Archive for October, 2009

It all happened, and it was better than I thought.

October 30, 2009

Originally posted 29 June 2008, title ‘I’ll think of you these months, while I wait.’

I’ve wanted you in my life for years, you and your sister, your brother. I will be exasperated when you ask for a dog, we will make pudding messes together, you will be allowed to fingerpaint on canvases large enough to paint our lives on.

I want to know you so well, before you are born and afterwards. I can’t wait for the moment TMD holds you in her arms, my hair lank with sweat. I will thank god for every stretch and tear in my vagina, every mark on my body from carrying your weight, my chapped nipples. Sometimes I will be exhausted, sometimes I will weep, sometimes I will wonder if I am up to the awesome job of being one of your mothers. Throughout those times there will never be a moment I wish you were not here, with me, with us, together.

I want to hold you and make up little songs in the middle of the night. I want to drop with the need to sleep, and TMD to come hold us both, even though she has to wake up in two hours for work. I want to hear you squeal as you splash water all over the bathroom floor. I want to read you the book I will write, just for you, about how you came into this world and became part of our family.

I want my heart to break when you go to your first day of school. I want my little sister to take you on wild adventures that I really don’t want to hear about. I want to buy you that camera, those ballet shoes, that baseball glove. I want to encourage you and remember what it was like to be young once, the world shining and huge and open to possibilities. I want to read you the same book again and again, to the point of skipping words or pages in the hopes you will not notice; I will be pleased, and tired, when you DO notice.

I want you to fill my belly, my heart, our life. I want to go to antenatal classes and trade endless boring stories with other pregnant moms. I want you to be there, to talk to the next one through the thin layer of skin as he/she stretches my body once more. I want to teach you how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I want to give you lots of time alone with your imagination, I want you to never doubt that I love you – even when you are fifteen and think you hate me.

I want to argue about how well you are/are not learning to drive. I want to visit you at university and take you out for really expensive meals – you and all your friends. I want to completely fuck up braiding your hair, or figuring out how to top n’ tail. I want to fear giving birth and look forward to it at the same time. I want to watch you figure out who you are, and I want to be there – in the background – when you realise that you are who you are right now…who you are does not come at 16, 18, 21, 50, 80.

I want strangers to stop and say how cute you are. I want presumptuous people to feel my belly. I want you to kick them away. I am ready for you; I’m sitting in your room right now. You get the last of the evening’s sunlight. Your window looks out onto this quiet little street, where you will ride your bike and make friends with other scabby kneed kids. This will be your first home, and every minute of looking for that home included reserving a special space just for you. Your room has rose-coloured carpet and curtains – it came with the house, but we sort of like it. There’s room for a little pop-up tent, or a chair with a blanket over it, or a rocking chair.

We’re not rich, but we’re not poor. And when you come, when you emerge into this world, I want you to know that I wanted you with every fibre of my being, that my soul has waited for you this immensely long time, that you were loved before you were even conceived.

I’ve made an appointment with your other mom, to see the doctor who is going to help us make you. It’s for the day after I turn 30, and the best birthday present I can imagine having will be seeing the day that your birth day comes.

I love you.

IT IS CUTE. I don’t care what you say, wife.

October 30, 2009

TMD is disturbed by how cute I think pouty or sad photos are. Is she right? Am I weird?

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Boy with a mission.

October 30, 2009

And you know, you just want to say, ‘Are you sure you want to roll over? Because the only reward is self-imposed tummy time.’

(The ways these kids can react to tummy time, you would think we had strapped them to a bed of nails and were plucking out their fingernails one by one. …..that, or they fall asleep.)

The one where I reveal the depths of my craziness when pseudo medical people freak me the fuck out.

October 29, 2009

Tonight a woman told me I needed to call the national swine flu helpline in regards to Snort. My stomach clenched and I felt I was going to abruptly eject The Shit Of Fear all over the couch.

I’ve been sick this week. Headache, poopy times, tired. TMD is now sick as well, which is odd for her. Last night Snort threw up a few times. I hesitate to say it was vomit as who can really tell the difference between throwing up and a violent spit up? But there were three occasions where huge amounts of milk shot from his mouth across rooms.

Today they have both had very fucked up feeds, him more than her.

The thing is, we switched from the easy digest back to the normal milk yesterday. And they are also 11 weeks old, near growth spurt time. Both are feeding less than every three hours – which is fucking shocking after getting used to much longer stretches, I can tell you…like having newborns again – and not having as big of feeds as usual. But is this a bug, a growth spurt, new milk? Who knows.

Then Snort felt warm. Okay, quite warm. Hot?

We put one of those forehead strips on him. Said 37/38 degrees C. Our fucking nutso health visitor is always banging on about temps of 38 and how YOU NEED TO SEE A DOCTOR IF YOU DON’T WANT YOUR BABY TO COMBUST. So I called the doctor.

And the fucking receptionist said to call this hotline. I was crying and shitting myself, even though I knew he did not have the Swine Flu. I thought, at most, he was just fighting the bug TMD and I have had. This phone number began with the recorded message, ‘Welcome to the national pandemic hotline.’

I handed TMD the phone and hightailed it to the toilet.

Now, bowels empty and head more clear, we are still waiting for the doctor to call. I refuse to talk to him/her. Because I am apparently just as crazy as that fucking health visitor. I told receptionist lady that I really didn’t think there was anything to worry about, and the tone of her voice was like, ‘Okay, then. Risk your child’s life.’

Twenty minutes after this whirlwind of hysteria, including me saying, ‘Fuck, I don’t think I can handle having children,’ Snort was lying on a blanket smiling away at the Taggie I was dangling over him. Ten minutes after that, I was reading him and Coconut a story and realising this was all the most fucking ridiculous thing in the entire world.

It was scary, though.

I can’t imagine how scary it would be to actually feel that something was wrong with your child, as opposed to just freaking out because some crazy bitch was playing it safe. (I thank her, whilst calling her a crazy bitch.) I like to think I would storm the doctor’s office….anything to avoid the huge wait at A&E.

I think the thing is that these people trigger my worst fears. I may doubt my own instincts, because I am a bit of a worrier when it comes to their health (I got this from my mom, who is always fake diagnosing me with various diseases.). But when someone utters a phrase like ‘Swine Flu’, I start off on a train of crazy thinking.

What if this IS the start of the flu? God, should we have gone to the doctor yesterday? What symptoms am I watching out for? Google says mortality is highest in babies!!

Thankfully Google also said it had the symptoms of being flu like (well, yes), unresponsive, a rash, coughing, etc. Snort is about as alert as he’s ever been.

And he doesn’t feel hot anymore.

Our couch is littered with various thermometres, where TMD made us take the temp of every member of the household in two ways just to compare. She wasn’t doing it in the crazy way I would have, though: she was using it to prove the point that forehead strips are fucking stupid and inaccurate.

Anyway. If I believed in God I would be very, very thankful tonight that things appear to be just plain ordinary. The status quo is a happy place to be when it means you have two alert, playful, and calm babies on your hands.

Thank you to my twitterful twitty type friends who provided instant support and love. I needed it.

Thick to Thin Thursday #3.

October 29, 2009

Lost one pound this week, possibly more a fluke than anything else – but I’ll take it!! This brings my total weight loss to 7 pounds.

I say it was a fluke because I didn’t write down anything I ate or even attempt to point it. I even had a massive cheese toasty (which I possibly immediately shat out, it’s true)….and beer and two portions of nachos last night. Shh.

I feel quite good about losing weight this time. It feels like baby weight as opposed to fat ass type weight, you know? I will feel very very very good when I can start wearing human clothes again.

As opposed to the alien ones I’m now wearing, of course.

In related news, had an appointment with the specialist physio this morning regarding my SPD. My back is now all taped up – need TMD to take a picture so I can see it! I am also being referred for hydrotherapy at the hospital where I gave birth, and hoping it will work out with TMD, childcare issues, etc. It’s six appointments, once per week, so here’s hoping.

I’ve been given a set of new exercises after being informed that my muscle tone was ‘pathetic.’ I also found out I’ve been doing all the abdominal stuff wrong.

I had a big ass assessment of my pelvis as well. Apparently it’s in perfect alignment, but just has extreme mobility on the right side. It offers no resistance, and the physio said she could quite easily ‘dislocate me.’ (She also said she hopes her son is not a homosexual, but perhaps that is for another entry. Don’t worry, she wasn’t homophobic.)

Also, the pain I was calling lower back pain is actually more pelvic pain, I was informed. The joint in the back of my pelvis is as messed up as the one in front. Equality!!! The ligament that connects things in my back hurt like a little son of a bitch when she pushed on it, causing my hands to immediately get sweaty.

She took me to the gym (!) and showed me all sorts of shit to do on a birth/exercise ball. Much to TMD’s dismay, we now have one blown up again in our lounge, along with a huge new playpen.

So. Seven pounds in total! And new exercises to learn, and opportunities to heal. I’ve been told the most important thing is good posture and sitting up straight, and actually that will probably be harder than the little crunches, etc I have to do daily now.

Love to you all.

For more information about Thick to Thin Thursdays, please click the yellow star flair! Feel free to join in….misery loves company??

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Curiouser and curiouser.

October 28, 2009

I get 70,000 – 100,000 visitors per week to my advice column. Proof that people use the internet to find out about sex, if you needed any.

Happy 11 week birthday, babies.

October 27, 2009

Am rereading my blog entries from the point of egg collection onwards. (IVF talk, for those of you who joined our little programme late in the day.) It’s making me nostalgic. So some memory lane walking….courtesy of the numbers 8 and 3.

8 days past a 3 day transfer

The one where we all find out I’m knocked up!!

8 weeks 3 days pregnant

At this point I have been run over by a motorcycle and thrown up more times than the average person would do in twenty lifetimes.  I am also a crabby bitch, as evidenced by this entry.

8 months 3 days pregnant

Well, okay, this is written the day AFTER, but the pictures of my bump on here are my 32 week + 3 days pic.

You know what’s next??? 8 months 3 days old. UM. Is that possible? What will they look like, sound like, move like?

Wow.

(A final sidenote: I realised whilst reading these entries that I had the goal of making TMD throw up from watching/hearing me throw up. That never happened. The best I got out of her was some serious gagging. I guess that settles it. We’ll have to have more babies.)

And now in other news.

October 27, 2009

We bought two Taggies blankets awhile back. I chose this morning to introduce them to the babies. Of course, I was all wacked out cracked out about the fact that the two blankets were different, and how would we know which one ‘belonged’ to which baby?

I held the first one up in front of Snort and he looked at it the way I imagine a not-too-bright nineteen year old straight boy would look at a naked girl. Man, the kid had a dopey smile on his shining face.  He stared and stared, his mouth hanging open, the corners turned up. He kicked his legs. He laughed. He didn’t give that reaction to the other blanket.

Coconut didn’t really care about his, but not about hers either. A corner happened to be near her mouth, she was hungry, the corner got nommed on.

This is exciting news to me because I like blankets a lot. A lot a lot. If I can force my children to like them too, well, what a wonderful world.

My family matters.

October 26, 2009

What do you want me to say? I could write a right on political statement about why gay rights are worth fighting for, but it’s nothing you haven’t read before. Nothing you don’t already agree or disagree with.

Step into my life for one day, one morning, one instant.

I stare down at my two ten week old babies, and I pause. My heart aches. My family matters. We are worth it. My children have two moms, and I believe they are all the luckier for it.

I can’t believe that people are fighting in courts, running campaigns, debating civil rights. It just doesn’t make sense to me. What’s NOT to embrace? Our babies poop, we like to tickle them, we all love each other.

Yet we aren’t recognised in the country I was born in. My children and I are citizens of that country, and yet we couldn’t move there and bring their Mum with us. We are nervous stepping off the plane when we arrive there, and it makes me feel small and nervous and ANGRY.

We are living on the other side of the world from my family, and this is because I choose our family over the family I was born into – and there shouldn’t have to be a choice.

My children deserve to grow up in a world where all people are celebrated. Fuck acceptance or tolerance – we ARE all different, it’s stupid to pretend we aren’t, and it’s even stupider to not realise how powerful that makes us as people. How much we have to learn, how much we have to experience. How much stronger our own communities could be, and how much stronger we could all be if we joined together.

As that country debates gay marriage, laws that could impact immigration, people are angry…on both sides. While the storm rages on, people are embarassed, outraged, empowered, impotent, strengthened, saddened, surprised.

And here I sit, with two babies who laugh in their sleep, have full tummies, light up when they see their Mummy is home from work, who watch everything we do with intense concentration. I look at these two little people and my heart clenches. They are worth being brought up in a world that won’t make them feel awkward or afraid. We are a family, and we are worth it.

My son and daughter may be gay, straight, trans. They may be rock stars, scientists, musicians, perpetual students. They may choose to be single, or to be with someone from a different race. And you know what? I don’t care, because I love them.

If this world had a little more love, we’d all be a lot better off.

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One small step for other people, one giant leap for me.

October 26, 2009

Yesterday was a banner day. (If you had told me a year ago this would be considered a ‘banner day,’ I would not have believed you.)

We drove up to this store we’d heard of, and it was like heaven inside. No, I’m not talking about the awesomeness of the contents of the store, but the fact that I walked around inside WITHOUT CRUTCHES.

I brought the crutches along, but decided to leave them in the car. I ALSO PUSHED COCONUT AND SNORT AROUND!!! It was quite painful, and we had to stop and  hang out in the cafe for quite some time so my crotch could have a rest, but it was oh so worth it. We walked around like a real live family, I told TMD she had shit taste in curtains, random members of the public kept making comments.

I have lived for the possibility that I would one day be outside and hear these comments. Oh, yes, they did not annoy me. I am a twin mother relishing disgusting and twee comments about my twins.

It was fucking amazing to be out with them, pushing them. I felt so proud to be their mom. And fuck did we have fun. I love TMD because even the most mundane thing can be enjoyable with her. She also has my back times ten, making sure to take the pram when it needed to be lifted over curbs, etc.

I’m feeling really positive about my recovery. Last night was a bit bad, but my back is pretty okay this morning. My crotch? Still a wee bit sore, but who’s counting?

I pushed my babies around! I got out of the house! We bought some stuff! I had a cheese toasty that made me shit uncontrollably when I got home!

This is my definition of a good day.


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