Posts Tagged ‘art’

Dinosaur Island. Roar!

May 19, 2012


TMD made the kids a Dinosaur Island! We planned to get Coconut this wooden one for her birthday. After we made this decision, she then looked in our favourite catalogue and – aren’t we good present pickers – asked for that exact item.

And asked.


So TMD made this over a couple of nights for them to share. It is a huuuuuge hit. We are now talking about building extensions – ah, caves, rivers, forests. The possibilities are endless.

I’ve got my philosophy.

November 2, 2010

I am an oversharer. You think I overshare on this blog? You ain’t met me in person. I’ve got gestures, facial expressions, miming.

Nothing makes me happier than sharing a good story and making people laugh. Except being genuine about who I am, which often requires a good level of honesty about my life. I don’t mind. I like it.

So today I’m in line for playgroup with a friend and her baby. We’re talking about wanting more babies, and I am telling her about how I’ve been in contact with the clinic about eggsharing (I almost said ‘oversharing,’ how funny.), about donor sperm, etc. I’m not talking at the top of my lungs or anything, but I’m certainly not talking in hushed whispers about fertility treatment.

Surely this stuff needs to be normalized.


We go in, we play, etc etc. I broke out the slings and had Coco in a shorty rebozo carry (and I tied that slipknot like a professional, somehow) and this lady comes up to me. Of course I’m weeing in excitement because I think she’s going to ask me about babywearing.


‘I overheard you talking about eggsharing and things…and I wanted to ask you a few questions. Unless this is too personal? I know this is a personal subject.’

I laughed, sat down, and patted the seat next to me.  ‘Nothing is too personal, ask away. I’m happy to answer any questions you have.’

Turns out she’s from a particular country in Africa with good healthcare, and she’s a bit fucking shocked at fertility treatments here in Country B. I told her we went to a ritzy titzy clinic because of The Gay, and we had a big ol’ chat. I found out she’d lost twins at 20 weeks (horrible), and her adorable son was the product of insemination.

I told her about how great our clinic was, about our treatment, etc. We went on to breastfeeding, ivf, being an ‘older mother’ and the fertility pressures associated with wanting children as you age. She asked for my number before I left.

See, this is why I live outloud.

You never know who you can connect with, who you may help, just by being unafraid to be authentically you.


I should have been an artist. (aka: updates in pictoral form)

July 6, 2010


We think he’s having night terrors. They feature in babies and toddlers who are sleep deprived, which our young friend certainly is since he’s been ill. He wakes up about two hours after going to sleep and screams like a mofo – there is no stopping him, he gets no comfort from us, he seems sort of unaware of what’s going on.

His eyes are also leaking a horrid pus discharge*. So he’ll need to go to the doctor’s again tonight, which will reeeally help with the whole ‘getting him to have enough sleep so he doesn’t wake up in the midst of his own personal Armageddon’ thing.


I went to the spinal surgeon today. I don’t know who remembers, or if I said, but when I went to my normal doctor and explained my problem, he was all, ‘Yo, okay, I’ll send you to a back surgeon.’ And I was all, like, totally, ‘No, dude, the problem isn’t my back. It’s my pelvis. They are two different things.’ And then he was like, ‘There is no such thing as a pelvic specialist, bitch, so you are going to take the referral I give you and be grateful.’ So I was like, ‘Fine, thank you’ while muttering hoaxes under my breath.

So the referral wound its way around and I ended up in an expensive private hospital to get free care. I saw the surgeon for about, oh, four minutes. He did some brief tests, said he didn’t want to perform a fusing surgery on someone so young (I am sure I will write about this in more detail at some point) and I actually needed to see….HOLD YOUR BREATH….a pelvic specialist.

He then dictated a letter to be sent to my doctor, who would have to rerefer me to the pelvic pain specialist at this ritzy hospital. The good news is that he mentioned what I assumed is prolotherapy (google it) and laser treatment (I had not heard of this, either!). So if the health service is willing to pay for these things, I may get them.

All in all, I think I am improving, anyway. This surgeon said damage to my joint would be permanent, but that my ligament would heal with treatment and minimize future damage…hopefully.

* I wanted to write ‘pussy’…as in pus plus ‘e’…but no matter how much I knew what I meant, it sounded too much like I was talking about female genitalia.

Long-awaited and anticipated. (But not emaciated.)

November 23, 2008

Okay, folks. I pulled my finger out and decided to post some pics.

Here’s a shot (no pun intended until I realised it was a pun) of me pointing to where the first injection was. With my other hand, I’m covering up a few errant ‘poobs’ that semi-embarassed me at the clinic. Note the awesome green pajama pants. They are covered in a repeating pattern of fried eggs:


Next up, a shot of the first lot of syringes and meds. These are the injections I’ve been taking right from the beginning, and I’m still taking them, just on a reduced dosage. Since this picture was taken, I’ve been given about 600 more syringes. And a whole new SHARPS container I’m hoping to use as a piggy bank, as I’m white trash sometimes.


Syringe art:


After that first bad injection, we decided to ‘practice’ with water. This is TMD digging into the SHARPS container for the used needle. (Because she’s white trash sometimes, too.)


And her flicking the air out of a needle (No, I don’t know why you would want to see this. But it’s my life lately. Except I don’t bother to fucking flick anymore. Dancing with death, I am.)


Those needles look really long in pictures. Wow. Anyway, next picture: my cat checking out the second lot of medications. These are a bit different. See the box with the picture of a pen on it? That pen is where we insert vials of hormones, as well as shiny new needles (all in different boxes. Wall-E would not approve of the mess all this makes.) Mr. Cool is the blue bag. Obviously, I suppose.


My stomach again, with poobs. Note the light yellow bruising. This is pretty much it as far as bruises go, though this spot has ripened into a deeper, more disgusting shade of yellow.


Finally, art! This picture is about four feet wide and a foot tall. Hence I needed to take it in two pictures for the sort of close up action we all want.

Left side:


Right side:


There in the background you can see the checked fabric of our new sofabed. My mother was convinced it was infested while she was here. It wasn’t/isn’t. And is actually quite comfy.

So, what do you think? (Not about the sofabed, necessarily.)

I ain’t afraid of no ghost. Oh, wait, yes I AM.

November 21, 2008

Tomorrow we’re going to buy real, live artwork.

I went to a craft fair with my mom and she got us a lovely picture, but it’s on paper. We came this close to buying a big, chunky painting. So TMD and I are going back tomorrow to get it – and possibly another smaller one if I can convince her.

Pics will be posted here because these paintings are so cute and yet compulsive it’s hot. Zesty. Spicy.

No, they aren’t sexual.

I’m so pleased it’s the weekend. Am having a semi-tough time at work in regards to a child I’m working with. Was just told by another professional that no one wants to adopt older children and so that option won’t be considered. If my life was a made-for-tv movie, I would adopt this child myself. I tell you, it’s made me rethink things a bit.

TMD and I have always known we wanted to foster teenagers at some point when we had a bigger home. Now I wonder about adopting a child as well. Time will tell, I suppose.

Off to eat, watch that ghost hunting show (judge not lest ye be judged!), and possibly upload some pics. I usually copy and paste pictures here from Facebook, but I am not Facebooking about IVF and think it could be hard to explain why I have 6,000 syringes in my lounge. Going to explore WordPress and see if they can host a picture or two.

See you soon. Sort of.

(You know the Ghostbusters theme tune? Do do do do do do, do-do-do-do-do-do. Well, when you type f-l-a-i-r and hit enter, it’s the exact right number of beats for the second part. Thought you’d like to know.)