Change

They say a change is as good as a holiday - I'm not quite sure about that.

I've just changed up my blog title and have come out of the shadows by linking my Google+ profile with my blog, and I'm not feeling like I've been on a holiday - I'm frightened my family  or people from highschool will find this blog!

For some reason, I am deeply uncomfortable with the idea that anyone I went to highschool with might find this and read it. Mostly because it took a long time for me to realise that some friendships weren't healthy and, of course, it all ended badly. As they do.

There's always that haunting thought of those people reading about your life and snickering or picking it to pieces. It's probably more interesting that I should even care what they think, considering they haven't been in my life for so very long.

I'm also scared of trolls - some of what I've seen on various other blogs has been so nasty.

The Man tells me all the time that I care too much about what people think and I should focus more on how I feel about myself - what anyone else thinks is their own business and they should keep it to themselves.

It's a shame my desperate 'people pleaser' personality can't grasp that concept - my head would be a far less complicated place to live!

Admittedly, The Man, my parents and a couple of close friends know I have a blog. I think my cousin does, too - but I'm not sure she's ever read it. I should ask her.

I suppose this step to removing some of the anonymity is a big one for me because it's standing up and owning everything that's on here. The good, the bad and the ugly.

The change in blog name is symbolic too - simply 'Anything Kel'. Because this blog really is about anything related to me and what's happening in my life. It's all about me. And no matter how selfish that sounds, this is my place to be creative, to be honest, to put everything down 'on paper' that I can't process in my head.

Not always the best idea, but hence the tag line.

I have no doubt that there are plenty of people who aren't in the least bit interested, and I respect that. I have zero interest in anything a lot of people do - specific examples include, but are not limited to, Kim Kardashian, Gina Reinhardt and any character from Sesame Street.

So there you go - changes have happened and it's the beginning of a new chapter in this blog, I think. The tone has changed lately - it's a lot more like me - sarcastic, boisterous and hilarious in my own head.

If you stick around, I hope you like the new direction. If not, I'll try not to take it too personally*.

 

*I can't guarantee anything, chances are I'll take it very personally, and I'll cry - or eat chocolate - or both.

Yo Shorty - It's Your Birthday...

Although I prefer to think of myself as 'fun size'.

So, today, I am 29 years old. It doesn't feel like I've been on earth for 29 years - some days it feels like I've been here a shit load longer!

I keep thinking there should be some change in me, but I think this every year - that I suddenly become more mature, or that I should now be interested in watching the stock market and read poncy newspapers over coffee. But maybe that will come next year, when I hit 30?

On reflection, I think I've done okay with my time thus far. Sure, there are things that might be nice to 'do over', but what's the point in worrying about that? There's a reason our heads can't turn 180 degrees.

This year though, I've decided I'm going to be a bit 'louder'. I've always been very reserved, and so now I want to be more confident in who I am. I'm not going to pretend I do or don't like something just because someone else feels that way. I'm going to be honest about my opinions, make choices based on how I feel and what I think.

I'm going to try and stop worrying about the rest of the world and remember that it's ok to be me.

So, for starters, I want to do something with my hair. I've already lost the length - I had it chopped from just below my butt, to my shoulders, when Miss 4 was about 6 months old. It was liberating, even if I did feel bald for ages and continued to try and brush hair that wasn't there anymore.

I call it my 'phantom hair' stage.

That really only leaves colour and texture. So my curls will go on holiday for a short while, and goodbye to the brown/red colour I've been sporting for too long. I'm going to go for the change I've been wanting for a while...

Image via Google

Yep - red and black.

I know it's not exactly your typical 'mum style', but I'm trying to break out of the 'mummy mould' I've put myself in. Who says you can't be a kick-arse parent and rock some fab locks!? Look at Miss Pink from The Mummy Autobiography - completely proves my point.

I think I've been inspired to make a change by The Man. He's on a mission to become a toned champion of the 5am run and the 5pm workout. That kind of change is so far out of my spectrum I don't even know where to begin. I can support him and make sure his workout clothes are clean, but me and my peanut M&M's will be observing from the couch.

When I die, I'll know immediately if I've gone to hell. The room will be filled with clowns and their pet spiders on exercise equipment.

I have made a promise to myself that I would try and tone up a bit, but by the time I've run up and down the front stairs a few hundred times with loads of laundry, bags of rubbish and/or a baby, cleaned the house and been on the trampoline with Miss 4, I figure I've done more than enough exercise and it didn't involve any of the equipment that features in my nightmares.

This year will be a year of experimentation and, hopefully, success. I've already navigated the process of giving birth in a car, sending Miss 4 to pre-school and resisting the urge to constantly buy cute clothes for both my girls - changing my hairstyle will be easy as! Especially when you consider that it'll be a child free experience, plus head massages, massage chairs and coffee on demand involved in the lengthy process.

And best of all - someone else has to clean up after ME!

You never know, maybe I'll take some peanut M&M's with me and make it a truly indulgent day...

A New Beginning...

Well, here I am. Typing on my laptop from home with official sanction from my OB not to return to work.

To say a weight has been lifted off my shoulders is an understatement.

Any guilt I might have felt by going on leave so suddenly, is overshadowed by feelings of release. It's like being covered by a cloud and driving into the sunlight. It's bright, warm and wonderful. The sudden change can be blinding, but once your eyes adjust you wonder why the hell you didn't drive for the break in the clouds sooner!

It's probably a sign when you leave a place you've worked for the past 5 years, and you're not even a little bit sad for not working with those people anymore. Call me bitchy if you like, but there's one person who I won't be sad to never see again.

Her reaction when my pregnancy was announced? "Oh, poor you. Was it an accident?"

If she see's me coming, she crosses the street to avoid speaking to me or if she happens to be stuck in the tea room at the same time, she walks around me like I'm contagious. As far as she's concerned me and my life are the worst case scenario. If she woke up tomorrow as me, she would have a heart attack.

Thing is, I feel sorry for her. She'll never know the heart crushing joy of bringing your baby home for the first time, she'll never know that new baby smell, she'll never know the intense joy of your child saying their first word, taking their first steps.

But she's obviously found what she's looking for in her career and her husband, and that's awesome. A career isn't the be all and end all for me, but I've always known that.

I don't condemn her for her choice to not have children  - I didn't think it was too much to ask from her to offer me the same respect.

However, there is no need to obsess over the past - and that's exactly what all of that is, now. The past.

Now, I'm looking to the future and I'm so excited! I'm looking forward to getting the rest I need for my ribs to heal, I'm looking forward to loads of quality time with Miss 3 and I'm looking forward to welcoming the newest addition to our family in 13 weeks time.

And on the subject of the newest addition to our family - the OB whipped out her ultrasound machine and has finally given us the answer we've been dying to know.

Miss 3 is thrilled to announce that she is the proud sibling of a...

BABY GIRL!!

So it turns out Miss 3 is not psychic...she just chose the wrong 50% of the gender debate to fixate on.

The Man and I have yet to settle on a name, but when we do decide, we're going to keep it to ourselves until our littlest girl is here.

So there you go, the latest update in our lives.

And a bloody awesome life it is.

Out of my Control...

Holy crap this week has been dramatic!

I got my first ride in an ambulance on Tuesday. I wasn't excited so much as horribly embarrassed. I was reluctant to go to the GP as it was so, when the GP turned around and said 'Kel, your oxygen levels and blood pressure are low enough to have me worried and I'd like you to go to the hospital in an ambulance', I was hoping the floor would open up and swallow me.

In case you haven't noticed, I don't enjoy being made a fuss over. And as far as I'm concerned, ambulances are for real emergencies - heart attacks, severed limbs, babies being born in carparks.

It was exactly why I didn't tell anyone that I'd fallen over and it really hurt. The only thing that gave me away was the increasing shallowness of breath...and the fact that every time the baby moved on my right side, it brought me to tears.

Needless to say I got a bollocking from The Man for not being honest with him, and a bollocking from my Mum for the same thing.

The Man said he nearly had a heart attack when he got the call saying to meet me at the hospital. And then he almost passed out when they put my drip in and for some reason blood started to pour down my arm.

The nurses were very sweet, and the midwife who checked out bubba was lovely and spent a lot of time on my belly with the doppler so I could listen to the comforting sound of our baby's heartbeat.

I would like to clarify that baby is 100% okay - when I fell, my biggest concern was not falling flat on my belly...hence why I ended up crashing down on my right side a little harder than I might have done if I had more notice of the floor rising up to meet me.

Now, I'm not saying that ALL toys are the devil...but small, pointy, plastic toys on polished, wooden floors in a dark hallway - poised to meet the foot of a woman who's centre of gravity is changing by the minute - are right up there on my shit list.

My only complaint of the whole hospital experience was that they kept trying to give me pain relief that contained aspirin...no matter how many times I told them I'm allergic to aspirin.  Right about the time The Man was ready to strangle someone, a nurse had the sense to write these things down on my chart.

Did I mention they also tried to give me an x-ray without a lead apron to protect the baby because the x-ray tech didn't read all the clinical notes?

Yeah - I'm not even sure where to start on my concern for the training these people receive.

Ahem. Moving on.

Thankfully they didn't make me stay overnight (sleeping with 3 thousand pillows in our own bed still isn't perfect, right now, let alone having to sleep on a shite hospital bed!) and I was discharged. But not before they gave me Endone.

Holy crap - I don't remember a lot of the rest of the night, but I do remember feeling completely out of control and at some point having a spew-fest in the loo.

Vomiting in the car is still the lowest point of my life to date, but this experience was pretty close. The Man tells me I kept telling him not to go home without me, could he take the chicken out and I was getting upset because apparently my chin was getting stuck to my shoulder.

I'm not even sure what the hell to think about all of that. I'll probably just continue to feel embarrassed and hope that one day my husband can look at me without seeing a vomiting, beached whale who can't breathe properly.

My rib won't completely heal while I'm still pregnant because every thump from bubba slows the healing process. And I feel awful for saying that...like I'm blaming the baby somehow. But I'm not. Every thump, as far as I'm concerned, is a sign that everything is okay and baby's health is my priority.

As far as The Man is concerned, this is the last straw and he wants me to go on maternity leave. I can see his point - if I don't take the pain killers then I can't sit and if I can't sit, I can't do my job. However if I take the pain killers, they turn me into a zombie, so I still can't do my job!

I'm not sure how I feel about it...part of me feels like a burden for being so clumsy and stupid, part of me feels guilty for being happy about the prospect of going on leave and not having to worry about work or daycare anymore, and part of me just feels tired and doesn't want to think about it - I just want someone to tell me what to do so it can be done.

And I suppose, in a way, it appears fate has taken the drivers seat in this situation and there's no way to escape the inevitable outcome. So someone is telling me what to do. I just have to do it.

Perhaps this is a life lesson in letting go and accepting that things happen for a reason? Regardless, it looks like things will be taking a different path than I had originally planned...

The Ageing Process...

For some reason, I have started ageing at an accelerated rate.

How have I come to this conclusion? Well, it's very simple really...

Kel's List of Top 10 Reasons to Break Out the Adult Nappies...

1. I've suddenly started listening to the 'old people' radio station. I used to listen to the Hot 100 station. Nope, these days I'm listening to 104.9 and re-living my childhood as the offspring of parents and their friends who loved David Bowie, Aerosmith, Alannah Myles, the B-52s, The Bangles, Belinda Carlisle, Blondie, Dire Straits, Fleetwood Mac, Queen, Black Sorrows, INXS, John Lennon, Choir Boys, Cold Chisel and KISS (to name a few artists of the never ending play list that is my childhood). We're talking the 70's and 80's people and it made no difference that I was born in 1984 - they had the music they liked and played it until the vinyl shredded.
2. I'm in bed by 8:30pm. I haven't done that since I was 10, and that was only because I was made to. It could be pregnancy, but it could also be an indication of my rapid decline into 'old person's land'.
3. I have no tolerance of young people. With their short-shorts that have the pockets sticking out the legs, to the bizzare skirts that are short at the front and long at the back. From the loud 'doof-doof' music they play in their cars, to the land-speed-record-breaking pace they maintain on the road. It all annoys me. And it makes me want to send my 3 year old to a convent.
4. My pelvic floor isn't as 'chipper' as it used to be. This makes me sad, and makes me pay more attention to the Depends advertisements I see. Yes, I'm on to baby #2, but I've always done my kegels! Clearly it's age related.
5. I have several, inexplicable, aches and pains in my back, my legs and my pelvis. It's obviously time I made friends with someone named 'Mavis' and started calling her every day to check that a) we're both still alive and b) that we still have all our aches and pains, and that mine can out-pain hers any day of the week.
6. We don't have enough money to retire on. I have a sneaking suspicion this will be the case if I retired now or in 1,000 years. Thanks Julia!
7. I'm afraid to die. Obviously the result of the Grim Reaper stalking me, waiting for the moment to strike. Sadistic bastard.
8. I've noticed I begin sentences with 'When I was Young...' when trying to reason with our 3 year old. Even she looks at me like I've lost my marbles.
9. My memory is gone. I'm still writing things on this whatsit machine and I can't even remember...who...where...chicken?
10. ...did I mention my memory's gone?

It's a terrible reality, but one we all have to face. True, I didn't think that 28 would be the beginning of my autumn years, but I guess some of us are destined to be old sooner rather than later.

Wait...does that mean I can get a mobility scooter!? SWEET!

If you're looking for me, I'll be the crazy old lady the teenagers speak of in hushed tones and run away from when they see me roaring down the footpath in my pimped scooter.

 

I'd also like to wish The Man a very Happy 28th Birthday today. He's the same age as me now, so for the next 6 months he can't call me an old fart without referring to himself!!

March Photo A Day: Day 16...

Day 16

| Sunglasses |

The most glamorous pair I've ever owned in my entire life...

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February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 23...

Day 23

|My Shoes|

Are never on my feet and live under my desk. It's pretty standard in our office - most people wander around in bare feet unless we have a meeting and then we put them on...but only because we have to.

Yep - we're all class, baby.

It makes me laugh how blasé I am about shoes now. When I lived in Adelaide I was a shoe whore, and I had over 100 pairs all in their original boxes with tissue paper. I even had a photo on the outside of each box so I could see which ones were which at a glance.

These days I have 2 'vital' pairs. My Havaiana thongs and the shoes in the picture which I wear to work. If I don't wear my thongs.

A part of me does miss those days when I would teeter around in ridiculously high shoes that would kill my feet - beauty was pain and all that mattered was that I looked good. BandAid made a LOT of money out of me back then.

But I think, overall, I'm much happier keeping things casual. It's more my style.

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February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 22...

Day 22

|Where I Work|

The view from my desk, the view from my door, the painting Miss 3 did at Daycare and said I had to take to work, the pin board of evil with it's ICPC-2 codes that cover every single medical procedure and condition you can think of, according to the WONCA International Classification Committee, and the inbox where people put things for me to ignore.

And then there is the collage of photo's that make me smile everyday.

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February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 20...

Day 20

|Handwriting|

Yes, that is a sheep's thorax on my to do list.
Why?
Because it's the best thing to teach people how to insert a chest drain.

And now you know.

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Happy Valentines Day with #GlowsValentines...

Well, it looks like this is a top week for Glowless to encourage us to take Valentines Day into our own hands.

The Guru - well, he totally failed my Birthday on Sunday. Read: no card, no pressie, no nothing. I did all the housework and the washing, made dinner etc. Like it was any standard Sunday.

I think it was about lunch time before he thought to ask Miss 3 if she had given me a birthday kiss and cuddle.

My Mum took pity on him and brought me a card, written from Miss 3, with some massage vouchers inside.

He apologised endlessly and would help me peg out a few shirts to dry. He would look at me with sad eyes as I mopped the floors and would say to me 'You can stop, Sweet, you don't need to do all of this.'

Well, unless he had a housekeeper coming, I was pretty sure I did have to keep going otherwise we'd be living waist high in our own filth. And the tragic thing I've discovered is that, just because it's my birthday, it doesn't mean the chores go away. And apparently it doesn't mean my husband will pick up the slack for 24 hours, either.

Which was a complete and total 'What the Fuck' moment, for me.

In terms of Valentine's Day - we usually don't celebrate it because my birthday is so close, and our wedding anniversary is in March. Given the birthday fail, I have the lowest expectations one could ever have for Valentines Day. If I am still breathing at the end of the day, I will have exceeded those expectations.

But this is meant to be all about loving myself. And thank god for that because it looks like I'm the only who will be!

I'm going to admit that I make a kick-arse cheesecake. And I love that I can make one thing for my family that they will eat, without being cajoled, bribed or force fed.

My cooking leaves a lot to be desired. Such as food content not derived from charcoal. Although if my family did eat more of my cooking, the fart smells would be far less offensive. And it's kinder than forcing charcoal tablets down their throats (picture trying to give a tablet to a rabid cat while a rabid squirrel chews on your head).

But my cheesecake is the best EVER - even though I can burn water.

So there you go - I am completely, 100% in love with myself now, and I want to go home and eat a cheesecake all to myself. Because that's how I roll.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 12...

Day 12

| Inside My Closet |

A woman who starts her 28th year of life, today. And thinks it's a fab idea to begin that year hiding in the wardrobe. Because that's what you do when you want to hide from the ageing fairy....that, and get some Garnier BB Cream when you next go shopping.

Hey - wanna see how you'll look when you're 500 years old? Add that new, weird "sun effect" to a self portrait in Instagram and watch the years pile on. 

It made me want to dig further into my wardrobe until I found Narnia.

Holy shit the man better have a good present to boost me from that terrifying experience.

Happy 28th Birthday to me!!

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Fresh Horses Brigade: Farewell...

It's not the kind of thing I thought I would be writing on the day before my birthday, but Eden calls and, she always has such compelling requests, I can't say no.

Planning your funeral was always something I thought should be done by your family and/or friends. The people who knew you best. But apparently I was very, very wrong if you listen to all those Insurance Line advertisements on TV. Apparently I should be planning it myself, and have the money ready and waiting.

Well, excuse me for not rushing out to buy the insurance - I'll fully admit I'm one of those people who is superstitious. As in if I have a funeral insurance policy, or if I write my will, it means I'll die.

And I'm so not ready to do that.

But I can't deny that my death is something I've thought about. I shared some fears not long ago. And I still fear death with the chilling worry of someone who has too much to live for. Which is a good thing. The day I no longer fear death I think will be the day it takes me.

So I shall live forever. Awesome.

But Eden is specifically after the song we would play at our funeral.

My Mum is very open about death, and was even looking into a career as a mortician. Until she took up nursing...moving on...and has told me about various scenarios she's considered for her funeral. One of her ideas was to have something rigged up to make her hand wave as people leave.

Because we all know how freakin' awesome a funeral would be if the dead person waved goodbye. Not.

I know she wants to be cremated. Her claustrophobia means the thought of laying for eternity in a narrow box with the lid bolted shut is the worst thing I could ever do to her, short of putting her in it while she's still alive. So cremation it is. And as for the music, well - I'm still not too sure about her choices. But it doesn't have to appeal to me, so here we go...

When people enter the chapel she wants Fastball's 'The Way'.

"...the children woke up

And they couldn't find them

They left before the sun

Came up that day...

They just drove off and

Left it all behind them..."

That's what my Mum loves about that song. If I was a small child, I'd be worried about my Mum packing up and pissing off without me. Now, I'm not worried about her going, her sense of direction is awful.

At the end, she wants Monty Python's 'Bright Side of Life' playing. And for people to be made to stay and listen/watch the clip. Even if I have to handcuff them to the chairs.

I can totally do that.

As for me...well, I'm not entirely sure.

There are a few possibilities, I suppose. A few songs that speak to me and I'd like people to think of me when they hear them - in a positive way.

The first is probably the most 'tragic'. A friend from Canada used to roll her eyes every time I played this and would tell me how it was "always the slow dance song at all the prom's". But I love this song, and we don't have prom's in Australia, so she can bite my arse...

I would listen to the full Enigma CD when falling asleep and this song always stuck with me. The lyrics are prophetic, in a way, because when we die I like to think we're not frightened, but that we relive everything wonderful from our life and get to start again with the same soul, but a different body.

The second is just a beautiful song that I love...

"...In the sun, I'll wait for you..."

Because I hope that's how it will be.

Death is such a huge empty space on the radar - and people spend their whole lives asking the question 'what happens'? And if they ever get an answer I'll be the first in line to get it. Maybe that's why it's so frightening - it's the only 'true unknown' we have. In a world where 'the unknown' is simply another title for 'I'll Google it', where we know the ins and outs of our own DNA, the idea that there is something we can't Google or get a straight answer for is worrying.

But I like to think it's a place we'll all be happy. Besides, no one has come back to say it's shite!

To check out more music and, possibly, some interesting ideas for your own funeral, pop over to Edenland.

Fuck I hope writing this post doesn't mean I'll die. I'm still not getting insurance.

February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 10...

First things first...

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY MUM & DAD!

I'm not sure how long it's been. Probably too bloody long some days (don't worry, I feel like that sometimes, too, and The Guru and I have been married not quite 4 years!).

Have a great day...and thanks for coming to chop down our palm trees this arvo Dad. A completely acceptable activity for your wedding anniversary. I'll have a beer waiting for you. x

Day 10

| Self Portrait |

Thank god I did my hair today. And when did I become forehead girl!? Stupid forehead...

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The Road Not Taken...

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I -

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 ~ Robert Frost (1874-1963)

I studied this poem in year 12 English. And it struck me then as it does now. But back then, I was still trying to choose my road. I hadn't made a choice and was still hopping from one side of the T-junction to the other. Trying to make 'the right choice'. In 5 days I will be 28 years old - and in some ways I still feel like I'm standing at that T-junction, paralysed by fear that I'll go the wrong way. I'll make the wrong choice. That I'll have regrets. That I'll fail at life. In 28 years I've rarely been able to make a decision without consulting someone or something else. The Guru will tell you how I drive him insane with my constant flipping of coins, pillows, books, cards - anything that can be launched into the air and, by landing on one side or the other, can take away the burden of choice from me. But I usually question the result thinking that perhaps fate has shown me the road not to take, and I should do the opposite of what the pillow chose? But then, what if I'm wrong, and I should take the pillow's advice? See - I'm always putting myself in an endless loop of self-sabotage. Am I taking the right road, or the wrong one? Am I where I'm meant to be in life? Am I completely insane for worrying about a pillow making the wrong life choices for me? Am I completely insane for thinking that the pillow actually has any input? I know life is really just a random series of events all tied together over a long period of time. I know that, while some things I can influence, a lot of what happens in my life is out of my control. I want to be confident about the direction I'm taking. I want to feel like I know where I'm going. I want to give the T-juntion sign the finger and stride off in a specific direction, sure in myself that my choice is the right one. No matter what that choice is. I get so annoyed with my crippling lack of self confidence - I know it holds me back, and as I get older I'm realising the only regret I'll have is that I didn't try. So my mission this year is to try. To start little - I don't have to take on my whole life in 60 seconds - and do small projects that make me happy. Work on my self confidence. Be able to choose something at a restaurant and not wonder if I would have felt differently if I'd had the chicken instead of the fish. And one day I might be brave enough to choose a road and not look back. And know that it made all the difference.

February Photo A Day Challenge: Day 4...

Day 4

| A Stranger | 

Because sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't know who I am...

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Dear Father Christmas...

Apologies for not having posted this week.

It started out a bit of a mess when my boss went on leave and all the lunatics descended on me. They were obviously waiting for her to run off and get married so they could pounce on the weak one.

I also had to run a Remote Emergency Skills Training course this weekend. Picture 15 GPs in a room with 7 experts on remote emergency training and 2 admin people tying to make sure everyone had their laryngoscopes, that the defibrillator machine worked and all the simulation/CPR dummies were in full working order (i.e. the trainer could stand there and make it cry/moan/scream/gasp for air etc...)

I even had to make sure the baby dummy's umbilical cord was inserted and able to be catheterised with blood and everything coming out of it.

It was a very stressful weekend and I wasn't even being assessed on my ability to keep someone alive. It was a good weekend to make sure I was taking my anti-depressants properly.

But I ran out of them on Tuesday. Meant to get them on the Thursday on our way to the hotel we were staying in while I was working, but the Guru sighed and rolled his eyes at me when I asked if we could stop off at the chemist that's open late. Said to me he was sure I could make time during the weekend to get them and he didn't want to have to make a detour on our way into the city.

Needless to say my week kinda went downhill from there and I've been struggling ever since. The smallest drama will have me either in tears or irrationally angry. I almost quit my job Saturday night because I was quickly spiraling down into the abyss.

I've still not got my script re-filled. And when my Mum came to pick up the Toddler for her regular Sunday night sleep over, tonight, she knew instantly something was wrong. So she found my script and is re-filling it for me because she knows I won't.

I'm already at the point now where my brain is telling me that I'm not worth it and the Guru knows I'm not. That I should just kill myself and make him happy, able to start over with someone who is normal and not a fucking lunatic like me. That our daughter would be better off with a different Mummy and my parents would be better off with no child at all, rather than a only child who is a psycho.

It's surprised me that I've gone downhill so fast, but then I've not been sleeping because the never ending thoughts keep me awake, and I've been under a lot of stress. No wonder they use sleep deprivation and stress as forms of torture. I'd buckle in a night.

So I have finally popped online for the first time this week, and I've seen lots of lovely Blogger's listing their Christmas List for Father Christmas. To be honest, I've loved reading them and they've been a wonderful distraction from the doom and gloom in my head. And as a result I've decided to write my own list to try and pick myself up while I'm waiting for my sanity tablets.

FYI, this week I'm going to do this list as part of my 50 Days of Christmas, but without the linky part.

So here I go...






Dear Father Christmas,

This year I've tried to be good. I really have tried. I know I've been intolerant of GPs claiming money from my budget when they earn more in a day than I do in a month and I know I've been very, very impatient of other people on the road.

I'm well aware that if the wind had changed at any time, my middle finger would be permanently up.

But all that aside, I do have a couple of small things I'd really like to put forward for your consideration.

1. A very happy, simple, Christmas day. Last year was so complicated with the Guru's mother dictating who and who couldn't come to Christmas. Even though it was in our home. And my parents spent most of Christmas Day alone as a result and it broke my heart. So this year, I would like a simple day where we are all together and that's it.

2. To bring the Toddler everything on her list. We'll be working hard to cover things, but if you could cover the leftover's that'd be awesome. On the other hand, if we get it all covered - consider it our present to you - one less list to have to worry over! But I recommend you stop in for a snack anyway...the Toddler want's to go all out for you and the reindeer this year.

3. For the new pool pump to be installed. We have the pump and everything, but the Guru hasn't exactly got it installed. And after spending $700 on getting the pool water to swimming grade, seeing to green once again makes me want to cry. And I felt that way before this week so I know it's not just my brain being dramatic. I'd happily settle for you taking control of the Guru's body and getting him out there - and you won't need to say anything, if the job get's done I'll know it's you.

4. For me to get a new job. I now this request might be stretching the friendship, but if you could put in a good word for me at the job section in the Life department, I'd really appreciate it. I'm sick of the unpaid overtime, the stress, and the ungrateful, highly paid bastard GPs that I have to deal with every day. I want something 9-5, that when I go home I don't have to think about anything work related until I walk through the door at 8:59am the next day.

5. For our renovations to go well over the Christmas break. Particularly the window removal and new wall. We're in the wet season so if the window removal and wall installation fails then we'll be living in an elevated swimming pool. But I guess then the gaps in our floor boards would be an advantage??

6. For the Guru to agree to carpet in the bedrooms. I miss carpeted bedrooms...something from South Australia that I really want to have up here. Apart from David Jones and Myer. The Guru says no...but I've found some amazing carpet and I love it. I'll agree to new floorboards everywhere else and tiling where necessary, if you just get the carpet thing happening. Feel free to leave a roll under the tree - the Guru can't argue if it's already in the house.

7. And finally...I'd really love it if you could help everyone who needs help this Christmas. Everyone should feel safe, happy and know that they're loved because everyone deserves those things all the time, especially at Christmas.

The Toddler will be leaving a raw energy salad and water for the reindeer (I'll make sure there's extra water...it's stinking hot here, this time of year) and we're leaving Tim Tam's and milk for yourself. I'll leave the air-con on too so if you all want to come inside and cool down before continuing on your trip, feel free.

The population hit 7 billion this year so I know you're job is getting bigger by the second, but I want you to know you've always done a fantastic job and you make the world a wonderful place for children around the world. Even for the adults, too.

Take care and thanks for reading,

Taking control...

On Tuesday I went to the GP.

Now, to get it out of the way, quick smart - I did a test (in relation to this post) and it came back with nada.

My response was somewhat ambivalent - disappointed but not surprised.

I spent a few days mulling everything over in my mind. I thought about all the check up's I've had and all the things that have happened since the Toddler was born. It became clear to me that something was up. My GP hadn't said anything to me and seemed more focused on trying to diagnose me with diabetes, than anything else.

So I went to my GP clinic, all guns blazing, ready to demand that tests be done and for them to stop dicking around diabetes and start poking around elsewhere!

I was going to start by standing on the exam bed, puffing on a tongue depresser while sipping champagne from a specimen cup and announce "I have a dream - a dream to be a mother for a second time..."

But it did seem overly dramatic. Even though I thought it had merit.

Instead I announced that I wanted to go back on the pill - just to see if it would help my cycles get back on track.

The GP looked over my notes, checked me over, looked me in the eye and said 'has anyone mentioned Poly Cystic Ovarian Sydnrome to you?'

My response was a no, but that I wasn't surprised because I have a strong family history of it. After a chat about my history she said it's likely no one thought of it because I fell pregnant with the Toddler so easily. She said that PCOS might have been there for a long time but, because I was on the pill since I was a teen and only stopped about 8 weeks before I fell pregnant the first time, it didn't have time to develop and cause an issue.

So I've been bled once again - but this time I feel like it's a move in the right direction. Almost makes it worth the several stabs that yielded nothing before they sucked it out of my hand.

I find it funny that when I finally get up the courage to approach my GP with my thoughts, I get someone who not only listened but didn't make me feel like a dick for trying to voice my concerns.  I'm not saying that the other GPs I've seen have been dismissive or uncaring - more that they seemed so focused on trying to find what they wanted to find, the other possibilities were pushed aside.

I work with GPs every day. And when it comes to my work I don't think twice about voicing my opinion and telling them what's what. But my own health? I sit in the consult room and feel like I'm 5 again, and they know my health better than I do.

But they don't. And I forget that so easily. In a way, I think we all do. Yes, our GP is there to help and guide us with our health - but only we know how it feels, how often and where.

If I've learnt nothing else this week, it's that I should never feel silly for taking control of my own health. It's my body, and I have every right to say if I feel something more is going on than what is visible outwardly. It's not about me knowing better than my GP, and it's not about my GP knowing better than me. It's about working together for the best outcome.

Hopefully, for our little family, the best is yet to come.

Bringing Back the Om...

Well, it's been 15 days since I last posted. 7 of those days were self inflicted 'technological blackout' days.

I got back from my final work trip and decided I'd had enough of the outside world and wanted to focus closer to home.

So the iPhone was off, the computer was off and I made room in my head for...nothing.

Nothing but books, hide-and-seek, swimming, laughing, sleeping, cuddles, baking, painting and plaiting blonde ringlets.

I loved every second.

And while the Toddler slept, I cleaned. More of our home ended up on the kerb for the cyclone season hard-rubbish pick up, than any other house on the street.

The house feels open, calmer, cleaner and simpler. And so does my head.

Sure, I totally should have gone to work. But pulling myself away from there, pulling the Toddler out of daycare for the week and just having family time was worth every second spent catching up on hundreds of emails.

And the most important thing I learnt? Work and the world won't fall apart just because I make time for myself. One day I'm sure I'll remember that, without having to drive myself into exhaustion first.

I've been enjoying drafting plans for changes we'll be making to the house. Progress hasn't been and won't be as fast as I'd like, but I need to learn to slow down. I am very 'now, now, now' in everything I do. I don't like suspense. If something is going to happen, just make it happen already.

I'm going to try and learn to enjoy the journey, rather than focusing on the destination and letting everything fly past me as I rush to get there. Wherever 'there' is.

I have taken 3 days to paint one new door for our home. We are going for high gloss black, and instead of slapping on the thickest coat possible and rushing the job, I'm taking it easy. Doing one coat at a time and layering until the sheen is so brilliant and perfect it looks like acrylic.

I'm doing one door at a time. I'm not worrying about invisible deadlines which I set for myself and aren't actually necessary or even applicable. I'm not in a race with myself.

And the Toddler is helping me. I'm not thinking about final finishes - I'm focusing on the fact that she will be able to tell everyone that she helped paint the entry to our family home. Because she is what makes us a family.

I'm trying to stop worrying about the things I can't change. Trying to stop letting things beyond my control hurt me or anger me. It's a challenge - and some days it just doesn't happen. Which is fine, because tomorrow is another day.

Insurance companies will allways set my teeth on edge, and I have chipped my front tooth again with all the teeth grinding I've been doing over unresolved claims.

Our dentist will dedicate the new wing of his mansion to our family. Since we funded it.

But I need to let it go. I need to let it all go. Being angry and upset forever will not change the past. It's pointless and it's not who I want to be.

So we will move forward. We will create a new family heirloom. We'll bring the past to meet the future and know that we did all we could have done. We're not forgetting what came before us, and we're not losing sight of all we have ahead of us.

The journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step ~ Lao Tzu

Food, Glorious Food...

Except food's not glorious. Well, not at the moment, and not for me.

Food is a pain in my arse. Why? Because food is too freakin' hard, that's why.

I feel like my whole life revolves around food, and not in a good way. I feel like I spend all my time thinking about food - through deciding what to give the Toddler for breakfast, what to pack for lunch, what will I eat if I don't take lunch, what are we having for dinner, do I have to take anything out for dinner, do I have all the crap I need to make dinner etc etc etc.

I honestly wish we had a cook. Just a cook. I'd happily clean and cover all areas of domestic goddess-ness if I didn't have to think about food. Or cooking the food.

Besides, everything tastes better if someone else has gone to all the effort.

My GP tells me that I have to revisit my diet - that it's not good.  My blood tests came back a shambles, and apparently I have the vitamin D levels of a person who has never been outside. Ironic considering where we live, the number of times I've been sunburnt this year and the number of play dates that include swimming in unshaded pools.

I don't really see the issue with my diet - not eating breakfast, living on coffee, snacking all day and then going home to the easiest dinner available and then continuing to snack well into the night has done WONDERS for my waistline.

In fact, it's never been so big. Winning! Or not.

The mysterious thing is that the Toddler has the best diet in the world. I just can't seem to apply the same principles to myself. It all seems too hard if applied to me. For the Toddler, I'll do whatever I have to.

She has fruit and yoghurt for breakfast, a sandwich and fruit at lunch and dinner is either some pasta, or meat and veg or even a facy baked potato with yummy filling. She snacks on sultanas, blueberries, strawberries and rice crackers during the day. She always asks for water and that's what I give her. Sometimes she'll ask for cordial and I'll make her some.

It tastes like water...but it has a bit of colour to it, and that makes her happy.

The only difference is day care days where she gets more elaborate meals during the day because they have a COOK. I mean, they have all sorts of great lunches and snacks, all made from scratch and organic.

See what I mean, a cook can make life so much better!

The poor Guru ends up being served whatever I can be bothered scraping together for the adults of the house. Hence we are both sporting waistlines that aren't anything to be proud of.

His family regularly point this out to us. They are blunt about it. It pisses me off.

I know the reality - guess what, calling me fat to my face won't make me feel good enough about myself to change that fact, so how about you shut your pie-hole?

I just can't quite figure out when food became the enemy. I mean, I've never been small. The smallest I've ever been was a size 10, and that was when I was 17-18 years old and in the midst of a depressive episode. I stopped eating altogether, so naturally I shrunk.

When I have really bad days of hating myself, I wish I could go back to that dark place, just long enough to 'get skinny'. Ha. As if I have a control switch I can flick on and off to control my weight.

And that dark place isn't worth the weight loss.

I always felt good about myself when I was a size 12/14. Well, less critical anyway. Which, I believe, is the average size for an Australian woman, a healthy size and is an achievable goal.

Getting there is the challenge. But I have to do it.

We want to have another baby. And I want to be healthy and able to care for the family I have, and just feel good in my own skin again.

I have to get my shit together.

No if's, and's or but's. This is the way it is, and I am young and able enough to make the change.

I can do it.

And I'll do it for ME.

My Designer...

is totally in the newspaper today!




Link to article here

And yes, Kevin is totally MY designer. He made my dress for the Coleman's Cup Race Day and, although the fact that I wore it was a tragedy, the dress was A.MAZ.BALLS.

Which is better than just amazing, if you were wondering.

I told anyone who would listen who made my dress, and my fascinator. I think I was on the verge of running on to the race track to make a public announcement when it was decided we had to leave.

I'd never worn anything made from silk before, other than my wedding dress. And now Kevin has me hooked. I'm addicted to the swish, the softness, the GLAMOUR! I'm not used to feeling so awesome in clothes.

My standard outfit is denim shorts and a top of some sort. It's the kind of outfit I hope hides my Mummy-tummy and makes my arse look smaller.

It's not always successful, but the more I look at clothes the more I realise clothes are containing more spandex and covering less surface area. I don't care how Yummy-Mummy-ish you are, it is NOT cool to have two sets of lips visible to the world.

Ahem.

So having a friend who is a designer means I avoid looking like I'm wearing a burlap sack, or a stripper costume, when I go out. And that's a goal that should be on every woman's list, every day.

Our next project, I hope (hint, hint), will be a cute summer dress...grecian style and long, that's soft, floaty, girly and perfect for romantic evenings or family walks on the beach. Because we all know walking on the beach with your family needs a dress that makes you feel pretty, happy and catches in the wind for that classic beach pose...

Image Credit

So, Kevin babe - here's to you and thank you for bringing fashion to Darwin and to me. God knows what we'd be wearing without you. x

http://www.kevinkishore.com/

P.s.: You should totally hire me as your publicist...just sayin'