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Blackmores do seem a little overly-confident about Spudly's development, methinks. But y'know, if he wants to move out of home already, that's fine, but while he's living under my roof he'll live by my rules. And that means NO MORE BLOODY KICKING!!!
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Just a thought...
Blackmores do seem a little overly-confident about Spudly's development, methinks. But y'know, if he wants to move out of home already, that's fine, but while he's living under my roof he'll live by my rules. And that means NO MORE BLOODY KICKING!!!
Friday, February 24, 2006
30 Days To Go
30 days???? No, surely that's a misprint...
Umm...brain has very definately left the building.
After having only 4 hours sleep yesterday, I discovered at 6.30 pm that I had been wandering around the shops all day with my pants on backwards and my jacket on inside out.
I got nothin' else until the neurons are re-activated. Somewhere around 2015, I think.
Send positive "placenta moving" vibes for Monday's Antenatal appointment.
Send some sort of weaponry for my homicidal rampage against my family. I decided if 12 people clicked "yes" on my Poll, I would do it. (Brother hasnt responded to me explanatory email, btw. What a shocker.)
Oh, and chocolate eclairs. Dont forget the eclairs.
Umm...brain has very definately left the building.
After having only 4 hours sleep yesterday, I discovered at 6.30 pm that I had been wandering around the shops all day with my pants on backwards and my jacket on inside out.
I got nothin' else until the neurons are re-activated. Somewhere around 2015, I think.
Send positive "placenta moving" vibes for Monday's Antenatal appointment.
Send some sort of weaponry for my homicidal rampage against my family. I decided if 12 people clicked "yes" on my Poll, I would do it. (Brother hasnt responded to me explanatory email, btw. What a shocker.)
Oh, and chocolate eclairs. Dont forget the eclairs.
Monday, February 20, 2006
The Elvis Tribute Show
Elvis (who, despite the name, is a girl) came into my life 8 years ago at the tender age of 5 weeks. She was a teeny tiny ball of fluff that fit into the palm of my hand, and had a fascination for playing with guitar strings. Hence the name.
Now, Elvis didnt answer to her name. Possibly because she realised that this was a ridiculous name for a girl kitty. Possibly because she was just really dumb. It wasnt until she was desexed at 14 months that she recognised that word meant we were referring to HER.
Part Persian (the dumb-ass part), I have always been convinced she was fluffy all the way through. She would look at you as if she'd never seen you before in her life. She would try to chase the sparkles on the floor from our disco balls. All of them. At the same time. We always hoped she would make us a fortune from Funniest Home Videos one day.
She started out life as a black and white kitty, but somehow she was too stupid to stay the same
colour and her black fur became bleached from her washing to a really bad dye job orangey red.I reckon the best thing about that kitty was how contented she was just to be. She would sit and purr loudly to herself, rocking back and forth from her breathing. Zen Kitty.
Last Thursday, Elvis came home at dinner time and collapsed in our dining room. We rushed her to the vet and x-rays showed her lungs filling with fluid of unknown origin. There were no other signs of internal injuries, so we dont know if she had been hit by a car or if she had an infection. Either way, we got a phone call at 7.30am on Friday to say she hadnt made it through the night.
Our stupid fluffy friend has chased her last sparkle, but left so much sparkle in our lives just from being a part of it.
She now rests in her favourite late afternoon spot in our garden, under a tree with fluffy leaves, with a disco ball hanging above her.
Goodbye, sweet Elvis.
Here's A Thing
Manuela had a link to this on her blog, and she found the link from Lioness. Both these chicks are way cool, so in order to imbue myself with some coolness too, I have decided to include the link here.
You get to tell me what you think of me. I get to see if it matches what I think of myself. This may, of course, backfire terribly and I'll spiral into depression. Especially if you all think I'm religious and silly.
http://kevan.org/johari?name=sparklepanda
You get to tell me what you think of me. I get to see if it matches what I think of myself. This may, of course, backfire terribly and I'll spiral into depression. Especially if you all think I'm religious and silly.
http://kevan.org/johari?name=sparklepanda
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Familius Horribilus Retardum Act 2
Scene 1
An email from my brother. My thoughts are in red:
We missed being there for Dad's 75th so would like to make this special for him and Mum to.
Actually, you missed his 80th.
We haven't mentioned anything to Mum and would like it to be a surprise if possible. Would you be interested in getting together for a lunch somewhere special on say the Sunday or Saturday like you did last time? Not sure where you had that get together.
Are you able to organise the luncheon from your end knowing Adelaide a bit better? Will you be able to get yourselves with baby + Mum and Dad to the lunch?
Suuuuure, because, you know, only 5 weeks until I give birth to my first child I obviously have nothing better to do. As for lunch 4 weeks after his birth, there's nothing I'd love better than to drive for two hours and sit in a restaurant for several more hours with a newborn and deal with people I dont like particularly and listen to my father ask the same question every 5 minutes. And I'm sure we can strap Spudly to the roof so we can fit the olds in the back of the car.
We have hired a small car only but would like to surprise them at the lunch, not before.
Will wait to hear back for your thoughts.
I dont think you want to hear my thoughts on this matter....
Scene 2
Another email from my brother:
An email from my brother. My thoughts are in red:
Thought I'd let you know it's Dad's 90th birthday coming up on May 8th [a Monday] but you probably knew that already.
Oh, really? Because I have no idea when my own father's birthday is.
Oh, really? Because I have no idea when my own father's birthday is.
Because of the special age etc... C [wife] and I are flying down with M & P [kids] too on Saturday 6th in the morning and returning home on Monday at 6pm or so.
We missed being there for Dad's 75th so would like to make this special for him and Mum to.
Actually, you missed his 80th.
We haven't mentioned anything to Mum and would like it to be a surprise if possible. Would you be interested in getting together for a lunch somewhere special on say the Sunday or Saturday like you did last time? Not sure where you had that get together.
Are you able to organise the luncheon from your end knowing Adelaide a bit better? Will you be able to get yourselves with baby + Mum and Dad to the lunch?
Suuuuure, because, you know, only 5 weeks until I give birth to my first child I obviously have nothing better to do. As for lunch 4 weeks after his birth, there's nothing I'd love better than to drive for two hours and sit in a restaurant for several more hours with a newborn and deal with people I dont like particularly and listen to my father ask the same question every 5 minutes. And I'm sure we can strap Spudly to the roof so we can fit the olds in the back of the car.
We have hired a small car only but would like to surprise them at the lunch, not before.
Will wait to hear back for your thoughts.
I dont think you want to hear my thoughts on this matter....
Scene 2
Another email from my brother:
Can you think of anyone else to invite ? If you don't give it away about us coming down, you may be able to get Mum on side to organise some of Dads other friends in Adelaide to come along too.
Are you on drugs? What friends?
Are you on drugs? What friends?
I take it Mum is getting out and about from time to time ? By taxi or with you ? Alone or with Dad ?
Yes, clearly you are on drugs. How else could you come up with such a preposterous assumption?
Yes, clearly you are on drugs. How else could you come up with such a preposterous assumption?
If she can make it out from time to time I'm sure we can get her and Dad to lunch somehow.
Try hitting her over the head.
Try hitting her over the head.
Do Mum and Dad qualify at all for assistance with taxi transport through Adelaide Access
Taxis? Mum didn't speak to highly of the regular taxi operators she had used to start with.
Start with? She's used a taxi ONCE in 7 months.
Scene 3
My response:
Okay, it seems fairly obvious that you're not up to speed on what things are really like down here, and if you're getting all your info from mum that's hardly surprising.
Hmmm. Where to start. I'll address the issues/questions you've raised first.
Mum and Dad dont have any friends. At least not people they're in contact with anymore. I know mum talks about people she knows, but this is more of a "living in the past" thing as they have no visitors, no-one rings (except for D) and no-one is aware of what is going on with dad, which as far as I can tell is how mum wants it.
Monkey Boy and I have talked about the idea of it being a surprise visit the other day, and upon reflection I have come to two conclusions:
1. You could tell Dad every single day every five minutes from now until his birthday that you are coming down and we're all going out for lunch to celebrate, and it will STILL be a surprise to him. He remembers NOTHING that you tell him. Absolutely nothing. He will ask before you get him in the car where we're going, as soon as we get in the car, and every 5 minutes after that where we're going and what we're doing that for. So trust me, it will be a surprise visit!
2. Mum hates surprises. She doesnt want to deal with people, and everything is too much effort. I can guarantee you that there is no way I could talk her into a lunch out without it turning into some huge drama that ends up with her crying and yelling at me about how nobody cares about HER.
I dont know where you got the idea about mum getting "out and about" ( I can guess) but she most certainly doesn't. She has left the house only twice since her fall, once the week after it happened to go to the bank, and the second time a couple of weeks ago when the doctor had a go at her about not bothering to bring dad in to his specialist's appointment. At which point she cried and played the victim card and was badgered into taking dad by taxi the week later. Which she complained about. Dad only leaves the house to go to his medical appointments.
Mum has been using a walking frame since her fall at the beginning of July. She is not able to walk unaided, she is in constant pain and taking large doses of codeine daily and still continues to refuse to seek medical treatment. She hasn't seen a doctor at all, and despite what she may say she has not improved any. I was walking around and driving my car 6 weeks after major spinal surgery, so I think the fact that there has been no improvement in seven months is fairly indicative of a major problem, but she absolutely will not accept that she needs to see a doctor.
Re qualifying for Access Taxis; yes, they do but as usual mum hasn't been bothered about organising anything with them as yet. In fact, they qualify for a whole heap of assistance but mum does not want a bar of any of it. I am not broaching the subject with her again since the last conversation we had about it ended with her screaming abuse at me for an hour and telling me that her fall was all my fault and I never cared about her anyway, yadda yadda.
In case you weren't aware already, whatever mum tells you about how things are is grossly minimised. She lies, she understates how bad things are and denies problems that are obvious to everyone else. Oh, and lets not forget the manipulation. To tell the truth, I'm really worried about dad's welfare staying in the situation that mum has created. He needs much greater assessment and assistance than mum will let him have, and from what I have witnessed he is often treated abusively by her because she simply can't cope. Not that she will ever admit this though.
I have done everything I can, even up to talking to the Public Advocate directly about the situation. Short of going to the Supreme Court to have the Powers of Attorney declared invalid (dad was already mentally incompetant when he signed them) or having mum assessed as unfit to be his carer under the Mental Health Act, there is nothing more that can be done until she is willing to let the Aged Care Assessment Team into their house and actually be honest with them. Oink oink, flap flap..... I have given up. It was just too stressful and the only thing I could to to protect my health and Spudly was to leave them to it. It really breaks my heart thinking about dad not getting the treatment and care that he deserves to be able to live out his last few years with dignity, but mum has the power and control now and she is not about to give it up for anything.
In summation: its bad. Its really really bad.
So, on the idea of lunch, I think its a nice idea with a lovely sentiment behind it, but under the circumstances I can see it being turned into a big drama with no-one being happy about it except dad, who willl be oblivious to the whole thing and wont remember it the next day. Given that I am only a few weeks away from giving birth, I am SOOOO not wading into that minefield, so if you want to organise lunch I suggest you talk to mum about it yourself and sound her out. By the time May 8th gets here I could be still recovering from a C-section (I have placenta previa, so this is a real option), so I'm certainly not willing to say I'll definately travel for two hours and then sit in a restaurant for a few hours.
Taxis? Mum didn't speak to highly of the regular taxi operators she had used to start with.
Start with? She's used a taxi ONCE in 7 months.
Scene 3
My response:
Okay, it seems fairly obvious that you're not up to speed on what things are really like down here, and if you're getting all your info from mum that's hardly surprising.
Hmmm. Where to start. I'll address the issues/questions you've raised first.
Mum and Dad dont have any friends. At least not people they're in contact with anymore. I know mum talks about people she knows, but this is more of a "living in the past" thing as they have no visitors, no-one rings (except for D) and no-one is aware of what is going on with dad, which as far as I can tell is how mum wants it.
Monkey Boy and I have talked about the idea of it being a surprise visit the other day, and upon reflection I have come to two conclusions:
1. You could tell Dad every single day every five minutes from now until his birthday that you are coming down and we're all going out for lunch to celebrate, and it will STILL be a surprise to him. He remembers NOTHING that you tell him. Absolutely nothing. He will ask before you get him in the car where we're going, as soon as we get in the car, and every 5 minutes after that where we're going and what we're doing that for. So trust me, it will be a surprise visit!
2. Mum hates surprises. She doesnt want to deal with people, and everything is too much effort. I can guarantee you that there is no way I could talk her into a lunch out without it turning into some huge drama that ends up with her crying and yelling at me about how nobody cares about HER.
I dont know where you got the idea about mum getting "out and about" ( I can guess) but she most certainly doesn't. She has left the house only twice since her fall, once the week after it happened to go to the bank, and the second time a couple of weeks ago when the doctor had a go at her about not bothering to bring dad in to his specialist's appointment. At which point she cried and played the victim card and was badgered into taking dad by taxi the week later. Which she complained about. Dad only leaves the house to go to his medical appointments.
Mum has been using a walking frame since her fall at the beginning of July. She is not able to walk unaided, she is in constant pain and taking large doses of codeine daily and still continues to refuse to seek medical treatment. She hasn't seen a doctor at all, and despite what she may say she has not improved any. I was walking around and driving my car 6 weeks after major spinal surgery, so I think the fact that there has been no improvement in seven months is fairly indicative of a major problem, but she absolutely will not accept that she needs to see a doctor.
Re qualifying for Access Taxis; yes, they do but as usual mum hasn't been bothered about organising anything with them as yet. In fact, they qualify for a whole heap of assistance but mum does not want a bar of any of it. I am not broaching the subject with her again since the last conversation we had about it ended with her screaming abuse at me for an hour and telling me that her fall was all my fault and I never cared about her anyway, yadda yadda.
In case you weren't aware already, whatever mum tells you about how things are is grossly minimised. She lies, she understates how bad things are and denies problems that are obvious to everyone else. Oh, and lets not forget the manipulation. To tell the truth, I'm really worried about dad's welfare staying in the situation that mum has created. He needs much greater assessment and assistance than mum will let him have, and from what I have witnessed he is often treated abusively by her because she simply can't cope. Not that she will ever admit this though.
I have done everything I can, even up to talking to the Public Advocate directly about the situation. Short of going to the Supreme Court to have the Powers of Attorney declared invalid (dad was already mentally incompetant when he signed them) or having mum assessed as unfit to be his carer under the Mental Health Act, there is nothing more that can be done until she is willing to let the Aged Care Assessment Team into their house and actually be honest with them. Oink oink, flap flap..... I have given up. It was just too stressful and the only thing I could to to protect my health and Spudly was to leave them to it. It really breaks my heart thinking about dad not getting the treatment and care that he deserves to be able to live out his last few years with dignity, but mum has the power and control now and she is not about to give it up for anything.
In summation: its bad. Its really really bad.
So, on the idea of lunch, I think its a nice idea with a lovely sentiment behind it, but under the circumstances I can see it being turned into a big drama with no-one being happy about it except dad, who willl be oblivious to the whole thing and wont remember it the next day. Given that I am only a few weeks away from giving birth, I am SOOOO not wading into that minefield, so if you want to organise lunch I suggest you talk to mum about it yourself and sound her out. By the time May 8th gets here I could be still recovering from a C-section (I have placenta previa, so this is a real option), so I'm certainly not willing to say I'll definately travel for two hours and then sit in a restaurant for a few hours.
*****INTERMISSION*****
Monday, February 13, 2006
Admin
Just a quick post to quell the panic that I'm sure will ensue if I go any longer without posting.
Our computer is dead. I would be sad but this seems like a great excuse to buy a whizz-bang laptop that is not riddled with viruseses and actually WORKS.
Unfortunately, this means that I am now reliant upon public computers to talk to the world. Ptooey! I shall endeavour to get on line about once a week, although my desire to get in a car and go places is decreasing in inverse proportion to my ever-increasing waistline.*
So to recap: I'm okay, my toe is healing, Spud is very bouncy and how the hell did I get THIS BIG?????
*HA! I havent had a waist for months! More like a waist-height shelving unit
Our computer is dead. I would be sad but this seems like a great excuse to buy a whizz-bang laptop that is not riddled with viruseses and actually WORKS.
Unfortunately, this means that I am now reliant upon public computers to talk to the world. Ptooey! I shall endeavour to get on line about once a week, although my desire to get in a car and go places is decreasing in inverse proportion to my ever-increasing waistline.*
So to recap: I'm okay, my toe is healing, Spud is very bouncy and how the hell did I get THIS BIG?????
*HA! I havent had a waist for months! More like a waist-height shelving unit
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Who put that cupboard there?
Last night, while attempting to show off my brilliance in finding versatile storage solutions for all our crap, I broke my little toe.
Broke it.
Kicking a cupboard.
How the hell am I supposed to go on a spending rampage in baby stores when I can barely hobble to the loo?
How can something so small hurt sooooooo much?
Will I fit into my funky new shoes now my foot is swollen?
In order to alleviate the pain, I am now going to medicate myself by the adding of chocolate milk to me.
Broke it.
Kicking a cupboard.
How the hell am I supposed to go on a spending rampage in baby stores when I can barely hobble to the loo?
How can something so small hurt sooooooo much?
Will I fit into my funky new shoes now my foot is swollen?
In order to alleviate the pain, I am now going to medicate myself by the adding of chocolate milk to me.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Spanner + Works = Unhappy Panda
I had the follow-up antenatal appointment back in Consultant Care section this morning to discuss Spudly's errant placenta. I have a nice little box to pop myself into now, called Grade 1 placenta praevia. Its not serious enough to require a definate "there's no way that's coming out the normal way", but it is serious enough for me to be permanently kicked out of the Birthing Centre and kept in the High Risk area, in case I start haemorrhaging or he gets stuck or his head doesnt engage.
With the placenta at 3.3cm from the cervical opening, the head of department is happy to take a wait-and-see approach: wait for another month and see if his head starts to engage. If not, then we have another ultrasound.
For now, we have a very healthy and active Spudly who seems rather keen on getting out through my belly button. I just have to get used to the fact that despite all my plans, this birth may not be so Crunchy after all.
With the placenta at 3.3cm from the cervical opening, the head of department is happy to take a wait-and-see approach: wait for another month and see if his head starts to engage. If not, then we have another ultrasound.
For now, we have a very healthy and active Spudly who seems rather keen on getting out through my belly button. I just have to get used to the fact that despite all my plans, this birth may not be so Crunchy after all.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
New Poll
After several months of ignoring the little green box, I've decided to stop being boring and lazy and put up a new Poll.
It's a question that I know has had a lot of air-time on other blogs and it intrigues me, because I find it very weird and uncomfortable to be nearly 8 weeks away from giving birth and yet still considering myself infertile. I know why I feel this way: its a statistical anomaly that Spud exists at all and if we want to have another child we will undoubtedly be back at the IVF Clinic. Nevertheless, the pregnant infertile role still doesnt sit right and I have arguments in my head about it all the time, which I can assure you gets rather rowdy.
What do you all think? Are infertility and pregnancy mutually exclusive states? Is "infertile" such an integral part of your persona now that you cant let it go or do you want to forget the path you had to take to achieve your dream of having a child?
It's a question that I know has had a lot of air-time on other blogs and it intrigues me, because I find it very weird and uncomfortable to be nearly 8 weeks away from giving birth and yet still considering myself infertile. I know why I feel this way: its a statistical anomaly that Spud exists at all and if we want to have another child we will undoubtedly be back at the IVF Clinic. Nevertheless, the pregnant infertile role still doesnt sit right and I have arguments in my head about it all the time, which I can assure you gets rather rowdy.
What do you all think? Are infertility and pregnancy mutually exclusive states? Is "infertile" such an integral part of your persona now that you cant let it go or do you want to forget the path you had to take to achieve your dream of having a child?
Oztraya Day
In honour of the fact that a lot of years ago a bunch of whitefellas landed on our shores and thought "This looks like a jolly place to swan around and claim as our own," today is National Get Pissed and Carbonise Animals on a Barbie Day.
I have mixed feelings about celebrating an event which led to the wholesale slaughter of thousands of people, and started the systematic extinction of an entire culture. Yes, we have a bloody good country here, most of the time I'm proud to call myself an Australian (shameful antics of the Howard government notwithstanding) and I am thankful for the opportunities and the lifestyle that we have here. But these things all came at a very high price.
There are plenty of Australians who take a dim view of the "black armband" view of history, but I seriously doubt that any of them would be reading this blog. Regardless, I want to take this opportunity to say that I am so very very sorry for the atrocities that have occured within the Indigineous community as a result of the actions of past and present Australian governments.
Recently in Los Angeles, a strange event called something like "Cooee Cobber Week" occurred, where they celebrated all things Australian, including playing Aussie Rules Football and eating lot of our national emblems. I scratch my head in wonderment, but...well... those crazy Seppos will do just about anything so I shouldnt be too surprised. I know that this was a publicity exercise on behalf of our tourism industry, and its all about generating goodwill and - more importantly - lots of money for the coffers. But how many people outside of Australia are aware that its not all Steve Irwin, being allowed to say "wanker" on prime-time tv and the domination of world sport?
Something to think about while we all whack some lamb on the barbie today.
I have mixed feelings about celebrating an event which led to the wholesale slaughter of thousands of people, and started the systematic extinction of an entire culture. Yes, we have a bloody good country here, most of the time I'm proud to call myself an Australian (shameful antics of the Howard government notwithstanding) and I am thankful for the opportunities and the lifestyle that we have here. But these things all came at a very high price.
There are plenty of Australians who take a dim view of the "black armband" view of history, but I seriously doubt that any of them would be reading this blog. Regardless, I want to take this opportunity to say that I am so very very sorry for the atrocities that have occured within the Indigineous community as a result of the actions of past and present Australian governments.
Recently in Los Angeles, a strange event called something like "Cooee Cobber Week" occurred, where they celebrated all things Australian, including playing Aussie Rules Football and eating lot of our national emblems. I scratch my head in wonderment, but...well... those crazy Seppos will do just about anything so I shouldnt be too surprised. I know that this was a publicity exercise on behalf of our tourism industry, and its all about generating goodwill and - more importantly - lots of money for the coffers. But how many people outside of Australia are aware that its not all Steve Irwin, being allowed to say "wanker" on prime-time tv and the domination of world sport?
Something to think about while we all whack some lamb on the barbie today.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Best Laid Plans....
Yeasterday morning I finally got my shit together and spent two hours on the 'puter typing up my Crunchy-Deluxe Earth-Mother Birth Plan. 7 pages later and I had every possible contingency covered. It was a veritable thesis on Natural Birth. Not that I'm a control freak or anything, but I do like to have my bases covered and people to know where I'm coming from and what I will not have under any circumstances and okay so I'm a control freak.
Half an hour later I got a call from the hospital.
My placenta is still considered low lying and therefore I have been kicked out of the Birthing Unit and sent directly back to regular old Antenatal where they like to Do Things To You. I've been told to make an appointment with the Registrar on Monday to assess the situation as to whether its possible for me to have a normal birth.
Umm...this wasnt on the Birth Plan. Nowhere did I mention anything about planned caesarian. I've been quietly freaking out ever since, it being above 40 degrees (108F) here and too hot to freak out with any gusto.
The worst case scenario is that as the uterus thins and stretches even more I start bleeding sometime in the next couple of weeks, require constant bed rest in hospital as they try to keep the pregnancy going until 36weeks, when they do a c-section. Best case scenario is that the placenta stays attached and moves up with the uterus, moving out of the "danger zone" and allowing me a completely normal birth.
I knew it was all too good to be true. My body just HAD to screw up somewhere along the line.
Now I have to try to get my head around the possibility of a c-section, something I have diligently not thought about because it wasnt part of The Plan. How am I, someone who shakes uncontrollably in the dentist's chair, supposed to cope with being conscious for open surgery?
Nope, they'll have to rethink this one. I'm not going to have placenta praevia. Lalalalala not listening....
Half an hour later I got a call from the hospital.
My placenta is still considered low lying and therefore I have been kicked out of the Birthing Unit and sent directly back to regular old Antenatal where they like to Do Things To You. I've been told to make an appointment with the Registrar on Monday to assess the situation as to whether its possible for me to have a normal birth.
Umm...this wasnt on the Birth Plan. Nowhere did I mention anything about planned caesarian. I've been quietly freaking out ever since, it being above 40 degrees (108F) here and too hot to freak out with any gusto.
The worst case scenario is that as the uterus thins and stretches even more I start bleeding sometime in the next couple of weeks, require constant bed rest in hospital as they try to keep the pregnancy going until 36weeks, when they do a c-section. Best case scenario is that the placenta stays attached and moves up with the uterus, moving out of the "danger zone" and allowing me a completely normal birth.
I knew it was all too good to be true. My body just HAD to screw up somewhere along the line.
Now I have to try to get my head around the possibility of a c-section, something I have diligently not thought about because it wasnt part of The Plan. How am I, someone who shakes uncontrollably in the dentist's chair, supposed to cope with being conscious for open surgery?
Nope, they'll have to rethink this one. I'm not going to have placenta praevia. Lalalalala not listening....
Friday, January 20, 2006
A surprise and an acknowledgement
I had my 30 week antenatal appointment yesterday, at which I disocvered that I am quite anaemic and very dehydrated. This may account for why I feel so crap these days. Who knew that when its 40 degrees outside you need to increase your fluid intake to 3 litres a day? Obviously not me.
I also discovered that Spudly is head down already, and feet and legs are all on my right hand side, which explains the constant pummellng in that region. Heartbeat 143bpm. Fundal height 29.5cm. Nice.
The surprise was an appointment for our ultrasound to check up on the position of the placenta, which we managed to get the SAME DAY! Instead of having to wait another two weeks to see the boy, we got a lovely look at his gorgeous chubby cheeks (and his enormous scrotum) straight away. He weighs 1.9kg (4.2 pounds) and his head is already 10.2cm across. Bugger me he's going to be HUGE. Hyperactive, with a big head. Definately takes after his father.
If you tilt your head to the right, you can see his face and a little hand waving to us all.
After waking at 4am this morning and crying because my coccyx wont stop hurting, my back hurts if I lie on my left, my belly hurts if I lie on my right, I cant breathe if I lie on my back, and worrying that there is so much for us to do and maybe no one will turn up to our Working Bee and I just want to be able to DO STUFF and I cant coz it just injures me and wa sniff wa sniff wa, I have acknowledged that perhaps I should be relaxing at this point and giving orders to people rather than trying to sail through like there isnt another human feeding off my energy reserves and making my body go all spastic.
Now for the placenta. Posterior, 3.3cm from cervical os. Dr Google has told me thus far that where it is more than 2cm from the cervix a vaginal birth should be attempted. However, 60% of women with low-lying placenta end up having a vaginal birth, and are at greater risk of post-partum haemorrage. Just what you want with anaemia really, isnt it. What does this mean for me? I think I'll play it safe until I know for sure at my appointment in two weeks, and put myself on the aforementioned - and now possibly medically indicated - rest and relaxation program.
I also discovered that Spudly is head down already, and feet and legs are all on my right hand side, which explains the constant pummellng in that region. Heartbeat 143bpm. Fundal height 29.5cm. Nice.
The surprise was an appointment for our ultrasound to check up on the position of the placenta, which we managed to get the SAME DAY! Instead of having to wait another two weeks to see the boy, we got a lovely look at his gorgeous chubby cheeks (and his enormous scrotum) straight away. He weighs 1.9kg (4.2 pounds) and his head is already 10.2cm across. Bugger me he's going to be HUGE. Hyperactive, with a big head. Definately takes after his father.
If you tilt your head to the right, you can see his face and a little hand waving to us all.After waking at 4am this morning and crying because my coccyx wont stop hurting, my back hurts if I lie on my left, my belly hurts if I lie on my right, I cant breathe if I lie on my back, and worrying that there is so much for us to do and maybe no one will turn up to our Working Bee and I just want to be able to DO STUFF and I cant coz it just injures me and wa sniff wa sniff wa, I have acknowledged that perhaps I should be relaxing at this point and giving orders to people rather than trying to sail through like there isnt another human feeding off my energy reserves and making my body go all spastic.
Now for the placenta. Posterior, 3.3cm from cervical os. Dr Google has told me thus far that where it is more than 2cm from the cervix a vaginal birth should be attempted. However, 60% of women with low-lying placenta end up having a vaginal birth, and are at greater risk of post-partum haemorrage. Just what you want with anaemia really, isnt it. What does this mean for me? I think I'll play it safe until I know for sure at my appointment in two weeks, and put myself on the aforementioned - and now possibly medically indicated - rest and relaxation program.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Solanum tuberosum "grande" *
I thought it was about time to give an update on said Solanum spp.
I would first like to ask, however, WHO MOVED MY TICKER COUNTER ALL THE WAY OVER TO THE RIGHT???? It was nicely settled on the left hand side of the flowers for such a long time. I'm not at all comfortable with this willy-nilly moving towards the END OF THE LINE.
Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean....
So as you can tell from the previous belly shot, I am, in fact, carrying an entire watermelon patch in my belly. This has several interesting consequences:
1. People know that I'm pregnant. I know I've mentioned this before, but it still freaks me out. Bank Tellers, Pie Purveyors; they all know and they all ask when its due. Its weird.
2. I feel fat. Even though I've only gained 7 kilos (15 pounds in the old money) and there isnt any fat on my anywhere that wasnt there before, and I wasnt overweight then either. I catch sight of this enormous protuberance (haha - proTUBERance!) from the corner of my eye and think "Fat. Must lose weight." Am totally retarded in this regard.
3. I cant fit through my own kitchen if Monkey Boy is in there at the same time. We have a "galley style" kitchen, which is real estate speak for long and narrow and too small to do anything resembling food preparation in.
4. I cant roll over in bed without doing an sixteen point turn, and it hurts.
5. Despite the obvious expansion of said wasitline, I still have trouble coming to grips with the fact that its NOT a watermelon or an undigested pie and is actually a real live baby that will shortly come out of my clacker.
calm blue ocean...calm blue ocean...
My belly has changed shape this week, I'm sure of it. Spudly is going through another of his hyperactive phases and will not keep still, unless of course there is some power tool action happening. Power tools are my friends at the moment. Anything that will stop those little feet from digging in to my pelvic bones or my entire belly jiggling like he's having an epileptic seizure is a Good Thing. All that movement just serves to upset my uterus and consequently I have Braxton-Hicks contractions every day now. Along with reflux. And more dry-retching.
Speaking of uteruseses, mine seems to have joined up with the bottom of my ribcage, which probably goes a long way to explaining the fact that I cant breathe altogether too well anymore, and I'm tired and feel really weak most of the time. Unfortunately, this does not match my enthusiasm for renovating.
I've also become a stupid wussy girlie girl on the verge of crying most of the time. Not that tears-welling-up stage, but more the "just-give-me-an-opportunity-and-I'll-lose-it" stage. Yesterday morning I felt like crying for no other reason than I was tired and my belly hurt. Stupid hormones.
Spudly's room now has a floor! A floor you can walk on and dont fall through! Today I start the sanding. The Plan is to have it finished by the end of the week. So far my Plans have been grossly underestimating the time a particular stage will take. Apparently you CANT put in an entire new floor in one day. Shrug. Who knew? [Monkey Boy, apparently...]
So, here we are, 9 and a bit weeks from Enspudification, with an almost completed Nursery, and a Working Bee organised to get rid of all our crap.
Calm blue ocean...calm blue ocean...
*Large Spud
I would first like to ask, however, WHO MOVED MY TICKER COUNTER ALL THE WAY OVER TO THE RIGHT???? It was nicely settled on the left hand side of the flowers for such a long time. I'm not at all comfortable with this willy-nilly moving towards the END OF THE LINE.
Calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean....
So as you can tell from the previous belly shot, I am, in fact, carrying an entire watermelon patch in my belly. This has several interesting consequences:
1. People know that I'm pregnant. I know I've mentioned this before, but it still freaks me out. Bank Tellers, Pie Purveyors; they all know and they all ask when its due. Its weird.
2. I feel fat. Even though I've only gained 7 kilos (15 pounds in the old money) and there isnt any fat on my anywhere that wasnt there before, and I wasnt overweight then either. I catch sight of this enormous protuberance (haha - proTUBERance!) from the corner of my eye and think "Fat. Must lose weight." Am totally retarded in this regard.
3. I cant fit through my own kitchen if Monkey Boy is in there at the same time. We have a "galley style" kitchen, which is real estate speak for long and narrow and too small to do anything resembling food preparation in.
4. I cant roll over in bed without doing an sixteen point turn, and it hurts.
5. Despite the obvious expansion of said wasitline, I still have trouble coming to grips with the fact that its NOT a watermelon or an undigested pie and is actually a real live baby that will shortly come out of my clacker.
calm blue ocean...calm blue ocean...
My belly has changed shape this week, I'm sure of it. Spudly is going through another of his hyperactive phases and will not keep still, unless of course there is some power tool action happening. Power tools are my friends at the moment. Anything that will stop those little feet from digging in to my pelvic bones or my entire belly jiggling like he's having an epileptic seizure is a Good Thing. All that movement just serves to upset my uterus and consequently I have Braxton-Hicks contractions every day now. Along with reflux. And more dry-retching.
Speaking of uteruseses, mine seems to have joined up with the bottom of my ribcage, which probably goes a long way to explaining the fact that I cant breathe altogether too well anymore, and I'm tired and feel really weak most of the time. Unfortunately, this does not match my enthusiasm for renovating.
I've also become a stupid wussy girlie girl on the verge of crying most of the time. Not that tears-welling-up stage, but more the "just-give-me-an-opportunity-and-I'll-lose-it" stage. Yesterday morning I felt like crying for no other reason than I was tired and my belly hurt. Stupid hormones.
Spudly's room now has a floor! A floor you can walk on and dont fall through! Today I start the sanding. The Plan is to have it finished by the end of the week. So far my Plans have been grossly underestimating the time a particular stage will take. Apparently you CANT put in an entire new floor in one day. Shrug. Who knew? [Monkey Boy, apparently...]
So, here we are, 9 and a bit weeks from Enspudification, with an almost completed Nursery, and a Working Bee organised to get rid of all our crap.
Calm blue ocean...calm blue ocean...
*Large Spud
Familius Horribilus Retardum
Not so very long ago, I did question the likelihood of my mother ringing up and asking me if I was taking dad to his specialist appointment, did I not?
She is more predictable than Swiss trains.
The other day she rings up, complete with "oh poor poor me" voice on, which I'm sure she practices for such occasions.
Mother: The air-conditioner is dead.
Me: Yes, we already knew this.
Mother: well, [store] wont accept credit cards over the phone and [other store] will but they wont install it and when are you coming down so you can get more money out for me?
Me: I'm not.
Mother: Arent you coming down for dad's appointment?
Me: No. I told you last time that that would be the last time I could take dad to the doctors.
Mother: Well *I* cant get him there.
Me: Get a taxi.
Mother: I cant get a taxi. I cant even get down the back doorstep.
[Note: the last time Monkey Boy and I went around there, she was in the back garden watering with the hose, and she has proudly shown off what she has been able to in the garden to me since then. I point this out to her.]
Mother: Yes, but then I'm in pain for a week.
Me: Well you'll have to figure something out.
Mother: Well if I cant get there he just wont go.
Me: He HAS to go. You have to figure something out.
Mother: Back to the air-conditioner. When are you coming down next?
Me: I have no idea. I have enough trouble waddling around the house and getting to my hospital appointments at the moment. This is the 21st century. I'm sure you can find someone who will take your credit card.
Mother: Ohhh, its just all too hard. I feel like going down to [beachside suburb] and jumping off the jetty.
Me: Whatever you think is easiest.
Mother: Well what am I supposed to do?
Me: I've given you options before about people who can help you but you dont want a bar of it. You're not interested in the easy option, you want to do it the hard way. So if you dont want to accept the help I've offered you you have to figure something out for yourself.
Mother: [muttering, hangs up].
Boy that felt good.
Am I a bitch?
Obviously, she will not take dad to the doctors. I'm in two minds about ringing the Doc and reiterating the situation, but as Monkey Boy has pointed out to me, there is a limited amount he can legally do. Thinking about this just makes me very angry. You would, after all, expect that the medical practitioner of someone with dementia has SOME responsibility to ensure their patient is living in a safe environment and getting the care they need.
Must stop thinking about this or it will angry up my blood even more.
She is more predictable than Swiss trains.
The other day she rings up, complete with "oh poor poor me" voice on, which I'm sure she practices for such occasions.
Mother: The air-conditioner is dead.
Me: Yes, we already knew this.
Mother: well, [store] wont accept credit cards over the phone and [other store] will but they wont install it and when are you coming down so you can get more money out for me?
Me: I'm not.
Mother: Arent you coming down for dad's appointment?
Me: No. I told you last time that that would be the last time I could take dad to the doctors.
Mother: Well *I* cant get him there.
Me: Get a taxi.
Mother: I cant get a taxi. I cant even get down the back doorstep.
[Note: the last time Monkey Boy and I went around there, she was in the back garden watering with the hose, and she has proudly shown off what she has been able to in the garden to me since then. I point this out to her.]
Mother: Yes, but then I'm in pain for a week.
Me: Well you'll have to figure something out.
Mother: Well if I cant get there he just wont go.
Me: He HAS to go. You have to figure something out.
Mother: Back to the air-conditioner. When are you coming down next?
Me: I have no idea. I have enough trouble waddling around the house and getting to my hospital appointments at the moment. This is the 21st century. I'm sure you can find someone who will take your credit card.
Mother: Ohhh, its just all too hard. I feel like going down to [beachside suburb] and jumping off the jetty.
Me: Whatever you think is easiest.
Mother: Well what am I supposed to do?
Me: I've given you options before about people who can help you but you dont want a bar of it. You're not interested in the easy option, you want to do it the hard way. So if you dont want to accept the help I've offered you you have to figure something out for yourself.
Mother: [muttering, hangs up].
Boy that felt good.
Am I a bitch?
Obviously, she will not take dad to the doctors. I'm in two minds about ringing the Doc and reiterating the situation, but as Monkey Boy has pointed out to me, there is a limited amount he can legally do. Thinking about this just makes me very angry. You would, after all, expect that the medical practitioner of someone with dementia has SOME responsibility to ensure their patient is living in a safe environment and getting the care they need.
Must stop thinking about this or it will angry up my blood even more.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Playing Catch-Up
This has turned out to be a rather long and rambling post, which I guess is what happens when you absent yourself from Blogania for 3 weeks. Grab a glass of wine and make yourselves comfy.
KWEZNUZ:
Spent at the in-lawses at their vineyard. Was supposed to be Monkey Boy and I, Monkey Boy's younger sister and the olds. Found out when we got their that it was also going to be Grandma and Grandpop, Cousin M and Auntie H & Uncle R. None of whom I've previously met.
Kweznuz Lunch consisted of the usual round of baby-related questions and "amusing" remarks about what we're letting ourselves in for, followed up by Grandpop (harmless and somewhat doddering 82 year old cutie having had too much vino), bailing me up and telling me his life story several times and often going off on tangents. Twice he told me that he hadnt seen Monkey Boy in 55 years. Everyone else was apologising and trying to look sorry for me but I'm sure they were all secretly amused. Rumour has it that I passed muster. I'm SO pleased. Ahem.
Unfortunately, Kweznuz coincided with the beginning of the THIRD TRIMESTER which brought with it emotional fragility, heartburn and reflux, an incredibly large and unwieldy belly, constantly sore back and ligaments and constant tiredness. I cried because MIL gave me a Bunnykins bowl for Spudly. I spent about an hour wandering around the gardens after Christmas Eve dinner dry retching constantly. I got almost no sleep. Yet somewhow, I still managed to have a good time. Go figure.
KWEZNUZ BLESSING:
Our cute little Norty Tortie, Muffin, disappeared about two weeks before I found out I was pregnant. Nothing unusual. She's an Adventure Kitty, often fond of pissing off for weeks at a time and then casually sauntering in through the kitchen, demanding food, sleeping for a weekend and then buggering off again. This time, she didnt come back. I'd given her up for either dead or moved in with some other family she could mooch off.
Until the day after Boxing Day, that is. 25 weeks after we last saw her, she comes hurtling in through the back door at breakfast time with the rest of the feral herd. Incredibly skinny, rather ratty looking, with a massive swelling on one side of her face. But alive, and home. Best Kweznuz present ever.
Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch, and as far as Muffin is concerned, there is no such thing as a free 6 month holiday either. That swelling has thus far cost us $200 to have lanced and drained, and then lanced and drained again 5 days later under a general anaesthetic because they didnt get it all the first time. She now has a lovely satellite dish on her head and a drainage tube sticking out of her head. She hates us and wonders why the hell she came home.
We, on the other hand, can now pick up Cable TV: 28 channels, nothin' but cats.
NEW YEARS:
We stayed home. We watched the incredibly wasteful and excessive fireworks from Sydney Harbour on the teev (okay, they were pretty and sparkly, but surely we could find something better to do with $4million?), played Canasta (which I lost, as I always do) and went to sleep at 12.30. Hardcore!
WEATHER:
Every year the same thing happens. I get to August and start complaining about how I cant stand the cold for a minute longer and let's move to Geraldton where its lovely all year round, and where the hell is summer, bring on summer, I want it to be warm, yay summer. Then summer gets here and we end up with days of 42.5 degrees (108.5F) which happen to coincide with the day we are driving into the city to do our shopping in a giant TIN SHED and I want to die. I'm pleased and amazed that I managed to get through it without any massive swelling of my extremities, but for the next few days I declined to do anything that didnt involve my bed and an airconditioner and the cricket on the telly. Obviously I survived, but I'd still like to move to Geraldton please.
FAMILY:
Hmmm... where to start. Well, needless to say there has been no change whatsoever in the House of the Perpetually Retarded. Mother is still hobbling around on the walking frame, downing codeine tablets like there's no tomorrow and refusing to get any medical attention. Dad is still off with the pixies, and it seems as though that's a pleasant enough place to be as far as he's concerned. My concern, however, is with his increasing weight loss, which my mother (when prompted) will acknowledge with "I thought he's lost a little weight, but he's eating fine." Hmmm, sorry, but 10 kilos is not a little, and having a tin of Spam for Christmas Lunch is NOT EATING FINE!
Oh, and another thing... their air-conditioner broke, ooooh, about two months ago. Mother says "I dont know what to do. Dad cant fix it. I suppose I'll have to ring somebody." Two months later, when its 42.5 degrees, its still not fixed. Dad is obviously not coping with the stifling temperature in their timber frame asbestos clad house and she's still saying "The air-conditioner is still not working. I dont know what I'm going to do.
See a pattern here, anyone? That's right, ma, its BROKEN. Its not going to FIX ITSELF. Just like your hip. Just like dad's dementia. Just like the gall stones you've been ignoring for 30 years.
Anyway, I have extricated myself from the situation. I went out and got her enough cash to last for at least a month, and she knows (well, I told her, at least) that I wont be taking dad to his next specialist appointment this month. (What's the bet that she still rings up a couple of days before and asks if I'm coming down to take dad to his appointment, and then whines about how she cant possibly get there blah blah blah?) I have no reason to have to go down to see them, so I'm not going to. On one hand, I can make myself feel incredibly guilty for abandoning the olds when they need help, but on the other, you cant make people accept help when they dont want it. All it has done to me is make me feel even more like shit when I go and see them, and who needs that, especially 11 weeks away from giving birth? Not I.
REALISATIONS or WHY READING CAN BE GOOD FOR YOUR MENTAL HEALTH:
I've been reading up a storm over the last twelve months. The most recent offering that wasnt connected with babies was Orwell's 1984. I've had this book sitting on my shelf for years, and I cant believe its taken me this long to pull it out and read it. Aside from finding it rather disturbing in its similarities to the current political climate in both Australia and the US (pretty much the same country these days, as far as I can tell) I also had an epiphany.
Both my mother and Fuckhead engage in Orwell's Doublethink. I never knew before how to articulate what it is they do exactly, with their manipulations and their incredibly complex mindgames. Now I know.
"Doublethink" is:
the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them. ... To tell deliberate lies while genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed... (Orwell, 1984)
What an incredibly powerful tool. Rewrite history, and both realise you are doing so and denying to yourself the fact that you are doing so at the same time. How can anyone living with that sort of obsessive and all-pervasive behaviour stand a chance of not being driven mad by it? How on earth did I live with that for 19 years with my mother, and 4.5 years with Fuckhead, and come out of it with my sanity in tact (more or less)?
Fuckhead would make constant claims, both to me and to anyone else who would listen, that he would NEVER hit a woman. Usually just after he'd hit me. I'm positive he believed it himself. In addition, we would have conversations that would go round and round in circles, where he would start off making some ridiculous assertion (usually about how wonderful he was and how crap I was) to which I would respond, and the fighting would start. This happened almost every day. At some point in the conversation, he would deny ever having said what he'd said in the first place, twist what had been said and assert that I was the one who had made that claim in the first place and that it was just ridiculous. I swear there were so many times I thought I really would go mad.
My mother has a fondness for rewriting history. Rather than claim, like Fuckhead, that she never said things that she'd only just said, she would rewrite the script of her life. Accordingly, I had a perfectly normal and happy childhood, she didnt live with domestic violence, she absolutely NEVER took Thalidomide whilst pregnant with me, she was always happy to look after her mother in her declining years and NEVER complained about it, dad never showed any signs of losing his memory until he disappeared last year... Need I go on?
She has spent a lifetime behaving in this way. It has become so ingrained that she, like the members of Orwell's Party, believes her own deceptions. People have said to me that she rejects any help for her and dad out of fear, or wanting to maintain control over her own life. However, in the context of her life, this behaviour appears to me now for what it is: beyond all rationality or reason. I'm not sure what the psychiatrists of the world would call it but whatever its label is, it s clearly a very powerful psychological disorder. One I havent a hope of changing.
At long last, I GET IT. It wasnt my fault that I couldnt help Fuckhead. I wasnt weak for feeling like I was going mad. Its not my fault that I cant get through to my mother. There IS nothing I can do and I am not a bad person for walking away from trying.
RENOVATIONS:
New Study is finished! Check out the improvements:
Spudly's Room has vastly improved. The new floor goes in tomorrow when the in-laws come up to help, bless 'em.
Here's the lovely colour scheme. The ceiling idea was a test to cover up the crap plasterboard that we cant be bothered replacing. I think we'll keep it.
The floor, as you can see, needed work:
Those little termite bastards ate everything except the floor varnish.
And here's the new floor ready to go in. the boards came out of a local Primary School which was being demolished. I spent hours banging the nails out of them, which is not nearly as much fun as it sounds.
Ummm...yeh...I think thats it.
Renovating, Kweznus, hot weather, more renovating, kitties...
Oh! We have ducklings!
Thank you for your patience. Our normal programming will resume shortly.
KWEZNUZ:
Spent at the in-lawses at their vineyard. Was supposed to be Monkey Boy and I, Monkey Boy's younger sister and the olds. Found out when we got their that it was also going to be Grandma and Grandpop, Cousin M and Auntie H & Uncle R. None of whom I've previously met.
Kweznuz Lunch consisted of the usual round of baby-related questions and "amusing" remarks about what we're letting ourselves in for, followed up by Grandpop (harmless and somewhat doddering 82 year old cutie having had too much vino), bailing me up and telling me his life story several times and often going off on tangents. Twice he told me that he hadnt seen Monkey Boy in 55 years. Everyone else was apologising and trying to look sorry for me but I'm sure they were all secretly amused. Rumour has it that I passed muster. I'm SO pleased. Ahem.
Unfortunately, Kweznuz coincided with the beginning of the THIRD TRIMESTER which brought with it emotional fragility, heartburn and reflux, an incredibly large and unwieldy belly, constantly sore back and ligaments and constant tiredness. I cried because MIL gave me a Bunnykins bowl for Spudly. I spent about an hour wandering around the gardens after Christmas Eve dinner dry retching constantly. I got almost no sleep. Yet somewhow, I still managed to have a good time. Go figure.
KWEZNUZ BLESSING:
Our cute little Norty Tortie, Muffin, disappeared about two weeks before I found out I was pregnant. Nothing unusual. She's an Adventure Kitty, often fond of pissing off for weeks at a time and then casually sauntering in through the kitchen, demanding food, sleeping for a weekend and then buggering off again. This time, she didnt come back. I'd given her up for either dead or moved in with some other family she could mooch off.
Until the day after Boxing Day, that is. 25 weeks after we last saw her, she comes hurtling in through the back door at breakfast time with the rest of the feral herd. Incredibly skinny, rather ratty looking, with a massive swelling on one side of her face. But alive, and home. Best Kweznuz present ever.
Of course, there's no such thing as a free lunch, and as far as Muffin is concerned, there is no such thing as a free 6 month holiday either. That swelling has thus far cost us $200 to have lanced and drained, and then lanced and drained again 5 days later under a general anaesthetic because they didnt get it all the first time. She now has a lovely satellite dish on her head and a drainage tube sticking out of her head. She hates us and wonders why the hell she came home.
We, on the other hand, can now pick up Cable TV: 28 channels, nothin' but cats.
NEW YEARS:
We stayed home. We watched the incredibly wasteful and excessive fireworks from Sydney Harbour on the teev (okay, they were pretty and sparkly, but surely we could find something better to do with $4million?), played Canasta (which I lost, as I always do) and went to sleep at 12.30. Hardcore!
WEATHER:
Every year the same thing happens. I get to August and start complaining about how I cant stand the cold for a minute longer and let's move to Geraldton where its lovely all year round, and where the hell is summer, bring on summer, I want it to be warm, yay summer. Then summer gets here and we end up with days of 42.5 degrees (108.5F) which happen to coincide with the day we are driving into the city to do our shopping in a giant TIN SHED and I want to die. I'm pleased and amazed that I managed to get through it without any massive swelling of my extremities, but for the next few days I declined to do anything that didnt involve my bed and an airconditioner and the cricket on the telly. Obviously I survived, but I'd still like to move to Geraldton please.
FAMILY:
Hmmm... where to start. Well, needless to say there has been no change whatsoever in the House of the Perpetually Retarded. Mother is still hobbling around on the walking frame, downing codeine tablets like there's no tomorrow and refusing to get any medical attention. Dad is still off with the pixies, and it seems as though that's a pleasant enough place to be as far as he's concerned. My concern, however, is with his increasing weight loss, which my mother (when prompted) will acknowledge with "I thought he's lost a little weight, but he's eating fine." Hmmm, sorry, but 10 kilos is not a little, and having a tin of Spam for Christmas Lunch is NOT EATING FINE!
Oh, and another thing... their air-conditioner broke, ooooh, about two months ago. Mother says "I dont know what to do. Dad cant fix it. I suppose I'll have to ring somebody." Two months later, when its 42.5 degrees, its still not fixed. Dad is obviously not coping with the stifling temperature in their timber frame asbestos clad house and she's still saying "The air-conditioner is still not working. I dont know what I'm going to do.
See a pattern here, anyone? That's right, ma, its BROKEN. Its not going to FIX ITSELF. Just like your hip. Just like dad's dementia. Just like the gall stones you've been ignoring for 30 years.
Anyway, I have extricated myself from the situation. I went out and got her enough cash to last for at least a month, and she knows (well, I told her, at least) that I wont be taking dad to his next specialist appointment this month. (What's the bet that she still rings up a couple of days before and asks if I'm coming down to take dad to his appointment, and then whines about how she cant possibly get there blah blah blah?) I have no reason to have to go down to see them, so I'm not going to. On one hand, I can make myself feel incredibly guilty for abandoning the olds when they need help, but on the other, you cant make people accept help when they dont want it. All it has done to me is make me feel even more like shit when I go and see them, and who needs that, especially 11 weeks away from giving birth? Not I.
REALISATIONS or WHY READING CAN BE GOOD FOR YOUR MENTAL HEALTH:
I've been reading up a storm over the last twelve months. The most recent offering that wasnt connected with babies was Orwell's 1984. I've had this book sitting on my shelf for years, and I cant believe its taken me this long to pull it out and read it. Aside from finding it rather disturbing in its similarities to the current political climate in both Australia and the US (pretty much the same country these days, as far as I can tell) I also had an epiphany.
Both my mother and Fuckhead engage in Orwell's Doublethink. I never knew before how to articulate what it is they do exactly, with their manipulations and their incredibly complex mindgames. Now I know.
"Doublethink" is:
the power of holding two contradictory beliefs in one's mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them. ... To tell deliberate lies while genuinely believing in them, to forget any fact that has become inconvenient, and then, when it becomes necessary again, to draw it back from oblivion for just so long as it is needed... (Orwell, 1984)
What an incredibly powerful tool. Rewrite history, and both realise you are doing so and denying to yourself the fact that you are doing so at the same time. How can anyone living with that sort of obsessive and all-pervasive behaviour stand a chance of not being driven mad by it? How on earth did I live with that for 19 years with my mother, and 4.5 years with Fuckhead, and come out of it with my sanity in tact (more or less)?
Fuckhead would make constant claims, both to me and to anyone else who would listen, that he would NEVER hit a woman. Usually just after he'd hit me. I'm positive he believed it himself. In addition, we would have conversations that would go round and round in circles, where he would start off making some ridiculous assertion (usually about how wonderful he was and how crap I was) to which I would respond, and the fighting would start. This happened almost every day. At some point in the conversation, he would deny ever having said what he'd said in the first place, twist what had been said and assert that I was the one who had made that claim in the first place and that it was just ridiculous. I swear there were so many times I thought I really would go mad.
My mother has a fondness for rewriting history. Rather than claim, like Fuckhead, that she never said things that she'd only just said, she would rewrite the script of her life. Accordingly, I had a perfectly normal and happy childhood, she didnt live with domestic violence, she absolutely NEVER took Thalidomide whilst pregnant with me, she was always happy to look after her mother in her declining years and NEVER complained about it, dad never showed any signs of losing his memory until he disappeared last year... Need I go on?
She has spent a lifetime behaving in this way. It has become so ingrained that she, like the members of Orwell's Party, believes her own deceptions. People have said to me that she rejects any help for her and dad out of fear, or wanting to maintain control over her own life. However, in the context of her life, this behaviour appears to me now for what it is: beyond all rationality or reason. I'm not sure what the psychiatrists of the world would call it but whatever its label is, it s clearly a very powerful psychological disorder. One I havent a hope of changing.
At long last, I GET IT. It wasnt my fault that I couldnt help Fuckhead. I wasnt weak for feeling like I was going mad. Its not my fault that I cant get through to my mother. There IS nothing I can do and I am not a bad person for walking away from trying.
RENOVATIONS:
New Study is finished! Check out the improvements:
Spudly's Room has vastly improved. The new floor goes in tomorrow when the in-laws come up to help, bless 'em.
Here's the lovely colour scheme. The ceiling idea was a test to cover up the crap plasterboard that we cant be bothered replacing. I think we'll keep it.
The floor, as you can see, needed work:
Those little termite bastards ate everything except the floor varnish.
And here's the new floor ready to go in. the boards came out of a local Primary School which was being demolished. I spent hours banging the nails out of them, which is not nearly as much fun as it sounds.
Ummm...yeh...I think thats it.
Renovating, Kweznus, hot weather, more renovating, kitties...
Oh! We have ducklings!
Thank you for your patience. Our normal programming will resume shortly.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Remember Me?
Just to put minds at rest (assuming, that is, that anyone is still bothering to check this blog) here's why I havent been posting:
I've been trapped under a giant potato and cant get up.
I've been trapped under a giant potato and cant get up.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Must be Due for a Panic-Fest About Now...
Whats the best way to get Week 27 off to a memorable start? Spend all morning at the hospital? Yeh!
I was woken at 2am with cramping, which I initially just ignored, but after it started moving around to my lower back, and then radiating down through my groin and into my thighs it was pretty hard to ignore anymore. It was coming in waves, lasting about 30-60 seconds, and coming every 5-10 minutes for about an hour. I eventually woke up Monkey Boy to get me the wheat pillow and my pregnancy books so I could look up what the hell was going on. Dr Google was too far away (in our New Study) to be consulted at this particular juncture. The wheat pillow made the cramping settle down, but this morning over breakfast it was still there so I rang the birthing centre.
They thought it was probably Braxton Hicks, but to come in if I was worried. Well, I'm not going to pass up an opportunity to be worried, so we put the painting of Spudly's room on hold and went to the hospital to get everything checked out. After being on the CTG machine for half an hour, hearing Spud's heartbeat AND his hiccups and kicks, being poked and prodded, urine tested, bloody great speculum shoved up my whatsit (OUCH!) they confirmed two things:
1. I was definately having Braxton Hicks contractions
2. Spudly is a Hyperactive Baby.
Seems he's moving around so much that he's upsetting my uterus and making the contractions stronger. Given his father, I shouldnt be surprised really...
So now I know what the Braxton Hickseses feel like. Personally, I'd like the contractions to not get any stronger, please.
Oh, and as M said at our girlie lunch yesterday, I'd like one of those births that involve an orgasm.
I was woken at 2am with cramping, which I initially just ignored, but after it started moving around to my lower back, and then radiating down through my groin and into my thighs it was pretty hard to ignore anymore. It was coming in waves, lasting about 30-60 seconds, and coming every 5-10 minutes for about an hour. I eventually woke up Monkey Boy to get me the wheat pillow and my pregnancy books so I could look up what the hell was going on. Dr Google was too far away (in our New Study) to be consulted at this particular juncture. The wheat pillow made the cramping settle down, but this morning over breakfast it was still there so I rang the birthing centre.
They thought it was probably Braxton Hicks, but to come in if I was worried. Well, I'm not going to pass up an opportunity to be worried, so we put the painting of Spudly's room on hold and went to the hospital to get everything checked out. After being on the CTG machine for half an hour, hearing Spud's heartbeat AND his hiccups and kicks, being poked and prodded, urine tested, bloody great speculum shoved up my whatsit (OUCH!) they confirmed two things:
1. I was definately having Braxton Hicks contractions
2. Spudly is a Hyperactive Baby.
Seems he's moving around so much that he's upsetting my uterus and making the contractions stronger. Given his father, I shouldnt be surprised really...
So now I know what the Braxton Hickseses feel like. Personally, I'd like the contractions to not get any stronger, please.
Oh, and as M said at our girlie lunch yesterday, I'd like one of those births that involve an orgasm.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Its a Sign
So the in-laws were driving home from country Victoria last week and noticed a sign in a small country town, just this side of the border.
Keeping in mind that Spudly's due date is March 27...
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They have Mashed Potato Wrestling, and crown Mr & Mrs Spud.
I think, under the circumstances, we'd win.
The title. Not the wrestling.
Keeping in mind that Spudly's due date is March 27...
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They have Mashed Potato Wrestling, and crown Mr & Mrs Spud.
I think, under the circumstances, we'd win.
The title. Not the wrestling.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Those were the days....
Outraged by Manuela's recent comments about my faux-pas photograph, which I'll Have You Know was Very Stylish way back in 1990, I have decided to come clean, step into the light and admit to all that I was an 80's Fashion Victim.
Not as bad as Lala, who is still wearing HER 80's outfits, but nonetheless...
Whilst cleaning all the shit out of the soon-to-be-Spud-room, I came across some old dressmaking patterns I had squirreled away with the obvious intention of making one day. Actually, I did make one of them, and I still have it somewhere...
I am particularly fond of the purple puffball, especially with its divine little bows around the hemline. Would go very well with the Leg O Mutton Sloives, Kimmy.
Not as bad as Lala, who is still wearing HER 80's outfits, but nonetheless...
Whilst cleaning all the shit out of the soon-to-be-Spud-room, I came across some old dressmaking patterns I had squirreled away with the obvious intention of making one day. Actually, I did make one of them, and I still have it somewhere...
I am particularly fond of the purple puffball, especially with its divine little bows around the hemline. Would go very well with the Leg O Mutton Sloives, Kimmy.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Dont get in my way - I'm Nesting!
I've been back from our WONDERFUL holiday for a whole week now, and I probably should have written a little something to describe the lovely time we had canoeing and relaxing and eating and such, but as soon as we got back we started renovating and I've been trapped under layers of paint ever since.
This has very conveniently coincided with the onset of the nesting instinct, which I must say I never believed in before. I have revised my opinion.
So, when the dust settles, and the paint finally washes off my skin and out of my hair, I will write something extraordinary (or, at least, write something...)
In the meantime, here's a couple of photos from our holiday:
Panda and Spudly enjoy a lovely spread of nibblies and champers for our 2nd anniversary breakfast.
The happy couple find their favourite driveway and do a dodgy self-timer portrait in a gale.
Not looking quite so relaxed and gorgeous, here's me getting stuck into our front room, which has been in various states of falling-downness for 5 years:
This is how I will look for at least the next two weeks. Charming. More renovation photos will ensue once the room is finished. Which will be tomorrow. Hehehehe. Tomorrow! Boff-o!
Yesterday we had the 24 week antenatal appointment. Everything is hunky-dory, the Birthing Unit are v. happy to have me, Spudly's heartbeat is nice and strong and loud, and he's practicing for the synchronised swimming team. I feel enormous, which is probably becasue I AM enormous, and my ligaments have started hurting in my lower pelvis. But never mind that, I've got cornices to paint...
Oh, and so's you understand my enthusiasm for getting stuff down asap, here's the room where Spudly will be sleeping:
This has very conveniently coincided with the onset of the nesting instinct, which I must say I never believed in before. I have revised my opinion.
So, when the dust settles, and the paint finally washes off my skin and out of my hair, I will write something extraordinary (or, at least, write something...)
In the meantime, here's a couple of photos from our holiday:
Panda and Spudly enjoy a lovely spread of nibblies and champers for our 2nd anniversary breakfast.
Dawn at our cottage hideaway
The happy couple find their favourite driveway and do a dodgy self-timer portrait in a gale.
Not looking quite so relaxed and gorgeous, here's me getting stuck into our front room, which has been in various states of falling-downness for 5 years:
This is how I will look for at least the next two weeks. Charming. More renovation photos will ensue once the room is finished. Which will be tomorrow. Hehehehe. Tomorrow! Boff-o!
Yesterday we had the 24 week antenatal appointment. Everything is hunky-dory, the Birthing Unit are v. happy to have me, Spudly's heartbeat is nice and strong and loud, and he's practicing for the synchronised swimming team. I feel enormous, which is probably becasue I AM enormous, and my ligaments have started hurting in my lower pelvis. But never mind that, I've got cornices to paint...
Oh, and so's you understand my enthusiasm for getting stuff down asap, here's the room where Spudly will be sleeping:
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Mixed Bag
A few general observations and such before I go away for a week and have a glorious holiday for the first time in a year.
Its our second wedding anniversary on Tuesday, so we're heading off to the spot where we started our honeymoon and go back to every year. We have a self-contained cottage on the clifftop overlooking private wetlands. Its quiet, very secluded, and the only sounds you can hear are the frogs and birds of the lagoon. I can not wait.
When I get back, I might write a post on how a Monkey and a Panda got together.
I wont send a postcard. And as much as I dig you all, I'm glad you wont be there.
* Man Cold: a type of upper respiratory infection that is essentially very mild and short-lived, but the sufferer is convinced nonetheless they are going to die.
- I've been sick. Man Cold* sick. Some dodgy Monkey gave it to me, and I'm Not Impressed, especially since he gets the good drugs and I get nothing. I think I'll be better by Monday, when we leave, but in the meantime: WAAAA!
- Spudly can now be seen moving around! I oughta sell tickets. This is most definately the weirdest thing I've ever experienced in my life. I feel like I'm in Alien.
- I had really bad reflux last night and had to "sleep" propped up for the first time. And I was hoping to get away with no dodgy tummy stuff happening. Hmph. Perhaps it was the packet of Mint Slice biscuits I had for dinner...
- I found a really cool bug in my strawberry patch today. Anyone know what it is? I know its a beetle. But what kind of beetle?
Its our second wedding anniversary on Tuesday, so we're heading off to the spot where we started our honeymoon and go back to every year. We have a self-contained cottage on the clifftop overlooking private wetlands. Its quiet, very secluded, and the only sounds you can hear are the frogs and birds of the lagoon. I can not wait.
When I get back, I might write a post on how a Monkey and a Panda got together.
I wont send a postcard. And as much as I dig you all, I'm glad you wont be there.
* Man Cold: a type of upper respiratory infection that is essentially very mild and short-lived, but the sufferer is convinced nonetheless they are going to die.
And So The Family Saga Continues...
I had to take my father to see his specialist on Wednesday. This time he had another memory test to check whether the Aracept is working and improving his memory or not.
The answer is not.
Only one point of difference from 4 months ago, and that was in the negative direction. He's also lost 5 kilos in the past 8 weeks, which is quite a concern. He gets to stay on the meds for another 8 weeks to see if he's a "late responder" but the Doc is not optimistic. Nor am I.
I briefed the doc on the situation at home, and with my wiley and tricksy Panda ways managed to convince the doc of the necessity for him to take responsibility for convincing my mother they need help. I've told mum the doctor wants to speak to her next Wednesday morning, first thing. I havent told her what about. And the best thing about my plan: I'm going to be away and uncontactable all next week, so she cant ring me up and abuse me after she gets off the phone from him.
I also told her that I would not be able to guarantee my availability to take dad to further appointments from now on.
As much as it pains me in one way to do it, I have successfully managed to extricate myself from the untenable situation of taking full responsibility for people who dont want to be helped.
Now I just have to ensure I dont get sucked back in. Although, with a Monkey on my team, I dont think thats going to happen.
The answer is not.
Only one point of difference from 4 months ago, and that was in the negative direction. He's also lost 5 kilos in the past 8 weeks, which is quite a concern. He gets to stay on the meds for another 8 weeks to see if he's a "late responder" but the Doc is not optimistic. Nor am I.
I briefed the doc on the situation at home, and with my wiley and tricksy Panda ways managed to convince the doc of the necessity for him to take responsibility for convincing my mother they need help. I've told mum the doctor wants to speak to her next Wednesday morning, first thing. I havent told her what about. And the best thing about my plan: I'm going to be away and uncontactable all next week, so she cant ring me up and abuse me after she gets off the phone from him.
I also told her that I would not be able to guarantee my availability to take dad to further appointments from now on.
As much as it pains me in one way to do it, I have successfully managed to extricate myself from the untenable situation of taking full responsibility for people who dont want to be helped.
Now I just have to ensure I dont get sucked back in. Although, with a Monkey on my team, I dont think thats going to happen.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Dominate The Subversive Paradigm!
You're an agitator! Your kids have grown up on the
front lines of rallies and pickets, and chances
are that you boycott at least one company for
its bad business practices. Your kids are
learning what matters to you and how they can
change what matters to them.
What kind of a freaky mother are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
I Know You Have An Opinion
So let me have it.
New Poll time: which way does the toilet paper HAVE to hang?
Not that I'm a Pedantic Whackjob or anything (that's Monkey Boy's job), but I like mine to hang forwards. Easy access when you need it.
New Poll time: which way does the toilet paper HAVE to hang?
Not that I'm a Pedantic Whackjob or anything (that's Monkey Boy's job), but I like mine to hang forwards. Easy access when you need it.
Oh My God! They Read My Diary!
Yes folks, I'm bored today.
How did they know I had a huge crush on MJF???
How did they know I had a huge crush on MJF???
| Your 80s Heartthrob Is |
 Michael J. Fox |
What I Did On My Weekend
In lieu of anything interesting to say, here's a photo essay on how we spent our weekend.
Monkey Boy recently retrieved his Lego from his parents place. They think we wanted it for Spudly.
They were wrong.
Battle Dragster. Note the rather excessive amount of weaponry. I think one of the guns was labelled a Cheese-Gathering Torpedo. There's a little man with a slopey brick for a head behind the blue canopy.
Assorted vehicles for backup. You never know when you will need a wacky tricycle or a Headless Hotrod.
Its a helicopter. It has guns and goes woketa woketa. Apparently.
Space Pirate on his Hovercraft Space Pirate Radio Station, which plays nothing but Take On Me by A-Harrrr.
Mr Teapot Rotor-head controls the whole fleet, and shoots flames out of his head. Handy.
Monkey Boy recently retrieved his Lego from his parents place. They think we wanted it for Spudly.
They were wrong.
Battle Dragster. Note the rather excessive amount of weaponry. I think one of the guns was labelled a Cheese-Gathering Torpedo. There's a little man with a slopey brick for a head behind the blue canopy.
Assorted vehicles for backup. You never know when you will need a wacky tricycle or a Headless Hotrod.
Its a helicopter. It has guns and goes woketa woketa. Apparently.
Disabled Battle Segue. Mr Spastic previously had only one hand, but through the miracle of medical technology (and finding a spare hand on the floor) he had a donated hand reattached. As yet he doesnt have much feeling in it, so he fires the rocket launcher with his good hand.
Space Pirate on his Hovercraft Space Pirate Radio Station, which plays nothing but Take On Me by A-Harrrr.
Mr Teapot Rotor-head controls the whole fleet, and shoots flames out of his head. Handy.
Saturday, November 12, 2005
I Almost Forgot
Spudly LOVED The Bangles gig, of course. Especially the really heavy bass that makes your chest vibrate. I got lots of kicking through that! And I had my very first random drive-by belly grope after the gig. The woman was very nice and all, but it was weird. And so it begins.
The next morning we had our antenatal appointment at the hospital. Which they kept us waiting almost an hour for. Grrrr. Results of the ultrasound were as normal as you can get, which is disturbing, for me anyways. I will have another ultrasound at 32 weeks to check on the low-lying placenta, but I have been assured both by the hospital and by Google University that a low-lying placenta at 20 weeks is extremely common and they do move. I believe them. I will not worry. I will instead look forward to another opportunity to have a look at the Spudster.
My blood pressure has gone down down down...to Funky Town. 100/50. This seems ridiculously low to me, but apparently this just happens between 18-28 weeks. It explains the lightheadedness and dizziness and such. Must drink more water.
I was given the all-clear to use the Birthing Unit, which is fabuloso. We spent another half an hour around there to make another appointment for 4 weeks time, but got a tour out of it. V. pleased that their birthing philosophy gels exactly with mine: that is, birth is a natural event that the body knows how to do and not something for the medicos to get all uppity about.
Spudly is kicking many times a day now, which is very comforting. Well, the kicks in the cervix or further around the back arent quite so comforting... I've discovered he reacts very quickly to chocolate. Every single time, he's kicking away within 10-15 minutes of me eating some. I have decided therefore to have some medical emergency chocolate in the house at all times, for those occasions when I am panicking about not having felt him kick in a while. Purely for emergencies. You understand.
So, nothing happening in the medical department for another month. In the meantime, Monkey Boy finishes his prac. teaching placement next week (that is, the Friday coming up) and the week after that we GO AWAY for our 2nd anniversary holiday, back to the place we started our honeymoon, for 4 whole days of peace and quiet and relaxation and canoeing and canoodling. Yeh-heh.
The next morning we had our antenatal appointment at the hospital. Which they kept us waiting almost an hour for. Grrrr. Results of the ultrasound were as normal as you can get, which is disturbing, for me anyways. I will have another ultrasound at 32 weeks to check on the low-lying placenta, but I have been assured both by the hospital and by Google University that a low-lying placenta at 20 weeks is extremely common and they do move. I believe them. I will not worry. I will instead look forward to another opportunity to have a look at the Spudster.
My blood pressure has gone down down down...to Funky Town. 100/50. This seems ridiculously low to me, but apparently this just happens between 18-28 weeks. It explains the lightheadedness and dizziness and such. Must drink more water.
I was given the all-clear to use the Birthing Unit, which is fabuloso. We spent another half an hour around there to make another appointment for 4 weeks time, but got a tour out of it. V. pleased that their birthing philosophy gels exactly with mine: that is, birth is a natural event that the body knows how to do and not something for the medicos to get all uppity about.
Spudly is kicking many times a day now, which is very comforting. Well, the kicks in the cervix or further around the back arent quite so comforting... I've discovered he reacts very quickly to chocolate. Every single time, he's kicking away within 10-15 minutes of me eating some. I have decided therefore to have some medical emergency chocolate in the house at all times, for those occasions when I am panicking about not having felt him kick in a while. Purely for emergencies. You understand.
So, nothing happening in the medical department for another month. In the meantime, Monkey Boy finishes his prac. teaching placement next week (that is, the Friday coming up) and the week after that we GO AWAY for our 2nd anniversary holiday, back to the place we started our honeymoon, for 4 whole days of peace and quiet and relaxation and canoeing and canoodling. Yeh-heh.
I Stand Corrected
Not about the divineness of The Bangles. This was never in doubt.
About the Johnny Depp-ness of previous lovely pirate image.
Lala (and Monkey Boy): you were right. Seems I was taken in by some bloody Pommy lookalike.
Forshame!
To make up for this indiscretion, I now provide the following for your enjoyment...
Now thats how you do pirating. Mm-mmm. They can unbuckle my swash any time.
About the Johnny Depp-ness of previous lovely pirate image.
Lala (and Monkey Boy): you were right. Seems I was taken in by some bloody Pommy lookalike.
Forshame!
To make up for this indiscretion, I now provide the following for your enjoyment...
Now thats how you do pirating. Mm-mmm. They can unbuckle my swash any time.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Spudly's First Gig
The delightful V bought me a very lovely birthday present. Tonight she pays up.
We're Going Down to Adelaide to Do Something....*
The question is; should I go the big Susannah Hoffs hair or not? I have the earrings. From 1985. Sad, I know.
Monkey Boy has already been muttering displeased things about His Son being forcefully exposed to Crap 80s Music.
*If you know the song I have horribly misquoted, I will love you forever.
We're Going Down to Adelaide to Do Something....*
The question is; should I go the big Susannah Hoffs hair or not? I have the earrings. From 1985. Sad, I know.
Monkey Boy has already been muttering displeased things about His Son being forcefully exposed to Crap 80s Music.
*If you know the song I have horribly misquoted, I will love you forever.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Letting the Team Down
MOGADISHU, Somalia, Nov. 5 (UPI) -- The Seabourn Cruise Lines ship "Spirit" was attacked by pirates off the coast of Somalia early Saturday morning but escaped capture.Two boats carrying between eight and 10 pirates armed with machine guns and rocket-propelled grenade launchers attacked the "Spirit," which had 150 passengers and 160 crew members on board, CNN reported.
Pirates in a tinny? Pirates with rocket-propelled grenades and bazookas? Where's the really big hats and the eye patches? And the cannons full of forks? And the swords? I dont see any swashbuckling going on.
Pirates these days. They have no idea. These guys are just giving pirates a bad name. Havent they heard about the Pirate Code?
They need a few lessons from this chap...
Now HE'S a pirate!
Friday, November 04, 2005
There's another Poll over there
Having resoundedly won the last Vox Pop, I now graciously retire undefeated in the House of Panda Philosophical Debates World Series. Panda: 2 Monkey Boy: 1
You are, of course, all correct. You CAN look at something you cant see. You cant see air, but you are looking at it. You cant see the individual molecules of your computer screen, but you're still looking at them. Monkey Boy is just daft when he says you cant look at something you cant see. That's what you get for swinging from trees and eating bananas all day I guess.
So, the new Poll. We've decided to keep Spudly's name a secret. (Hint: Its not Spudly. Except to my mate M, who insists its an excellent name and will continue to call Spudly Spudly.) Well, when I say secret, of course I mean I've told two people already. But one of those was my therapist, so that doesnt count. The other was told not to disclose on pain of death. We figure that telling people is just opening ourselves up to unwelcome comments on our choice, and protestations about not including any "traditional" family names in there somewhere. Do not fret, my friends: we have not decided upon Mykynzy.
What would y'all do? Spill the beans or keep it a secret?
You are, of course, all correct. You CAN look at something you cant see. You cant see air, but you are looking at it. You cant see the individual molecules of your computer screen, but you're still looking at them. Monkey Boy is just daft when he says you cant look at something you cant see. That's what you get for swinging from trees and eating bananas all day I guess.
So, the new Poll. We've decided to keep Spudly's name a secret. (Hint: Its not Spudly. Except to my mate M, who insists its an excellent name and will continue to call Spudly Spudly.) Well, when I say secret, of course I mean I've told two people already. But one of those was my therapist, so that doesnt count. The other was told not to disclose on pain of death. We figure that telling people is just opening ourselves up to unwelcome comments on our choice, and protestations about not including any "traditional" family names in there somewhere. Do not fret, my friends: we have not decided upon Mykynzy.
What would y'all do? Spill the beans or keep it a secret?
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
And The Verdict Is....
Ultrasound Day. 19week poser shot. How d'yall like my new op-shop $12 outfit?
Check out how much the pudding has grown in 3 days.And now from the inside:
- Fingers and toes all accounted for (we both were couting them as they waved around).
- Brain present.
- Heart functioning properly.
- All bits measuring 19 weeks.
- Size of head 6.5cm x 4 cm, which is the size of Spudly's entire body only 6 weeks ago.
- Personality: subversive. Did not want to co-operate or face the right way.
- Placenta: low-lying at 1.6cm fromthe cervical opening. I will not panic. I will not panic. Its still early days and it can (and more than likely will) move up by the 8th month. I am, however, Googling placenta praevia.
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ITS A BOY!!
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