The sunshine after the rain.

Picture me standing atop a mountain. The grass is lush and green and the sky is an amazing blue. My head is back, I am soaking up the sunshine and breathing in the crisp fresh air. Sounds too good to be true?

Well yeah, it is. The reality is that it is dry as shit here, the whole town is a dust bowl. My husband insists on repeatedly washing the car only for it to be covered in a fine layer of new dust on the way home from the car wash. There is no green, lush mountain. The sky is hazy from the heat and the air is about as crisp and cool as if I had stuck my head inside my fan forced oven set to 180.

It is still hot as hades with no relief in sight. Won’t someone tell the damn seasons that it is time to change? My little opening visual is not all a lie though. It is how I truly feel at this moment. Because finally, even in spite of the crappy long summer, finally, my morning sickness has passed.

Thank the gods, I can eat food again. The nausea has left and on its way out the door it seems to have given my ass and midsection the green light to start expanding. I am now officially ten weeks pregnant and already it is starting to show.

I am currently in the confusion stage as I like to call it. I am not confused, I know exactly why my pants aren’t fitting as well as they did a few weeks ago. But everyone else is suffering. Haha, good. Sorry, I am just a little sadistic like that.

Everywhere I go and in all if my interactions with people I see a pattern emerging. We talk, their eyes glance quickly down to my tummy. They look back up, looking a little puzzled. Am I pregnant? Or just getting fat? Do they ask and risk the horrible embarrassment that inevitably follows being told that no, I am just packing on a few extra pounds? Or is it safer to just say nothing and wait and see.

Of course it is safer to wait and see, but they can’t. Curiosity is a killer and I have to smirk a little as they start to squirm. I know they are dying to ask me but won’t. It is just too risky. I have to admit that I don’t make it easy for them either. After all, for the last four years I have been bombarded with that presumptuous question ” when are you going to have another baby?”

I had made it quite clear that it was highly unlikely that we would have another. When the questions became very personal and intrusive, I was forced to cut off the Gestapo style interrogation by letting them know that due to medical issues of a personal nature that it would be very difficult for me to have another baby. Hence the added mind fuck ( pardon my French, or is it le fuque?)

I drag the conversations out just ever so slightly longer than they need to be so I can revel in their discomfort just a bit longer and then just as I am walking out the door I casually drop the bomb that I yes, I saw you repeatedly look at my tummy in confusion and that yes, I am expecting.

The sounds of ” congratulations” meet my amused ears followed by the sound of them sagging down behind their desks in relief that they had been let off the hook without any humiliation on their part. Breathlessly they tell me how they weren’t sure and didn’t know whether to ask or not.

Quite simply people, the answer is hell no. Do not ever ask someone if they are expecting. Ever. Full stop. Period, end of story. It is simply not worth it. You have a fifty percent chance of getting it wrong and forever being the bitch that pointed out the fact that they need to run their ass around the block a few times. Just bite your curious tongues and wait, the answer will reveal itself to you soon enough.

I know some of you are thinking that I am either sick or twisted or an equal combination of both to take such pleasure in the discomfort of others. I will just say in my defence that these people in question have been giving me the absolute shits for four years now and sometimes you just gotta dish out some payback any way you can. I would never do this to my friends. Then again, my friends knew I was pregnant approximately thirty seconds after I knew so they have no need for guessing games.

I guess that is another lesson for the nosy majority. If you have to ask that is because I am either not pregnant or I haven’t told you yet. If I haven’t told you yet, that is because it is actually none of your concern. So be as nosy as you like, but beware, I will not let you off the hook quickly.

So, back to the topic of my ass and its massive land grab. I had heard of muscle memory before. After years of training and weight lifting, I was aware of the term and what it meant in that context. I had no idea that it would apply to pregnancy.

Apparently my body caught on that it was pregnant and said ” oh, we’re doing this again are we?” And pop, out came the tummy. Then bang, ass cheek left and right both started their abnormal growth patterns. Finally, massive supersonic boom….. My boobs have exploded from a not too shabby double d to what I can only assume is an F cup. I say assume because I am too terrified to go to the bra shop yet. What if they haven’t finished? I mean, I just don’t have enough money to have a bra in every size and we all know the bigger the bra the bigger the price tag!

I miss training. A lot. I think that if I was training more then I would feel like the ever expanding belly, bum and boobs were more controlled. After a year or so of diet, exercise and control, I feel like I have none at the moment. I almost wish I had signed up for the latest round of 12wbt. Even if I had not followed it at all, just having those plans in place and delivered to me weekly would have felt safe and secure.

Oh we’ll, maybe next round hey? For now I am just going to enjoy not feeling sick and messing with people’s heads for a little while longer.


Could it be?

2 days and no nausea. Could this be the other side of the nightmare? I so badly want it to be true but I am sitting here waiting. Every twinge, flutter, bubble and gurgle that emanates from my stomach causes me to panic briefly while I wonder if my brief reprieve from hell is over.

Today I actually got so much done it blew my mind. Housework, washing, shopping, all of the stuff that has fallen into disarray over the last few weeks. I even very nearly made Adriano Zumbo brownies but decided at the last minute not to push my luck.

No exercise happened because of this damn heat and also due to the fact that I had read recently that exercising while pregnant is fine as long as you don’t raise your heartbeat over 129 bpm. Ordinarily my polar heart rate monitor would be a big help in ensuring that I kept this in check but during my ride yesterday it had a bit of a malfunction. I am pretty sure that it needs new batteries, either that or I have a serious cardiac condition that causes my heart rate to soar to 260 bpm whilst resting. I think that particular condition is called death and seeing as I am fairly alive, must be the battery. I have entrusted the polar to my husband to change the batteries so I should have it back sometime in the next 12 months!

The absence of sickness is doing strange things to my head. I should be more elated about feeling more like myself but instead it is causing a little bit of anxiety. I am struggling to stop my head from going to a dark place. There is a small scary voice saying that if I am not feeling sick then maybe I am going to miscarry. I know that I have nothing to base this fear on but that is the funny thing about fear, it doesn’t rely on truth, science or rationale to survive.

I never thought that I would find some strange comfort in feeling so unwell. Simply put, if I had morning sickness I must still be pregnant. Now without the nausea, the uncertainty creeps back in. I should probably not think too much about it, I may wake up sicker than ever tomorrow and this whole post will be moot.

Ha, anyone reading this must think I am terribly bi-polar. One minute I am whinging about feeling sick then the next I am whining about feeling better. To answer your question, yes. I am most certainly certifiably crazy aka pregnant. For the next seven months I cannot be held responsible for anything I write or think or say. My apologies in advance.

My nose is killing me!

I have had a brief reprieve in my nausea hell this afternoon. I didn’t wait around to see how long it would last. I wanted out of the house and I wanted to do some exercise dammit! I threw on the first mismatched outfit that found its way into my hands , jammed on my helmet and took off on my bike. It was amazing, just what I had been craving. Fresh air combined with speed. I got about a block down my street when the first assault occurred.

A smell so foul and unrecognisable crept up my nose making me swerve on my bike and wildly lash my head around to try to find its source. No luck. I pedalled faster but by then the smell had imprinted on my overly sensitive olfactory system and seemed to seep into my pores. I avoided closing my mouth because I was afraid that I would start to taste it. And then as suddenly as it appeared, it vanished.

Another block or so in and I began to relax into my ride. I allowed myself to enjoy the feel of the sunshine delivering much needed vitamin d to my pasty, anaemic skin. The memory of that horrible smell had all but exited my mind when I was hit with another. Sausages. And not gourmet ones either. It was the unmistakeable scent of those really cheap and nasty thin snags. You know, the ones that are mostly cereal and testicle and sell for about four bucks a dozen. This was a smell that I could taste and once I had I wished with all my heart I hadn’t. The familiar churning in my stomach sparked up and I knew that my ride was now on borrowed time.

I rode like I was being chased by a demon. A giant Aussie barbecue snag demon that would wrap me in a slice of wonder bread and eat me with a side of salmonella and sauce. Once I escaped the radius of the sausage cloud I stopped and had a drink of water hoping that I could settle myself and keep riding.

No such luck, everywhere I went I was assaulted with smells. Not one of them pleasant. My sense of smell had become enhanced to almost superhuman proportions and everything started to feel very hot and close. I conceded once I came to the acceptance and realisation that there was no escape. Apparently my town just down right stinks. I turned and headed home, preparing for another journey through the valley of sausage stink and that original smell that is still a mystery to me.

My daughter, about to turn four has started kinder this year and along with her new friends she has gained some new and interesting habits. Upon my return to the safety and relatively odour free home she greeted me in a way that I have never experienced before. My dainty, pretty little girl came up to me, turned, lifted her dress and farted on my leg. Charming. She thought it was a laugh riot as I stood there with a look of sheer confusion on my face. And then the smell rose up to greet me also and the confused look made way for the look one might have had they been hit with a good dose of nerve gas. This was a smell that will outlast civilisation, religion and the cockroaches after a nuclear holocaust. And it came out of the tiny, cute little bum of my four year old. It defies every scientific law known to man.

It was done, my home, my sanctuary from this stinky swamp of a town had been tainted. I trudged upstairs, my shoulders sagged in defeat, leaving the echoes of my daughters maniacal laughter in the background. On my way past the toilet I spied the numerous boxes of tampons that grace my window sill. They would be of no use to me for the next nine months. Or would they? Desperate for relief, I briefly considered jamming a tampon up each nostril, super absorbency of course. Only the best will do! Then I pictured how I would look with two strings dangling from my nose and decided against it.

Have you ever smelled a smell so shockingly horrific that you were certain that it would be with you forever? I am sure we all have at some point or another and most likely our husbands are the guilty parties for bringing said smell into existence. But no matter how bad they are, they do go away. And I have finally solved the mystery of where the worst smells go to dwell in putrid purgatory.

The local IGA supermarket. It is a veritable smorgasbord of filthy fragrances. The Bermuda Triangle of odours. I kid you not. There is the aisle with the soft drinks and bottled water. It stinks like rotting fish. There is no seafood around this aisle especially not of the decomposing variety to explain this. Another aisle consistently smells like the worst combination of bad breath and body odour imaginable. Then there is the aisle that smells like crap. Literally. It smells like a million pairs of soiled underpants.

This supermarket is the only one near my work which is the only reason why I am occasionally forced to enter. I have been in my shop for four years now and these smells have never wavered. It is not an accident. It is not temporary. They reside in these aisles, destined to haunt the unfortunate customers for all of eternity.

I struggled with This place before I was pregnant , as you can imagine it is on my black ban list now. I just don’t think there are enough anti-emetics in the world to counter a visit to that store in my current, delicate nasal condition.

When you were pregnant in the olden days, after a certain month you would go into your confinement. It meant literally that you were confined to your quarters until such time as the baby was born. I would like to request that the tradition of confinement be reinstated. Just as long as I am confined to an odour proof room that is not within a 100 kilometre radius of the local IGA supermarket.

Miss me yet?

I haven’t blogged much this week, I know. Mainly because it has just been yet another week of the same shit, different day routine. Wake up, feel sick, drag my ass to work, feel sick, come home, feel sick, get hungry, make food, feel sick and not eat and then collapse on the bed in exhaustion around 7:30pm. Hardly blog worthy now.

I am afraid to say that my frame of mind has not really improved since my last blog. I have had one of those weeks where one thing after another has pissed me off causing my mood to seriously deteriorate. I feel as if I fell asleep one day last week and fell down the rabbit hole. Except instead of waking up in wonderland I woke up in a parallel universe where all of the adults have the maturity level of eighth graders and democracy has been replaced with a high school hierarchy. I won’t go too much in to it, I haven’t got all day to spend perched atop my soap box, lets just say that the idea of packing up and going to AWOL is pretty damn appealing right now.

Tomorrow I will be eight weeks pregnant and hopefully a week closer to a reprieve from this horrible nausea and fatigue. Who knows, maybe I will wake up and suddenly feel much better about everything both physically and psychologically. Yeah, I won’t hold my breath.

For two weeks now, I have not bought anything for the baby. I know you will be thinking, so what, I have heaps of time but I assure you that this is quite an anomaly for me. With my first child I was pretty much set up by the end of the eighth week. Perhaps it was a little premature but I really got into the whole baby thing. This time round I have a feeling I might have husband out on a wild goose chase buying supplies while I am still in hospital post delivery.

I don’t know exactly what it is but I just can’t bear the thought of buying anything baby wise right now. Needless to say I still haven’t found my joy! I did have it at the start. I went out immediately and bought some clothes and blankets etc but as of two weeks ago, my joy dried up and along with it my desire for nursery shopping. Honestly, I know that I should be researching at the very least which kind of pram, swing chair, change table I want but it is just not happening. The only thing I can attribute this to is the fact that I feel so crappy right now, who the hell would want to shop till they drop when they are unwell?

I looked in the mirror the other night with some alarm as I caught sight of a fresh crop of cellulite cultivating on my outer thighs. This of course started a full body inspection which revealed a couple of new coarse black hairs poking out of my chin. I made a mental note to add them to the plucking regime and continued the scrutiny. Skin looks surprisingly clear and bright but what’s this fresh hell? I had quite the double chin happening.

I spent the next five minutes wondering how I could possibly be putting on weight when I am existing on maybe 400 calories a day and eventually it all got the better of me and sent me racing down the hallway to engage in the strange scale ritual I have. Not a good idea to weigh yourself generally when it is 9pm by the way but I couldn’t wait. Turns out I have not put on any weight so it must be the dreaded fluid retention and the slow but sure slackening of my hard earned muscles due to the fact that I am too sick to exercise.

I felt a little better that I was not falling away to a ton in my sleep but I still jumped on eBay and immediately purchased both a pregnancy yoga DVD and a pregnancy Pilates DVD. Toning is the goal for me now, or at least trying to keep some of the little muscle tone I have left. It is probably going to seem quite tame compared to Jillian Michaels cardio kickboxing.

Anyway, that is about all I have to regale you with at this time. I apologise for the lack of photos in my last few blogs. I have been writing them on my iPad, in bed, in the dark. Not Kodak moment material. I hope to be getting off of my ever expanding ass soon to bring you more worthy material. Until then, stay sane, if you can!

The post that never was

I don’t know if this post will ever see the light of day. Honestly, I feel like I am in hell right now. One minute I am down, the next minute I am a little better but I wouldn’t say “up”. Minutes later I am crying and then I just feel sick. Everyone around me is overflowing with joy and keeps throwing words at me like miracle and precious gift. Why can’t some of their excitement rub off on me because to be completely honest with you right now, I am sooo not feeling the “joy” of this precious gift.

I spent an entire day yesterday listening to person after person tell me how good this is going to be for Our daughter . How it is about time we gave her the sibling she needs. How it will be so great for husband if we get to have a boy because he must want one so badly? How the grandparents must be beside themselves with happiness. All I can think is ” great, here we go again, nine months where I cease to be an individual and become nothing more than a life support vessel for a baby”

The kicker is that when the baby finally arrives, all of these people who were so interested during the pregnancy and felt the need to bombard me with all of their pearls will just up and disappear. Leaving me to deal with the stress, anxiety and sleepless nights alone. The convenient excuse of ” we didn’t want to intrude during your special time” gets thrown around and you just think, intrude?? Are you serious? I would give my left kidney for some adult interaction right now. Honestly, the first three to six months as a new parent can be the loneliest time of your life and it can feel like an eternity.

This is all just a fitting ending to the previous nine months when you no longer existed as a human being and began your journey through the antenatal system. It is a testing time where no question is off limits it seems, even the most private ones and you find yourself answering them over and over and over because nobody seems capable of writing your answer in your file the first time.

Everybody suddenly thinks it appropriate to talk about your preference for breast or bottle, whether or not you destroyed your pelvic floor and now pee every time you sneeze and let’s not even mention the inappropriate touching. All I’m gonna say is that if you would think twice about walking up to a stranger and rubbing her non pregnant belly then you should also think twice about doing it to an expecting mother. But it all goes along with the feeling that you lose your identity in a way and become public property.

There are only a very select few people in my inner circle with whom I would comfortably discuss the state of my vagina and whether or not I had an episiotomy and now have thirty stitches keeping my pee and my poop separate entities. Once you have a child, the barriers collapse it seems. It starts from that very first doctors appointment and lasts forever and ever amen.

My few close friends know that I am actually a very private person and do not take kindly to intrusions into my personal life. Unwelcome ones anyway. I am gearing up for my first visit with the midwives at the local hospital. The dreaded booking in appointment . I am mentally trying to prepare myself for the barrage of questions and judgementally raised eyebrows that I will encounter. I am mentally failing. I am mentally falling apart and seriously considering giving birth in a wading pool in my back yard underneath the clothesline.

Maybe the experiences with the midwives aren’t as bad for everyone but I sure as hell know that it isn’t just in my head. I have had enough conversation with other mothers who went through this particular clinic with similar issue to know that I am not just being over sensitive. I thought that enough time had passed from my first trip through the maternity ward that I was strong enough to face this again. Now I am not so sure.

They are supposed to support me in my decisions on certain matters but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that will not be happening and I am going to have to fight to exercise my rights as a mother and as a patient to be heard. The problem is that I seem to be running quite low on fight at this particular time . The very idea of the approaching invasion of my personal space, private life and personal dignity is exhausting.

I know that my hormones are a bit crayzay right now but I implore you, please do not look on me with pity in your eyes. Pity for the poor, sad, little pregnant woman who is so hormonally screwed right now she clearly does not know what she is saying. I am not demented people. And that whole, ” oh it must be the hormones talking” is the biggest insult to my intelligence and yet another example of how we cease to be. We can’t possibly be feeling down and unhappy, it must be the hormones.

So, there you have it. I seem to misplaced the “joy” over my “miraculous” “precious gift” and replaced it nausea, fatigue, sadness and anxiety. In closing, if it does not offend , I request that I am allowed to own my feelings for a short period of time before they are brushed off as something to do with the baby or laughed off because no one could possibly be so unhappy at such a happy time.

Face lifts & failure

Notice anything different? If you are female and not using a small mobile device to read this you will have no doubt noticed that my blog has undergone a facelift of sorts. You will be familiar already with the lovely shade of Aubergine or is it closer to a merlot? The new colour scheme and theme will have been the first thing you saw.

If you are male, you are still scratching your head, wondering what the hell Aubergine is. Is merlot a European beer? And just to have a guess you will ask if I have had a haircut. Bloody un-observant creatures that you are.

I changed my blog. It was very pink and floral. I feel so far from pink and floral right now. I decided it needed to go. If I couldn’t stand to look at it then how could I expect you to look at it? Ten again, I could just be hormonal so don’t be surprised if it changes again next week, or tomorrow, or five minutes from now.

Remember a certain recent post about New Years resolutions? Yeah, sure you do, that’s what I was worried about. Yes, I am aware that I made a grand display of swearing off of chocolate and takeaway for the entire year.

Yes I am aware that I made it all of about thirty days before finding out I was pregnant and packing away my resolutions along with my sanity for the next nine months.

Is this a failure? No, I don’t think so. It is a deviation. A slight variation in the flight plan if you will. I should say that it is not that I have been scoffing chocolate like it is a prenatal vitamin. ( is it? ) in fact I think I may have only had one chocolate item since my fall from grace. Due of course to the morning, midday, late afternoon, evening, night and dawn sickness. Every time I have attempted takeaway the nausea has kicked in before I actually consume it and I end up eating crackers. So it is not a total fall from grace, more of a graceful little tumble.

I will just say that I have not indulged in a creme egg and I plan not to. I still have to show a little restraint after all. Just because I am pregnant doesn’t mean there is a hold on how big my ass can get and I am pretty certain that Cadbury chocolate with a fondant centre is not essential to my growing baby’s development. However if anyone finds any evidence to the contrary, I would welcome it with open arms, and jaws.

Starvin’ Marvin

I am in food hell. I am literally craving so many different things it is making my head spin. I will go through my usual mental back and forth about why I should not eat those chocolate eclairs or chips and gravy but in the end my pregnancy ” get out of jail free” card wins out. So I buy what I crave and sit down. I unwrap it with eager excitement. After all, when is the next time I am going to have a virtually guilt free chocolate eclair? Just as I am ready to tuck in to the sugary sweetness , a huge wave of nausea washes over me and I nearly weep as I realise there is no way on earth I can eat anything now, not even a creamy, lovely eclair. Not so much as a sniff. It gets angrily handed over to husband and now we know why he puts on 20 kilos during my pregnancy and I put on nothing.

Tonight it was nachos. I wanted nachos so bad I think I must have been possessed by the spirit of an old Mexican man who died before he had a chance to tuck into his last meal. I ordered the nachos supreme. With shredded chicken. My mouth watered at the thought of all the melted cheese, sour cream, salsa and guacamole. I could almost taste the tang of the jalapeƱos and the creamy refried beans.

I opted for take away as in my mind, I saw myself chowing down on these nachos like a woman possessed and did not want to risk making a scene in the restaurant. They smelled so good in the car and I could not believe how well I felt. No sickness at all.

I got home, ran inside, sat at the table, opened the lid and nearly cried tears of joy at the beauty of what lay before me. I scooped up a large forkful of melty, gooey goodness and……

Immediately felt sick.

Are you serious?????

I threw down my fork, stormed away from the table and dragged my sorry ass upstairs to bed streaming a long repertoire of spanish expletives thanks to my hungry mexican poltergeist. Which is where I am now as I type. I am so freaking hungry and all I can eat are salada biscuits and water.

I swear sometimes, pregnancy is a cruel joke.

I am going to sleep now to dream of Cadbury creme egg ice cream. Yes it has finally been invented and the person who is responsible should be immediately awarded a Nobel peace prize, a Purple Heart and the order of Australia. Not that I will be able to eat some anytime soon. In my head it tastes amazing?

Rant over.