oh my god my tits are ENORMOUS
I can't see my belly let alone my feet
& I am literally EXPLODING out of clothes
god, finally gravity (or at least whatever zeppelin force is buoying these puppies up )is back on my side & it's totally wasted
i have to sleep on my back to avoid the altitude-induced nose bleeds but then I have nightmares about being pummeled in the face with volleyballs
Showing posts with label InsideMyHead. Show all posts
Showing posts with label InsideMyHead. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Bully for me...
I've never felt so bullied in my life as I have this past month or so.
So many people with their questions & advice & demands & directions.
Why did my suddenly becoming a mother again mean that I need to be directed like a child?
Ok, so to set the record straight...
I know DeadBeatDad and DeadBeatDad2Be should pay maintenance. But I have handed that over to the government to chase - and maybe Legal Aid when I am officially unemployed - because I simply cannot spend my days and my sparse cash on crying, demanding phone calls to invisible men.
My family can do without the money, we have until now, but we won't survive if I'm a nervous, crying wreck.
I still remember the day my six-year-old daughter told my mother 'I think it's good now - Mum doesn't cry all the time anymore'...and she was talking about before the divorce (so don't ever think they don't notice).
I will NOT go back there to that dark, desperate place again.
I know it's only going to be harder once I can't work the same way I do now, or expect the wage I get, but I cannot imagine coming back to work six days and two nights a week when the baby is a year old - and I cannot bear to see all my hard work full apart while this place waits for me to decide what I want to do.
The people I work with deserve a boss who cares and is committed and will still be here in a year's time.
Yes, & maybe my employers can afford to wait around for a year with 'fill-ins' for my job, but can my community? Can the paper?
The 'advisors' tell me I should quit, I should stay, I should demand my fair share, I should squeeze 'them' for all they've got...why do I have to be a blood-sucking bitch?
Aren't I already a cliche without being a bitter, angry, free-loading single mother of three as well?
My kids, all three of my kids, are going to need me at home this time around.
It's the bravest decision I've ever made because I couldn't do it when I had a husband there alongside me, I couldn't trust him to make it all ok while I stayed home to be a Mum. I couldn't risk him fucking up our world again.
But I'm going to trust ME to make it all ok.
& for all those people who have a piece of advice for me - well hold onto it.
Maybe you'll get to say 'I told you so' later - or maybe I'll surprise us all.
So many people with their questions & advice & demands & directions.
Why did my suddenly becoming a mother again mean that I need to be directed like a child?
Ok, so to set the record straight...
I know DeadBeatDad and DeadBeatDad2Be should pay maintenance. But I have handed that over to the government to chase - and maybe Legal Aid when I am officially unemployed - because I simply cannot spend my days and my sparse cash on crying, demanding phone calls to invisible men.
My family can do without the money, we have until now, but we won't survive if I'm a nervous, crying wreck.
I still remember the day my six-year-old daughter told my mother 'I think it's good now - Mum doesn't cry all the time anymore'...and she was talking about before the divorce (so don't ever think they don't notice).
I will NOT go back there to that dark, desperate place again.
I know it's only going to be harder once I can't work the same way I do now, or expect the wage I get, but I cannot imagine coming back to work six days and two nights a week when the baby is a year old - and I cannot bear to see all my hard work full apart while this place waits for me to decide what I want to do.
The people I work with deserve a boss who cares and is committed and will still be here in a year's time.
Yes, & maybe my employers can afford to wait around for a year with 'fill-ins' for my job, but can my community? Can the paper?
The 'advisors' tell me I should quit, I should stay, I should demand my fair share, I should squeeze 'them' for all they've got...why do I have to be a blood-sucking bitch?
Aren't I already a cliche without being a bitter, angry, free-loading single mother of three as well?
My kids, all three of my kids, are going to need me at home this time around.
It's the bravest decision I've ever made because I couldn't do it when I had a husband there alongside me, I couldn't trust him to make it all ok while I stayed home to be a Mum. I couldn't risk him fucking up our world again.
But I'm going to trust ME to make it all ok.
& for all those people who have a piece of advice for me - well hold onto it.
Maybe you'll get to say 'I told you so' later - or maybe I'll surprise us all.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Goldilocks and the D3
I received a phone call from the doctor’s surgery today to tell me my blood results are back and that I’m pretty damn low in Vitamin D.
Fair enough, it explains the tiredness and bruising a little but when she first introduced herself on the phone my breath stopped.
Now, just this week I started taking a general pregnancy multi-vitamin that has already made me feel a little better, especially in the heat when I didn’t want to eat anything but iceblocks.
To put things in perspective, instead of working solidly to my usual Thursday routine today I’ve had ‘the talk’ with my boss and the idea of being officially unemployed next year is making me squeamish, then I had a meeting with a community group that sucked up the rest of the day on patting backs and kissing…cheeks.
So I was very self-aware that my own patience was already at stretching point and I did not want to go to the pharmacy and I had things to do back in the office.
I was already frazzled, I admit that.
…so here’s where it starts heating up.
I front up to the pharmacy with my instruction for 1000 units of Vitamin D.
The pharmacist I’m talking to speaks English as a second language and has a habit of saying ‘yes’ when she means ‘no’ and vice versa.
She pointed out that they had a few choices for me.
There was a choice of 1000 units of Vitamin D (there was something called D3 but we won’t even go there), there was the 250 units and the 500 units but that comes with calcium built in.
I am already taking 250 units of D in my multivitamin and 59mg of calcium.
The instruction says I can take two tablets of the multivitamin daily – I’m only taking one (my argument is we eat well, I only need one, one has made enough of a difference).
…are you keeping up?
Ok – so I can’t take the 1000 unit tablets. That’s too much.
I don't want to buy the 250 units - that really isn’t enough.
But the 500 units has Calcium.
And I asked ‘are there any dangers associated with taking too much calcium’? And the pharmacist said ‘no, your kidneys’, with a worried look on her face.
…still with me?
Now in the middle of this we’ve had three visits behind the desk to consult with the other pharmacist and check the computer for information about this cocktail of minerals, vitamins & trace elements.
Ok – so I walk back to the wall of vitamins and I pull down the one I’m already taking and arrange about $220 worth of bottles in front of me on the counter and start playing that game where the fraudster shuffles cups around in front of you.
‘Ok,’ I say. ‘I can’t take this one,” slide to the right. ‘But this one and this one,’ slide to the left, ‘aren’t enough?’
Then she has her turn.
‘Ah, but this one,’ slide to the right ‘you should be taking two of, and that is too much to take this one as well,’ slide to the left.
‘But I’m only taking one of these,’ feint right, slide back ‘do I need to take two if the one I’m taking is making me feel better?’
‘But your doctor said…’
...stop. Recoup.
‘Can I take too much Vitamin D?’
‘mmmmh? Maybe you should ring your doctor to be sure.’
'But I won't see my doctor until the 30th and I'd like to sort this out now as they implied that I really need to get some more Vitamin D into me.'
And then I asked again.
‘Is there a level of calcium that is unsafe?’
‘No. But your kidneys’
What?! What is that? Is that a ‘no’ or a ‘yes’?
I tried again. From a slightly different angle.
‘Is there a problem if I take too much calcium?’
‘Oh no, calcium is very good for your teeth and bones and when the baby’s teeth and bones are forming…but you should not take too much because it is bad for your kidneys.’
…now, this is where you stop, and breathe.
Because it’s sure as hell what I had to do at that point.
I actually felt myself step back from the counter in some kind of self-censorship of my thoughts...or in preparation for leaping over the lipgloss testers and jelly beans to throttle the mild-manner chemist.
So, while the pharmacist went back to her computer (I'll just check) I stormed out of the pharmacy with two bottles in my hand (unpaid for mind you & valued at roughly the same amount as my eldest child's annual school fees) to where I’d seen the local GP taking getting her hair tinted in the hairdresser’s next door.
The poor be-foiled, be-smocked medico was confronted by a red-faced virago shaking a giant bottle in each hand like maraccas and shouting: ‘can I take this with this without my baby growing tusks or having a concertina spine?’
Her answer: ‘yup – no problem’.
…oh no. I’m not done yet.
Back through the swinging doors of the pharmacy like a gunslinger I strode, slapping down my two bottles amidst the cornucopia of supplements now littering the counter, along with the $80 of giftware I’d somehow collected by osmosis in my half hour of prolonged negotiations.
Shocked by the final amount, I split it between my card and account, already itching to be back at my desk and put as much distance as possible between me and the pharmacist’s eager but uncertain expression.
I stormed up the street like a madwoman with my arms full of rattling bottles and gift-wrapped boxes (I’m sorry, that won’t fit in our bags) only to discover as I unpacked all the bits and bobs into my bag at the office that I HAD JUST SPENT AN EXTRA $66 TO PURCHASE THE ‘EXAMPLE’ VITAMINS I HAD ALREADY BOUGHT A WEEK AGO!
…I may, just possibly, have been sobbing by this point.
So back went the virago, waving a bottle the size of a teapot in front of her.
‘I don’t want this one!’
And the lovely, sweet, mild-looking pharmacist said to me ‘but I don’t know how to refund an account purchase’.
Which is about where the retail assistant made eye contact with me from the depths of the shelves (her eyes urgent and placating, mine wide and manic), leaned over to the pharmacist and whispered ‘F2’.
…and that was juuuust right.
Fair enough, it explains the tiredness and bruising a little but when she first introduced herself on the phone my breath stopped.
Now, just this week I started taking a general pregnancy multi-vitamin that has already made me feel a little better, especially in the heat when I didn’t want to eat anything but iceblocks.
To put things in perspective, instead of working solidly to my usual Thursday routine today I’ve had ‘the talk’ with my boss and the idea of being officially unemployed next year is making me squeamish, then I had a meeting with a community group that sucked up the rest of the day on patting backs and kissing…cheeks.
So I was very self-aware that my own patience was already at stretching point and I did not want to go to the pharmacy and I had things to do back in the office.
I was already frazzled, I admit that.
…so here’s where it starts heating up.
I front up to the pharmacy with my instruction for 1000 units of Vitamin D.
The pharmacist I’m talking to speaks English as a second language and has a habit of saying ‘yes’ when she means ‘no’ and vice versa.
She pointed out that they had a few choices for me.
There was a choice of 1000 units of Vitamin D (there was something called D3 but we won’t even go there), there was the 250 units and the 500 units but that comes with calcium built in.
I am already taking 250 units of D in my multivitamin and 59mg of calcium.
The instruction says I can take two tablets of the multivitamin daily – I’m only taking one (my argument is we eat well, I only need one, one has made enough of a difference).
…are you keeping up?
Ok – so I can’t take the 1000 unit tablets. That’s too much.
I don't want to buy the 250 units - that really isn’t enough.
But the 500 units has Calcium.
And I asked ‘are there any dangers associated with taking too much calcium’? And the pharmacist said ‘no, your kidneys’, with a worried look on her face.
…still with me?
Now in the middle of this we’ve had three visits behind the desk to consult with the other pharmacist and check the computer for information about this cocktail of minerals, vitamins & trace elements.
Ok – so I walk back to the wall of vitamins and I pull down the one I’m already taking and arrange about $220 worth of bottles in front of me on the counter and start playing that game where the fraudster shuffles cups around in front of you.
‘Ok,’ I say. ‘I can’t take this one,” slide to the right. ‘But this one and this one,’ slide to the left, ‘aren’t enough?’
Then she has her turn.
‘Ah, but this one,’ slide to the right ‘you should be taking two of, and that is too much to take this one as well,’ slide to the left.
‘But I’m only taking one of these,’ feint right, slide back ‘do I need to take two if the one I’m taking is making me feel better?’
‘But your doctor said…’
...stop. Recoup.
‘Can I take too much Vitamin D?’
‘mmmmh? Maybe you should ring your doctor to be sure.’
'But I won't see my doctor until the 30th and I'd like to sort this out now as they implied that I really need to get some more Vitamin D into me.'
And then I asked again.
‘Is there a level of calcium that is unsafe?’
‘No. But your kidneys’
What?! What is that? Is that a ‘no’ or a ‘yes’?
I tried again. From a slightly different angle.
‘Is there a problem if I take too much calcium?’
‘Oh no, calcium is very good for your teeth and bones and when the baby’s teeth and bones are forming…but you should not take too much because it is bad for your kidneys.’
…now, this is where you stop, and breathe.
Because it’s sure as hell what I had to do at that point.
I actually felt myself step back from the counter in some kind of self-censorship of my thoughts...or in preparation for leaping over the lipgloss testers and jelly beans to throttle the mild-manner chemist.
So, while the pharmacist went back to her computer (I'll just check) I stormed out of the pharmacy with two bottles in my hand (unpaid for mind you & valued at roughly the same amount as my eldest child's annual school fees) to where I’d seen the local GP taking getting her hair tinted in the hairdresser’s next door.
The poor be-foiled, be-smocked medico was confronted by a red-faced virago shaking a giant bottle in each hand like maraccas and shouting: ‘can I take this with this without my baby growing tusks or having a concertina spine?’
Her answer: ‘yup – no problem’.
…oh no. I’m not done yet.
Back through the swinging doors of the pharmacy like a gunslinger I strode, slapping down my two bottles amidst the cornucopia of supplements now littering the counter, along with the $80 of giftware I’d somehow collected by osmosis in my half hour of prolonged negotiations.
Shocked by the final amount, I split it between my card and account, already itching to be back at my desk and put as much distance as possible between me and the pharmacist’s eager but uncertain expression.
I stormed up the street like a madwoman with my arms full of rattling bottles and gift-wrapped boxes (I’m sorry, that won’t fit in our bags) only to discover as I unpacked all the bits and bobs into my bag at the office that I HAD JUST SPENT AN EXTRA $66 TO PURCHASE THE ‘EXAMPLE’ VITAMINS I HAD ALREADY BOUGHT A WEEK AGO!
…I may, just possibly, have been sobbing by this point.
So back went the virago, waving a bottle the size of a teapot in front of her.
‘I don’t want this one!’
And the lovely, sweet, mild-looking pharmacist said to me ‘but I don’t know how to refund an account purchase’.
Which is about where the retail assistant made eye contact with me from the depths of the shelves (her eyes urgent and placating, mine wide and manic), leaned over to the pharmacist and whispered ‘F2’.
…and that was juuuust right.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Phew!
This week things started to fall in place.
In a flurry of people desperately trying to work out the gossip without me realising they were gossiping (facebook people? really?) finally a friend just walked up to me, laughing her head off, and wrapped me up in a big hug. She's the same person who rang me up, sotto voice, to tell me baby bottles were 50 per cent off at the pharmacy this week.
My dad, whose been having a quiet breakdown of his own after a friend had a mini-stroke in front of him, he learned that my Aunty has advanced breast cancer & his divorcee daughter announced her unplanned pregnancy all in the same week - bought a second-hand cot this week.
So I'll take it as a good sign that he's getting warmed up to the idea of another baby in his life.
My mum is shopping.
It was she who, when my dad had a little schitz fit, told him to "man up and be happy".
The Boy told me "I'm happy if it's a boy, I don't know how I feel if it's a girl" and The Girl just doesn't want to share her room so we'll be spending the maternity leave months setting up the shed as a teenage retreat.
A (harmless but ditzy) friend was full of congratulations and, when she asked about the dad I simply said he wouldn't be around, she asked me outright "he's not married or anything is he?" which was a relief in that I'm sure that's what people are discussing but wouldn't dare mention in my hearing.
I think my splurt of laughter may have been more convincing than my actual denial.
Turns out we still had a high chair & car seat that I put aside for my brother's breeding years.
I've got a baby bath, a few clothes, started buying nappies, bottles & a nappy bag now.
I've got a lead on a cheap but reliable car and just need a sturdy pram and a rocker/feeder chair.
Fingers crossed my boss will take me on part-time afterwards, but I definitely won't be coming back to work this much. I've already turned down two promotions this quarter because I decided I couldn't move the kids or take on more responsiblity - turns out those were EXACTLY the right decisions to make.
I'm glad I made them before the baby came along too, so I'll always know I chose to stay here no matter what.
The kids are happy - they think it'll mean they'll have more time with me. Ha ha - little do they know ;)
Mr Right & I are still friends. It's kind of sad to take that step backwards again but all the reasons I like him are the reasons he knows better than to take on a pregnant woman with two almost-teen kids.
I guess I'd be suspicious of anyone desperate enough to think my package would be a good deal - but we are you know.
And I'm starting to feel happy about the future again now that the shock is (slowly) wearing off.
It's important that I'm happy before this baby comes along - s/he deserves all the love in the world and I refuse to do it any other way.
In a flurry of people desperately trying to work out the gossip without me realising they were gossiping (facebook people? really?) finally a friend just walked up to me, laughing her head off, and wrapped me up in a big hug. She's the same person who rang me up, sotto voice, to tell me baby bottles were 50 per cent off at the pharmacy this week.
My dad, whose been having a quiet breakdown of his own after a friend had a mini-stroke in front of him, he learned that my Aunty has advanced breast cancer & his divorcee daughter announced her unplanned pregnancy all in the same week - bought a second-hand cot this week.
So I'll take it as a good sign that he's getting warmed up to the idea of another baby in his life.
My mum is shopping.
It was she who, when my dad had a little schitz fit, told him to "man up and be happy".
The Boy told me "I'm happy if it's a boy, I don't know how I feel if it's a girl" and The Girl just doesn't want to share her room so we'll be spending the maternity leave months setting up the shed as a teenage retreat.
A (harmless but ditzy) friend was full of congratulations and, when she asked about the dad I simply said he wouldn't be around, she asked me outright "he's not married or anything is he?" which was a relief in that I'm sure that's what people are discussing but wouldn't dare mention in my hearing.
I think my splurt of laughter may have been more convincing than my actual denial.
Turns out we still had a high chair & car seat that I put aside for my brother's breeding years.
I've got a baby bath, a few clothes, started buying nappies, bottles & a nappy bag now.
I've got a lead on a cheap but reliable car and just need a sturdy pram and a rocker/feeder chair.
Fingers crossed my boss will take me on part-time afterwards, but I definitely won't be coming back to work this much. I've already turned down two promotions this quarter because I decided I couldn't move the kids or take on more responsiblity - turns out those were EXACTLY the right decisions to make.
I'm glad I made them before the baby came along too, so I'll always know I chose to stay here no matter what.
The kids are happy - they think it'll mean they'll have more time with me. Ha ha - little do they know ;)
Mr Right & I are still friends. It's kind of sad to take that step backwards again but all the reasons I like him are the reasons he knows better than to take on a pregnant woman with two almost-teen kids.
I guess I'd be suspicious of anyone desperate enough to think my package would be a good deal - but we are you know.
And I'm starting to feel happy about the future again now that the shock is (slowly) wearing off.
It's important that I'm happy before this baby comes along - s/he deserves all the love in the world and I refuse to do it any other way.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sad...
BUB is having a breakdown.
So far he's considered abortion, adoption, abandonment, suicide, probably homicide, denial, unemployment & self-exile to a non-extradition country.
I tried, I tried to be patient, I tried to understand that he's as panicked as I am but when he started talking about the deep depression he had been plunged into I kind of lost my last thread of sympathy.
I believe my reply was something along the lines of 'hey, you were holding the gun when the trigger went off and now you've left me to carry the bullet - you're talking about your back pocket while I'm developing a hunchfront'.
I hope he gets it together. I hope it all works out one day and this baby doesn't have to fight to know his/her own family, but right now I'm too busy building arms & legs to deal with a grown man having a sook about maintenance & gossip.
I learnt my lesson the first time - better a happy, stable family with one less person in the mix than a mixed up angry environment where everyone bears the bullshit.
So Bubbles - right now, it's just you, me, your big sister, your big brother, your Nanna & your Grumpy, a loving Aunty & a cheeky Uncle, two evil cats (you can't play with them right way, ok?) and a giant huskie dog that I'm training to pull a sandboard.
When you look at it that way - I guess you're gonna be ok.
That's a lot of people to love, & to love you back.
So far he's considered abortion, adoption, abandonment, suicide, probably homicide, denial, unemployment & self-exile to a non-extradition country.
I tried, I tried to be patient, I tried to understand that he's as panicked as I am but when he started talking about the deep depression he had been plunged into I kind of lost my last thread of sympathy.
I believe my reply was something along the lines of 'hey, you were holding the gun when the trigger went off and now you've left me to carry the bullet - you're talking about your back pocket while I'm developing a hunchfront'.
I hope he gets it together. I hope it all works out one day and this baby doesn't have to fight to know his/her own family, but right now I'm too busy building arms & legs to deal with a grown man having a sook about maintenance & gossip.
I learnt my lesson the first time - better a happy, stable family with one less person in the mix than a mixed up angry environment where everyone bears the bullshit.
So Bubbles - right now, it's just you, me, your big sister, your big brother, your Nanna & your Grumpy, a loving Aunty & a cheeky Uncle, two evil cats (you can't play with them right way, ok?) and a giant huskie dog that I'm training to pull a sandboard.
When you look at it that way - I guess you're gonna be ok.
That's a lot of people to love, & to love you back.
Schadenfreude
God I am over the gossip.
If I've kept my private life private this long, you think people would get the hint.
The day the kids were allowed to tell their friends, the day I told my boss, the same day they were discussing potential fathers at the pub and two days later someone stood up at the local church and asked 200 people to pray for me.
Apparently the gasp that swept through the congregation was like the holy breath of God, blowing everyone before it.
How come they didn't want to pray for me when I was just a sinning aetheist divorcee?
Maybe if they'd done it then I wouldn't be shifting priorities so suddenly now?
If I've kept my private life private this long, you think people would get the hint.
The day the kids were allowed to tell their friends, the day I told my boss, the same day they were discussing potential fathers at the pub and two days later someone stood up at the local church and asked 200 people to pray for me.
Apparently the gasp that swept through the congregation was like the holy breath of God, blowing everyone before it.
How come they didn't want to pray for me when I was just a sinning aetheist divorcee?
Maybe if they'd done it then I wouldn't be shifting priorities so suddenly now?
Earth mother
Why am I so tired?
I don't remember being so tired?
According to my (slightly rose-tinted) memories I was an earth goddess last time I was pregnant a whole decade ago.
This time, I just feel like mud.
I don't remember being so tired?
According to my (slightly rose-tinted) memories I was an earth goddess last time I was pregnant a whole decade ago.
This time, I just feel like mud.
Surprise!
Ok - the world has turned upside down in a comedy of errors I was never prepared for.
At the same time that I met someone special, I was still knocking boots occasionally with BUB.
About the time Mr Right & I decided we should do something serious about our feelings & shed the baggage, well, turns out BUB & I might have had one 'one last time' one time too many.
I'm pregnant.
More than that though. I'm 14 weeks pregnant.
Let me explain. I'm not one of those Amish tweenies who doesn't know how it all works.
It's just, well, I don't have normal periods & I've been seriously sick in the past 'down there' so when the periods stopped but the two pregnancy tests came back negative (two! count 'em two!) and after all, we used condoms, I just assumed the worst.
And the worst meant seeing a doctor, which is difficult to organise when your GP is muslim & won't touch anything below the tonsils but you can't drive the hour & a half to an alternative medical centre because you work six days a week and you have two kids to pick up after school for basketball/cricket/scouts/dance/insert activity here.
Then, still no periods, and I started to bruise for no reason. And I was teary & tired and obviously something was wrong so I took the afternoon off & made the drive...but then the GP I was scheduled to see got called into surgery and no one else was available.
So two weeks later I finally get in to see a GP & she's only booked me in for the normal appointment but yes, with my history, it does sound like what I'm expecting but we'll do all the tests just to be sure.
And so, the next day, half way between a meeting with grain cooperative shareholders and the local mining alliance I get a phone call from the medical receptionist who has news that I need to know but she really doesn't want to have to tell me but the GP is already on holidays and...WHAM!
I mean, I thought I was dying. Seriously dying. I'd sorted out my will & let my parents know who would raise my kids & that I wanted to be an organ donor but this?
Jeez, I was prepared for bad news - but I don't even know what kind of news this is?
I found myself crying in a running car on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere - breaking up with the bloke I was half in love with over the phone and breaking the news to the less-than-impressed father on a mobile phone.
I'm 35. I'm having a baby on my own. I'm absolutely terrified.
At the same time that I met someone special, I was still knocking boots occasionally with BUB.
About the time Mr Right & I decided we should do something serious about our feelings & shed the baggage, well, turns out BUB & I might have had one 'one last time' one time too many.
I'm pregnant.
More than that though. I'm 14 weeks pregnant.
Let me explain. I'm not one of those Amish tweenies who doesn't know how it all works.
It's just, well, I don't have normal periods & I've been seriously sick in the past 'down there' so when the periods stopped but the two pregnancy tests came back negative (two! count 'em two!) and after all, we used condoms, I just assumed the worst.
And the worst meant seeing a doctor, which is difficult to organise when your GP is muslim & won't touch anything below the tonsils but you can't drive the hour & a half to an alternative medical centre because you work six days a week and you have two kids to pick up after school for basketball/cricket/scouts/dance/insert activity here.
Then, still no periods, and I started to bruise for no reason. And I was teary & tired and obviously something was wrong so I took the afternoon off & made the drive...but then the GP I was scheduled to see got called into surgery and no one else was available.
So two weeks later I finally get in to see a GP & she's only booked me in for the normal appointment but yes, with my history, it does sound like what I'm expecting but we'll do all the tests just to be sure.
And so, the next day, half way between a meeting with grain cooperative shareholders and the local mining alliance I get a phone call from the medical receptionist who has news that I need to know but she really doesn't want to have to tell me but the GP is already on holidays and...WHAM!
I mean, I thought I was dying. Seriously dying. I'd sorted out my will & let my parents know who would raise my kids & that I wanted to be an organ donor but this?
Jeez, I was prepared for bad news - but I don't even know what kind of news this is?
I found myself crying in a running car on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere - breaking up with the bloke I was half in love with over the phone and breaking the news to the less-than-impressed father on a mobile phone.
I'm 35. I'm having a baby on my own. I'm absolutely terrified.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Achieving my goals...
In keeping with the spirit of the front line management training I am due to fly interstate for at 6am Monday morning, I have made myself a list of jobs that need to be done before I can head out.
I was so tired this week after not only getting the paper out as usual, but trying to achieve all the jobs on my list that when I finally woke up in the morning I had a list of six or seven booty texts on both my phones that I had simply slept through.
I still haven't finished Item 1: washing all the bedding or Item 4. packing the kids' clothes but I quite enjoyed putting a big red line through Item 7: putting Back-up Boy firmly in his place one last time before having mad, crazy goodbye sex on Friday
One more box...ticked!
I was so tired this week after not only getting the paper out as usual, but trying to achieve all the jobs on my list that when I finally woke up in the morning I had a list of six or seven booty texts on both my phones that I had simply slept through.
I still haven't finished Item 1: washing all the bedding or Item 4. packing the kids' clothes but I quite enjoyed putting a big red line through Item 7: putting Back-up Boy firmly in his place one last time before having mad, crazy goodbye sex on Friday
One more box...ticked!
The end is nigh!
The strangest little old lady in the world stopped me today to tell me that she likes my headlines.
I was a little surpried because I always think my headlines are strange & cliched (it's not my most obvious skill).
...and then I looked at her, with her prolific letter-to-the-editor writing & her mismatched op shop dress sense & her evil dachshund dog & her prozac gaze & her random oh-so-chatty visits to my office & I realised that if she & I are on the same wavelength then I've just been offered a frightening vision of my own future.
The end is nigh!
I was a little surpried because I always think my headlines are strange & cliched (it's not my most obvious skill).
...and then I looked at her, with her prolific letter-to-the-editor writing & her mismatched op shop dress sense & her evil dachshund dog & her prozac gaze & her random oh-so-chatty visits to my office & I realised that if she & I are on the same wavelength then I've just been offered a frightening vision of my own future.
The end is nigh!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Something to aim for...
Does anyone else enjoying the irony of watching Australia's Biggest Loser with a packet of Tim Tams and a can of Coke?
I like to watch Top Model in a tracksuit & ugg boots too.
I like to watch Top Model in a tracksuit & ugg boots too.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
A life in writing...
I love how the world turns on its axis back to the same place, over the years.
When I was a child I had pen pals. Strangers I talked with in England or Pakistan, even, that left their name in a magazine or a newsletter hoping to meet someone different, somewhere different.
In times of war, women at home wrote to the 'brave GIs', creating relationships out of nothing except shared memories and hopes.
Now we throw our personal information out into cyberspace in the hopes of making a connection.
We write to people we've never met, may never meet, and build relationships out of the fantasy people we create out of their written words.
And words are so fluid, so malleable. Words lie.
I can mould them to mean something here, in my mind, and send them out for someone else to mould into a new shape that fits them.
Is the internet reviving the poetry and romance of the written word? Or is it perpetuating pretence?
And yet, anyone who has ever received a postcard from a friend, or a letter from a lover, knows that they can be a window into a person's soul, a chance to be truly honest without guile or pettiness.
How freeing it can be to take the feelings flapping around inside us, capture them in words and press them down onto a page to keep. How revealing.
It's easy to fall in love with someone's words (distance makes it easy to ignore snoring & body odor & dirty dishes in the sink).
And just think - wouldn't the World War I veterans have preferred a Skype striptease to a Vargas postcard and a flimsy letter pressed between the pages of a bible?
When I was a child I had pen pals. Strangers I talked with in England or Pakistan, even, that left their name in a magazine or a newsletter hoping to meet someone different, somewhere different.
In times of war, women at home wrote to the 'brave GIs', creating relationships out of nothing except shared memories and hopes.
Now we throw our personal information out into cyberspace in the hopes of making a connection.
We write to people we've never met, may never meet, and build relationships out of the fantasy people we create out of their written words.
And words are so fluid, so malleable. Words lie.
I can mould them to mean something here, in my mind, and send them out for someone else to mould into a new shape that fits them.
Is the internet reviving the poetry and romance of the written word? Or is it perpetuating pretence?
And yet, anyone who has ever received a postcard from a friend, or a letter from a lover, knows that they can be a window into a person's soul, a chance to be truly honest without guile or pettiness.
How freeing it can be to take the feelings flapping around inside us, capture them in words and press them down onto a page to keep. How revealing.
It's easy to fall in love with someone's words (distance makes it easy to ignore snoring & body odor & dirty dishes in the sink).
And just think - wouldn't the World War I veterans have preferred a Skype striptease to a Vargas postcard and a flimsy letter pressed between the pages of a bible?
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Love, sex & food
After a crazy month of 70/80-hour weeks & kids grand finals & working through the night & slothing on the couch at 11pm at night utterly, utterly exhausted - I am enjoying my first Wednesday afternoon off.
Oh I love that idea - a weekday (even if it's only half a weekday after working all night) - sitting in bed reading books, napping, or sometimes curled up with a DVD on the laptop with the sun shining in on the bed. It feels so hedonistic.
And I finally realised watching the glorious Julie&Julia that I have been born out of time.
I should have been one of those 'hostess' wives - modern geisha who plan meals (but have someone else to clean up for them), who dabble in art & literature out of love (but aren't required to finish anything or put up with someone else marking them), who sparkle & chatter & debate (but don't actually have to DO anything).
In essence - I'm just plain lazy...and sadly, I'm not good looking enough to get away with being that way for a living! LOL
What is it about food? Why do we revel in it the way we do sex? We even use the same words - lush, sensual, moist, hot & juicy...or maybe it's just me who uses all those words. LOL
When did chefs become rock stars? The Nigellas & Jamies & Marcus Pierre-Whites?
It's like food porn.
We sit on our couches, eating spag bog off our knees & watch the Naked Chef plunge his hands into paella or Nigella purr about pomegranates.
Of course - like porn - some of us get brave & give it all a go at home.
At times like this, when work & sport & commitments start breaking down the little joys in my life I can't decide what I miss the most - good food? or good sex?
But ironically, food, like sex, just isn't any fun if it's not great.
Oh I love that idea - a weekday (even if it's only half a weekday after working all night) - sitting in bed reading books, napping, or sometimes curled up with a DVD on the laptop with the sun shining in on the bed. It feels so hedonistic.
And I finally realised watching the glorious Julie&Julia that I have been born out of time.
I should have been one of those 'hostess' wives - modern geisha who plan meals (but have someone else to clean up for them), who dabble in art & literature out of love (but aren't required to finish anything or put up with someone else marking them), who sparkle & chatter & debate (but don't actually have to DO anything).
In essence - I'm just plain lazy...and sadly, I'm not good looking enough to get away with being that way for a living! LOL
What is it about food? Why do we revel in it the way we do sex? We even use the same words - lush, sensual, moist, hot & juicy...or maybe it's just me who uses all those words. LOL
When did chefs become rock stars? The Nigellas & Jamies & Marcus Pierre-Whites?
It's like food porn.
We sit on our couches, eating spag bog off our knees & watch the Naked Chef plunge his hands into paella or Nigella purr about pomegranates.
Of course - like porn - some of us get brave & give it all a go at home.
At times like this, when work & sport & commitments start breaking down the little joys in my life I can't decide what I miss the most - good food? or good sex?
But ironically, food, like sex, just isn't any fun if it's not great.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Symbolic...
I attended an art gallery opening today, for community artists, who had taken the initiative of hanging some of their locally-relevant work in the public toilets as well.
So when I sat down on the porcelain expecting to read my usual public education literature about STDs and domestic violence, instead I was affronted by slightly surreal salmon-pink oysters and split pomegranates.
A few hours later, at the event dinner, when I asked the art coordinator if she was having a lend she looked at me with a surprisingly innocent & bemused expression for a mother of two - but her husband spat his red wine all over the tablecloth.
So when I sat down on the porcelain expecting to read my usual public education literature about STDs and domestic violence, instead I was affronted by slightly surreal salmon-pink oysters and split pomegranates.
A few hours later, at the event dinner, when I asked the art coordinator if she was having a lend she looked at me with a surprisingly innocent & bemused expression for a mother of two - but her husband spat his red wine all over the tablecloth.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
New skills...
I recently joined a certain alliterative weight loss program with a friend (and that’s the last time we’ll talk about it).
This involves the military-style planning of every meal and snack, every day, and the obsessive counting of calories.
In the words of my friend YummyMummy:
'I don't know if I'm losing weight but my maths is getting a whole lot better.'
This involves the military-style planning of every meal and snack, every day, and the obsessive counting of calories.
In the words of my friend YummyMummy:
'I don't know if I'm losing weight but my maths is getting a whole lot better.'
Bottom of the chocolate box...
I was discussing with Geek_Girl how I haven't slept with anyone in a long time and I can honestly say it's because I'm not interested in anyone I know – not because I've run out of options.
She suggested that that's like saying you've stopped eating chocolates because the box is empty...or because there's only the crusty pralines and turkish delight left on the bottom tier.
She suggested that that's like saying you've stopped eating chocolates because the box is empty...or because there's only the crusty pralines and turkish delight left on the bottom tier.
It's all over now...
I recently realized that I've had my quota of good sex and there is no more good sex out there in the world for me to have any more.
So sad…
I can't believe that a grown man can get to this age and not know what goes where under the covers?
Don't you guys grow up reading porn and watching movies - shouldn't that count as instructional material?
I never knew that there was such a thing as bad sex until after I split up with my husband - if I'd know about this quota thing I would have saved it up for the NEXT 10 years not the last 10.
Why do bad boys fuck like tigers and good men kiss like serial killers?
So sad…
I can't believe that a grown man can get to this age and not know what goes where under the covers?
Don't you guys grow up reading porn and watching movies - shouldn't that count as instructional material?
I never knew that there was such a thing as bad sex until after I split up with my husband - if I'd know about this quota thing I would have saved it up for the NEXT 10 years not the last 10.
Why do bad boys fuck like tigers and good men kiss like serial killers?
Blogging...
This blog has become the inside of my brain, on the outside.
Whims, opinions, funny moments caught in time like insects in amber - and almost as bizarre at times.
I remember reading on a teacher's wall once, things that children had said, including one little gem that came in answer to the adult sobriet 'think before you talk"...the child had replied "but I don't know what I'm thinking until I say it'.
That's how I feel with this blog.
Without it I wouldn't know how far I've come, or how much lies ahead of me.
So welcome to my blog...and to the inside of my head. It's a fun place to be.
Whims, opinions, funny moments caught in time like insects in amber - and almost as bizarre at times.
I remember reading on a teacher's wall once, things that children had said, including one little gem that came in answer to the adult sobriet 'think before you talk"...the child had replied "but I don't know what I'm thinking until I say it'.
That's how I feel with this blog.
Without it I wouldn't know how far I've come, or how much lies ahead of me.
So welcome to my blog...and to the inside of my head. It's a fun place to be.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Spiderwoman sans lycra
I was bitten by a spider once - a Redback the size of a grape.
Sadly, I haven't seen any signs of superpowers to date and I haven't miraculously developed the ability to squeeze into one of those lycra superheroine cat suits.
That's the superpower I really want.
Sadly, I haven't seen any signs of superpowers to date and I haven't miraculously developed the ability to squeeze into one of those lycra superheroine cat suits.
That's the superpower I really want.
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