is still due April 15.

I am counting my every beautiful blessing. Today I am rich.

The bottom picture is the ultrasound by the ultrasound technician. You can see the little arm outstretched. The top one is the "watch baby jump" by the happy midwife. You can see the little legs outstretched.

I have started telling people. That bit is fun!

let the second trimester begin... and term 4

2010-10-03T17:00:00.005+11:00

Today I feel brillig! The sun is shining and it's our first warm day of the season. 24 degrees celsius and I am sunsoaked. Glorious. I feel alive. It may be that my blood tests came back low in iron and vitamin d (go figure - low vitamin d after a bloody long winter, and a cold dank September in Melbourne.) I am now on supplements and have spent the last few days in the sun. If I was low on vitamin d last week, this week I am oding on it. Yeahhhhhh!!!!!! I'd eat it out of a bucket with ice cream if I could.

The only thing that could dampen my energy and new found zest for life is work. I have had three weeks off. My spring break. The first week I could barely rouse myself out of bed but now I feel better with every day. This is my favourite time of the year. I even turned my clocks forward this morning for day light saving. Does it get any better than this??? Ah except for the fact that I have to front up for work again tomorrow. Yeah and that I did hardly anything last term and now I have to work like a trojan to get back on my load. And it's the busiest time of year to boot. BUT, the sun is shining and it's warm, and everything is easier in the sun.

Tomorrow is not only the first day of term 4 and the day I have to work my arse off, but I am also having my 12 week ultrasound to check for dates and abnormalities. I am excited to see how big and active my baby is getting. But am nervous that she will be okay. My dear friend Bec over at Gay Forth and Multiply has just faced the devastating reality of discovering her baby has downs. Her story brings me to tears, and leaves me wondering what the hell I would do in the same situation.

Happy, healthy, whole. That's my mantra I have repeated in my head since the transfer of this embyro. Please be so.

Part of the challenge of returning to work after 3 weeks is hiding my getting obvious bump. I have told very few people, and will need to start the ball rolling. I would rather announce the news than have it guessed, or raise a few eyebrows here and there. I have bought myself a little swing dress and have kept it aside especially for the first day back at work. Hopefully it will do the trick.

I am not sure if anyone is still left here reading because I know sincerely that I do not deserve it. I have been terribly absent and my momentum went out the window with my iron stores. But if you're still here, sincerely thank you. I hope all is well in your part of the world.

A Spring Clean

2010-09-20T20:39:00.001+10:00

I am back on the planet. And getting my life back in order. With the help of mama mia and angel breath I cleaned out my entire wardrobe and packed five bags of clothes that I cannot perceive ever fitting back into. Or stuff that I am over. I dusted the tops of high shelves, vacuumed, washed, and even, wait for it, starting clearing the spare room to make way for other things, such as maybe a cot, and a change table. One day.

On Sunday I am chucking a grand garage sale, and making room in my life for a different sort of chaos.

I cannot help but wonder, however, where all of this stuff comes from. It really truly feels like I have been downsizing and decluttering for the past 10 years. But when my back is turned, things gather without me knowing. Like who on earth needs 20,000 plastic bags.

My grandmother was a hoarder, of the truest kind. She loved pretty things and loved to surround herself with them. Of course, the difference between her definition of pretty and well, the rest of the worlds is nothing short of a gulf, and sadly, very little of it turned out to have any real value ultimately. My mum and her sisters ended up donating the most of it to the op shop when she passed on. I remember sitting on her over soft bed filled with pillows, trying on 10 sets of the forty million beaded necklaces hanging from her mirror, and stuffing my fingers with more rings than Zsa Zsa Gabor.

She also had a propensity for sweet things. Jars and cupboards were stuffed with lollies and sweet biscuits. She wore these around her girth all her life.

I loved this woman. I wasn’t even overly scarred the day I was confronted by her large white bum. I finished in the toilet, flew into the bathroom, just in time to see her bend to pick her towel up from the floor. The bathroom was all arse. Literally.

To me my grandmother’s very humble house was heaven on earth. It was nothing more than a fibro shack, but it was filled with my childhood, the good bits. Climbing trees in summer with my cousins. Throwing overripe plums at unsuspecting passer-bys. Food, Christmas, vomits on my dinner plate. Busting with love.

Even now, given the choice of being anywhere in the world, I would choose my grandmother’s house in the summer. Granny sitting in her chair. Smiling at me like I was a peach.

God I miss her. For years after she died, in my sleep I kept trying to bury her. I re-enacted her funeral over and over. I have no idea why. The last dream was several years ago now, and I was standing on the side of a horse and carriage, on my way to bury her yet again. Apparently the horse and carriage was appropriate because she has been quiet ever since. Although sometimes she is about to ring me on the phone, or just about to walk in the door, and then I wake up. I suffer that crushing loss all over again.

I heard something last year that brings me great joy. My grandmother made me. She created the egg that eventually resulted in me. A baby is born with all of her eggs. Therefore her mother created all of those potent cells.

This makes me think even further. If the baby I am currently creating is a girl. I am busy making her eggs. And one or some of those will be my eventual grandchildren. What a link! What a marvellous bloody link.

Anyway. I am ten and a half weeks pregnant today. I bought a pair of maternity jeans. I am beginning to look pregnant. I only gag occasionally. And I cry at anything. Such as the Sydney 2000 Olympics reunion. I hardly gave a shit then so find it difficult to know why it bloody matters now.

A guest post from my Mama Mia

2010-09-15T19:49:00.006+10:00

My dear friend, Roccie, I have heard you, and yes, you are right. I am slack, slack and have not been a good blogger to you all. I put it down to the first trimester, and as I head into week 10, I expect to be back to my creative self any time now. Would absolutely love some energy back. The good news is that I am progressing on the text book I am writing and am years behind in, and actually have been making progress on my house. I think I am starting to nest. I am even dreaming up big plans for decorating, not only the nursery, but the living area also.

I have asked angel head to write a guest post but she spends her days with 12 year olds and has just spent an entire week with them in Canberra, our capital, while our Julia Gillard was mercifully handed back the management of our country. I had given up all hope and expected it to be handed to that nob, Tony. But this is not about politics and I have now had my say. I do hope angel head will write me a post once she is on her break, next week. Poor angel head travelled both ways on a bus for 8 hours, with chucking children. I think she managed it with unbelievable grace and all power to her.

I thought you might like a word or two from Mama Mia. As you may know by now, she is full of them. She likes to write, and well, to put it frankly, she rarely shuts up. She will strike up a conversation with anyone anywhere anytime anyhow. As a child, I thought she knew everyone. It wasn't until later that I realised our town was not that small, and she just had something to say to everyone.

Without much ado, I shall hand you over to Mama Mia for a time. Enjoy!

What a responsibility, I was eighteen and pregnant, excited but scared. I told my mother who was always a drama queen. She screamed, called me names and informed me of several ways that I could abort the precious little life that grew within me. I then told my nanna she smiled, hugged me and said “another little baby to love”. What she said was true how could I not give birth, love and nourish this little being.

Now Rosie Jo is having her first baby and what a special baby she/he will be.

Being a mother has been the hardest yet most rewarding experience of my life. No-one prepared me for the ups and downs for the joy and tears, the poo in the bath, the vomit on the sheets, and the rejections of a teenager. But I always remembered the words of an older guy who told me – always let your children know that you love them. My first thoughts were that why would he tell me that - did he think that I did not love my children. I now know that love is the main ingredient when nurturing a child.

We have laughed, we have cried, argued and celebrated but nothing has been as good as that phone call I received at 3.00 am on a Saturday morning a few weeks back. My ringtone for Rosie is a harp, I changed it to this after the alarm ringtone I had for her caused problems in the toilets at David Jones one Saturday morning. Several people including my six year old granddaughter panicked and fled the toilets when the alarm sounded when Rosie Jo called. Of course as it was three am I was sound asleep when I heard a harp playing and thought who on earth is playing a harp. I then realised that the harp sound was Rosie Jo calling, funnily enough I did not panic as I would normally do at the hour of the day. She was so excited and said the test is positive, the test is positive. It had been a long week with Rosie panicking as she rode the highs and lows of yet another IVF round. I was afraid to get too excited as it was early days but I lay in bed unable to sleep for hours while thoughts rushed through my head. Is it a girl? Is it a boy? Are there two, what will we do if there is more than one.

Well, Rosie Jo is well and little Cleet is happily settled in her/his cocoon growing each day. Soon he or she will be hearing the sounds of our voices, our laughter and the noise of our lives. He or she will be welcomed with open arms and a love that cannot be described. As Granma it will be my job to give him or her a thousand kisses each time we meet and presents that are not needed. But above all I can pass on the life experiences that I have had, the wisdom that I have gained like there is never such a thing as too much chocolate, that a sunset is one of the best things in the world and yes even a Granma can boogie board and cannot wait to teach her/him and of course pass on Mumma Mia’s funny sayings.

I am so happy that Rosie Jo will hold her baby in her arms and know the love that I have felt.

ihappy monday: 8 1/2 weeks

2010-09-06T18:11:00.003+10:00

A quick one from me as I have been extremely unwell.

Just as I had begun to feel a little more like myself, the cold from hell hit. I coughed. I spewed all night, violently. I even threw and coughed up blood. I heated up. And my nose ran. All of this completely charming and a whole lot of fun. I was feeling very sorry for myself, and could only take panadol for my suffering. Normally I would have done my best to knock myself out.

I worried the whole time about my baby. My fever reached 38.45. I worried she'd cook. I couldn't even hold water in over one night. Mercifully, I stopped this violent heaving at around 5:am. It began straight after dinner.

But apparently we are okay. I am on the mend, slowly. And Cleetus, well it seems she/he is thriving. Today I saw my obstetrician for the first time and had a lucky surprise scan. I was terribly nervous. He asked if I minded and said if all was perfect in there, we needn't worry about a miscarriage. This seemed marvelous, but as I stripped off my knickers, I began to worry that all may not have been well in there. Luckily there was the quick chuck in the hospital carpark on my way in that was somewhat reassuring. Luckily this did not occur on the tram.

As I lay on the bed I pleaded with the universe and God that everything would be okay.

The bub appeared much larger than two weeks ago on the ultrasound screen. I searched frantically for the telltale heartbeat and saw it just before the good Doctor switched on the ultrasound sound. And the room filled with a strong, rythmic beating. I did not expect to be so moved by a single sound. A primal happy sound. May it beat so soundly for another 100+ years.

Mama mia and I wept a little. Clee is fine and looks set to stay. The next hurdle is in a few weeks with the down's test.

For now, we are okay.

Happy spring

2010-09-01T12:48:00.004+10:00

Despite the fact that today looks utterly miserable, technically it is spring. Glory be I have long awaited this day. Me and winter are not the best of friends. Not by a long shot.

Thanks so much to all of you beautiful people who responded so compassionately to my first semester whinge. Thank you also for encouraging me to consider whether or not I am suffering from hyperemesis. Naturally I am not. It is just your regular run of the mill morning sickness, and clearly I am a sook!

Mind you, I am getting a hold over this thing. Lots of sites tell you a few lifestyle adjustments can make the world of difference. I have discovered this is true. However, it is tricky to make some of these lifestyle adjustments when you are supposed to be working fulltime. The best I have felt for a long time was on Saturday when I was at a first birthday party all day. I have discovered that as long as I have something in my gob the whole time, I am hot to trot. At this rate I am going to end up as fat and round as a tellytubby. I carry massive amounts of food around with me at all times and eat my entire way through teaching a class.

Consequently, I am feeling much more like myself, and much more optimistic and happy about the whole affair.

I am 8 weeks on Friday and according to my ipad application, Clee is the size of a raspberry and beginning to look less like a chicken foetus and more like a human one. Comforting. Next week she will reach the size of a grape and start moving herself about.

Last night Mama mia spoke to Clee with her hand on my tummy. She reacted somewhat in surprise and said, oh it’s hard. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that was all bloat and gas and certainly not baby. Today I will post my first stomach shot of 7+weeks. It is important for you to know that that roundness is thanks to the bloating, and not an early show!

Happy spring. Doesn’t Melbourne know how to shine...not.

A full first trimester whinge

2010-08-27T12:18:00.003+10:00

And so, I just made it through my 8:30am class (it was always going to be hit and miss), gagged right at the end, came back to my office, and spat my entire breakfast into my sick bag that angel head nicked from her work. Luckily my poor colleague, Ms Poppins, is a mother three times over, and is all too familiar with this glamour that is the first trimester.

Today’s breakfast – epic fail.

Currently I am curled on a bean bag in the corner of my office, eating spoonfuls of raspberry jelly.

I always fantasised about this part of pregnancy. Somehow it seemed romantic and all a part of the journey. Like a Jennifer Anniston film where she would smile gratefully and pleasantly all the while having a dignified throw up in the bathroom. Ah pregnancy, what a perfectly good reason to be sick.

Now I find it hard to be happy at all. And then because that feels so wrong, I feel even worse.

Even clothes have the potential to make me feel sick. I consider what to wear for the day, and glimpse a skirt in the cupboard, and remember I wore it that day and I was that sick, and I can’t even bear the thought of that skirt.

Everyone laughs heartily when I tell them I have settled on the idea that I am only having the one. But I am perfectly serious. People come back for this?

Seriously?

I received all the papers from the hospital I am booked into for next April. It includes a list of things to bring with me including nappies and grow suits. I don’t know if it’s my cocktail of hormones or not, but they made me cry. I cannot fathom, even now as I struggle to swallow spoonfuls of jelly, that I am having a baby. I dreamed and dreamed of this day, and now I wish for something of my old self back. A little bit of pizzazz, energy, zest, would be lovely. Not this pale sorry looking woman looking back at me from the mirror.

Everyone reassures me that it will all be worth it someday and I am certain it will. The current struggle for me is that the picture I always dreamed of bears little resemblance to this current reality.

I must work. I have obligations to my students. How do I continue to work like this?

I find it hard to find anything that I would like to eat. I cannot stand the thought of fat and grease, so fish and chips and such things is totally unappealing to me. I feel like one thing one day, and cannot stand the thought of it ever again.

My shopping list last night comprised of such things as tinned spaghetti, tinned tomato soup, jelly, milo desserts, yoghurt, special k, ovaltine, things I haven’t touched for at least 30 years.

I am beginning to see the purpose of advertising. A few weeks ago, advertising was lost on me. I have a very critical mind and hate the way they cater to the lowest common denominator. However, currently it seems I have joined the ranks of the lowest common denominator. My mind speaks to my stomach all day, saying such things as well what do you want? How about this? What about that? My stomach responds with such thoughts as oh god no. Or do go on. You might be onto something there.
However, yesterday I saw an ad for Special K, and I have never needed anything so much in my life. Slight exaggeration. Only slight. I am beginning to think advertising would be best directed at would be mummies.

Even going to the toilet has become a particular challenge for me. In the number two department. Not because of constipation or any of those kinds of things but because I cannot even stomach my own smell. I spend the entire time gagging.

Any romantic notion I once had about this particular stage of this particular journey has been smashed to teeny tiny pieces. Readers, I confess, I am completely and utterly miserable.

And the shame of achieving my biggest dream ever, and not at all enjoying it, plays heavily on my mind.

Disclaimer: Please, please forgive me if I sound like an ingrate. I am a tired mess of hormones on a purely carb diet struggling to fulfil my work obligations, as well as keep some semblance of order in my home.

P.S how do people do this with toddlers?

P.P.S when is the weather going to improve in Melbourne?

ihappy monday: six and a half weeks

2010-08-23T15:47:00.002+10:00

I am so sorry for my absence all. I have been suffering. When I am not gagging or throwing up, I exist in a zombie like state. Who would have thought something so tiny could take so much from me.

Funnily enough, Clee tells me what is good to eat in my dreams. On Saturday night I dreamed ice coffees, and sure enough, when I finally sat down to one on Sunday, it was marvellous. Last night I dreamed of popsicles, and today I bought myself a pack of pine lime splice while sipping on my raspberry slurpee.

Also, lemon curd toast is sitting very nicely in my stomach of late, and hasn’t left the building as yet.

This morning I went for my sick week scan. I awoke with a huge bout of nausea, and had to take a bag and a towel in the car with me. Thankfully I didn’t end up needing them. I did sit on the couch out the front of Dr Mac Baby’s office gagging furiously however. It would have been perfectly obvious to any outsiders that I was perfectly up the duff. It was this morning sickness that meant I was quite confident that the scan would not come up empty.

Angel nuts, daddy2be, and I all went along for the scan. We really wanted daddy2be to have the chance of being there, so as you might imagine it was a bit of a juggle. D2b waited outside the room until the picture was on the screen, and then we all just smiled like a pack of goofs. What we saw on screen was a tiny, healthy and good sized foetus, with a fluttering heart. Moreover, there was one. One is just lovely I think.

Clee is measuring right on schedule at 6 and a half weeks. 5 millimetres.
And I am done with IVF. Yihaaaa!!!!

bruce the celebrant

2010-08-18T14:07:00.003+10:00

This morning as I made my way to work I found myself driving behind this red bogan van. May I direct your attention to the sign to the bottom left of the vehicle. It claims that Bruce is a marriage celebrant and he does weddings, important occasions and dignified funerals.

I couldn’t help but wonder how you would feel if you booked your celebrant from the yellow pages, and he turned up in that bloody van. I couldn’t help but wonder why Bruce the marriage celebrant required such a pragmatic vehicle for his delicate line of work.

It did then occur to me that if Bruce does funerals, maybe he carts his coffins around in the back. However, the word dignified challenged this idea of Bruce, his red van, and his funeral transport arrangements. I could just picture the mourners spilling out of the cathedral, mopping up tears as Bruce’s red van pulls away with a backfire and heads for the cemetery. It would be like calling two men and a truck to arrange the funeral for your dearly departed Great Grandmother. Completely practical. Very cheap. But perhaps not as hallowed or sanctimonious as you might expect.

I did do a google search and managed to find Bruce’s website. There are plenty of photos for weddings he has officiated at but unfortunately, I couldn’t find any evidence of the van leaving the church filled with flowers and a coffin. Pity.

It seems Bruce is selling his van and I think this is a good thing. I would like to suggest to Bruce that a more dignified vehicle would perhaps better enhance his business image in such an important and revered line of work. Somehow the red van just made me nervous. Next thing we know, there will be a Jim’s mowing franchise for weddings and funerals. Or dial a Cellie. Or better still, do it yourself.

ihappy monday: Barry Bruce Bruno Billy Bob

2010-08-16T11:38:00.002+10:00

When I walked into my office this morning I found these little softies and their big beautiful smiles beaming at me in the early light from my desk, with their attached notes.

My colleague, Miss Poppins (she is sitting behind me in her purple polka dotted Mary Poppins hat) has journeyed with me throughout this whole ttc process. She has been there through the lows and the lows.

We have laughed at some terrible jokes because sometimes there was nothing else to do. We once had a work experience boy called Barry, and we secretly pondered how anyone could call their beautiful perfect tiny baby something like Barry, or Bruce, or Bruno. So we took to calling the one day boy baby, Barry Bruce Bruno Billy Bob.

When I told Miss Poppins I was finally pregnant, she cried louder than anyone. It was the weekend she cleaned up her father’s house after his passing, so I think that the good news of this new life was made even sweeter for her.

And so it was with my own big smile and a giggle that I sat at my desk this morning after finding these big bright smiles waiting for me.

No real morning sickness for me yet, just a few queasy moments. Also, I would really love to be able to go to the toilet one day soon. Mama Mia says she read somewhere you can carry 7 kilos of, well, that stuff in you and I am beginning to feel this is true. My size 12 skirt is extremely uncomfortable and I have taken to wearing maternity waists.

Also, I nearly passed out in Pumpkin Patch on Saturday. It got a little dark in my head, and there was a buzzing in my ears, and everything slowed down for a bit. I said, woooooooo, and came good again.

My fillets are my biggest constant reminder of my current condition. I absolutely dread having to remove my bra now.

In exactly one week I will have had my first ultrasound. I have never felt so excited and so damn scared of a single event in all my life. I am discovering that there is always the next thing to worry about now, and realise that from here on in, I will be wearing my heart in my mouth.

hi from me and cleetus

2010-08-12T15:08:00.006+10:00

Me and Cleetus Mac Foetus are just getting to know each other. I discovered today that she/he is not a big fan of coffee when I got to 1:00pm before the thought of having one even occurred to me. And only then it was only because I was tired and in need of a pick me up. Cleetus has suggested I cut back to one a day, if that.

She is not overly pleased about me dishing up the dog food either. Something I have done day in and day out many a year, without a second thought. I don’t know what she found offensive about it, because it wasn’t the smell. It seems the way it jiggled on the end of the spoon was unfavourable to her. I didn’t follow through, but had a good gagging session in the kitchen yesterday morning nonetheless.

My fillets have blossomed into something I only ever imagined, and are in fact now spilling out of my most comfortable bra. I did not think I would need to be considering larger bras so early. I am intrigued about the possibilities of the end product, if this is only the 5th week. They also ache for hours on end, and each one seems to take it in turns to have a shot at stretching and straining.

I am still suffering pretty terribly from my IBS after eating larger portions of food, which seems to ease after a few little pops here and there, embarrassingly, a noisy one in front of Mama Mia and Mr Darcy. It seems as though pregnancy means you can kiss goodbye any sense of dignity and refinement. I have become intimately acquainted with the processes of my body. Who would have thought that a simple fart could cause such an issue?

Perhaps it should not come as too much of a surprise to me because once I found myself in hospital, just about to go under the knife for an appendectomy, when I slipped off to the toilet to release an almighty fart. I was immediately and miraculously healed, and much too embarrassed to tell anyone what had happened. Instead, I discharged myself against all medical advice. I was not worried in the slightest though because it was immediately clear to me what the issue had been all along.

The pain of IBS is difficult to distinguish from other forms of cramping and so I visited my old friend the GP yesterday. He didn’t seem overly concerned at all, and made me feel much better about things.

I am also becoming intimately acquainted with my bathroom. I kind of like having to go so much though, because it means I get to observe closely for any signs of something untoward. I am highly highly highly anxious. It all seems rather too fragile. It doesn’t help that I have read way toooooo much on the internet, and find myself wishing for a blissful state of little pig happy, over this all knowing, all fearing state of Socrates Miserable.

I am currently in the process of banning myself from scaring the living crap out of myself, and instead have taken to sending positive messages to me and Cleet. You are a big, strong, healthy baby. Sometimes I even say it out loud. Generally not in public though.

Besides the anxiety part, me and angel head have not stopped smiling. Every now and then she leans into me and whispers, can you believe you’re pregnant? Or hey my pregnant wife. And she has been looking after me beautifully. She even offered to clean out the kitty litter, and if you remember, Angel head hates anything organic.

My due date arrived in the post from Melbourne IVF with a congratulations.

April 15, 2011.

ihappy Monday: I'm pregnant!

2010-08-09T16:34:00.005+10:00

I am loving saying those words. Today I had my blood test and my level is a good strong 1338. I am so excited but a little nervous about it all. I have already had to buy high top undies because I am so bloated that nothing is comfortable! I also bought maternity tights. Unfortunately my ibs has kicked up a stink about this little thing living in me and I have suffered some terrible pain. It's all worth it however so I won't be complaining. I have had to regulate my diet. Actually this was my first clue... That damn pain.

So some details. Period no show but it could well have shown Saturday morning. But no earlier spotting. But still all other pre-menstrual symptoms lingering. So it was at dinner in Yarraville on Friday night that I told angel head that I was 99 percent certain I was getting my period.

3:00am Saturday morning, no show... Need to pee. First morning urine. Mmmm... Rustle through the bathroom cupboard to locate my full boxes of pregnancy tests. I gave them up a year ago. Most of them on the verge of expiring. Decide to use two.

The line appeared straight away on both. Strong. I was speechless. I was akin to expecting disappointment. I could not even process it before I ran into angel head and told her in the darkness. I'm pregnant. Angel head: are you sure? Yes (me). Her: how do you know? so I showed her and we cried and cried in the bathroom. Then we rang mama Mia and daddy2be in the middle of the night.

It's the best ihappy Monday ever! I wish you all as much joy as my weekend held. That is apart from my dreadful hay fever, and irritated bowels. Meh!

ummmm

2010-08-07T03:29:00.003+10:00

it seems the bat didn't show :)

thoughts from the station

2010-08-06T10:33:00.002+10:00

Today I am due to pick up the cranky old bag from the station. I am currently waiting on the cold lonely seat watching as the trains pull in and out. Crowds of people climb on and off the train but I am waiting for the haggard offensive crone, dressed in her scandalous scarlet rags, who would spot me a mile off. And while I could run, she’d follow me anyway, her moist breath breathing down my neck. She’ll plant her vile bags beside my feet for me to carry, and she’ll declare, hands on hips, that she’s here for five days. Or so.

I am desperate for the day when she just doesn’t show. Not the days where I wait and wait and just as I am about to consider the idea that she’s not coming, the late night train pulls into the station and she calls out loudly across the platform, bet you thought I wasn’t coming. Sorry, I got held up, love. Naturally she talks like she’s been smoking a pack a day for forty years.

It’s an anxious wait. Because despite a naive and impassioned hope that this might be the time she missed the train altogether, I know deep in my insides that wherever she is, she is on a train heading my way. All that’s left to do is wait. Despite how bad a guest she is, and how rude and unpleasant she may happen to be, she is mine. Bound to me like an obligation, a creepy uncle who demands a kiss on the lips with each visit.

And when she shows, I must accept my lot with grace. I will have to meet once again with Dr Mac Baby and discuss the next step. A new cycle to make fresh embryos. My freezer is now emptied of snow peas. Each infinitesimal opportunity lost to obscurity.

How many more months until I can try again? Caught once again in a frustrating process of waiting and waiting. Meanwhile the years continue to leak away from me like a drip drip in the night. And my eggs become less and less viable with each drip of time.

Daddy2be is happy to forge on, for now, but he says that he is 42 in January, and he may need to reassess after that.

Meanwhile that exciting dream that bloomed bright at the beginning of this journey, is harder and harder to reach.

For now IVF demands from me so much more than it bestows. The technology pokes and pulls and prods and pinches, and leaves me diminished.

Maybe it will be somewhat like pruning roses. The more you hack and reduce it, the more she will flourish next season.

wednesday words

2010-08-04T08:55:00.003+10:00

And so it is Wednesday and Friday is alarmingly close. I wish more than anything that I could share some good signs with you, but all I am feeling is premenstrual. I hate this feeling. I hate this point.

At my session with Zosia the acupuncturist on Saturday she asked if I had a sore back or pulling in my thighs. I thought these must have indicated a possible pregnancy and was why she was asking. I told her I didn’t. She said this was good. We did not want to feel those. I supposed then they must have been premenstrual symptoms. I have had the sore back before, but could not recall pulling in my thighs.

Last night and this morning I have had pulling in my thighs. So of course I am now wracked with worry. My only saving grace is my sore and sensitive fillets. This is not unusual for me, however they seem much more sensitive than usual, and simply bending over to pick something up makes me feel like they might fall off.

I really hope this means something.

I am now at the point of two possibilities. Either there is one or two snow peas still making their quiet way in there, or there is nothing at all. The nothing at all is what I have become accustomed to.

Last night as I looked through facebook the faces of beautiful babies grinned at me from their mama’s pages. I am not bitter, which is surprising really, but there is a wounding there that lies at the heart of my soul. All of these babies were announced, carefully to me, long after I had been trying to conceive. They are now smiling, laughing, playing.

And I am still reaching the end of vacuous months.

Last night I had a dream also. I used to haunt the pages of the trying to conceive forum, but after being there long after everyone else had gone, I eventually gave up. Of course, there were other women, having all kinds of problems also. Still, many of them went on to get pregnant.

I dreamed I was in a room with some of these long term trying to conceivers. And they were each at different stages of their pregnancies. I was happy for them. But my own stomach was still flat.

On my IVF forum, to my great surprise most of the women fell with their first or second transfer. All of my friends who have gone through IVF fell on their first or second transfer. I really do not know anyone personally who has gone onto their third and fourth.

What if this had not worked? What then?

I know I will try again. I am certainly not a quitter. But how much more of these long months do I have to bear? How many more Friday night movies must I sit through with the pain of an unwanted period bearing down on my miserable guts?

How many more times do I need to smile bravely to those that I love and that love me and say, it’s okay, we will try again.

How many more times will I need to pick my sorry self up, dust my sorry arse off, and refuse to bloody hell to give up because I want this?

What karma must I have created for myself? What God did I piss off?

How many more of these last traumatic days of the effing TWW will I make it through, still intact, still mostly sane, still strong, still loving, still laughing, still eating, sleeping, writing, teaching, speaking?

I have promised Zosia the acupuncturist that I will not collapse in a heap. I mean to keep it.

ihappy monday: signs

2010-08-02T19:30:00.002+10:00

Here is a picture of a rainbow that my angel head took on her way home from work today. We were talking on the iphone (handsfree of course) when she saw it.

I was surprised about her rainbow.

We both work at opposite ends of Melbourne. Sometimes it could almost be the opposite ends of the earth.

I work in the east and she works in the west. Very often she will have severe thunderstorms storms complete with floods and I will have the bluest skies.

In the east there was no rain today. Not a drop.

Surprising therefore that there was a rainbow elsewhere.
Meanwhile I am busy looking for my own signs. All I got is sore boobs, and cramping. Each day I look forward to the possibility of something more promising.

Friday is 14 dpo and 12 days post transfer.

Today is 10dop.

The TWW is mad.

But I am determined.

you get some nice days in august...

2010-08-01T19:55:00.004+10:00

Today is not one of them.

August days can vary quite a lot. There are those days like today. Wet, cold, windy. And they quite often follow the very pleasant spring like ones, like yesterday. It is a month of variability.

It is an in between month. A limbo if you like. August is caught between two worlds. She takes two steps forward and two steps back.

I like August. She is promising. One minute she dumps darkness and damp all over you, and the next she’s delighting you with sunshine and flowers.

One morning you wake up and realise it is light and the birds are singing.

In case you haven’t guessed it by now. I am completely obsessed with the weather. If I meet you one day and we talk about the weather, it is not small talk or because I do not know what to say, it is because I am genuinely interested in it. Most of my conversations usually begin with some observations about the weather. Not a passing remark, but a thorough commentary.

And then I launch into the other talk, about you, and me, and how was your weekend.

On the weekend I went to see Zosia the acupuncturist from Hungary and she smiled quietly as she took my spleen pulse. She says it is slippery and this is a good thing according to acupuncturists. I am not going to get overly excited however because last time she thought my pulse sounded quite good also.

After months and months of disappointment I do not get my hopes up about anything. I am beginning to wonder if this is helpful though. Angel head says, so do you feel pregnant. Or, are you pregnant? Or, how are the babies, and I say no, I don’t, and no, and they’re not etc. This is because I try and prepare myself for what has long been inevitable disappointment.

But now I am thinking that all this talk about no and not is probably not the best approach. It is probably best not to tell my body and my head and the universe that I have absolutely no expectations that this will have a positive outcome. I am a strong believer in how formative our thoughts can be and yet I have been going around as a perpetual naysayer, raining on my own parade.

So this month I have been trying to catch myself out. In the past, if I have some kind of thing that might possibly be construed as a pregnancy symptom, I tell myself don’t be stupid, of course it’s not a pregnancy symptom because you’re totally not pregnant. This month, I am telling myself that it is quite likely to be a pregnancy symptom because I have two embryos inside me looking for a room.

This means should disappointment come, I won’t have prepared myself adequately for it this month. It means it’s going to hurt. But it’s not going to hurt because this month is the one, right.

I am keeping positive. Not in the way that I kept sending myself positive messages that month, but in the way where I am not going to keep telling myself that this is beyond me, out of my reach, something only available to certain lucky few, and that lucky few of course does not include me.

And now we embark on the second part of the TWW, the harder part. I am cheering myself on because I just have to believe that my body can do this. I know I cannot control everything, even with the power of a positive strong mind, but I can give myself a running chance, or at least a bloody break.