The Acidic Observer, Volume VII

It's been a couple of weeks since I posted - probably because there seemed to be a total lack of anything for me to take the piss out of. Without looking like a total jerk.

And so here we are, back again, because there have been some developments that I just have to address.

For starters, Saturday morning news announced that Princess Kate is now on maternity leave. That's wonderful, but for the life of me I can't think exactly what she's taking leave from. I know it's hard graft to have to get up in the morning, dress up, have someone do your hair and make up and then have your driver schlep you to a dock somewhere for you to throw a bottle of champagne at the base of a boat - but I honestly don't think 'maternity leave' is applicable here.

And speaking of babies, of course we're all aware of Kim Kardashian now being a mum to a baby girl. I honestly send her congratulations - as a mum of 2 girls I can honestly say it's awesome, when it's not total fucking chaos.

I still have genuine concerns that there will come a time when her new daughter won't fit in her handbag, and Kim will be faced with a terrible dilemma - 'do I keep the baby, or do I go back to having a dog in my purse?'

We're all waiting for the grand announcement of this little baby's name - and I hope it's something that she won't have to legally change when she's 2 days old. Obviously it will start with 'K' - perhaps Kay-Mart? Kat-Alog? Kitty-Litter?

No, something more traditional and relevant.

Ka-Ching? K-ash? K-ommission?

Whatever they name that little girl, I just hope they dress her properly. Because it's fair to say that her mother's choices have been enough to warrant her mentally unstable.

Proof that money doesn't buy anything...

What the...?

Taking clucky to a fucking demented level...

Although, I should confess that my parenting hasn't exactly been A+ grade lately, and this weekend took it to a whole new low.

I decided that Saturday would be a great day to go dress shopping. I'm schelpping along to The Man's annual work-fancy-pants event, and I figured I should probably make an effort.

Miss 4 decided it was essential to be in the changing room with me. Of course. I checked my privacy rights at the door when I gave birth to her.

One minute everything is fine, the next minute she's scrambling under the changing room door like an escapee from Alcatraz and all I can hear is her wailing at my Mum..."the balloon is up my nose, Nanna, and I can't get it ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut!!"

Hang on - what balloon? What do you mean it's up your nose? WHAT THE FUCK!?

So, we take a trip to the chemist to get some pointy tweezers to see if I can fish it out.

I couldn't. Naturally.

So we drive around Darwin, searching for a GP clinic that's still open.

Nope, nothing. Naturally.

The ultimate last resort is attending the emergency department of Royal Darwin Hospital. Usually because if you don't die of your injury first, you'll die of old age waiting to see a bloody doctor.

We took the risk, and for some reason the emergency department was empty. EMPTY. It was a miracle. And then I remembered that the V8's were in town and chances are the waiting room wouldn't fill up until after all the pubs were shut. It was only 4pm - plenty of time!!

We were triaged, and we were whisked in for the nurse to take vitals and whatnot. She said it would take 5 minutes for the doctor to fish it out and we'd be on our way.

Famous last words.

We sat under the stare of this sign for 5 hours.

And, finally, we were seen by a doctor before an autopsy had to be performed on all of us.

After looking her over for all of 3 minutes, the doctor decided that she couldn't see anything and that, because we had to wait so long, the balloon had probably moved further up into her nasal cavity and it was no longer accessible.

At this point, I almost lost my shit.

The doctor proceeded to tell me that she would send us home and to come back if a foul smelling discharge started coming out of Miss 4's nose.

Yeah, I wouldn't come back if my fucking head was on fire.

We eventually got home, had dinner at about 10pm and I had a night full of constantly checking on Miss 4, terrified she would suffocate in the night from a stupid balloon.

At about 6am on Sunday, Miss 4 comes in to our room and stands with her nose inches from my face to announce "Mum, I have a boogey!!"

Cue revolting sniffing and a sickening cough which produced the following...

We now have a standard conversation in our household.

"What belongs in your nose?"
"Boogeys and sneezes, and nothing else!!"

Next time I go shopping for a dress, I'm going ALONE.

The Friend Filter...

I always remember my Mum giving me advice on friendships. She was never outright critical of a situation, she would listen and then give her thoughts and let me deal with it as I wanted, but I knew full well she would be there to support me.

But how do you teach your 4 year old about good and bad friendships? How do you make them understand that there is a difference?

Miss 4 has developed a relationship with 4 of the 7 children that live next door. In the beginning, I didn't have a problem with it. She was thrilled to have some friends, close to the same age, that lived right over the fence. I was more than happy to have them over to play.

But in the last month or so I have noticed a shift in their attentions. At first I thought their constant requests to come over were cute and I was glad they had so much fun. But when I can't even go down my front steps to do a load of washing without them hanging off the fence, begging to be allowed to come over, it's a bit much.

I've noticed that Miss 4 has been coming inside, in tears, asking me why her friends can't come over. They just won't let up and they bug her to bug me about it. She becomes distressed and frustrated with me because no answer is good enough for them and, therefore, not good enough for her.

I couldn't work out where her special treats were going - I always have a little stash of chupa chups in the cupboard for a treat when we go to the park or just because I know she loves them. I couldn't work out how she was going through an 8 pack of fruit boxes in an afternoon, when we had just bought them.

When entire boxes of Barbecue shapes were gone, I decided to watch a bit more carefully. I was worried I had done something to make her think she couldn't be honest with me, so I was quietly observant.

Turns out the neighbour kids are using her as a food and beverage delivery service. She was sneaking food out of the house. She has never had to 'sneak' food EVER. Miss 4 knows that she can go to the cupboard or the fridge any time she likes if she's hungry or thirsty. There is always fruit and water on the go.

I'll admit, I know that Miss 4 and The JellyBean appear to have everything, and the kids were astonished at her toy collection. But she is only 1 of 2 children and our family is lucky enough to have the earning ability we do. The neighbours have 7 children and are both parents are on pensions. They also appear to have some serious 'substance and anger issues', but I won't go into that.

Fair enough, the kids think Miss 4 has it all and they want to have some too. If you are a guest in our home, then yes, I won't hesitate to make sure you have a snack and drinks as needed, but it makes me angry when they use Miss 4 as a portal to food and drink.

After I found out what was happening, I sat down with Miss 4 and tried to explain to her that good friends don't make us do the wrong thing for their own benefit. I tried to put it in perspective by asking her 'do K, C or A ask you to sneak food and drinks from the house?' When she said no, I went on to say that if her 'friends' were over to play, then yes they are welcome to a snack and drinks, but if they are at home then they should ask their Mummy or Daddy for a drink or something to eat. Miss 4 seemed satisfied with this, and promised not to sneak anything from the house anymore, and if her 'friends' asked her to do that, she would come and tell me right away.

In no time at all I was putting the kybosh on their relentless requests to Miss 4 to get them food and drinks. I told them no, that asking Miss 4 to sneak food was wrong and they had to go ask their parents because they were at home.

Their response was to completely shut out Miss 4, despite her standing at the fence calling to them. It broke my heart and I brought her inside to play games together and we did some painting. She cried and asked me why they didn't like her anymore.

The following day they started to talk to Miss 4 again, but the endless requests for food and drinks came back and when she said no, they ignored her again.

You're probably wondering why I don't just have them over to play. Fair question. My response is to say that the last time they came over turned into a nightmare when they started world war 3 over every single toy, broke toys when they didn't want to share (I'm thinking it's a 'if I can't have it, then no-one will' type response). When they got bored of that, they convinced Miss 4 to bring them the iPad and they played games on it and completely ignored her. 

When I walked them home after 5 hours, their front gate was locked and I had to wait until their Mum decided she was ready to have them back.

When she finally did come to pick them up, she gave me a glazed smile and slurred something about having been over 3 or 4 times to collect them but it sounded like they were having so much fun she didn't want to disturb them.

I might not have minded so much if it was the first time that happened, but it wasn't. And I was just outright pissed off with being used as a free babysitting service.

Issues with the parents aside, I didn't think I would have to be teaching my 4 year old to protect her little heart, so soon. To be honest, this isn't an issue I had even considered and now I'm not sure what to do. How do I give my little girl a 'friend filter'?

We have been thinking for a while about selling and moving. Part of that involves repairing the fence and it means the kids won't be able to communicate through it anymore. I feel horrible for saying this, but I'll be grateful when that happens - every time her little face falls because she refuses to do the wrong thing and they shun her, every time they send her up and down the stairs, repeatedly, to ask me if they can come over and I say no because they don't have any respect for Miss 4 or her belongings and she gets upset - all of it makes me want to scoop her up, lock the door behind us, hang a 'for sale' sign on the fence and drive away.

I do everything I can to make her realise that real friends don't treat you differently, depending on what you're prepared to do for them. We go on lots of playdates, we spend lots of time with family and friends and we spend lots of time together. I hate feeling like I can't let her play on her trampoline or just play with her dolls in the yard without the neighbour kids harassing her. I hate feeling like our own property isn't comfortable because they are ALWAYS THERE. Always wanting something from her.

There's probably no immediate solution to this, other than to continue doing what we're doing, and I hope that repairing the fence and eliminating the lack of privacy issue will go a long way to solving some of the problems.

I love my little girl so much and I want her to be as open, free spirited and heartfelt as she is for as long as she can, but I won't stand for that to be taken advantage of. I may be soft and fuzzy but, I'm still a mama bear and, you'll be feeling more than just regret if you mess with my little one.

But what about you Mama and Papa bears out there? Have you ever had to deal with something like this, so soon? Am I completely out of touch or are kids growing up a lot faster these days? I feel like this is something I should be talking to Miss 4 about in another decade.

For now, it all feels too soon and too much for such a little bear.

Growing Pains...

For some inexplicable reason I thought parenting would get easier as my child got older.

I mean, it sounded logical at the time. Babies can't communicate so it can be tough to identify their needs. As they grow, they learn to speak and this cuts down on the time it takes to address an issue and everyone is a lot calmer.

I'll admit that I'm feeling a bit out of my depth with a 4yo. She is so very outspoken, so very playful, so very sulky and so very territorial.

Some days I just don't know where to start - usually because Miss 4 has rolled out of bed with a scowl on her face and I can tell that the day ahead is going to be a challenge that only peanut M&M's will cure. For me, anyway.

I try so hard not to get exasperated with her behaviour when it's not up to scratch. I always kneel eye to eye and keep my voice quiet and calm when she's starting a 'hissy-fit' over something trivial, I always try to diffuse the situation rather than feed into it. I like the idea of having a conversation with her about what she's feeling and why rather than flying off the handle.

Some days this works fine - and other days I might as well be talking to my pillow.

My Mummy friends compare me to a My Little Pony character...Fluttershy...




Family refer to me as a push over. I've been told I'm too soft, and I'll be honest, Miss 4 totally knows it.

I just don't like raising my voice - I don't even like calling out in a crowd to get someone's attention.  It feels abrupt and agressive.

Last week she completely lost it while out and about, after a day of trying moods and constant attempts to 'talk it out'. I knelt down to meet her blue eyes and was determined to deal with this quickly. I did - but the tone that escaped from my lips was a new one. It was most definitely 'straight-forward'. I didn't yell, I didn't intimidate, I didn't humiliate - but it most certainly wasn't the voice I was familiar with.

Somehow my brain switched a gear...

I put my Mummy Pants on...

I found 'The Voice'!!

And just like that Miss 4 stopped the tanty, and listened to what I said.

I don't like to say I was 'assertive', because I always think people use the word 'assertive' to excuse their 'agressive' behaviour. In my book it's the same thing, but one word has been made more politically correct and Human Resources friendly so bullying can still continue when it's convenient.

But that's a whole other issue for another day!

I still came down to meet Miss 4's eyes, I still didn't raise my voice, I was still calm and quiet. But the tone of my voice was different - it was lower, it was stronger and it meant business. Miss 4 looked confused initially, as though she didn't know who she was looking at, but that gave way to acceptance very quickly - she realised I wasn't fluffing around.

I'm not even sure I can describe it  - but when I think back I always think of Barry White.

But, you know, girly.

I keep forgetting that while Miss 4 is learning every day, so am I. I need to accept that this parenting gig is dynamic and always changing - just because I have a handle on it one day doesn't mean that I'll have it all under control the next day. And a bad day doesn't mean I've failed. It means I'm human.

I've pulled my 'Barry White Move' when necessary and it's been quite effective - sometimes Barry has to come back for a repeat performance - and a week on from finding my best move, the need for it is lessening. For that I am grateful. It means I can keep my marshmallow exterior, but I have a chewy caramel centre now - not too hard and not too soft.

Just right for Miss 4 and me.

'D' is for...?

"...I'm a lady. And, with that comes an estrogen- fueled need to page through thick glossy magazines that make me hate my body." Mayim Bialik, The Big Bang Theory.

This is pretty standard for being female - magazines, marketing, friends and family all have their own opinions on how we should look and what we should be doing to make this 'perfection' happen.

In my experience, my self-loathing didn't start until I was in highschool and suddenly the need to be skinny and blonde was bigger than the need to breathe. Cleo, Cosmo, Girlfriend Magazine and every single advertisement for clothing I saw told me that being short, chunky and not a platinum blonde meant my value as a person was negligible.

Sad, but true. And I have no doubt that my experience is similar, if not the same, as 90% of women out there...the 90% of us that don't fit the stereotype.

I hate that grown women are subjected to this kind of stupidity, and I'm always thrilled that people like Dani from Danimezza, Melissa from Suger Coat It and Nikki from Styling You are doing more and more to show the world that everyone can look and feel amazing, because they are. Full stop, no returns.

So when I was flicking channels and I came across a documentary on Austar titled 'Diet Crazy Mums', I thought it must be something about women losing the baby weight regardless of what it took. I was expecting to see women on a variety of diets and, when they didn't get the results they wanted, having their mummy-tummy's (and anything else that might have the slightest jiggle to it) liposuctioned, nipped and tucked with a few breast enhancements thrown in for good measure.

What I wasn't prepared for was a program that has the following prologue: "This documentary follows three mothers who are obsessed with counting calories and exercise and are teaching their children how to diet from a young age. The show also looks at how the mothers' lifestyle affects their children's views on body image and food. All the women featured believe they're doing the best for their children - despite facing increasingly harsh criticism from those who don't share their attitudes towards parenting."

Now, I'm all for parents taking an active role in their children's nutrition and health - hello, it's a part of being a parent in the first place. If nutrition and health were irrelevant, the breast-Vs-bottle war would never have got off the ground, much less have the polarising effect is does. But I do object to forcing your own body-issues on to your six year old.

I have never met a six year old girl who would respond to the question "Do you think there's anything wrong with the way you look?" with "I'm fat, and that's the truth." It's horrifying! I would be devastated if I thought anything I said or did made my little girl think she was anything but perfectly normal. At six years old, there is no need to be aware of 'thin' or 'fat' or to know what a bloody calorie is - for goodness sake, I'm 28 and I have no idea about calories, kilojoules or whatever they're called - they are just words written on the sides of packaging.

Miss 3 is allowed to eat whatever she would like to - within reason. I won't let her have a bag of lollies for dinner, but just because I'll let her have a few lollies over the passage of the day doesn't make me some kind of non-caring mum who's happy for her child to live on sugar. All it means is that I'm doing my best to teach her moderation and that we need to have a mixture of foods in our diet. If she tells me she wants a pear and some Jatz crackers for lunch, then fine, I'm not going to stress myself out over it.

All kids go through stages where they just won't eat anything other than a specific food, and working through this stage with your child can mean making some compromises on both sides  - they can have their coveted chicken nuggets, but they won't be allowed any dessert because they're not eating any vegetables. And if you ask me, it's a win win situation because a) you know your child has eaten and b) you're teaching them that they can't live on chicken nuggets and if they're not prepared to eat the healthy stuff, then there's no way the treats will be making an appearance.

I don't think, however, that just because a mother might have a terrible self-image that she should be subjecting her child/ren to calorie restricted diets, exercise regime's and constant weigh-in's. If a parent has genuine concerns about their child's health, there are ways to go about resolving those concerns without creating a home-based 'fat camp'.

One mum put her 2 teen-aged daughters on a strict diet that she followed herself, and would harrass them to be doing time on the treadmill everyday. The mum openly admitted that she was going to bed hungry and would constantly wake up in the night as a result. So, as much as I totally agree that physical activity of some kind on a daily basis is great, why should her daughter's want to slog it out on a treadmill when they're probably starving and have no energy as a result? Needless to say one daughter gave up quite quickly, while the other continued to try and meet her mum's expectations.

Giving your child an unhealthy relationship with their body and food from the moment you can make them understand is going to do more harm than the odd burger ever will. Kids are just that - kids. And they want to be able to experience things, do what their friends do and just have fun. Why ruin that by instilling fears in them that are unjustified?

There are enough hurdles to jump in life regarding appearance that our children will have to face - you want your child to be able to come to you for support and encouragement, not look at you as part of the problem.

As Miss 3 grows and begins to absorb these things on her own terms, I will discuss it all openly, but the message I will be passing on at every stage will be that she is wonderful just as she is and nothing on the outside is more important than what's on the inside.

FFS!? Friday: The Out-Law Edition...

It's been a restless night, people. Pregnancy aside, my anxiety was at an all time high after Miss 3 was on the receiving end of a hammer.

Now, to clarify - she's okay. A bit bruised and she has an impressive but superficial laceration behind one ear, but she is perky, eating, drinking and being her normal self. No concussion, no loss of consciousness, no loss of balance, pupils equal and reactive and normal reactions to stimulus.

It's times like this I'm glad my Mum is a nurse.

The Man is suffering a case of the guilts for leaving the hammer on the ladder, rather than putting it away. I'm suffering a case of the guilts for not having been in front of Miss 3 when we went into the baby's room - if I had, I would have got the light on faster, she wouldn't have bumped into the ladder and the hammer wouldn't have fallen on her.

Another score for parental guilt...just in case my MIL hadn't totally destroyed what was left of my self esteem.

It feels like this millennium century decade year week the MIL has really pulled out all the stops to be at the top of my shit list, yet again. If it was an Olympic sport, the committee would just express post the gold medal to her every 4 years so no one had to bother leaving home.

Our week was great until Wednesday morning. The MIL works at the hospital where my OB is, and I took Miss 3 to see MIL as a surprise after my appointment. This is an important lesson for everyone on how 'doing the right thing' will come and bite you in the arse...

• MIL decided it was important to let me know that she'd been discussing my fracture with her 'friends' and that clearly my lack of nutrition and weight are the reason I hurt myself...FFS
• Apparently my OB is a waste of money if she's not even bothering to do a check on my calcium levels (she has), and what is my OB doing about my appearance?...FFS

MIL then decided it was time to have a chat about the renovations we're doing in the house...

• She informed me that she an FIL are aware that "I'm getting myself all worked up over getting the house finished" and she thinks this is worthy of an eye-roll. And then she showed me how awesome the whites of her eyes are...FFS
• But she then made the concession that "I suppose it's understandable not to want construction happening when you bring the baby home". Gee, glad you said that MIL, I couldn't possibly think about having feelings without your permission...FFS
• MIL proceeded to have a dig at The Man. Why am I worried about getting things done in the next 8 weeks when I know The Man always finishes things off at the last minute?...FFS
• Your underwhelming faith in your son is awesome...FFS

The topic shifted to the fact that I'm on maternity leave. This is the point where I should have grabbed Miss 3 and run away...

• I was asked what I do all day. I dutifully listed off all the things Miss 3 and I have been up to. The official response was "so you don't do much of anything, then?"...FFS
• It was then suggested that if I had kept working then maybe I would have less time to be dramatic over the progress of the renovations...FFS

After all these pearls of wisdom were bestowed upon me, her attention then turned to their new car, some snide remarks about my SIL (The Man's brothers' wife), further wonderment over their new car, the fact that they were buying a new car and finally, in case I wasn't aware, the awesome news that they're buying a new car and I should look it up so I can drool over it.

Yeah - I'll be sure to do that. 

Snort.

Overall it was the surprise visit from hell - which completely fell in on itself and spontaneously combusted when a promise was made that they would 'pop over on the weekend'. 

It's been decided that from Saturday morning our entire weekend will be spent with the blinds down, lights off, scuttling around the house on all fours using sign language to communicate.

Either that or we're moving house entirely. I'll let you know how it goes.

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.

It's Official...

I'm pregnant!

Okay, well, I knew that months ago, but since I had to give my 12+ weeks advanced notice of maternity leave (which means I've actually told HR I'm preggers, and not just eating too many donuts) it feels far more real.

Or as real as it's going to get if you ignore the wiggling person in my uterus with a heartbeat and constantly changing mood towards food.

So I'm on the countdown to 18 October when I can shuffle off this working coil, and become a (lumpy) lady of (not really, but as close as I'll ever come to) leisure.

If you completely diregard the fact that I'll be 36 weeks pregnant and I'll have an almost 4yo at home with me, then the leisure part seems perfectly reasonable.

Somehow, I've managed to wrangle a full 12 months paid leave. Obviously it was HR's plan all along: drive me to the brink of insanity for my own benefit. Looks like completely losing my shit over being tired, unappreciated and not feeling like I could take time off from work without being given the evil eye was simply part of the grand plan.

Just a tip HR - next time let me in on the secret - we'll get along a hell of a lot better.

The fact that there won't be a next time is completely irrelevant.

I'm really looking forward to not working. Even after all this time as a working mum, I still feel the sting of having to be exactly that. I'm not saying I'd rather see our family starve than go to work - clearly I'm not that evil, or I would NEVER have gone back to work - but I think the tug of war between my obligations to a workplace and my love and attachment to a person we brought into the world conflict every single day and I am ready to put that behind me.

When I hear people say things like 'if you can't afford to stay home, then you shouldn't have children', it really burns my butt. Last time I checked there were far worse things in this world than your child attending daycare.

It's not like I'm strapping my child to the fan blades during the day and leaving her there until I come home! We put a lot of consideration into which daycare she would attend - like every parent does - and waited as long as we could before putting her in. People don't choose to go back to work lightly - some of us don't have a choice.

Things are different this time around, and I'm very grateful for it. The emotional rollercoaster that is being a working parent is not for me, and I knew that from day one, but circumstances meant I had to do the hard yards for a while until things changed.

Being a SAHM is going to come with a whole new load of challenges, and I get that. I certianly don't have visions of laying on the couch, watching TV while eating chocolate (well, not until after the kids are in bed!) but I know I'm going to love it a hell of a lot more than schelpping into work every day wishing I was somewhere else.

So here's to the remaining 91 days...may they dissipate faster than a fart in a fan factory.

The cranky pants are on again...

So last night I lost my shit. Just a little bit.

I totally put it on Twitter, too.

Normally, I wouldn't care - but for once just once, I wanted the time to watch My Kitchen Rules, as it screened on TV.

Some ME time! Me time that isn't just another term for sleep. Because sleep is not really me time - I dream about what I need to do the next day for god's sake!

The Guru get's endless time to himself. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday nights he logs on to his computer and isn't heard from again for the rest of the night.

So I tend to get a bit crank-tastic when, for a change, everything has gone to schedule and I can sit on the couch and watch MY program. By myself. Without interruption.

Needless to say, it didn't quite work out.

When Miss 3 decided she wasn't, in fact, tired at all and wanted to stay awake, pull all her toys out and then turn into the whinging whinger from whinge-town, I got a bit twitchy. And I turned off the TV. I put her back to bed. I turned the TV back on.

Repeat this cycle for 20 minutes. Add the fact that 50% of the parenting back-up is otherwise occupied, stir in threenager tantrum and I'd had enough.

I didn't yell, I didn't freak out (well, other than on Twitter). I put her back to bed.

And then I went to my own bed to cry. Because if I don't cry, I'll fucking scream.

For some reason, down time for me isn't doable. But down time is all The Guru seems to get.

It pisses me off.

And it pisses me off more because we've talked about it a thousand times.  He knows how I feel. He knows.

Its times like this I want to microwave his hard drive.



  

Dear Me...on a FFS Friday...

Dear Me,

Well, today has just turned out to be a winner, hasn't it? In terms of a FFS Friday, it's right up there. But mostly you brought it on yourself. Maybe that's why it stings??

Let's review the facts for this morning, shall we?  It started to go downhill when Miss 3 went into a dramatic moment over a pair of socks that she didn't want to wear. No biggie, you said she could find the socks she wanted and you'd put them on for her.

After she got off the naughty spot for screaming in your face about not wanting to wear the socks you'd picked.

Then she couldn't find her blueberries. And so she went into full meltdown. And continued for a full 40 minutes.

Yeah - not her finest hour, and certainly not yours either, judging by the result.

Okay, so she was carrying on like a pork chop in the driveway as you put her carseat back in the car. So what? Are you worried the palm trees are going to judge your parenting skills? They're too busy dropping fronds the size of the Titanic on your lawn and sprouting berries that attract bats to shit everywhere. They have their own way of pissing you off, they don't give a shit about tantrums!

Yes, the carseat was being a prick as usual, it was hot and you were running late. Well, when you have a child, live in the NT and snooze the alarm for 2 hours, this is what happens. Take a cement pill and harden the fuck up, princess.

Okay, she didn't want to eat her breakfast. At least, not the breakfast you had for her. But let's be honest, she was crabby because she wanted left over's from dinner and you had just finished feeding said left over's to the chickens. It's most likely a parenting win that you didn't open the coop and read a book while Miss 3 had left overs with Stewie and Ice-Cream.

Okay, she kept screaming and gaining volume and pitch and didn't want to get in the car. To be honest, neither did you. And she didn't manage to blow out the windows on the car, so what's the problem?

Yes, driving along with a banshee in the backseat isn't fun. But turning around and yelling 'ENOUGH' at her isn't going to solve anything. And you knew that, otherwise you wouldn't have cried.

Remember that look on her face...yeah, the same look used to be on your face as a child. Why would you do that to your daughter? You remember how it felt...why would you repeat that?

Miss 3 is exactly that...3. And she needs you to love her and guide her. Learn from this, remember this and think about it the next time you feel close to losing the plot. She watches you and gains her understanding of how to approach situations through the actions you take and reactions you have.

When you pick her up this afternoon, apologise for yelling. Talk with her and go over the events of this morning. Find out why she felt frustrated and upset so you can help her the next time it happens. Explain to her how you felt and make sure she understands as best she can.

You can't take it back - it's out in the universe now - but you can show your daughter that when we make a mistake, being honest and open about it is the only way to move forward.

And FFS, stop snoozing the alarm - or else I'll make you put an ice pick through it. Whomever invented the snooze button obviously never met you...

Now, don't make me have to talk to you again, it's embarrassing.

Cheers & Beers,
Your Brain.



  

Hmmm...

So the carer of evil wasn't there today. Our meeting yesterday went well - apparently, very well.

The reaction from the Centre Director leads us to believe that we're not the first concerned parents to bring this sort of thing to her attention.

Interesing, yes?

The main aim was not to have someone fired (if that's what has happened, and I'm not ashamed to say that I won't be sad to see the back of that carer), but for them to be aware of our concerns and to have the safety and wellbeing of our daughter confirmed.

It seems we have achieved that in the short term, but we will still be moving her when a place comes up.

I'm sad to take her away from the carers that she does trust and love - it does make me hesitate.

If the bad is gone, is the good enough to stay?

I'm boarding a plane shortly, so I'll have plenty of pondering time.

Who said parenting is easy?

For the Safety of our Children...

I was going to do a post on 9/11 today - but for the moment something else is more prominent in my mind.

That might sound strange or even selfish, because how could something be bigger in my head than 9/11 and how it changed all our lives.

Well, as much as it pains and scares me to admit, child abduction has become a prominent feature in our local paper and it scares the hell out of me.

In the past week, 5 reports have been made of attempted child abduction. While one has been proven a hoax (and why the hell you'd fake something like that, I don't know!) the others bother me. Deeply.

The police have released sketches of the 3 suspects:

Police have released these Comfit images of men wanted for questioning over recent abduction attempts. Image Credit

Now, we've been robbed this year and it made me furious that strangers could make us feel so unsafe in our own home. Needless to say we've made changes to our home that will make it interesting for them to try again.

But to have this happening, where we now have out gate padlocked even when we're home and where I don't feel comfortable for our daughter to play in OUR OWN YARD makes me so angry, and so frightened, I could explode.

I now question whether to take the Toddler to the park. She loves it - loves to run around and play. But even knowing I'm there and watching her like a hawk doesn't make it feel safer. Every male adult, in my mind, is a potential predator and I loathe feeling that way - because a week ago I didn't.

I don't want our daughter to grow up in a bubble, or locked behind a fence at home because there are disgusting pigs out there who want to snatch a child.

The NT has the highest per-capita police force in the country, and yet this doesn't offer any comfort. Maybe previous experience has me jaded in that they can't even track down home invaders, so how can I expect them to offer any protection for our family, or any family, against something so much bigger?

It makes me sick, angry, scared and over-protective. This is not something I thought we would ever have to worry about - and yet here we are.

It's disturbing.

Parents, please sit down with your children and cover the 'Four Rs':

• Recognise the danger
• Refuse any offer
• Run away
• Report it to the first person they feel safe with

For more information on child protection visit http://www.napcan.org.au/ or your State or Territory Police website, as listed below:

• NT Police
• SA Police
• NSW Police
• WA Police
• Tasmania Police
• Victoria Police

If you witness suspicious behaviour near schools, bus stops, parks or any public place near children, please contact the following numbers in your State or Territory:

• NT, SA, NSW, WA and Tasmania:  Police on 131 444 or Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000
• Victoria:  Contact your local police station or Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000

Remember: In an emergency, call 000.

If you have any information on the attempted abductions please contact NT Police on 131 444

The trouble with Day Care...

Today I was anxious about dropping the Toddler off at day care. My stomach was in knots and I could feel myself sweating about it.

Because day care have arranged for a psychologist to observe the Toddler today. Day care tell me they think she has severe separation anxiety and anger management problems. They tell me that the Toddler might benefit from play therapy.

WTF!?

I want to tell them they're all a bunch of freaks and that my child will not be returning to their care.

This all came about because, apparently, the Toddler is getting frustrated with her peers. Gee, I can't imagine why. I would totally be cool, calm and collected if I tried to speak to someone and, rather than use words like I do, they babbled some indecipherable rubbish at me before snatching a toy or pushing me.

Chances are I'd push them back, too.

The separation anxiety thing, I know, is related to the patch we went through where she wasn't keen for us to leave her. But to be honest we've made such a massive transition in the last 3 weeks, it's like it never even happened!

The other thing that concerns us is that it appears only one carer has issues with the Toddler. And by that I mean, when this carer tells the Toddler it's not okay to push her friends etc, the Toddler apparently throws herself to the floor and has a tantrum.

This only happens with this one specific carer.

My question is, what is this carer doing differently from the others, that invokes this reaction from the Toddler? And excuse me, but I don't think it has anything to do with separation anxiety or anger management issues.

We have a susupicion that she's bored and needs stimulation and interaction on a new level. Hell, she just needs to be in a group of children who will speak to her, rather than dribble, grunt and snot in her face.

We're her parents, and so we're quite obviously biased. I'm not saying we've created a genius (in fact, some days I think we've created a monster), but she is further developed with her speech, language and communication than a lot of her peers. Probably because she's part of a family who speak almost non-stop from the moment they wake up until they go to sleep at night. And even then we don't stop - we all talk in our sleep.

Every child is different and every child develops at their own pace. What annoys me is that they say the Toddler's physically too small to move up a level, to the pre-school room. They admit she's got the mental capacity, but are holding her back because of her physical appearance.

The Toddler has always been small for her age, but it's not stopped her! Besides, the Toddler has a friend in day care, N, who is half the size and the same age - N's sister, who is 18months old, is twice her size. What are they going to do to poor little N?

'I'm sorry, N, we've decided you need to stay in the toddler room until you're 15 because you're small.'

Idiots.

I think it makes us even more annoyed because some of her friends who are the same age but just happen to be taller or bigger in general, are having half-day transition into pre-school.

I'm extremely grateful that day care decided to become ridiculous during the Guru's time off because he is there today, monitoring all the goings on, and will be having a meeting with the centre staff and the counsellor about it all once they have completed their 'observations'.

I can't wait to hear what they have to say, although I can't promise I'll be receptive.

It's parenting, Jim, but not as I know it

We're going through a trying phase at the moment.

Clingy. Highly emotional. Irrational. High strung.

No, I'm not talking about me after an episode of Masterchef where the cry baby got a second immunity pin and should have had her butt served on a plate 10 episodes ago.

I'm talking about the Toddler.

She's hysterical no matter where she's going. To Nanna's house, to day care, even if I want to go to the toilet by myself!

If I'm not there and if her Daddy's not there, all hell breaks loose. And I'm about to lose my grip on reality.

I know it's a phase. I know she'll grow out of it.

But I still want to lock myself in a cupboard and curl in the foetal position blocking my ears and singing 'lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala' until it's all over.

I'm ashamed to admit this but I'm at the point where I'm using excuses not to go to work and staying home with her on day care days to avoid the drama. Because it's my fault. If I didn't work full time - hell, if I didn't work, full stop - she wouldn't have to go to day care.

I've tried it all. Reassurance, being calm, being firm, staying with her as long as I can, leaving quickly, letting her sleep where she chooses, being firm that she's a big girl and needs to sleep in her own bed, reward charts, praise and encouragement.

And when I say 'I', I mean 'I'. The Guru has the luxury of leaving at a dumb hour of the morning to get to work and getting home at an even dumber hour.

I'm pissed off about that - and being pissed off is not helping me get through this.

I feel guilty for that. He works full time and does everything he can to keep our family comfortable. He's just been promoted to a Department Manager, and I know it's demanding. So why do I feel like all that's not enough? It should be, right?

I feel so alone. I feel like I'm doing this on my own. And I don't like it.

But her behaviour. Oh, god, her behaviour. I blame myself for the tantrums. I blame myself for her not wanting to sleep in her own bed, for not being confident that, when I drop her off, I will come back. I tell her that all the time, I tell her that I will always come back.

I'm so tired all the time, I don't have the energy to always follow through. Tears and puppy dog eyes are enough for me to cave.

I'm ruining her. I had such a stern upbringing that now I'm afraid if I even raise my voice she'll have terrible memories like I do. I don't want her to look back on her childhood sadly - I want her to remember how it was always awesome.

I'm screwing it all up - it's such a mess and I have no one to blame but myself.

I'm so very, very tired. Tired of the tantrums. Tired of feeling damned if I do and damned if I don't. Tired of not knowing what to do. Tired of feeling lonely.

Just so damn tired.

Why It's Not Cool to be Married to a Sympathy Spewer

I love the Guru. I honestly do - more than words. Hence the whole marriage and baby thing.

And there are many things I love about him: his eyes, his sense of Humour, his butt, his ability to fix anything computer related, his ability to open jars and mow the lawn without shredding his toes.

But I have to say, there's one major thing about him that makes me want to email the Husband.com people and ask them to review their programming.

The Toddler is getting her molars, and she has a bit of a cold at the moment. On Saturday night she wasn;t well...and it began in the car.

We had just left my parents place after a BBQ with some friends up from Adelaide...the Toddler was in her car seat, Shrek was playing and everything was fine. 2 corners later, everything was not so fine.

You know how it works. The coughing, the splutter and then the tell-tale gagging. The car was swerved into the curb and I was promptly unbuckled and shoved out the door to get to the Toddler (yes, you read correctly, he took my seatbelt off and even opened the door for me...but it wasn't so much chivalrous as it was desperate and panicky).

I open the back door to behold a small child who's dressing gown, pyjamas and car seat are now coated in congealed milk and undigested chunks of watermelon. No mysterious carrot chunks though. Awesome.

I got in the back seat with the Toddler and wiped off as much as I could from her face, and tried to keep her calm.

But it was difficult to remain composed when I had Swerving Charlie driving the car, with all the windows down, hanging out the door gasping for air and eyes as big as dinner plates. The panic had set in.

Because the Guru is a sympathy spewer.

Of all the things to be sensitive to, it had to be spew. Seriously, if he couldn't handle poo, blood or phlegm I would be more sympathetic. Aside from the poo, the other items you don't really encounter too often (hopefully). And I do 98% of the poop duties anyway, so it wouldn't be making life any messier.

But when it comes to vomit, and the knowledge that I have to deal with it alone, all I want to say is "take a cement pill and harden the f&*k up, buddy".

So we make it back to my parents place and the Guru runs inside the house with the speed of a squirrel on caffeine.  I'm hoping that a) he had enough time to put the handbrake on, because he didn't have time to turn the car off, and b) that he's getting help. Any help. For the love of god, GET HELP!

I pour the Toddler out of the car, and strip her off on the grass. My Mum quietly appears behind me with a blanket, scoops up the Toddler, gives me a squeeze and says she'll take care of everything.

I turn back to the car while my Mum takes the Toddler in for a warm bath and a change of pyjamas, and view the damage. Thankfully it's not gone any further than the car seat, and the car won't smell like spew for a month. Because the Guru would LOVE that.

Meanwhile, with me up to my armpits in vomit, the Guru is nowhere to be seen. Bastard.

I completely understand that with his crippling infliction he would be zero assistance, but some moral support just by being in the same postcode while I deal with the 'unpleasantness' would be better than nothing.

When we finally head home (again!) I find him sitting in the car, and given that everything coated in vomit is now OUTSIDE the car, all the windows are up, the doors are LOCKED (just in case the smelly car seat tried to carjack him...) and he's even got the heater recycling the air from within the car.

He views the Toddler with fear - am I sure she's not got any spew on her? Am I sure the car won't start to smell again? Am I sure I won't smell of spew and make him sick?

I answer "yes", "yes" and "yes" with a mental note of 'I'm sure I don't smell of spew, but I might punch you and make you feel sick anyway'.

To wrap up the remainder of the evening, we made it home without incident, the Guru flicking his glance back to the Toddler every few seconds - just in case she tried to launch a surprise attack on him.

We get home, and after another vomit session I decide to sleep in the loungeroom on a make-shift 'vomit-proof' bed with the Toddler.

If I had to tackle bedding or anything with vomit on it while a fully grown man cowered in the bedroom, again, my sanity might have slipped away forever.

Thankfully the rest of the night was vomit free...which gave me ample time to decide on an appropriate punishment for the Guru.

So tell me, what 'sympathies' does your significant other have that drive you mad?  Please - let me know that I'm not alone...

Friday Fluff

Image from Here

"I wait. And then I take it off, mummy."

~ Morning nappy change fail. The Toddler is slowly realising that parents can be over-rated. The question is, will this speed up the night-toilet-training?

Kickin' Back

Well, the Guru is flying out tonight - or rather, a disgusting hour of tomorrow morning - and I am henceforth doin' the solo-parent thing for 10 days.

And I've been thinking about it...and thinking that it won't actually be too bad. Sure, I'm not looking forward to addressing temper tantrums alone, but maybe this is my chance to step up and become "serious, can use the naughty spot when I have to Mumma" rather than "endless warnings and eventually use the naughty spot when it doesn't mean anything  Mumma"?

Because I would really like to make a break through with the feral 'tude of the Toddler. Seriously, feral.

It has also occurred to me that I get the bed. To myself. All of it's king size glory for me to snuggle in my quilt and snooze, uninterrupted, not having to fight for some form of covering for my arse (or any part of me, for that matter) before it freezes and falls off. Because now the dry season has arrived, the temp drop at night is wintery.

Well, for those of us used to night's being around the 28 degree mark it's wintery and when it drops to 18 degrees you whip out the thermal underwear. And start knitting scarves that won't be sold to Supré as a dress, after all.

I can eat my bodyweight in chocolate with no witnesses. Which means it never really happened. So there will have been no calories consumed ergo no weight gained.

EXCELLENT!

I might actually have the energy to blog at home without having to worry about silly things like going to work, getting dressed or washing myself. Or something.

And when he returns from his care-free trip, so begins the ultimate, milking-it-for-all-it's-worth, evil-enjoyment time where I do very little and he does everything else.

I'm thinking I might stop cleaning a few days before he arrives home - just so he has something to do during those returned home, jet lagged hours of restless non-sleep.

I have yet to put in my Duty Free order though. Partly because there's really nothing that I would like - it all seems silly and frivolous.

And yet, I can't help but think that the brief joy I would experience in receiving Duty Free items might be worth it anyway. We'll see what happens.

And so, for now I am signing off to start my holidays, which begins with attending the Easter Egg Hunt at the Toddler's Day Care Centre.

Ah, small children hyped up on excitement and sugar. What better way to start my relaxing break...

Just run...as fast as you can. They'll only knock you down...

Yep - I'm ranting again

Maybe it's because I woke up in a bad mood today. Maybe because I just can't stand people making a joke about something that upsets me.

Maybe my co-workers are just a bunch of dick heads.

I lost my appetite when a discussion in the lunch room turned to the mother who is being taken to court over disciplining her son with hot sauce and a cold shower.

The clip was part of a Dr Phil episode, and more infromation on the charges the mother's up against can be found here.

Now it's not the topic of conversation that disturbed me. It's the fact that my co-workers thought it was funny and nothing was wrong with what the mother did.

To quote one of them 'it was only chilli sauce' and 'seems like you can be charged for anything these days'.

I had to stop myself from punching him in the face. And I responded that if I EVER thought it was okay to make my child eat chilli sauce and then dump them in a cold shower, while they scream in fear and pain, then I would expect to go to jail.

There is NOTHING about this that is okay. And there is NO EXCUSE for this mother's behaviour. The mother feels this is the only way to 'discipline' the little boy because he is so naughty.

This child was adopted from Russia with his twin brother. And authorities are now investigating whether the boys should be taken away.

My opinion is yes - but that's me.

I understand we all have lapses in our tempers, and we yell when we don't mean to or we're impatient with our children. But I don't ever recall wanting to do something like this to our daughter. I can't recall anything that she has ever done or could do that would make me think this kind of punishment was appropriate. EVER.

My co-workers regaled me with tales of how their headmasters would beat them with a cane, or their parents would use a belt.

Is it any wonder there are people in the world who think it's okay to use physical violence to get a point across!? Is it any wonder why these practices are now ILLEGAL!?

It makes me so angry. I can't even put it into words. I want to scream at them that I think they're all insensitive bastards and that they can all go to hell. That I feel sorry for their families if this is the way they think children should be taught right from wrong.

Maybe I'm just not in the right frame of mind today, and maybe I should have stayed home.

Maybe I'm oversensitive at the moment, and I should have walked away and not paid any attention to their stupid and insensitive comments.

But I couldn't, and I can't.

If I were them, I wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror.

Last Minute Gifts (and future therapy)

Tomorrow, the Toddler turns 2.

And aside from crying myself to sleep, I will be making a giant cupcake to ice and deliver with her to Daycare tomorrow, wrapping a present (or two three four quantity unknown) and hoping that the sniffle she's caught will clear up in time for her to enjoy her party on Saturday.

Aside from the gifts we are saving for her birthday, I have decided that it would be awful not to give her something on her actual special day.

Cue - crazy, looney, over-the-top, present purchasing Mum.

I have been thinking about it, and due to the Toddler's fascination with babies, changing nappies, potty's etc etc we are going to get her a Baby Alive Doll Baby Born with Magic Potty doll (EDIT: turns out that Baby Born isn't available in Darwin at the moment - stock delivery issues) and a brand new pair of shoes (remember the shoe fettish I mentioned yesterday - well, blame my Mum for encouraging her this time, she bought the Toddler her very first pair of sneakers (trainers for those non-Aussies).

Yeah, I know - the doll's for children 3yrs and up (I'm ignoring all the eye rolling about the shoes).

But I figure I'm older than 3 and worst case scenario I brush up on my mothering skills with newborns all over again.

Yes, it has occurred to me that this present may be more about my fascination with these dolls. than anything else.

I guess I always wanted one as a child - and now that I have a daughter I seem to be on a mission to give her everything I wanted as a child, whether she wants it/likes it/is old enough for it or not.

Tragic? Yes. Expensive? The Guru says 'hell yes!'. Satisfying? Absolutely. Cures working mother's guilt? Not really (it keeps me distracted!), but she can't look back on her childhood and say she was unloved considering she's surrounded by mountains of stuff, can she?

Probably. The therapist will tell me in 15 years that the Toddler feels I tried to fill the void with stuff and it didn't work.

Maybe I should stop buying the stuff and start saving for the family therapist?

Friday Fluff!

Well thank god it's Friday, peoples! I was beginning to worry today would never arrive - that I would go to bed last night and wake up next Monday.

That would be additionally bad as it means the Toddler would miss her playdate with her bestie. I am currently the evil parent anyway because my child is almost 2 going on 25 and I am trying to curb the attitude.

At this point in time, I am failing - spectacularly. Know how I know? Because day care tied me to a chair and put a bright light in my eyes demanding to know the truth, even though they can't handle the truth asked me about her behaviour at home and if it's the same as at day care. Apparently she's very bossy. Apparently they've not met me outside of  'happy, calm drop off/pick up at day care mummy' persona. If they had, they wouldn't ask silly questions.

I'm putting it all down to the terrible two's making an early entrance and the fact that her molars are coming through. The combination is a spectacular thing to behold when she's gettin' her freak on and the naughty spot is wearing a hole in our wood floor.

Moving on however, to the vital part of this post!  The Friday Fluff!!

I'd like to add a small note that she's running around in a nappy because she was taking a break from waterslide play, and stupid person that I am, I forgot her bathers. We are not one of those bogan families who take their children out and about wearing only a nappy because clothing is 'too hard'...ahem...

Yes - that is my husband holding a baby croc, and that is my small child giving it a kiss.

All I can say is thank god for the invention of electrical tape.

This was part of her day care Xmas party - they get one of the blokes from the local wildlife park to bring a couple of crocs, a snake or two and then let parents and children alike do their best Steve Irwin impression.

I suppose that's all for another Friday - although I would like to draw attention to the newly designed header on here, and the new button. I've finally done something I am completely happy with - YAY!

So have a loverly weekend all and enjoy the last few days before Christmas hysteria consumes your household.

The Great Gender Debate

I know this is a debate that has raged for eons - about as long as breast Vs bottle.

But I was watching a show last night titled '8 Boys and Wanting a Girl'. Anyone with Austar/Foxtel will know I've watched it a day late...god love recording live TV abilities!

I was surprised to find that there are some women who feel so totally incomplete by not having a certain gender. For these women, it was having a girl that consumed their every waking moment. And while I can understand the idea that you might go "oh, okay - we have a boy/girl, it would be nice to have a pigeon pair" I don't understand going off the deep end and just about tearing yourself and your family apart over it.

Anyway, I have to say - I was intrigued by the idea that these families were so desperate for a girl that they would go to any lengths. And oh, boy did they ever!

Some tried natural gender swaying using the Shettles method of changing diet, sex at certain times only and even douching with vinegar and something else as boy sperm don't favour acidic conditions, and girl sperm do.

Others went through a process known as PGD - Preimplantation Genatic Diagnosis. Makes it sound like gender is a disease to be found and cured. And I suppose, in a way, for these women having male embryos is something to be found and not so much cured as avoided.

It covered women in the UK and America, and followed them through their mission to have a baby girl.

It broke my heart when I watched one Mum at her ultrasound discover that baby number 5 was, in fact, another boy. You could see the disappointment and pain literally spill out of her. But it also made me feel sad for her that she has a wonderful family and 4, almost 5 perfectly healthy children in her life, and it's not enough.

Especially when there are people out there who would give their right hand for ONE child of either gender and be content forever.

I was bothered by the nurse's comments of 'Well, we'll print off a couple of pictures, you'll get to know your baby and then you'll eventually love him just the same'.

Ummmm - since when did gender disappointment equate to not loving your children? She fully admitted she would have a 'hole' in her for the rest of her life for not having a girl, and while she and her husband had discussed adoption, part of the dream is to have her husband's baby girl, so adoption wouldn't actually be a solution, as such.

But she also went on to say that she loved her children unconditionally, and that boys or girls she didn't love them any less. This Mum followed the Shettles method to no avail - they don't have the money for PGD. And in the UK it's illegal to do PGD, it's too far down the designer baby path to be acceptable for conservative Britain.

Which leads me to Mum #2 - UK based and after 4 boys went down the PGD path. She travelled to Spain to find a clinic that would take her on. After a failed attempt she fell pregnant with twin girls and her dream was complete.

At that point when her twins were about 2 she decided it was time to marry the father of her children.

She made the rule that until he gave her a daughter, they would never be married. Um, if you can't love your partner for giving you a healthy family regardless of the gender, then maybe you need to re-assess yourself.

All I can say is thank god this bloke was made of money. At $10k a pop, it's not a cheap option. Who knows, maybe money can buy happiness if all it takes is a petri dish and a female embryo.

Mum 3 is an American - and in America, Land of the Free, Home of the Brave and Location of the Free-for-All, PGD is available anywhere and everywhere, providing you have the money.

The process is the same as IVF up to the point that when your embryo's are eight cells in size, one cell is taken from each and identified as male or female.

What happens to the male embryo's is anyone's guess. I'd like to think maybe they get donated to couples who want a child and can't do it themselves for one reason or another. But I think we all know that's most likely not the case.

This was the third and final attempt for Mum #3 at PGD. Again, 4 boys and so desperate for a girl she'd do anything. But it was obviously taking it's toll on her marriage and her children - she had become so negative about not being able to have a girl, everything else had become worthless for her.

And that's when I started to wonder, when is enough, enough? Where do you draw the line between wanting something so bad you would spend $30k or give up a kidney on attempt after attempt to pick the right gender and recognising that your money and your kidney might not be the only things you lose in your quest for 'completion'.

Is going to hell and back for a specific gender child worth losing the family you do have? And how would that impact on your children - do they start to feel that they are simply not wanted? That they are just 'wrong' because their Mum wanted the opposite? How the hell do you grow up feeling valued and accepted for who you are when you know that your parents did everything possible to have exactly what you're not?

Are these parents unlucky, or just ungrateful?



This is a situation with many answers and many sides to the story - and this is just a small sample. Gender disappointment isn't new, and lots of women suffer it and partners do too if they have their heart set on one gender over another.

I don't know if they are ungrateful - maybe a little jaded by their situation. And at the end of the day we are all human and have hopes and dreams for the future.

I just don't know that it's worth sacrificing the happiness of the present.