On Being Productive...

Well, as productive as one can be with fractured ribs, anyway.

I'm scheduling this post for today as our home officially becomes a construction zone, rather than just a destruction zone. It'll make a nice change for walls to go up.

I keep looking around the house and seeing eight million things that I want to tidy or throw out or put into storage. And then there are the eight million things in our store room that I want to bring upstairs and start sorting for the new little miss, due to make an appearance in 13 weeks time.

I'm really excited to go through Miss 3's baby clothes as there were a few things that she only wore once or twice before it had to shift out of rotation - I'm happy to think they'll have a second life :) But, of course, that won't stop me from shopping up a storm! It was terrible when Miss 3 was born, so with 2 girls to dress I'll have to work very hard on my self control...maybe...

And speaking of Miss 3, by some miracle I was able to sort through her toybox without her really noticing. I take the fact that she hasn't mentioned a single item missing means they were long gone from the repertoire of play.

My next mission is to go through her play kitchen and all the materials associated with such.

That may be a tad more stressful than discreetly addressing the toybox, but we'll see how we go.

I have to say, having another girl has thrilled me to bits. The Man too. The only trouble now is agreeing on a name. The Man has latched on to a name that is so left of field I'm not even sure where to go with it! Needless to say I think it's an 'interesting' choice - but I'm not able to provide a counter proposal as I can't make a decision on anything!

Chances are the maternity staff will be writing 'Baby + Surname' on all the paperwork.

But a name is just number 1 on the list of things to decide. I'm still not sure on the colour for the room - I'm not sure about going pink again, I'd like something different for this baby. I love the yellow and grey nursery's I've seen on the internet but I'm not sure about the practicality of it and how fast it will age.

I also have to find a set of drawers for the baby's room, that won't cost $600 plus! I'm trying to find a raw pine set that I can paint white myself, as that's how I recycled the pine tall boy in our bedroom. With new handles and all painted up it looks fantastic, so I'm more than happy to do the same again.

And then there's the horrifying task of sorting through The Man's computer crap. Well, I call it crap. He calls it...some word I can't remember. But the endless computer parts, cables, funny board things and whatnot have to be addressed. If it was up to me I'd throw it all away - but I think that would probably kill him. So in the spirit of life preservation I will simply be pestering him for however long it takes for the crap to disappear.

It could be a very long life. Or a very short one.

But overall, while the men are constructing, I plan to be out of the house doing some shopping for my Hug-A-Bub, the chest of drawers, a baby record book and some girly stuff that I'll not be able to resist bringing home with me.

It's going to be a good day...

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 Time Has Come", The Walrus said...

Not  "to talk of many things: Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax-- Of cabbages--and kings..."

But to discuss the fact that The Man and his brother made such strides towards the current renovation project in our home, over the weekend, I thought there must have been vodka in the drinking water.

It looks like this baby will actually have a room, and I'm no longer eyeing off the fan blades in the lounge room as a potential 'cot' because I won't have anywhere to put a real one.

I'll admit, it was a risk letting the two of them take on the demolition. The Man and his brother are terrifyingly accident prone. If something could possibly happen, it inevitably will. It's in their DNA.

I married the one in red...

In true family style, they proceeded to remove gyprock and other miscellaneous building materials from our home with a ladder that was too short, no shoes, no safety glasses, bare hands and with the electricity still running through the house while hammering and chiseling into the wall...that contains the central power board.

I suppose their main line of safety was that beer would not be consumed on the job.

Thank fuck.

Somehow, the only 'massive' injuries sustained were a chisel into the hand (brother) and near impalement with a section of wood that only amounted to massive bruising (The Man). I was informed that he truly has 'balls of steel' because that was what got in the way.

Bandaids and laughter appeared to be the remedy.

Very few nails were stepped on, and each had the courtesy of warning one another whenever they did so. Because, you know, removing them would have been sensible.

When pondering how to thank The Brother for all his hard work, it occured to me the best thank you gift would be a tetanus shot and offering to stitch up his hand. Or just get him home alive to his wife and their unborn child.

Happily, the construction of the new wall and relocation of the door frame will be done by someone else entirely. Although he is an army bud of The Brother, so safety standards could be questionable.

I'll just take Miss 3 to the park and pretend it's not happening.

But in the meantime, I have to try and appear knowledgeable while The Man talks to me about what the electrician will need to do, and data cables, and practical locations for power points and light switches and fan controls and how easy it will be to finish off the floor.

That's totally awesome, but in the meantime I'm more concerned about the gyprock being fixed in the adjoining wall, since the demolition wasn't *strictly* controlled and has now spread to Miss 3's bedroom too.

We are 15 weeks away from blast off in my uterus, and I feel like the space is 25 weeks away from completion. But I have every confidence it will be done in time.

Whether or not the brother's end up in the hospital ward next to me is something we'll have to wait and see...

Riding in Cars with Boys...

Last night, I hit a new low.

The shame is still imprinted on my brain and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to look my husband in the eye again...or, at least, not until dinner time tonight. Especially if he's cooking.

I had thought the worst of this 24/7 morning sickness was over.

I was wrong.

Terribly, mortifyingly, wrong.

The day had started out badly, with my head in the toilet. This was an omen, and I didn't pay attention...

********************************************************************************

It began as a normal ride home from work. Rather than taking 2 cars, we decided to travel together since The Man was actually going to finish at a reasonable time. It was nice not to have to drive in the peak hour traffic.

Everything was fine - I was checking Twitter and Facebook, catching up on what I had missed throughout the day. Suddenly I paused, as the familiar feeling of queasy churning began. I took deep breaths, I put the air vent on my face for the cool air and I tried to focus on something else.

The rising panic told me I had to find something fast. There was no time for deep breathing and cool air - this was the time for frantic action!

If we had been in my car, there would have been a plastic bag available. There also would have been easily cleaned leather seats. But we were in The Man's car, and the only thing I could find was the cardigan on my lap and everywhere I looked all I could see was Subaru emblazoned, absorbent material laughing in my face.

This was going to be bad.

We were on the highway - nowhere to pull over as we were stuck in the far lane and traffic was bumper to bumper. I could have put my head out the window, but in my panic I know I would have forgotten to turn away from the wind and it would have blown back in my face.

This was going to be traumatic enough without adding that kind of scarring experience to the mix.

I should have thought about the cardigan better. Tried to fashion some sort of cloth 'bucket'. But before I knew it the muscle reflex from hell kicked in and I crammed the cardigan up against my mouth.

And from there the day unravelled at lightening speed.

For a moment I thought perhaps it was just a reflex and nothing came out - until I wondered why I couldn't see through my glasses anymore and why the mess was hovering before my eyes.

Something was dripping down both arms.

Something warm was slowly making its way down my cleavage.

Then another wave came.

Oh, shit.

The Man kept saying "don't panic, it will be okay, don't panic!" over and over. I think this mantra was actually more for his own benefit than mine.

He's not good with vomit.

With every wave it spread further - it sprayed onto the sun visor! If I hadn't been so horrified by what was happening, I probably would have been impressed with the leverage I was achieving with every heave.

I could feel the car moving faster and faster. I think at one point we were air-borne as The Man tried to get us home before it could get worse. I'm not sure how it could have been worse, but it's the thought that counts.

As we screamed into the driveway, of course the heaving finished. Even in my lowest moment the irony was not lost on me. Miserable, fucking, irony.

I stood in the yard, and The Man hosed me down like a prize winning horse that had just vomited all through it's trailer. I am all class, and this day was no different. And it got better once I stripped off to my knickers and bra so I could get into the house without dragging a trail of mess behind me to the shower.

Thank god for high fences and privacy screening.

In the shower I started to scrub. I was only removing stomach contents, but I was trying to scrub away the memories, too. A 'two birds, one stone' scenario. The milk and honey smell was soothing but it took me a moment to gather my thoughts and remember to take my glasses off. Clearly I was so traumatised I decided looking through a veil of my own vomit was perfectly normal.

See, all class.

I emerged from the shower 20 minutes later, red raw from scrubbing. The Man came back upstairs, his hands red raw from scrubbing the terror out of his car.

The car now smells like pine-o-cleen...and a bucket has been installed for future trips. If I'm ever allowed back in the car again.

*********************************************************************************
The Man has a renewed glow about him today.

His macho-ness is proven through his ability to drive his vomit encrusted wife home, hose her down, get her into the shower and then clean his vomit encrusted car - all with minimal fuss and only a few gagging episodes.

Although it did take him a long time to come to bed...

Image from Here

Wanted: A Modern Baby Chair, not an 80's Pleather Revival...

I had forgotten how expensive baby stuff is!

I mean, it's like a wedding - mention the 'baby' word and they'll add a little extra.

It may also have something to do with my taste. But I prefer to blame the manufacturers and retailers - it makes me feel better.

I am really pining after a rocking chair this time around. I got a really cushy, large armchair for when Miss 3 was born and while it is cosy, comfy and I ADORE it, the one problem we discovered very quickly was that a rocking function would have been a welcome miracle.

I have been trying to find a modern rocking chair. I'm not into these 80's revival, grey pleather rockers. They make me want to poke my eyes out with a fork. Or stare into the sun long enough to burn my retina's off.

Source. *shudder*

No offence to anyone who has or previously had one of these chairs. I have sat in them and, while they are comfortable, they just don't float my boat.

I really want something modern, comfortable and something that I can work into a baby's room without it being an eyesore.

I've managed to cut it down to 3 options, but I'm the first to admit they're quite possibly out of the price range (no matter how much I stare longingly at the pictures and WILL the price to drop by 75%).

Luca Glider Chair, $1,000 from montedesign.net. The closest thing available in Australia is the Ollie Ella Chair, which starts from $1,699 and can be purchased from babyology.com.au

The Luca Glider looks so good. And the Ollie Ella chair looks fantastic, too. I would be so happy with one of these, but I would have to sell a kidney and I'm not sure doctors look favourably on women who are wanting major surgery during pregnancy for the sake of a chair.

No matter how fabulous it is.

Oilo Penelope Glider, $1,349 from allmodern.com

I love this chair. It's gorgeous, and looks sooooo comfy! I like that it has a high back for support, cushioned arms and great padded seating. It's just a bit expensive, and when you consider that I'd then have to cover shipping to Australia...

Sob.

Nurseryworks Storytime Rocker, $750 from allmodern.com, available in Australia from metromum.com.au ($1,050) and bebeonline.com.au ($899.95) 

I love that you can fit 2 people on this chair...more specifically a mumma with a bubba and a Miss 3 who wants a story. This is perfect for long story time with feeds etc included.

Cheaper than the first two, and has more benefits! The fact that I can find it in Australia is awesome, but the dollar factor could be an issue with The Man. If not my conscience (who only shows up at inconvenient times like this...).

Overall the Storytime Rocker has my heart. It's perfect and ticks all the boxes. If this was bub #1 then I would probably pick the first chair, given that we would be back to 'disposable income' days and I'd only be thinking about managing one baby! But the rocker would fit us as a family, and it means everyone can be involved.

Perhaps it will go a long way to soothing any sibling rivalry...?

So tell me, did you have a rocker/glider for your bub? Did you find it freakin' awesome, or just a chair with a rocker bit on it? Which chair would you choose, if you had to do it all over again?

The B6 Miracle...

Yesterday, I hit rock bottom.

Needless to say that a side effect of not being able to keep anything down means my anti-depressants don't have a chance to absorb.

I struggled for the past 2 weeks, but yesterday was my breaking point. Anxiety at an all time high, the irrational part of my head telling me my boss would sack me for being sick, telling myself that I am always sick and it's not good enough, no one else gets sick - it's only me, that I'm a failure as a parent, a wife, a home maker and a person in general.

Yeah - it was a 'great' day.

I managed to schlep myself to the GP and sob away in her office. I give the woman credit for being able to decipher what I was saying through all the sobbing and sniffling.

So here I am, fresh from an uninterrupted, anti-depressant absorbing, nausea free nights sleep, thanks to a high dose of Vitamin B6.

Oh B6 - I wish I knew about you sooner. I know we'll be the best of friends and you can consider yourself added to the Christmas Card list, Easter gift list, Birthday acknowledgement list and any other important list I create that you could be logically included.

I had forgotten how something as simple as an uninterrupted nights sleep can make me feel a lot more together. The Man also took Miss 3 to daycare today so I have an entire day to myself - I can sleep, watch TV, sleep a bit more and, most excitingly, HAVE SOMETHING TO EAT!!

I am loving life today. And it makes me kick myself that I didn't say something sooner - but I don't like feeling as though I'm wasting the GPs time. There are people with serious illness or chronic disease that need a GP appointment more than me. My situation always feels so insignificant.

However, today I am focusing on the good and enjoying the fact that I feel far more human than I did 24 hours ago.

Hooray for Vitamn B6!!

Week 8 Highlights...

I've decided to document this pregnancy a little better than I did with Miss 3. Although I have done some scrapbooking to cover the first 12 months of her life, it's as far as I got before my scrapping mojo died in the arse.

I feel guilty because my friend is a die hard scrapper - I just don't have the creativity right now.

Anyway, the highlights for week 8 of The JellyBean...

• The never ending nausea. I won't bother going into detail, because there's a whole post of bitching about this awesome experience.
• I've turned into Bleeding Gums Murphy. I hate this part - blood makes me gag, even when it's my own.
• Exhaustion. I could sleep for Australia.
• Emotional Freak. One minute I'm fine and dandy, the next I've morphed into Medusa. Or I'm drowning in a puddle of my own tears. Damn you, Huggies. And Disney.
• Brain Power/Memory. I can't be sure that I ever regained the memory space from pregnancy #1, but I know I'm already losing brain cells at a rapid rate this time around and it worries me. But I can't remember why.
• Libido. Is back! Enough said, really.
• Pretending to be sad that I can't eat things like raw seafood and soft cheeses. Specifically because some idiot, who hasn't started work with our company yet, signed up to a 'mail order cheesebox of the month club' and had it sent to our building as a friendly gesture. Someone cracked open the box and the noxious odour that penetrated every corner of the building meant I spent a lot of time in the toilet. Can I just ask - who the HELL orders cheese via MAIL!?
• My perfume makes me feel sick. This really pisses me off - my Mum got me 2 bottles of Be Delicious by DKNY and I can't wear it because the smell now makes me feel sick.
• I can't use my awesome, favourite, Oral B electronic toothbrush. Because the vibrations in my mouth make me feel like throwing up. So does the toothpaste.
• Restless Legs. This shits me to tears - literally. I can pace, stretch, drink water, swim and none of it makes any difference. If I'm lucky enough to get an attack, there seems to be screw all I can do about it. I don't remember having RLS until late pregnancy with Miss 3, so this early onset is just balls.

So that's about all for now - all that I can remember anyway, since my memory is failing and my memory is failing.

I feel like I have to go do something now but I can't remember what that was so I'll just watch TV and hope someone reminds me.

Hell Hath No Fury...

Like a woman scorned by morning sickness.

Or, in my case, all the fucking time sickness.

8.5 weeks gestation and all I can think is that this better end soon because I really want some ice cream.

The doctor gave me some tablets to take that will (hopefully) help. I was excited thinking I might get to eat dinner and not have a post-meal chinwag with the porcelain.

It was an awesome theory. Until the doc mentioned that I take this tablet 20mins before bed and I should be feeling better in a couple of days.

Arsehole.

I'm hungry, cranky and nauseated. Telling me that I need to wait another 48 hours or so for a chance to eat without hurling makes me stabby. And more hungry.

I've tried it all - ginger, dry toast, grated apple, pears, watermelon, flat lemonade, weak cordial. None of it helps. And it makes me cry.

I cry harder when I have Miss 3 sitting in the hallway outside the toilet, watching me, and I listen to her blow by blow commentary to the crowd of stuffed animals she's gathered for the performance. I always stare back at those bears and think how lucky those little bastards are with their lack of stomach content.

Fully aware of the 'just be grateful you're pregnant' band, I would like to clarify that I am NOT saying this isn't worth it, and I'm NOT saying that I am ungrateful for this chance. What I AM saying is that emptying my stomach contents into the loo on a regular basis is not one of my favourite activities and I will be glad when this stage has passed.

Besides, the last time I checked, they didn't stop drinking or whinging when they passed out in front of Uncle Sam's and spewed all over themselves.

Sorry, that was the bitch in me hunger talking.

I suppose the bonus is that I have been able to watch all the trashy TV I usually miss by going to work. Admittedly I booked annual leave for another purpose, but watching TV was always part of the plan. And it means that when The Man gets home there's no judgement for me being in the same position on the couch as when he left that morning.

Sure, Miss 3 has destroyed the house, the dishes are still in the sink and I may or may not have forgotten to round up the chickens so they don't shit on his pristine deck, but I manage to move as little as possible unless I'm running to a meeting with the Thunderbox. And that takes serious skill  and a serious lack of parenting.

Oh yeah, I am winning all kinds of awards this week. My mother would be ashamed proud.

So here's to the hormones that are making me sick as a dog just for the priviledge of having a baby. Some may think I'm an ungrateful whinger, but if they don't like it I'm more than happy to go around and spew on their doorstep.

A special gift to remind them never to piss me off when I'm pregnant.

The JellyBean...

I've not been posting too much about my pregnancy - somehow it still feels 'unreal'.

I felt somewhat silly and embarrassed for having been so excited last time, only for it to not work out the way we planned. But then we can't always predict these things.

Let's just say I thought I jinxed myself last time - that the Universe was punishing me for being so cocky and proud, it had to take me down a peg. Well, it was a harsh lesson and one I was determined not to repeat.

So here I am, trying to be cool, nonchalant and detached.

Except last Monday I got to see this:

Behold! The JellyBean...

Apart from being chastised by the ultrasound tech for having such a difficult surname, and that it meant I couldn't have my entire first name on the picture as a result (it was missing the 'y' - I'm not loosing any sleep, honey), it was a fairly standard appointment.

I was so happy I nearly screamed stoked to see a flicker in the JellyBean.

I was disappointed to find out that I'm not as far along as I thought, going by LMP dates. But then again, given things have been so erratic, I'm happy to be pregnant at all!

I was disappointed that The Man couldn't be there, but happy my Mum and Miss 3 were, and we got to go out for breakfast afterwards. I had Eggs Benedict and almost fainted from the excitement.

I am embarrassed by the Instagram pic of my 'belly' that I posted the same morning. Oh the shame! I thought I was 10 weeks (or there about) and to find out that I have a 'jelly belly' at only 6 weeks is mortifying. My stomach muscles have obviously gone on annual leave thinking their 'tight' job was done for a while. Bastards.

The JellyBean is nestled in a challenging spot, and so pictures weren't as easy to get as I'd hoped. Very different from Miss 3 who was all show for every ultrasound.

I swear she knew we were looking.

Miss 3 in her first picture - we dubbed her 'Peanut'...

And so, tomorrow morning we have our first appointment with the OB. I am so happy to have been able to book Dr Mitchell - she's the bomb, not to mention 1 of only 3 private OBs in Darwin.

There are some awesome birthing programs in Darwin, including Homebirth through the Midwifery Group Practice, the birthing centre where you can go home after 4 hours, and the public hospital also have some darling midwives and fab birthing suites.

But after Miss 3, I'm going private again and I wouldn't have it any other way. I felt this way after visiting a friend when she gave birth at the public hospital (before I was even pregnant with Miss 3). Apart from finding some else's umbilical cord clip with cord still in it, under her bed - her freaking bed nearly tipped over, which would have catapulted her newborn daughter into a wall!

Now, I'm the first to say that this is NOT the norm, and when we told the midwife on duty she was horrified and had it dealt with ASAP - but for me, that one experience was enough to know I wouldn't be going there to give birth.

I had visions of infection and death. I was already pretty highstrung with the idea of birthing with no drugs in our own home - fear of death was enough to push me over the edge!

Happily everything turned out  perfect - I got an epidural  and  a healthy baby.

So here's to everything being perfect again, and to me not pissing off The Universe with my pregnancy babble.