Posts Tagged ‘flair’

It all goes back to your mother.

December 2, 2009

Turns out Freud was right: you can blame everything on your mother.

Last night I was in the bathroom and called out to TMD. ‘Can you come in here and look at something?’

‘Is it your poop?’ she asked, a tired note in her voice.

‘Nope.’ I stood up, turned around, bent over.

‘Your piles?’

‘No. Look.’  I pointed to the backs of my knees. Sure enough – red patches, itchiness, hard skin.  ‘I’ve got fucking eczema.’

I stood up again.  We looked at each other. Her eyes widened.

‘Of course you’ve got fucking eczema! You’ve never had to work a day in your life before the babies came. And now you are washing your hands fifty times a day.’

(It’s true. In between my fingers have gone bright red, extremely itchy, and leathery dry.)

Like a detective, I stepped closer to her and almost got into a two woman huddle.  ‘You’re right. And how fucking itchy my legs have been?  I’ve been taking a bath like every night, and you aren’t supposed to use hot water or soak in long baths with eczema.’  I said, then  turned to run the bath water. Eczema or not, my ass is having my nightly escape from parenthood with hot water and a good read.

‘You remember the “alligator skin” you sometimes get on either side of your nose? Eczema.’  She ticked things off with on her fingers.  ‘And the clown lips you got as a child? Eczema. Fucking hell, Existere.’

I nodded slowly.  ‘And the bumps I got all over my ankles during and after pregnancy? And – oh my god – THAT FUCKING RED SCALY BEARD THING I got in the first trimester?’

We paused, then said together, ‘Eczema.’

For about a week now I’ve been half seriously considering contacting the clinic and saying, ‘I think you should know that one of your sperm donors is creating very itchy babies, and you might want to warn people about this shit.’  TMD now pointed out that she was considering calling the clinic to apologize to the lady who got pregnant with my egg, as I was apparently the cause of the itchy baby shit going around town.

Wow, right?

I’ve never ever had dry skin. I am an oily motherfucker. But it is true, a few times in childhood the sides of my lips got red and thickened and sort of extended my lips, making me look like Jack Nicholson as The Joker. And I do get alligator skin on my face regularly. It just never occured to me that it was eczema.


Sorry, Snort my boy. (At least with family history perhaps he’s not allergic to shit. I slathered his face and neck in cream constantly – literally constantly – yesterday, and it is looking better. Today I’m not going to put a vest on him, just keep him in his romper babygrow thing, so I can keep unsnapping and coating his chest and tummy as well.)

And, for the record? I tried cream #4 on the backs of my knees, in between my fingers, and in a certain other crack where I developed bad dry skin during the final trimester of pregnancy, and that shit STINGS. Bad. Hardcore. I guess he got his aversion to quality skin care treatments from me as well.

Am I being selfish? I think I am just sad.

November 26, 2009

This has been a bad week, and so far it’s been a terrible day.

Things kicked off when I was working on GUGS. I went back and read some of my old blog that talked about working at camp, just to see what sort of gems I had hidden there. I unearthed something awful: entry after entry about how our marriage was deteriorating in the summer of 2002. That was a shitty, fucked up summer. TMD had always picked work before family from the start of things, and that summer was the ultimate in painful confusion. We came very close to ending things. We got through it, though, and that’s what counts.

But rereading all of that? Wow.

I remember being so angry when I was writing, my fingers pounding the keyboard. Now I don’t see anger when I read those entries, I see lots and lots of hurt. I’ve always been one to go all hard and angry when I am hurting.

So. That was just this past weekend that I read that stuff again. It was sort of shocking, particularly because we have the happiest marriage I could dream of. And things have only gotten better since the babies.

But Monday night TMD was really late home from work. I couldn’t get too upset about this because her work involves very vulnerable young people, and this was sort of an emergency situation. Then came Tuesday. She told me she had a meeting scheduled that would go half an hour later than usual. When that time plus another 25 minutes passed, I rang her just to see if she was on her way home. She said she was only just leaving work. I let loose some sort of rageful sigh and hung up.

When she was home, I escaped into the bathroom….but not before saying, ‘Do you have an excuse tonight? Well, fuck you.’ I know. Any little blogger crush you have on me is fading fast at this point.

Last night was fine, except I didn’t even want to talk to her.

All of these things are isolated incidents that happened to happen in a bad week. Why bad? Here is the meat of it, the bit you could have sliced directly to: this country does not celebrate a well known holiday. My home country does. This morning, people all over that country are waking up to a long weekend with their families.

This morning, I woke up knowing that TMD was working until 9 pm tonight, even though she knew it was this particular holiday and it was important to me. Now, working that late any night would bug me. By about 5 in the afternoon, my SPD is kicking into high gear and I’m in quite a bit of pain. And, I LOVE MY CHILDREN, but no matter how great our day has been, they are getting a bit rambunctious by about 5:30. Yesterday was an extra dollop because they wanted to eat at the same times and there was no appeasing them. So, you see, my mommy nerves are getting a bit wound up.

Plus I just miss my wife. I watch the clock in the afternoons, looking forward to the time I hear her keys in the door.

I am pissed she is working tonight. Yesterday I realised what I really want is her to not be working today or tomorrow; I want to establish traditions. We never really made a big deal of this holiday before. We are both veggies, so our traditional turkey day meal involves copious amounts of Indian food. And perhaps this potato and onion thing I excel at.

Growing up, this holiday wasn’t a big deal to my family either – but then, ‘family’ wasn’t a big deal to my family. Everyone was always screaming at each other, or ignoring each other, and having to sit around the table for dinner was usually quite a painful experience. I wanted this to be different for my kids.

TMD’s dad just called and left a message wishing me a happy day. He said he knew I was far away from my home country and my family, and he said he bet I was homesick on this days like this. He gets it, why doesn’t she?!?

I don’t know what she can do to make this better. I told her over a month ago how important this day was to me, and she still never changed her plans to work so late. I know she feels trapped into it. I know she just wants to do a good job at work. I know in another two months or so I’ll be getting no pay, and that she is the main provider for our house.

I know it, and I’m still hurt to be spending the most family of family holidays as a threesome rather than a foursome. I hate knowing that I have Crazy Woman Mind, and that every future year on this holiday I will be reminded that she fucking was absent for Coconut and Snort’s first one. (There, the crush died all the way, didn’t it.)

I am hurt, angry, hurt. Hurt.

And hurt some more.

She tries so hard to be so sweet, and I feel like it doesn’t matter because I have been sticking-power-mad all week, and there are no signs of these thunderclouds breaking any time soon. The last time I was this sort of mad was in that bad, bad summer of 2002. I generally don’t get upset about shit. We also very very very rarely fight, if ever.

This morning we were both screaming at each other. She then fed Coconut while weeping, while I sat on the edge of the bed wanting to isolate myself from her. She ripped up a letter she wrote me (which Coconut watched me tape back together with interest, as I explained to her the intricacies of letter surgery), and left a turkey day letter/pictures from the babies.

Christ. I think Snort just pooped. Neither kid has pooped in days, so there is going to be some ass explosion, bouncy chair staining, poop pants today. *sigh*

I am lonely on this day when I should be all cosy and chilled. I have to try to relax so at least the babies can have a good day.

Thick to thin Thursdays:

November 26, 2009

Weight loss this week: 1 pound

Total weight loss: 8 pounds  (plus 18 from giving birth!)

What worked this week: TMD photocopied some old Weight Watchers trackers for me, so from Tuesday I started writing things down. It motivates me, getting things on paper.

What I need to work on: Being happy I lost a pound! Life isn’t The Biggest Loser, and any pound off is a pound in the right direction.

For more information on my weight loss journey, please click ‘Thick to Thin Thursdays’ on the right. You can also join up!

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??

t2tt star7

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

Things you wish I never told you.

October 19, 2009

So, my first period after giving birth may or may not be over.

Man, that fucker was intense. Three days of bleeding so hard and heavy I didn’t know whether I was actually participating in a bloody sacrifice ritual in a parallel universe. I’ll tell you something gross, if you want. Lean in real close. (Or run away if you don’t want to hear.)

I take baths almost nightly. And two of these baths, during this bloody time of my life, well. The bath water was so full of blood that it went brownish grey and I COULD NOT SEE MY LEGS UNDER THE WATER.  That shit ain’t right.

Neither is the fact that I shrugged, added more hot water, and continued to stew in my own juices. Hey, in my defence, I was reading a really great book.


11. (ish)

July 24, 2009

Eleven days till the babies are full term. (Well, eleven by the dating scan, twelve by reality of when they were conceived.)

Eleven days till all the months of worry about preterm labour are erased and we can celebrate our good luck, my hydration vigilance, and the bedrest.

I can’t quite believe it.

Thank you, universe. Seriously.


one, two, three, four, come on baby, say you love me. five, six, seven ti-imes.

June 14, 2009


Not last night but the night before (ten thousand pirates came knockin’ at my door) I was sitting on the toilet in a rage. No, not at poop this time. I don’t know what did it, but we were sniping at each other and I swear on all that is holy (Mexican food, blank journals, the smell of rain) that TMD went ‘meh meh meh’ in the other room. You know, like a child goes ‘nah nah nah nah naaaaaaaaaaaah nah.’

I went apeshit. I was crying, and TMD came into the bathroom trying to comfort me. I screamed at her to stay the hell away from me, as I would punch her. She didn’t take me seriously and kept advancing. I held my hand palm out and growled, ‘Seriously. Back the fuck away from me. How DARE you “meh meh meh” me.’

I collapsed into another pile of sobs. When she came closer, I swatted at her with the ten page baby ‘magazine’ I was holding (more of a glorified leaflet). I hit her two times on the side with this piece of paper, before breaking into hysterical crying.

A small part of me knew this was colossally insane and pointless, and perhaps laughable. A larger part of me wanted to squash her like a fly. This was my first true bout with anger this pregnancy, as opposed to just crying and feeling sorry for myself on occasion.

Hormones rock.


Last night I was itching like a fucking maniac everywhere. Not just my painfully thin bump skin, but backs of legs, under boobs, head, front of legs, feet, arms, lower back, ass, eyeballs. Everywhere. I couldn’t stop itching (and crying and yelling, alternatively). TMD was quite worried and said I should get ‘that enzyme test.’ Because apparently when you’re pregnant, it’s normal to have an itchy bump. But itching elsewhere? Can be a sign of an enzyme problem that is easily correctable but needs to be diagnosed by a blood test. Think it has relatively serious consequences if not treated, but couldn’t swear to that.

Much less itchy this morning, thank fuck.

You know what I think it is? Suffocation. My skin wants, needs, air. That belly bra, while superb, is sort of like wearing a swimsuit under your clothes all the time. (Thanks to TMD for that particularly asphixiated image.) And if I’m not wearing that, at night I have a belly band on….though have stopped doing this as feel all buttoned up and Victorian.

Was also thinking about my vagina. On December 3, 2008 I had egg collection – from that point, for over three months, I had to take pessaries. These are messy and dribbly, and you’d better believe I wore knickers and pantyliners the whole time. I don’t know if there was a brief interlude of being underpantless after that, but I suspect not as by then the whole pissing myself everytime I moved would have kicked in. Or at least the nice white discharge that pregnancy brings (an interesting smell, but I suppose you don’t need to know that).

So my vagina’s last happy month was last November. That is a long time for round-the-clock cootchie covering, let me tell you. Also my new giant fat lady underwear means half my stomach is covered all the time, whether I wear belly bras or not…fuck, I’m getting itchy just thinking about this.

My arms generally don’t itch – and I wear tank tops every day. Surprise, surprise. Last night I also pulled my underwear down and the tank top up, allowing The Bump to have full access to the arctic gale the fan creates. (Arctic to TMD, a hot gentle breeze to me).

I think I am just ‘the most’ at bedtime. The most uncomfortable, the most sensitive to every crinkle in the sheets/pillows, the most frustrated, the most tearful, the most sure I will never sleep again. The most tired, in other words. Because we all know I am also THE MOST pregnant.

I am getting uncomfortable now. Like big ass pregnant lady uncomfortable, not to be mixed up with the other various ‘discomforts’ I experience. Me a big, biiiiiiiiiig girl.

Want to post pics I took yesterday, but am terrified of various viruses this computer has getting onto my memory card. Stay tuned.


In the theme of triplets, had lotsa movement in all four corners of the bump/globe yesterday. TMD pointed out that the babies are very big now, so that could explain it.

If there was a bump decorating contest, I would quite like a very realistic portion of the globe to be painted on mine. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

No flair exist in the following categories: hormones, mood swing, mood swings, PMS. Why the fuck not?? Oh, wait, it’s me. No flair will come up for any of my searches. This is Facebook saying MEH MEH MEH to me, isn’t it.

Finding my voice.

June 13, 2009

Let’s chronicle my writing near-misses, shall we?

I’ve had two personal referrals to big, big agents. From an author I adore.

I’ve had an Oscar and BAFTA award winner offer to read a manuscript to see if it could be transformed into film, with the added offer of introducing me to a few directors. Or just the opportunity for her to read it as a more informed, critical reader.

I did nothing about either of these options, or the other smaller ones I’ve had.

I say these things not to make myself feel miserable, but in a sort of gentle puzzlement. Three years of intensive counselling training and reflection could not help me, two years of therapy did not help me, thirty years of life have not helped me. Everyone has a theory on why I do not submit my books further than arm’s reach, particularly those smarty pants who are also counsellors.

I get great opportunities, I do not follow up on them. I have two and a half pretty okay/good books lying around somewhere – I don’t know where. Somewhere. And now I’ve had all this time off work – something I would have previously dreamed of.

I think the question is, do I not pursue this because I am lazy (or due to some other psychological neurosis), or because it is not what I want to do? I know I am the happiest when I am writing, and for right now, that’s enough. Maybe. I don’t know why I am thinking about this stuff again.

I do know this is not just confined to writing, but other opportunities as well. In the last twelve months I have been offered paid supervisory work, a position as the core tutor on a counselling course (abroad, no less!), and some random bits and pieces of counselling work. You’ll note none of these things are going on – although I think the only reason I made the decision not to do these was because we were going through IVF, and then pregnancy. So scratch the limiting myself thing – while fabulous chances do sometimes make me sweat, at least I feel I made an actual choice to turn these jobs down.

With writing, any choice is made by virtue of me simply not doing anything. Inaction is deadly.

Perhaps I am just ripening – (how long can I use that excuse for?)

Or maybe because I am not working as a counsellor while these babies brew, and being in sessions with clients made me feel as good as the worlds in my head do. You see how the excuses and justifications and explanations pile up? I am good at finding them, but nothing seems to unlock all the mysteries at the same time, no matter how good they sound.

I guess one bottom line could be (maybe, possibly, coulda shoulda woulda) the simple truth that nothing I write seems good enough, true enough, authentic enough. Perfect enough.


The more babies there are (say, three), the more stretch marks you get?

June 13, 2009

Two things happened last night.

One, I saw a litlte mark on my lower tummy (well, not SO low, sort of a couple of inches below the belly button). I noticed it because I had spent the previous four minutes or so standing facing a wall, with my head pushed against the wall and holding me up, while I moaned in esctasy/pain and kept scratching my lower bump with increasingly powerful nail digging in. Fuck, it’s itchy.

Yes, I have broken some blood vessels from the scratching. Oh well. Anyway, the little mark. It was a funny colour. TMD peered at it and agreed it could, indeed, be a stretch mark.

Woke up this morning to look at my belly again (with the aid of a hand mirror, because if you think I can see the bottom of my bump you MUST BE JOKING) and I am covered in stretch marks. Overnight. Literally.

They are not giant angry purple marks or anything. Just pinkish beginnings of what will no doubt soon maketh themselves known as an invading army. This made me think of Tatiana’s post on sexuality and motherhood. Because was I proud my body was making two babies? No. I just stood in shock, the mirror thrust aside, terrified to look again at my stomach.

After a little more time, I looked again and put some lotion on (after tearfully explaining this was ‘my fault’ for not applying lotion the past two mornings – ridiculous!) and it didn’t seem so bad. I did use the word ‘deformed’ at one point, and I am not proud of that. I just think my body is changing so rapidly now and it is harder to deal with than I would have imagined. More on that later.

Because the second thing that happened last night? We found three heartbeats. I know, I know, what the fuck.

Torre was on the right, just above waistline. Mano was on the left, just below waistline. I should say that the reason we dopplered was because I hadn’t felt him too much, and his heartbeat was lower than normal (in the 130s, his norm is the 140s. Torre’s norm is the 150s.) the previous night. So Torre, no prob.

Mano, we found him, still in the 130s. I then ask what the fuck sort of position is he in if his heartbeat is there? TMD suggests we put the doppler higher up on the left side to see if we can listen for kicks (happily assuming he is head down, bless her). I humour her, she slaps the doppler onto my tummy, and there it is. An instant heartbeat in the 150s.

It sounded an awful lot like Torre’s, so she quickly plopped the doppler back onto Torre. Yes, still there. Quickly back to the new spot – yes, still there. Moved it lower to where we had found Mano’s earlier….yes, still there. We made a few nervous jokes about triplets (which were horror-filled) and ended up in silence, TMD wiping off the doppler and my tummy.

This morning the weirdness of it all was still there, and combined with all the brand new stretch marks – you can imagine the comments. TMD saying cheerfully, ‘Well, there’s three in there.’ Har de har har, matey. Not funny.

Of COURSE there are not three babies. This shit would have been caught in a scan. I don’t know what happened last night, but I do know heartbeats 2 and 3 sounded the same. I also know heartbeat 3 was fast enough that it was closer to Mano’s normal heartrate than that 130s shit. But what is the third one? Sounded much too fast to be the placenta.

TMD has suggested that one of the babies – probably Torre – is a timelord. You know, what Dr. Who is. A being with two hearts. Again, this is only funny in a terrible sort of way.  As is knowing what we would name the extra baby if she was a girl. Wtf.