Posts Tagged ‘actualize’

I am speechless, and that doesn’t happen often.

November 2, 2009

Reading the story of a funky, big hearted lady about to give birth to her baby, who was a lovingly donated embryo – from another blogger!! People amaze me.

So does this video, which I shamelessly ripped off of her website. It made me cry cry cry…happy and sad tears.

When people are united by those things we all want – love, acceptance, hope – how powerful we are both as individuals and as a community.

I really recommend you taking the next three minutes to watch this. Love is stronger than fear.

Can’t figure out how to embed this into this entry. Any help is appreciated!


Getting emails from all the technological peeps in the world. I AM A MOGUL.

November 2, 2009

Woke up this morning to an email from Facebook informing me that a page I started has a large number of followers and I need to authenticate my involvement with the ‘company’ by linking to the fb page from the official website, linking it to an actual email address associated with the product, etc. The page I started is for a foodstuff. It somehow has over 43,000 followers – I didn’t even remember I was part of this page, let alone the fact that I had started it.  I never post shit to the wall, there is nothing exciting about this page – apparently the love of this food item has united people the world over.

How to authenticate? Luckily there is a little box where you can plead your case. Like, for instance, ‘Listen, assmunch, this is a fan page for food, moreover food that is manufactured in different countries by different companies. Likewise, someone in certain parts of the world could go pick this shit off a tree. Wanting me to authenticate that I have the authority to create this page is like asking me to authenticate that I have the right to take a shit every morning, thanks.’

I also woke up to an email from eBay letting me know in The Most! Excited! Email! EVER! that I have a yellow star after my name because at least ten people have given me positive feedback. Ebay encouraged (!!!) me to print out the attached Yellow Star Certificate and post it somewhere in my life with pride.

Yeah, how about I print that sucker out and throw it on the pile of shit that is currently on our coffee table? It would look really nice among the empty cereal bowl, camera, baby scissors, baby nail clippers, the latest copy of my therapy magazine, rattles, remote controls, baby diaries, pens, empty earbud bag, Quash, etc etc. Every time I look at your poxy little certificate, I could be reminded of the dangerous addiction that seems to be forming – like the fact that I bought a stuffed baby chick the other day because I managed to convince myself that this stuffed animal was my muse in chicken form.

Or how about the genuine black Crocs from Hong Kong? Because I only have like 6,000 pairs of those fuckers already and there is no reason to buy more. Except, you know, that they are super cheap and I have wanted black ones for years in an attempt to fit in with Styles That Do Not Offend The Eye.

Yeah, thanks. I am spending my time trying not to spend my money on your website, so I’ll rush right out to print out a certificate that will remind me of just how stupidly I have spent money  I do not have. What a bolster to my self esteem that will be! Thanks, eBay!

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.

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?


(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.)

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.


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.

Thick to Thin Thursday #2

October 22, 2009

Well, I did good this week! Real good, Jim Bob.

I lost six pounds.

I remember this happening the last time I did Weight Watchers, this big loss in the first week. (And, in fact, I had a bigger loss that time.) My overall goal would be 1-2 pounds per week, though sometimes of course it’ll be less, sometimes more.

I had good intentions of writing and pointing everything this week, but I am sadly lacking actual WW charts. I have one copy of it and need TMD to copy it. But it was pretty easy to slip back into remembering how much each food was worth.

Essentially, though, I just stopped snacking. And I made smarter choices. And let’s not forget my nightly torture walks/lovely time to myself.


Click ‘Thick to Thin Thursdays’ under Pages, or just click on the nifty yellow star flair for more info on my weight loss journey. And YOURS, if you want to join in.

t2tt star6

Step by step. (Ooh baby, gonna get to you gi-i-i-i-rl.)

October 18, 2009

Just went on another walk, this one in daytime. At some point pretty early on, the walk became like some sort of torture trial. My back was clicking in and out with every step, my right hip was rusted solid and every step hurt, my legs were heavy from months of not being used. I was aware that I was grimacing in pain as I approached the house.

I did it, though.

And I’ll keep on doing it.

In repair.

October 17, 2009

Going to try to take nightly walks when TMD gets home. By ‘walk’, I mean a five minute cruise around our street/the woods. Without crutches. I refuse to let SPD linger any longer than it has to, to circumvent my life any more than it already has.

I just got back from the second of my walks. This one was a little longer than the one before. The smell of burning leaves, John Mayer encouraging me with his music, the big purple Crocs my best friend mailed me. It was pretty damn good.

I want to put them between two pieces of bread, cover them in gravy, and eat them.

October 16, 2009

Snort and Coconut are changing. They have never been cry-ee (do you like my use of the Fake Dictionary?), only crying when hungry or burpy. In the beginning, those cries were harsh, insistent, not ending until something went in – or came out – of their mouths.

Now they hang out for a good long while. Coconut will stick out her lower lip in a pout so gorgeous and heartbreaking I could die, but if you grab her hands and make them dance around, she’ll laugh. If you turn to Snort, without touching him, and just say, ‘Hel-LOW, Snortie’ he will smile and smile and smile.

It takes a lot for them to get riled up. I even fed them one at a time today, every time, despite the fact that they were hungry at the same times. I don’t know. It’s like they’re learning to wait, or perhaps trusting that food will come, even when it takes awhile. This has led to several feeding fails, where myself or TMD thinks they are making hungry faces, and then they refuse to eat much. I never thought I would miss that crying!

I love to kiss their necks. My mom said Coconut looks just like I did at her age (did I tell you that already?) and today I had the weird thought that I was caring for myself when I changed her diaper. In a way, I suppose everthing I do for them is caring for a small part of myself – not just the part of the grown up me who gets nourished by loving them, but the pieces of me I have passed on.

More than anything, these two little individuals are growing and learning and laughing (and pouting), and I am here to cheer them on. For who they are right now, and who they will develop into.