Spring-a-Ding-Ding

Spring has officially sprung, and with temperatures of 26 degrees (78F) I'm a bit happy about that.

This unseasonal weather and record-breaking drought brought to you by Global Warming. Here's a tour of the freakish happenings in our garden...

This is our mystery fruit tree. It came up five years ago, and this is the first time it has had blossom on it. I think it might be an Apricot, and I'm going to name it after myself; Apricotus Pandelicious

This is another mystery tree that came up on its own. We tried to kill it and it came back. Turned out to be a peach. Bonus.

Here's our Wisteria, climbing over the outdoor dunny. This one came up on its own too. I even tried to dig it up and thought I'd killed it. It came back stronger than ever. This Wisteria WANTS to live.

And yes, that did used to be a lawn. I think we may find El Dorado when we slash it.

Getting To Know Your Spud

The Spud Meme

Woohoo! I've been waching my mum do this tippy-tapping thing for months now and finally she lets me have a go. The adorable Lily from 2 Pink Lines has this thing called a meme going. I like her. She's heaps cute and older than me, but only just. Apparently she can crawl now and I'm heaps jealous. Soon enough I'll be able to chase her though and then she'd better look out.


3 Things That Scare Me

That Other Baby. He's not the one in the mirror I like so much.

Loud noises. Whats with all the hubub?

When my breakfast is too hot. I dont think food is supposed to hurt you.


3 People That Make Me Laugh

My mamma.

My pappa.

Auntie Lealu.


3 Things I Love

Being nude. I can get to my toes easier then.

Waddles the duck. I like chewing his nose.

When mamma makes Cookie Monster noises on my neck. It tickles and sounds funny and I go all squealy.


3 Things I Hate

Those long boring shopping trips to some yellow and blue place that aint so versatile as far as I can tell, and to some other place with a bullseye out the front. That's really dangerous.

Some yellow mush that mamma tried to get me to eat that she said was yummy but wasnt and then she tried it and agreed with me. See! I know what I like!

Getting dressed.

3 Things I Don’t Understand

How I get from mamma's arms to my bouncy sleepy place.

Why I have to be strapped in so damn tight.

Why I have to wear pants.

3 Things On My Desk/Table (or play mat) (or baby jail)

Waddles the Duck.

My favourite rattle.

A bib covered in last night's dinner. I'm saving it for snacks.

3 Things I’m Doing Right Now

Planning the Revolution

Subverting the dominant paradigm.

Filling my nappy.

3 Things I Want to Do Before I Die

Roll.over.dammit.

Stick my foot all the way in my mouth.

Have hair.

3 Things I Can Do

Stick my left foot in my mouth and chew on my big toe.

Play with two rattles at once. Two! Booya!

Get apple in my ear.


3 Ways to Describe My Personality

Happy.

Inquisitive.

Chilled. (except when that Other Baby visits)


3 Things I Can’t Do

Sit up on my own, but I will. You just wait.

Talk so people understand me. I think they're a bit thick around here.

Fart without pooping. Jeez that's annoying.


3 Things I Think You Should Listen To

Jamiroquai. Thats some funky beats.

My daddy coz he makes funny noises.

Buena Vista Social Club, cos when I hear those latin grooves I just gotta wave my feets around like this...weeheee.

3 Things I Think You Should Never Listen To

Other babies screaming. Its so unsettling.

The cordless drill. Me no likee.

My mamma saying "no".


3 Absolute Favorite Foods

Breastmilk.

Avocado.

Formula.

3 Things I’d Like to Learn

Where that yummy stuff is hidden.

Why there's an ouchy feeling when I shove my fist in my mouth and chomp.

How to escape the car seat, because then I wouldnt have to go to bloody Ikea all the time.

3 Beverages I Drink Regularly

Breastmilk

Breastmilk

Formula


3 Shows I Watched as a Kid

Big Brother: At first I thought mamma was getting a new baby. Why DO they call it Big Brother?

Bold & The Beautiful: their babies seem to grow up really fast. I hope I grow up that quickly.

The Simpsons: I'm glad I'm not yellow.

New! Improved!

If you see me walking down the street today, you'll notice something different about me.

Its not my hair. Its not my confident stride. Its not the fact that I've had 8 hours sleep and dont make random grunting noises.

Its the fact that I am no longer gormless.

Thanks Ikea, for providing me with an incredibly Versatile Solution for my Storage Needs.

Delerious

I got nothin'.

As Cherice pointed out in her comment on the last post, I am currently the Minister for Everything (which doesnt seem to include Minister For Eating All The Pies, sadly) in this house and Spudly is definately not making the job any easier. Whinge whinge cry, cry cry puke, whinge whinge gas, gas gas brake...

Anyway, I've finally got my shit together and updated my Flikr account, so if you click on the clicky think over there in the sidebar you can check out more photos of Sir Whingealot.

And here's one we prepared earlier; Spudly Does Solids.

4 Months, Surgery and Why I Should Move Cities.

Lets start with the feel-good stories.

Spudly is now 4-and-a-bit months old. At yesterday's weigh-in he was 6.74kg and 64cm long. This explains why he is getting far to heavy for me to carry around, and why no matter how hard I try to stretch them, his cute little star suit and bunny onesie just.wont.fit. He's growing up, before my eyes, and while I delight in all the little achievements he's made, it just reminds me that one day he wont be a baby anymore. He'll be going to kindy and then school and dealing with Other Children and Other Adults and they wont necessarily think he is the most wonderful person on the planet and wont make him the centre of their universe. I KNOW! How is this possible? It just aint right.

Two achievements of the last week stand out. On Friday he discovered the joys of sticking out his tongue. Yesterday he discovered that if you stick your tongue out and then blow it makes FANTASTIC NOISES and sometimes even LOTS OF BUBBLES and this is the MOST EXCITING THING EVER!!!!! Today, in response to his increased formula intake, he has started on solids. Yes! Solids! Though why some bland mush is termed "solids" I'll never know. Spudly gave the appropriate facial expressions (what the hell is this crap and why are you putting it in my mouth???) but he did eat it. And then he opened his mouth for more. And more. And some of it went down his front but mostly it went in his gob and he didnt complain about it so I can only put that down as a Success.

Moving right along to My Role As Nursemaid... Monkey Boy now has two lovely incisions in his shoulder, a sling and a prescription for morpheine. I didnt really appreciate how much I rely on him for help with Spudly until he wasnt available anymore. Nor did I realise exactly how demanding Spudly is. He likes attention, does my boy. He likes attention and he likes it NOW. And no, I dont want to wait until you've gone to the loo and I dont want to wait until you come back into the room with my bottle, I want ALL MY PEOPLE HERE, RIGHT NOW! Monkey Boy will have the sling for another week, and will be out of action for another 4-6 weeks. By which time the rest of my hair will have fallen out.

And now for the number one reason why people want to leave this city, made only too obvious to me recently.

There may be one million people here but you can guarantee that there are only two degrees of seperation between them all. You cannot do a bloody thing without running into someone you know or finding out that someone you know knows someone else you know but through links you didnt know existed. And sometimes that person is someone you've tried damn hard to get out of your life for a long long time. And sometimes the person that knows them is family.

And so it was for me when we last had a family lunch with the rest of the Monkey Boy clan. Monkey Boys elder sister, Vegan Girl, mentioned in passing people she had brought down to the parents property in the country, people who'd hated it because there was nothing to do in the country. Then she mentioned their names. It was like a kick in the guts.

How do you know Skankface and Dr Evil? I asked. (and yes, thats their real names). She works with Skankface. Is very very VERY good friends with Skankface. Has a lot of RESPECT for Skankface. My sister-in-law. Respect. For the woman that almost 5 years ago took advantage of our friendship and my alchohol-sodden unconscious self and sexually assaulted me.

What does one do?

Well, first one freaks out totally and absolutely.

Then one gets home and gets on to gmail chat and freaks out to Lala who gives excellent advice.

Then one does the next hardest thing and goes to see parents-in-law and tells them the situation. Because a) Vegan Girl has to know that Skankface cannot under any circumstances know that VG and I are now related, where I am or that I even exist anymore. b) VG and her partner must know because the stories she was telling about Skankface made it abundantly clear that she had not changed her attitude to the appropriate/inappropriate behaviour distinction and they were therefore both at risk, and c) VG, being in the past prone to outbursts of uncontrolled anger, may not react at all well to what we had to tell her and therefore the inlaws had to be forewarned of the possibility of major fuckuppage as far as that relationship went.

The greatest fear for me was that VG would react the way so many of my friends did at the time of the assault. It took me a long time and a lot of therapy to accept that the way they handled it was unacceptable. You dont say to someone who has just been sexually assaulted by a friend "I cant believe that she would do that. There must be some mistake. Lets give her a second chance. Oh and by the way, we've invited both of you to the same parties so make nice and dont cause a scene." Okay no-one actually said that last bit, but it was still there, hanging in the air.

So while I was lunching with two internet buddies, Monkey Boy was lunching with Vegan Girl. Who not only took it much better than expected, but also wanted to know if we'd like to take out a contract on her. I dont want to know if she was serious. Not that I have the money anyway. But y'know... if you're a hit man with nothin to do...*

The truly worst thing about this is that I felt safe within the Monkey Boy clan. They are like a high wall protecting all within from the worst the world offers up. Until one of the worst things my world offered up to me managed to get inside, and now I know that no matter what I am not safe.

I'm thinking I might go build on my real estate on the Moon.

Erg. Heavy. Too heavy. Look at the pretty...




* I am joking. Dont come raid my house and arrest me n stuff.

Weekly Wrap-Up

Mamma still needs gin because she didnt get the birthday oysters on account of the fact that Someone wouldnt stop screaming in the car on the way back home for dinner, ergo straight to bed (him) without any dinner (me).

I did have a very nice birthday, thankyou very much. I even got to be assaulted by a kangaroo

and stalked by a peacock.

In addition, Spudly, now being a Very Big Boy, graduated from the capsule to the car seat...

and on the day he turned 4 months old, he grabbed his left foot with both hands and shoved it in is mouth.

We're very proud.

The shit that had hit the fan has been dealt with but has left a godawful stench, which I am currently trying to overpower with patchouli. Okay, okay, its not patchouli, its red wine. Will write about this later, maybe.

Monkey Boy goes in for surgery on his shoulder on Thursday, after a 2 year wait. It will be wonderful when its healed and he can do stuff without pain, but until then I get to be the Nursemaid, Chief Cook, Bottle-Washer and Sole Parent, and Wont That Be Fun.

Happy Birthday To Me!

Today I am officially one year older and hopefully one year wiser. Certainly one year closer to 40, which just does my head in.

So today will be spent at our first Playgroup with some New Chums (toys! sandbox!) followed by a visit to a wooden toy factory in the shape of a giant rockinghorse because apparently Spudly needs blocks.

His mamma needs oysters and gin.

Stolen

From two people, and you can argue amongst yourselves about which one I actually stole it off.

There's been shit going on that I just dont want to write about at this point and cant activate my brain to write about anything else, so here's some bloggy "hold" music until the shit has been cleaned from the fan.

You can steal this too. Well, since I just gave you permission, it aint stealing. The things emboldified I'm admitting to. The things not emboldified I either havent done or wont admit to in public. You be the judge.


01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone
08. Said 'I love you' and meant it
09. Hugged a tree
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Southern Lights [ed: adjusted for this hemisphere]
15. Gone to a huge sports game
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby's diaper
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon
22. Watched a meteor shower [ed: Leonid Meteor shower. truly awesome]
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Had two hard drives for your computer
40. Visited all 50 states
41. Taken care of someone who was shit faced
42. Had amazing friends
43. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
44. Watched wild whales
45. Stolen a sign
46. Backpacked in Europe
47. Taken a road-trip
48. Gone rock climbing
49. Midnight walk on the beach
50. Gone sky diving
51. Visited Ireland
52. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
53. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger's table and had a meal with them
54. Visited Japan
55. Milked a cow
56. Alphabetized your CDs
57. Pretended to be a superhero
58. Sung karaoke
59. Lounged around in bed all day
60. Posed nude in front of strangers
61. Gone scuba diving
62. Kissed in the rain
63. Played in the mud
64. Played in the rain
65. Gone to a drive-in theater
66. Visited the Great Wall of China
67. Started a business
68. Fallen in love and not had your heart broken
69. Toured ancient sites
70. Taken a martial arts class
71. Played D&D for more than 6 hours straight
72. Gotten married
73. Been in a movie [ed: well, tv show. I think that still counts]
74. Crashed a party
75. Gotten divorced
76. Gone without food for 5 days
77. Made cookies from scratch
78. Won first prize in a costume contest
79. Ridden a gondola in Venice
80. Gotten a tattoo
81. Rafted the Snake River
82. Been on television news programs as an "expert"
83. Got flowers for no reason
84. Performed on stage
85. Been to Las Vegas
86. Recorded music.
87. Eaten shark
88. Had a one-night stand
89. Gone to Thailand
90. Bought a house
91. Been in a combat zone
92. Buried one/both of your parents
93. Been on a cruise ship
94. Spoken more than one language fluently
95. Performed in Rocky Horror
96. Raised children (still working on this one!)
97. Followed your favorite band/singer on tour
98. Created and named your own constellation of stars
99. Taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country
100. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over
101. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge
102. Sang loudly in the car, and didn't stop when you knew someone was looking
103. Had plastic surgery
104. Survived an accident that you shouldn't have survived
105. Wrote articles for a large publication
106. Lost over 100 pounds
107. Held someone while they were having a flashback
108. Piloted an airplane
109. Petted a stingray
110. Broken someone's heart
111. Helped an animal give birth
112. Won money on a T.V. game show [I think prizes should count too]
113. Broken a bone
114. Gone on an African photo safari
115. Had a body part of yours below the neck pierced
116. Fired a rifle, shotgun, or pistol
117. Eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild
118. Ridden a horse
119. Had major surgery
120. Had a snake as a pet
121. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon
122. Slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours
123. Visited more foreign countries than U.S. states
124. Visited all 7 continents
125. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days
126. Eaten kangaroo meat
127. Eaten sushi
128. Had your picture in the newspaper
129. Changed someone's mind about something you care deeply about
130. Gone back to school
131. Parasailed
132. Petted a cockroach
133. Eaten fried green tomatoes
134. Read The Iliad - and the Odyssey
135. Selected one "important" author who you missed in school, and read
136. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
137. Skipped all your school reunions
138. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language
139. Been elected to public office
140. Written your own computer language
141. Thought to yourself that you're living your dream
142. Had to put someone you love into hospice care
143. Built your own PC from parts
144. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn't know you
145. Had a booth at a street fair
146: Dyed your hair
147: Been a DJ
148: Shaved your head
149: Caused a car accident
150: Saved someone's life

You Knew This Would Happen, Right?

I had to visit my parents on Friday. So you know where this post is going.

First, lets get the bitching out of the way.

You may remember that my brother visited back in May for my father's 90th birthday. Since I didnt see him, he left a present for Spudly with the folks.

A slight detour to give the backstory: when I were a wee thing, I had a china Bunnykins bowl. I started eating solids from this bowl. I remember eating cereal out of it before I started school. With nary a thought that I may like to have it for MY kids, my mother gave this bowl to my brother when he had his first child. I have never got over this. Call me bitter if you like. You'd be right. The bowl had sentimental value to me, and none to him. Not to mention the fact that it is now worth a fortune. [She also gave his son my STAMP COLLECTION without asking me. MINE. I spent my whole childhood collecting those stamps. Gave.them.away. Yes. Bitter.]

Back to the other day: So what, therefore, could be the most ironic present my brother could give me? A Melamine Bunnykins set. MELAMINE people. Not MY BOWL. Some cheap-ass replica of my bowl. Harumph!


Now to the olds...

Mother had brother go get money from the atm for her back in May. 2 weeks ago, after stretching the money as long as possible on the food purchasing, she ran out. And ran out of food. No.food. Oh, well, except for 3 tiny tins of peas, half a cup of sugar, a dash of milk, a teaspoon of jam and a small wadge of cheese. What did she do? She had COFFEE WITH LOTS OF SUGAR IN IT when she felt hungry. Fuck knows what my father ate; probably nothing going by how much weight he has lost.

Mother has still not seen a doctor about her fall, despite this now being over 12 months ago. Still uses the walking frame, still cant get into her own bed, still in pain. More importantly, still cant wear her support stockings for her severe varicose veins and thrombosis, so her legs and feet are now massively swollen to the point where her skin is cracking. My fear is that she will end up with a clot in her heart or brain and that'll be that.

Monkey Boy asked if I said anything to her about this, but what's the point? Really? Nothing will happen except more banshee screaming, and who needs that?

If I think about it too long I will get very angry at the system that allows this to happen. My hands are tied, and the doctors will not get involved unless either my mother or father asks for help, despite the fact that they are both manifestly mentally incompetant to do so.

OH! AND! The local gp they saw to get a referral to the Geriatician? The one who never saw my mother as a patient? Continues to write scripts for her blood pressure medication and faxes them to the chemist despite NEVER having taken my mother's blood pressure.

How is this "doing no harm"?

Reality Bites

Truth be told, I have never looked in the mirror and really seen my body. I, like so many other women, look and see what I think it looks like. It’s not true that I never had a weight problem. I never had an overweight problem. I had have a “body image problem”, an underweight problem, a…okay I have an eating disorder.

I never binge and then throw up food, nor do I think that every morsel of food that goes into my mouth is going to make me fat. I’ve only recently had it described to me as a form of OCD. My thing, that I didn’t even realize I did until last year in therapy, is that in times of stress when everything in my life seems to be going out of control, I stop eating. The only thing I can maintain any control over is what is going in to my body, so I stop putting anything into it. How fucked up is that?

For a number of months before I met Monkey Boy, I was so proud of myself for getting through each day on a glass of fruit juice and a toasted muffin with jam and cream. That was it. Oh, and the cigarettes that I chain smoked in order to conquer my appetite. I was 5’8” (173cm) and weighed 8 ¾ stone (58kg). My hip bones stuck out, my ribs were clearly visible. I fit into size 8 clothing. SIZE 8. (For you Time of Charlemagne types, this is the smallest adult dress size). I looked in the mirror and was not horrified by the skeleton before me; I saw large thighs that could use a few inches off them and a butt that was no longer pert.

I did gain weight once I was in a safe relationship. I went back to my normal size 12 and you could no longer count my ribs from across the room, but the disorder was still there. Much to my horror it remained even after I realized it existed. Apparently, knowledge of the existence of a problem doesn’t just make it go away. What’s THAT about? I was so sure that since I knew what the issue was and what the triggers for my hunger-strike were, I would just be able to recognize when I was doing it and stop.

Hmph. Seems it doesn’t work that way. Why not? is what I’d like to know. [Sidebar: yes, I have now accepted my status as a total control freak since I was angry I couldn’t control the eating disorder that manifests when I don’t have control. Help.me.]

Let’s face it; having a new baby is probably the situation in which one is going to feel the least in control, but not even breastfeeding and needing to increase my caloric intake made me able to stop. I couldn’t even make myself eat properly for the Spud. I really scratch my head and wonder why I can’t choose to exert control over this disorder with as much willpower as I clearly have to control my food intake.

When I look in the mirror at 3 months post-partum I REALLY don’t recognize the body I see. Not only have I retained 6 kilos of pregnancy weight (that’d be the éclairs) but the belly is all saggy baggy and definitely NOT about to be shown off in skimpy little midriff tops like it was when I was 30 weeks pregnant. Nor are my thighs ever going to see the light of day again. Actually, I’d prefer it if they never even saw the dark of day again: it’s just too horrendo. I think I’ll stay fully clothed at all times. I’m at the high end of the proper weight range for my height. It just seems like all that weight has now deposited itself between my navel and knees. I dislike the way my body looks now more than I’ve ever disliked it before, and I worry that not even upping the dose of Prozac [excellent OCD meds] will stop the hunger-strike returning.

Consequently, there was a moment of serendipity today when I came across a blog called Shape Of A Mother, where women can post pictures of their pregnant and post-pregnancy bellies and their stories of how their bodies changed after childbirth. If “mommy blogs” are all about telling the truth about motherhood, about “keeping it real”, then this is the ultimate in reality checks. Saggy bits, stretch marks from hell, its all there. It was a relief, a real relief to see my body in the photos posted by other women and knowing that they all look in the mirror and don’t recognize themselves either. So it’s not just me. We all look like this. This is what pregnancy does. This is what childbirth does. This is what breastfeeding does. This is the price you pay for becoming a fully-realized mammal.

I’m guessing that the price you pay for being a mother is relinquishing control.

I’m also guessing Spudly is going to teach me more than I’m going to teach him.

I beg to observe, that, of all the boys in the world, I believe this is the best boy.

Paraphrasing Dickens, of course, but it's true. We have the best boy.

I wasn't really aware of how developmentally accelerated Spudly is until last night, when we visited his new friend who is 4 weeks old. New Friend is smaller than the Spud was at birth, but weight-wise not significantly so. But even now, at one month old, he looks like Spud did at 4 days. Its in the eyes, in the head control and in his interactions.

We had to double-check this by going through all our photos this morning. Spud stopped looking like a newborn and started looking like a switched-on little person at one week. The difference just blows me away.

I'm guessing that somewhere in the chaos of the last 14 weeks we've stimulated the right pathways in his brain, the ones that tell him the world is interesting and that people are great and he is safe and secure. He's the only baby I've ever met that loves...LOVES...everyone.

And look...look how much the formula agrees with him:


And just because I'm feeling like an exceptionally proud mamma today, some gratuitous cute Spudly shots.

Here's One I'll Probably Regret Later

Monkey Boy has warned me against opening up this particular can of worms, and just to give him an opportunity to say "I told you so" and be right, I'm going to ignore his advice. Love you honey.

I recently pimped myself to joined up with Blogs By Women, a directory of (obviously) women bloggers. I had a look at their own blog and found a link to BlogSheroes: The Feminist Bloggers Network. With nothing better to do than to waste my download quota for the day, I had a look. And a thought occurred to me: isnt the term "feminist blogger" somewhat tautological? How can a woman be a blogger and not be a feminist? Isnt the very nature of being a) female and b) having a voice courtesy of blogging and writing about our lives in an honest way a feminist act in itself?

Monkey Boy disagrees with the notion that a woman can not be a feminist. I cant fathom a woman who does not believe in equal pay for equal work, the creation of a level playing field, the right to vote, the right to say "no", the right to control her fertility, the right to be treated with respect. To me, being female automatically implies being a feminist. To Monkey Boy, "feminist" is as ugly a word as its male counterpart, "chauvinist", implying seperatist notions, male-bashing, and unshaved armpits. I agree that this view of feminism is indeed ugly (especially the armpits) and I have never felt comfortable with a group of women who wish to sit around bagging men and spelling "women" with a "y" and two "m"s. But I'm not convinced that this is feminism, or if it is, its a version that is as old as the ashes of the bras that were once burned. I'm also not comfortable with the women who say "I'm not a feminist, but..." Maybe I'm just not comfortable with women. And if that's the case, can I still be a feminist?

So what is it that defines a feminist? Is it blaming men for everything whilst striving so hard to be just like them? Is it believing all people deserve to be treated equally in some circumstances or to have barriers removed so they can participate equally in others? Is it about respecting each other's differences? If you're a married stay-at-home mother who took her husband's surname and makes killer scones are you a traitor to the cause?

I'm really interested to find out what it is that YOU think defines a feminist.

Happy Happy Joy Joy

While refraining from using the "c" word (congratulations) I will now indulge myself in proliferous use of the PREGNANT word and point you in the direction of a PREGNANT Manuela, who has just embraced her PREGANTNESS after the latest startling and very very PREGNANT BETA.

Here's a chick who deserves all the congratulations in the world, but I will restrain myself as she has requested.

I will, however, say I am so freakin' happy for her and Mr. P that I just want to burst.

Oozing Hip-ness

Spudly gets lots of attention when we do our regular grocery shopping, because he's carried around in the Hug-a-Bub sling and because he's so damn cute. So its no big thing to have someone staring at him when we're in the lift back to the carpark. Of course she's staring. This is the cutest baby the world has ever seen. Who could resist him?

Imagine my distress when I put the Spud into the car and discover that aforementioned woman was not gawping at my son's beauty, but at the volume of thick white PUKE he had expectorated all over my hip "I really do have a place in the world and can get dressed before twelve" outfit.

Baby puke: its the new black.

Fuck You Too, Blogger

You dumb-ass piece of shit, you swallowed half my template and spat it out your dumb-ass somewhere near the Orion Nebula.

Most of my links have gone, so please dont think I've just dissed you. I have to find you all again.

Jesustapdancingchrist.

***update***

Well after FOUR FREAKIN HOURS I hope all the links are a) there and b) work. Let me know if you find a problem.

Cheers, and thanks for nothin, Blogger. Fix your goddamn bugs!

Shameless Self-Promotion

Since this describes me to a T (what IS that saying about? Do I look "T"shaped?) I considered it behooved me to join their Blogroll. Over there in the sidebar you'll find a big list of chicks who have a meaningful relationship with their computer.

Broaden your horizons and click on some of 'em.

In Which We Battle The Mucous...Oh The Mucous

You know you love your child when you have mucous secreting itself from (almost) every orifice, your ears are plugged up with something the consistency of road tar and your throat currently contains a rock covered in sandpaper and you still dont mind being up at 4am rocking him (hopefully) back to sleep. So this is parenthood.

As it turned out, he didnt go back to sleep. The 4am screamfest turned into a 5.30am breakfast snack and we're all still awake and arent we jolly about that.

Who are these morons saps people who think that having a child will help their (usually failing) marriage? What on earth would possess someone to think that having 2 adults sick enough to want to die and a baby with a temperature and some weird-ass cough thing going on who hasnt pooed in 3 days but continues to produce the MOTHER of all stinky farts and will NOT settle down and go to sleep is a sure-fire way of bringing you closer to your significant other? Because when the shrieking starts and drills through your head and your partner has to yell to be heard over the noise...then...then running away with Jack Sparrow looks like a Really Good Idea.

The Second Post For The Day or I'm Not Really A Sellout If I Believe In The Thing I'm Promoting. Am I?

Normally I totally ignore all the stuff that comes to my inbox from the plethora of blog directories I pimped myself to signed up with. I dont even know why I bothered opening this one particular email this morning. The lure of 20 free credits certainly isnt usually enough to generate enough interest to double click yet again. Maybe it was because Mercury is in retrograde (thanks for pointing this out Kevin), maybe it was because I've been sleep deprived for several days now and my decision making capabilities are not at their sharpest. Maybe it was because I needed to read what was contained therein for the goodness of my soul.

I choose Mercury In Retrograde, thanks Bob.

Whatever. I come clean now and say that those nice people over at BlogExplosion lured me to this website with the promise of 20 free credits to my account if I would please visit aforementioned nice website and write a blog entry about it. Now, I'm not one of those hussies who sell their souls to the devil (unlike those A-list Hollywood types who do shameless product endorsement but only in Japan or Outer Mongolia). I have Principles. My opinion cannot be bought and sold. Despite this I took their golden carrot and ventured forth into the murky world of Cash-For-Comment.

Fortunately, I liked what I saw. It appeals not only to the armchair activist in me but also to the philosopher, the wanna-be-but-is-too-cynical-politician and possibly also the inner child that still asks "but whyyyyyy?"

We all have questions about the world, about our society and culture, that we'd like answers to. More often than not these questions seem so big and daunting that we cant think of them as anything but rhetorical. Can there ever be an answer to "why do we claim that everyone is equal and judge the next person we meet?" or Does freedom of thought really exist?

Dropping Knowledge is an international collective whose mission is to collect such questions from people around the world and present them at their Table of Free Voices event in Berlin on September 9.

From their website:

"dropping knowledge will bring together 112 inspiring individuals to drop their knowledge at 100 of these questions; the answers will be filmed, generating some 600 hours of footage. The "ask yourself" campaign, Table of Free Voices and other dk activities exemplify the practice of asking and answering questions. Together, these activities pave the way for participation in the Living Library. "

The Living Library is an initiative that, from what I can gather, will act as a cross between a database and a giant chat-room, bringing together differing viewpoints on issues of global importance and acting as a kind of brain-storming session to develop solutions to our most pressing issues.

As a philosophy graduate, I believe that one should never stop asking questions even if you dont get answers to them. It is the asking itself that is important, that changes mindsets, that opens up possibilities. Do I think that this Table of Free Voices will come up with any concrete answers to the 100 questions that will be posed? No, I dont. Even if they did, who would actually commit themselves to do what was necessary? After all, we know the solutions to global warming but we cant even get our own government to commit to Kyoto. Indeed, one of the questions that has been submitted is Are asking questions going to motivate someone to take action? (by Michael Pokocky , 51, Ste-Adele/Quebec, Canada)

I think that the most important role Dropping Knowledge will play is in the mere posing of the questions, perhaps encouraging people to consider issues that wouldn't normally even occur to them. Issues such as this:

The Baby Drop Box at Altonaer Children’s Hostpital, Hamburg, Germany, is an alternative to infanticide.

Maybe the key to changing the world is knowing which questions to ask.

What A Difference A Year Makes

One year ago today two people who loved each other very much did something most couples take for granted: they had sex for fun. I know. I KNOW!! They didnt think about propping hips, about the sperm-killing qualities of massage lotion or about having to "clean the pipes" beforehand. They didnt care about the time of the month. Can you imagine??? It wasnt so much that they had given up on ever being able to conceive; they were just.so.tired of thinking about these things all.the.time.

One year ago today, possibly the one remaining non-ugly sperm somehow managed to make its way past the massage lotion and the thickened cervical mucous (without falling out) all the way up to the fallopian tube to meet one of the eggs that had been released that month without going polycystic. They made polite small talk: possibly even asked do you come here often? Then, much like the people they belonged to, they decided straight away that they should get together and make a baby.

One year ago today the thing the medicos said couldnt happen, happened.

One year.

And we've gone from this:

to this:

And it blows me away every single day.

"They Wont Remember A Thing"

It's one of those ever-so-useful platitudes that people like to trot out whenever your baby is undergoing some painful procedure like immunisations or being made to dress up like a caribou. Like most platitudes it is supposed to be helpful, alleviate stress and/or guilt, reassure parents that they have done the right thing (well, maybe not the caribou suit) and make the person who said it feel better. Like most plattitudes, it does none of these things except the last, and it isn't true.

Here's the thing: they may not consciously remember their first needle or that time you spilled red wine on them (okay the time I spilled the red wine) or the fact that mum and dad were not getting along too well or the time you left them to Cry It Out, but you cant tell me that it doesnt affect (affect? effect? I never bloody know) them and leave some sort of mark upon their personalities.

Babies' brains are blank slates when they are born, and their earliest experiences shape the physical structure of the brain itself. The process of interacting with its people and its environment stimulates various parts of the brain, impacting not only on the number of brain cells and the number of connections between them but also the way in which these connections are wired. Over-stimulate the part of the brain that deals with stress responses and you will develop a brain that reacts as if a stress response is required even when it isnt.

When I understood this (for I didnt even realise this was the case until a few weeks ago) it had a profound affect on me. For two reasons. Firstly, the realisation that every.single.thing I do shapes Spudly's personality. Everything. Crying every evening because he was starving and we couldnt figure that out: some brain cells were stimulated and others died because of it. Holding him close for the better part of every day and responding immediately to his cries that mean "my butt's all poopy" "I'm gassy" and "I'm unsettled and feel like a grizzle" stimulate the warm and fuzzy pathways. On the whole, I think the warm and fuzzy pathways are winning out, but what a totally awesome (in the true sense of the word) responsibility. Obviously, I understood before that how we treat Spudly affects how he behaves in the world and how he feels about himself and others, but I didn't consider that how we treat him physically changes his brain so that he wont be able to respond differently to how WE hard-wire him. Fuck that's huge.

Secondly, it made me realise some things about myself. Since Spudly was born I've often ruminated upon what life was like in the House of the Mini Panda. My mother has told tales of being home after her 6 week hospital stay (following pre-eclampsia, 7 day labour, emergency c-section, baby born not breathing and not being able to see her for 3 days, and not having any milk to feed her) and being expected by the Husband and the Three Teenage Sons to pick up where she left off, i.e. her rightful position as their personal slave. She cried into the bucket of nappies on a regular basis from what I gather, and had to deal with not only the expectations of four less-than-enlightened males but also a baby who wouldnt stop screaming or go to sleep without the addition of Baby Valium (I shit you not). Knowing my father and brothers as I do, its not hard for me to picture the atmosphere in that house. The tension, the arguments, the screaming (not just from me) and more than likely the physical abuse. Is it any wonder that that baby grew up into a child and then adult with severe anxiety issues? Is it any wonder that she has suffered depression most of her life? Is it any wonder that a sudden loud voice, whether in anger or in fun, sends chills down her spine and does weird squidgy things to her guts?

For so long I put these things down to the things in my life that I could remember. The physical abuse my mother and I suffered from my father, the abuse I suffered from my mother, the violent relationship I ended up in with Fuckhead. The depression and anxiety disorder I put down to me being somehow weak or not made of strong enough moral fibre. I'm not denying the profound effect my remembered experiences have had on my personality, but what a shock it is to realise that the things I cant remember have had the biggest impact of all.

I'm not even sure how I feel about this. Relieved. Disturbed. Angry. Sad. Mostly relieved, I think. It goes a long way towards explaining why now that I'm in a loving, safe and supportive environment I feel like I'm out of my comfort zone and have to continually remind myself that this is a Good Thing. My comfort zone is that which was hard-wired into me in infancy. And its not a place I want to or should stay.


Speaking of the things they wont remember, here's some evidence for later court trials:

Mamma and Spudly do that 'net thing

Spudly says "Lemme see what you're doin..."

In case you cant quite read his t-shirt...