Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Stolen minutes.

It's amazing what one can achieve in such a short period of time when one is competing for some semblance of order and control with a newborn baby.

Our Little Cwtch (pronounced "Kootch" meaning cuddle in Welsh. Actually, the literal translation is closer to "safe place" but a cwtch is a cwtch in my opinion) has been in our world for 5 week now. Time has literally flown. Babies make the tough minutes go on forever but make overall time speed up. Sometimes when I am feeding her and looking at her little face, time seems to stand still. I think babies may be secret time keepers.

The last five weeks have by far been the hardest, sweetest, most challenging yet enjoyable weeks of my life. In some ways, this job is far harder than i imagined. It's the responsibility that is the most difficult thing for me to get my head around. It's not a job you can quit, or have a day off from, or get someone else to do. I have never got to the point where I think "I cannot do this..." but I have panicked about getting to that point in the future, enough to put systems in place so I don't get there...afternoon naps, implementing some sort of a "routine" and letting Welshy take charge often and without comment, are all sanity savers.
It's also far easier than i imagined. I am not saying this to do a disservice to women and pretend like it's simple. It's not simple, it's tiring and when she cries it's like my heart is being ripped out. But I love her and I would do anything for her. The lack of sleep is okay because I love her more than sleep. The frustration when she is awake for her 7th hour in a row is manageable because I want her to be happy. It evens out the balance. Her happiness is now my happiness.

There have been so many surprises along the way so far.
I never knew four hours of uninterrupted sleep could feel so good. I never thought I could be basically half naked in a Mcdonalds and not care because feeding Little Cwtch is more important than caring that I am flashing the drive through. I also never expected that loving a baby would multiply my love for Welsh as i watch him grow in to fatherhood.

She is just so cute. She smiles at everything. Walls, the couch, when i say "good morning pretty lady" in a silly voice. She loves the car and her pram but screams bloody murder if we dare stop moving for 5 seconds. She doesn't really see the appeal of toys just yet. Her favourite games are pulling my hair and decided she needs to be picked up RIGHT NOW whenever we sit down for dinner.

This post has taken me three attempts to write as I steal minutes between feeding, patting, and cuddling her. They are minutes I need to keep my balance and minutes she gives me because even though she is only five weeks old, when she looks at me, I am sure she has known me my whole life.

Saturday, December 10, 2011

2 weeks old.

This parenting gig is a tricky business isn't it?

Our little bubba has a thing called tongue tie. I hate this because a) it makes feeding excruciating for me and b) I hate the idea of it being called tongue tie. She is not tongue tied, she is very expressive thanks very much.
So after two weeks of really painful feeding, including blood and cracks and both of us crying at the same time, we have resorted to using a bottle with expressed milk. Welcome to the family, mother guilt. I don't even know why i feel guilty about it. I guess it's because I wish I could just give my baby what she needs without any problems or bottles.
Anyway, we are having an appointment with a consultant on Tuesday to see if we can just get it fixed up and go back to breast feeding. This expressing malakay is exhausting as I feed her, then express, then have about an hour or so before she is hungry again and around we go again. Thank God for Welsh, thank God the baby sleeps for 4 or 5 hours at night, thank God our friend gave us a bottle steriliser "just in case" even though i was hell bent on breast feeding. And Thank God for Skype and the fact that my sister has had three kids and laughs in the face of nipple confusion.

Fingers crossed.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Things I have learnt since becoming a mama.

So I have been a mum for almost two weeks now. It is the most overwhelming, weird, amazing and disorienting thing i have ever done in my life! Here's what I have learnt so far:

Babies cannot read clocks. This is annoying at 4am when they think it's playtime.
Breast pads make good coasters.
Breastfeeding is fricking hard to learn.
The use of the word "breast" increases ten fold, once you have a baby.
Your baby is cute, even when it has sticky eyes and milk and snot coming out its nose.
You never really "catch up" on sleep, but you do somehow function.
Your brain actually comes back a little bit after the fog of pregnancy. I FINALLY know my own phone number off by heart.
Everyone loves a baby. We took the Small One out for lunch and being new parents, didn't think abut the logistics of holding a baby whilst eating (we may not be prepared but check out her cute hat!) Luckily, all the ladies in the cafe passed her around until we had finished. And yes, we did consider leaving her there and ducking home for a sleep.
They wee so much more than i thought possible. All day long. All night long. And especially when they have no nappy on.
Sometimes I have no idea what i am doing. Other times, I am on top of it. Nothing is permanent though and just when you have worked out what the hungry face looks like, it turns out it is remarkably similar to the "i am actually just tired and you have fallen in to my trap of feeding me to sleep. Ha-ha-ha, now you will have to do that for the next year" face.
Midwives are amazing. But some are annoying and i hate them.
Babies are not stupid. The Small One instantly stops crying when she hears the creaky floorboard next to Welsh's side of the bed. Often, just hearing it is enough to send her to sleep, usually though, it just stops her crying because she knows help is on the way.
I would rather look at her face than watch TV.

xxxxx

Monday, November 28, 2011

You

Your story began on a Thursday afternoon, in a delivery room at a hospital in West Wales. One minute, it was just your mum and dad and a room full of doctors and in the next, your tiny little cat-like cry broke the tension and suddenly, you were part of the world. Outside, it was freezing cold and unseasonably sunny for a November day.

But thats not quite right. Your story really begain in a bathroom at your mothers apartment, somewhere in a a beachside suburb of Melbourne. She looked in to your fathers startled face and blurted "I think i am actually pregnant." While your dad read the instructions on the box, your mum stood in the hallway blinking. Then they lay in bed and she asked if he was going to leave her to be a single mum and he replied "why would i leave you when you are about to give me everthing I ever wanted?"
Maybe that's where your story began. The next day they went to your great grandmothers funeral and decided that if you were a girl, they would give you her name.

But again, That's not really where your story started. Your story started at a bar on the night that your dad came back from a holiday in Thailand. He was meant to go from Melbourne to Thailand and back to Wales but got sidetracked somewhere and ended up on a plane back to Melbourne to propose to your mother with her favourite mascara and a promise to make is all work.

It started when they met on the beach and she screamed at him for no reason and he asked her if she'd ever live in another country.
It started when he left his wife and she left her husband and they decided to try for a better life, in the years before they found one another.
It started when she was told by a psychic that she'd never have children and she thought she knew better.
It started on his 28th birthday when he thought "mmmm, i wouldn't mind having kids."

Your story, our story, the story of how the two of us met in that hospital room in West Wales on a chilly November afternoon started 30 years ago. Your great grandmother, the one whose name you now share was giving your grandfather a telling off in the kitchen.
"If she wants another baby, you give her another baby." And your Grandfather, my father took her advice and had his third daughter, me.
That's where your story really began.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

bye bye baby (bump)

It's a cruel design flaw that the more pregnant a person gets, the less she is able to sleep. Just when she probably needs it the most, when opportunities for sleep ins are fading fast, when thoughts of screaming babies are still a theory, Mr Sandmand goes MIA. Thanks God, maybe you shouldn't have had Sunday off.

Things I am most looking forward to about not being pregnant anymore:
Meeting the baby (obviously)
Not craving ice and soap anymore
Being able to roll over in one fluid movement and not 17 micro movements.
Beer, wine, Pimms, Vodka (although breastfeeding is going to eff with that one for a little while.)
Running
Walking
Swimming laps.
Knowing my dress size again.
Buying dresses.
Having a conversation that doesn't involve pregnancy.
Oh! The pain in my ribs going away!!
No more midwives!
No more peeing in a bottle once a week!
Rolling down a hill!
Sleeping on my stomach!
Running up the stairs!
Falling down the stairs if I want!
Zipping up my jacket.
Driving without grunting as I try and twist to reverse.
Normal, un-choreographed sex.
Sleep.
Being able to paint my toe nails.
Being able to see the tops of my thigh
Sleeping on my back.
Getting up from the couch really quickly.
Running across the road.
ohhh so many things.

Two more days.....

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Small town.

Let's face it, there are many strange things about going from living in the big smoke to living in the relatively tiny smoke. For example, there is a lot more smoke here because people have open fires. And the farmers usually have a pipe hanging out of their mouths. he he ha ha.

Something that struck me immediately and continues to knit my eye brows with the oddness of it, is the absence of choice. If you feel like going out for dinner, you can go to the Chinese or the Indian. If you want to talk about books you join the book club. The village has the pub and the school. It seems "a" has been deleted from the vocabulary of these country folk.

This also means that there is one supermarket. One village hairdresser (that also doubles as the village healer-seven pounds got me a hair cut and some relief from my rib pain) one doctor, one car park, one main road and about ten million sheep. There's no need for google or recommendations from friends, no websites or word of mouth, it's not about finding a reliable solicitor. You just go to the solicitor. And if you don't, then you do whatever needs to be done, yourself.

So, by this logic, I am the pregnant Australian lady that came to Wales to marry the youngest son of the family. People greet me by name even though i don't know who they are. There is no anonymity here. I found this out when i went to the supermarket in pyjama pants at 8pm on a Monday night to buy chocolate. I saw the hairdresser, the man with the fractured neck and a distant relative of Welsh's whom was interviewed in the local paper recently after being banned from all 14 pubs in the district. For life. He's the trouble maker. (I actually think he is quite endearing.) You can't really get away with anything here.

This lack of choice certainly simplifies things. But also drives me crazy. I like the distraction of research. I like shopping for the sake of discovering something new and unusual. I enjoy weighing up the pros and cons of bakeries. I like making choices. I like sitting in a cafe and going through a list of ten types of bread. Here, it's white or brown. I don't think i have said the words "brown bread" since I was a child. Oh what i wouldn't do for some avocado on rye.

I better go. I need to call the Australia embassy so I can get the hell out of here.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

18 days.

I am having a baby is 18 days.

Sometimes i watch this program called "I didn't know I was pregnant" because you know, at least I am one step ahead of those people. Also, how do you not know that there is a squirming little baby in your abdomen? Bizarre. And how do you give birth in a toilet without called triple zero? Surely you can identify that this is not a normal amount of pain.

So we went to the hospital on Thursday for our final appointment, which in itself, is mega exciting. I have spent more time in that hospital waiting room than anywhere else in Wales. The doc jabbed me a bit, measured my guts and then gave me an ultrasound. She was just laying down in there like she had nowhere to be. She gave us a bit of a wriggle so we could go "awwww...so cute" and then just went back to resting.

So 18 days to go, unless she comes before. Welsh is on a two beer limit and stares at me every time I make a noise, incase he misses the signs that I'm in labour. I've been asking every woman I know what a contraction really feels like. We woke up this morning and I counted how many jump suit things we have and Welsh climbed up a ladder to paint a window for some strange reason. We are so ready to have this baby and I fear that if she wasn't coming in a couple of weeks, we would probably lose our minds.

Last night was Guy Fawkes night and we went to a neighbouring town to watch the fireworks and bon fire. It was fr-fr-fr-freezing cold but lots of fun. That was our attempt to enjoy life before we are parents....we stayed up late and finished sentences and stuff like that.

That's all for now.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

More about exercise.

It's a strange thing when I feel impulses to go for a run but my body is just not willing.

At 20 weeks pregnant I walked 12k's and had a bit of a sore lower back but otherwise was okay. These days, at 36ish weeks, I can walk 3k's but it takes AGES and my fat little feet are all squishy in my runners.
I've also all but given up on yoga as my balance is a bit weird and I do about 7 minutes before having to take a break. I'm thirsty ALL the time and i need to wee ALL the time so that makes exercise difficult too.

If i can only handle 7 minutes of yoga, how am I going to not fall asleep during labour?

Monday, October 31, 2011

A good year.

Hi bloggers and blog appreciators!


Well today marks one year exactly since Welsh and I crashed in to each other and began this journey together.

Here's a photo of us from our first date. We went ice skating for some strange reason but it turned out to be the most fun ever. Especially because the usually coordinated Welsh was TERRIBLE at it and my dress was wayyyy too short to be doing things like falling over in. Welsh wrote a poem about it the next day but i can't remember how it went. It got lost in those giddy first few months of falling in love.




Since then, we have been doing things like getting married:



And these days, my stomach looks more like this:




What a year it has been. No wonder i am so tired.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

My brave and wonderful friend Kate has posted a piece about the loss of her mother on mamamia.com.au this weekend.

I say "brave" because to talk honestly about loss and grief takes courage. To open up your soul and show the world you private pain takes strength. To speak up about suicide to people who may not understand, to people you don't know the context, is indeed very, very brave.

I've written on here before about how much Kate helped me through my own grief-following the suicide of my mother in law and subsequent demise of my marriage. She has inspired me again to speak truthfully with myself and with others, about grief, about suicide, about loss and mental health, my own and others.
Grief can make people close up because everything hurts so much, it's easier sometimes to just put it in a box and bury it. Yet Kate always, always, always made time to sit with me, hear me, see all the uglyness of loss echoed on my face. She was not scared of the crying, never rolled her eyes at the here-we-go-again moments of fear and confusion and what ifs and year long shock.

She was, and is, amazing.

Here's to Kate. i never knew her mum, but I would bet my bottom dollar she would be incredibly proud of her daughter.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

This time of year in Wales is seriously beautiful. I say that as though I have experienced the turn of many seasons here, over many years, which i have not, but I still feel as though i can say with authority that this time of year in Wales, is beautiful.
It's the light you see. It's different here than to Australia. It's softer and more gentle and it changes the hills from green to green. Strawberries are having a second season, thanks to the sun and last night, the rain was supposed to freeze in the moonless sky, but the warmth of the day turned it into tiny pin pricks of chill as we stood faces towards the sky. In the village, there are no street lights. Once you get used to a neighbours dog licking your hand in the pitch black and the wobbling torch beams as people search the hillsides for mushrooms, the nights are spectacular. More stars than you could count in a million light years.
As I drove through the forest yesterday, the naked trees reached towards each other like arteries, each branch twisting towards another. The sunlight broke through the trunks in perfect pulses like well timed silence between one note and the next.
The snow is coming. The grass is frosty in the mornings now and I hear Welshy's car struggle to start as I curl down further into my bed. The baby kicks and I can't wait to meet her. I want to show her the country that produced her father. A man who stops his car by the side of the road just to watch the patchwork across the fields change colours at dusk.
I want to give her everything, but I will start with the sunlight.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Hi everyone!

I have six official weeks left of carrying this person inside of my skin. Probably more like 5 weeks though as she has gone breech again in what I can only conclude is an attempt to try and kill me.
I was in agony for three days because her head was wedged under my rib cage (I'm sure it wasn't a barrel of laughs for her either) so now with bruises on one side of me and the whole "don't sleep on your back or you will die" issue AND this rather large lump preventing me from sleeping on my stomach, I have ONE position to sleep in. And this position means facing Welsh on the bed and having him breath on me/snore 5 cm from my face or generally just EXIST which is enough to make me want to scream ROLL THE EFF OVER which I do often and at varying volume levels.
I think I am just over it. Is it too soon to be over it? I can't sit on the couch, I can't sit in the rocking chair, I am writing this standing up because it is the only thing that stops a baseball sized head from being naughty. It hurtssss and I want a massage and some new clothes and some sort of baby coach to tell me if i need more than two pairs of tiny socks and also do I need bottles? And if so, how does that even work with the milk and my boob and everything?

As a balance to the agony and whinge festival that has been taking place this weekend, I have also spent time with my eldest niece. She is a wonderful reminder that they do grow up and become actual people, with actual opinions. And they also say things like "do you need help hanging out the washing?" and can makes cups of tea on their own.
It's pretty awesome.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

I was watching The Real Housewives of New York the other day (okay, every day) and the ladies were talking about how biologically, we are attracted to certain people to breed with. Yes, yes, yes, I know it's hardly Descartes but it really resonated with me. That we meet and love the people we meet and love so that certain people can be born.
Our baby has not been born yet, but I know we are going to be great parents.
We have not even met her, yet we both love her.
I've never seen Welsh be a dad, but i know in my heart that he is going to make an amazing dad.
This is how I know:
He never misses an appointment. He asks the consultant questions about scans and dates and stuck our first ultrasound photo on the dashboard of his work van, even though at eight weeks, she looked like a bean.
He speaks to her through my stomach and has conversations that I am not supposed to be a part of. If I pipe up with something he glares at me like "excuse me, private conversation here." Usually I just watch TV while he chats and sometimes I zone back in while he is saying things like "and you just come out whenever you are ready" and I have to have a private conversation with her of my own about staying in there for a few more weeks at least.
When i complain about being kicked 24/7 he defends her and says she is just a baby and that she is not doing it on purpose. When i ask him whose side he is on, he says "duh...the baby's."
And i've seen him with his nieces and how he makes up stories about what we are naming the baby. And how he cuddles them and how they tease him and he pretends to take the bait and sends them screaming down the hallway. I've also seen him when enough is enough and he tells them to go to bed NOW GIRLS but once they've settled, he goes in to kiss them goodnight.
I've also seen him practice doing up a nappy and hand stitching a bit of the pram that i tore within 5 minutes of owning it. I've seen him go gah-gah over a tiny pair of shoes and bring home a baby bath and a change mat and a million things I had not thought of.

Mostly though, I know he will be a good dad because there's something about his broad hands and capable mind, his sense of humor and sense of fun, his big heart and short temper that reminds me of the best dad I know. My own.

xxxx

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Wedded bliss.



Good Lord.


Can someone remind me NOT to plan a wedding EVER again? I am so pregnant right now I just want to sleep and complain about my sore ribs and most definitely not traipse around wedding venues and ring shops and listen to seven hundred different opinions. I mean, we are having 20 guests.

I just want to focus on doing yoga and preparing my mind and body for this little girl. Just be calm and not all shouty in the car because WEDDINGS STRESS ME OUT.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The worm has turned.

So guess what? You know how i have a heart shaped uterus and i'm 32 weeks pregnant? Well the stats on her turning from her weirdo sitting upright position was something like 15%. I had accepted that i was going to have a c-section. I was thinking in terms of having her in 6 weeks and not having to wait until my actual due date or beyond.
And then the other night, I felt my stomach shifting like the tide. This swelling and falling and lurching around. I had a suspicion that she was doing something dramatic in there.
Then yesterday, i went to the midwife and she had a bit of a palpitate as they like to do. She took my hands and shoved them, quite deeply, low down on my belly.
"What is that?" I asked
"That's her head!" she exclaimed.

The little wriggled worm has gone head down. I have to wait until next thursday to confirm it by scan and she might still go breech again, but it's a really good sign that she is acting like a regular baby. This is good because if i go in to preterm labour and she comes really quickly, it is much better than coming early and being backwards (which was my biggest fear.) And it just gives us that added option.

We were a bit elated yesterday after that appointment. i said she was the smartest baby ever. Welsh said she's not necessarily smart but she is special. We did agree that she is really cute. And that we can't wait to meet her. Then Welsh said "I think you are going to have her tomorrow." And I said "based on what?" and he said "I am just in the mood to have a baby."
We'd been babysitting in the afternoon and the novelty of having a really cute little boy digging in the backyard with him had sent him in to fantasy land where our baby will come out being able to walk and operate gardening tools. And then be picked up by someone so we can watch Big Brother in peace.

I don't think she is going to come early. I've had no contractions or anything like that. I've stopped running. The midwife said that 37 weeks is considered full term. I think that's what she said anyway. Maybe she said anything less than 37 weeks is prem. I don't know but either way, that is only 5 weeks away which is hardly anything.

I just think she's so cute.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Jane Eyre, pregnancy hormones and long, lost trauma.

I saw Jane Eyre last night. God, it was so beautiful. It was like reading the book, only less effort and more malteasers. Is that how malteasers is really spelt? Malt. Teasers. What a clever name. Well I'll be.
I bawled at the end of the movie and was about to blame my reckless hormones when i realised my two companions were also bawling. What is it with love that makes us cry? They didn't even seem that particularly happy in the end. i don't even know if they are REALLY a good couple. But I cried anyway.

Then i had dinner with a few friends and we sat outside because it is boiling hot at the moment even though it is Wales, and we talked about our first marriages. God. Talk about depressing. I didn't really talk much about my first marriage. I don't know how to describe it to strangers. I don't hate him, we didn't divorce because of mental abuse, there was no cheating, no putting work before me, no stress because of the kids. I can't really explain who we were as a couple. Who I was back then. And i certainly can't talk about his mum dying. I can to friends. Not to people I have only known for a few months though. I get all breathless if I am put on the spot. I claim the baby is sitting on my lungs. But she's not. I just can't share something like that with people who might be careless with it.
It was her birthday last week. I didn't tell anyone. Not even Welsh. This is not moving on. It is burying. But it feels wrong to move grief into this house with us. I am not even sure that it is still grief i am feeling. It's just planning this wedding and having phone calls from my mother in law to be and watching Jane Eyre and becoming a mother myself in 6-8 weeks.

Because she died on our wedding anniversary, everything to do with our marriage became tainted. I don't know if she meant it or not. i don't know if she knew the impact it would have on our lives. I don't know if she secretly resented all the time i stole away from her with my husband. i don't know if he secretly resented me for marrying him and giving her a date on which to do it. I don't know if we'd still be married had she not died. I don't know if she'd be my ex mother in law rather than my mother in law. Who is dead. Who is about to be replaced with another women who can still call me early on a Sunday morning and chat about flower girl dresses. I don't know if there is a heaven or hell or if she can see us both now and what on Earth she would make of the lives me now lead. I have this feeling that she would be horrified. She would say "Oh my goodness, did you really think I killed myself to hurt you? Of course you must know I love you both, of course I would never deliberately break your hearts. I died because i was depressed and I thought you two would look after one another."

All this guessing. All these questions. They amount to nothing really. You make your peace or you go crazy.
Or you run halfway across the world and try to start again.

Friday, September 30, 2011

So I bought a wedding dress.
It's very strange buying a dress a size too big just knowing that I am going to get even bigger before the day. I thought brides were supposed to lose weight with nerves and do some sort of lemon juice diet in the weeks leading up to their wedding. It all feels slightly backwards.

Do you know what happened the other day in an entirely unrelated story? Well, I was helping Welsh do a letterbox drop of flyers for his building business. Because I don't work, I get quite excited by these outings. I print up the flyers, trim them, put them in a special little bag. I keep track of how many I have printed and the locations that we are dropping them in as though i am going to commit the information to a pie chart or something for the next board meeting. I obsess over the graphics, the wording, the font, and if Welshy dares question why I have failed to include half the information he wanted on them, then god damned it, he gets a lecture on aesthetics and a pretty balance of letters being of paramount importance.
One of the many strange things about this country is that people don't have letter boxes. How weird is that? Everyone has little slots in their front doors that you push the letters through. And also, in our village, if we are not home to get a package, then the postman just takes it to Welsh's parents farm. Remind me not to do any online shopping at Ann Summers.
So, the other day we were posting some flyers. Some people have like this weird brush stuff inside the slots to stop the wind coming in. Or something like that. So you really have to push your hand through to get the paper through the gap. We delivered about a hundred and were doing the area that Welsh's grandma used to live in. The sun was shining, he was telling me a story about how he stayed with his nana as a teenager and snuck out the window one night. The neighbours called the police and he got in big trouble. I was laughing.
Then i stuck my hand in a letterbox slot and a fucking dog bit my finger.
I went in to shock.
I am secretly half scared of dogs. I've been bitten so many times. They seem to like me. The worst time was when my aunty's dog bit me on the face.
Bite mark bruises started appearing on my finger. I tried not to cry.
"Let's do this street, then a few around the corner." says Welsh.
Are you fucking serious? A DOG just BIT me. I am never putting my hand in a letter box again. Apparently they don't have rabies in this country but Welshy may have just been saying that to make me feel better.

Then last night the phone rang. A woman left a message enquiring about getting some garden fence put in. Garden fence to stop her dog getting out. Her vicious dog. I checked the address. Correct, it was the same house, same letter box slot, same dog. So Welsh will find out once and for all if I am just a massive wimp or if he is an under reactor. I tell you what though, that dog had better be something bigger than a Shih tzu or I may never live it down.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Merry-go-round

Hi blogland!

Please excuse my absence from your wonderful world these last few weeks. I have no excuse except that my brain/creativity seems to have been snatched by the small person living inside my uterus.

So here are some updates:
Wedding plans are going smoothly. When i say smoothly, what i actually mean is that we have done very little towards organising it. We have a vague to do list stuck on the kitchen wall with things such as "Buy Welsh a ring" and "Research if pregnant people should wear high heels. If so, buy some, if not, cancel wedding."
It's the execution that seems to be the problem at the moment. I keep getting stuck somewhere between getting in the car and driving an hour to the jewellers and glancing out at the backyard and the sunshine and deciding to have a cup of tea instead. I'm quite half arsed about the whole thing actually which is not indicative of my enthusiasm to marry Welsh but probably a little telling about my enthusiasm to do it here, with no one I know and my family a million miles away. If Welshy had not hired a photographer, I would probably not even brush my hair on the day.

The baby is being a good girl and staying put. She kicks me constantly and I can already see the arguments I am in for, for the rest of my life. My dad thinks it's hilarious that someone more demanding than me is about to be born and Welshy keeps saying "what are you going to do when you have two babies?" the other baby being him. He doesn't realise that I am actually a child too and in 8 weeks, there will be three whinging infants in this little house. Someone is going to have to step up and I don't think it can be the actual baby. Chances are, Welsh and I are going to have to get it together sooner or later. I am not even talking about the big issues such as "how do we foster her self esteem?" more like basic survival stuff such as "Can i get drunk whilst breastfeeding?"

I've also been keeping busy doing Welsh's visa application. Why am I doing it when I am already an Australian citizen? You may well ask. Well a) I am a control freak. b) I am better and quicker at forms c) Welsh has a full time job and d) I get less overwhelmed by it all because i am used to working under pressure. I have turned the dining room in to an office and created to do lists for Welsh, to do lists for myself, lists of documents to be certified, lists of questions we need to ask other people, a file with evidence demonstrating our continuing commitment to one another and simple questions we need to discuss before i can put them on to paper (like "when did we start a relationship? Dating doesn't count.") I am actually thinking that my stat dec regarding the nature of our relationship could double as my wedding speech. We can lodge it just as soon as we get an extract of our wedding certificate and then send in an amendment once the baby is born. Hooray. Then we get to pay thousands of dollars to get plane tickets and then pack up this whole house, move back to Aus, try and find jobs/childcare and live with my parents! Awesome!! Then house hunt, unpack all our crap, throw a first birthday party for the small one and have an Australian wedding. See! This is why I need a good cuppa in the sunshine.

So that's life for me right now. xxxx

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Maternal nuptials.

Maternity clothes are not cute.

Well actually, sometimes they are...until a pregnant lady puts them on. A pregnant lady who is not a model that is. Then they become less cute and more like a big shapeless bag that makes you look....well....pregnant.
Don't get me wrong, being pregnant is a beautiful thing. You look all ripe and gorgeous even whilst having murderous thoughts about your midwife. But there is really only the one look you can go with. The pregnant look. It's not very versatile. Some days i feel like wearing high heels...but then i do and I look like a cow in boots. Other times I find a really nicely cut tshirt but it will have something like "Does my bump look big in this?" printed on the front and I have to go outside to throw up a little bit.

Maternity wedding dresses are a league all of their own though. I mean for starters, white is not a fabulous colour to make you feel svelt, at the best of times. Unfortunately, Welsh has banned me from wearing a black dress to our wedding and for some silly reason, I am listening to him on this one. What about a colour? I hear you implore. Nope, the man is a traditionalist and has ordered a colour scheme of white to beige.

Here are a couple of dresses that don't make me want to punch a kitten in the face:


This one is from Tiffany Rose and is acceptable.


And this one from ASOS would also do the job.

Thoughts?

Thursday, September 8, 2011

The good things about a weird situation

My sister always has cool dreams. She dreamt once that Lady Gaga had her over for a party and gave her really cool gifts. She seems to have a talent for dreaming about fantasies and fun things. I dream mostly about really boring stuff. It's like my brain needs a break from the excitement of my day to day life. (This is a joke. The most exciting thing that happened yesterday was that my ex husband sent me a recipe for this delicious beetroot and beef casserole he used to make. Seriously, someone lend me a meditation CD because I am WAY too over stimulated right now.)
I actually have found that i dream way less than i did a few years ago. Trauma related? I might google it tomorrow if i have time between cooking a casserole and waiting for the Bachelor to start. Anyway, I had this anxiety dream last night that my rent was due, I was living in my old apartment, and I was trying to work out dates for when I'd be getting paid and for how I would manage to pay rent (budgeting has never been my forte.) I woke up all worried before realising that I was in Wales, 6 months pregnant and have not worried about rent for the last little while. It was a relief (until I put two and two together and saw the link between rent being due and a baby being due.)

So my point, and I do have one is this: I am so lucky to be living here and having this experience in Wales. It was not our first choice of residence but it means that Welshy can come to every single appointment with me and do cute things like hold up a little pair of baby slippers and say "awwww look!!" in a really uncharacteristically soppy, yet genuine, way. Because he has his own business here, there is no boss to call or ask for time off from. Thank god for this because i have an appointment every second week and they are BORING when you don't have a little friend to have a coffee with between pathology and radiology. It also means that the usual worries about money for rent are minimised so I don't have to work. I have not had an episode of bleeding since week 14 and I stopped work at 16 weeks, when i got here, and i think those two things are related.
Also, we get to live in a really close knit community where moses baskets and cots are passed from house to house every couple of years. Birth stories are told in the pub (sometimes alarming) and people share homegrown cooking apples (Welshy's mum) broad beans (me) and advice about prams (apparently the drink holders on Mothercare's range is the perfect size for a pint glass. Handy.)
And for crying out loud, there is a river next to our house that Welsh is currently fishing in and it doesn't get more peaceful than that. For the both of us. Ahem.
I am so lucky. I know not everyone has such a supportive partner, I know not everyone has financial security and I know not everyone has lots of people around them who are almost just as excited to have a new member of the village, as I am. (I'm not referring to the "it takes a village to raise a child" philosophy by the way, I mean the actual village that we live in.)
I guess having nannied in the past and worked closely with teenage parents just makes me so grateful. Grateful that we are doing this, that we are doing this here and that i am doing it with Welsh. It overrides all the scary statistic fears (60%-70% c-section, scary percent pre term labour) the painful steroid injections in my thigh and the bizarro jibber jabber that is the welsh language, medical speak and a pregnant mind, combined.

Yeah, I guess i just wanted to write about feeling grateful for a change.

I hope that there is lots to be grateful for in your life today too.

x

Sunday, August 28, 2011

The Journey

I've just been reading my beautiful friends post over at www.zactom.blogspot.com

It got me thinking a lot about the subtle choices that curve our paths and shape our lives. And also about the bumps and dips that we don't see coming that can throw us into a tail spin or send us sky high. As Welshy likes to say "Life is not a straight line."

My mother in law was a card giver. A letter writer, the gifter of books and at every opportunity, the sender of a greeting card. I have kept most of the cards she gave me. Everything from "I won't say congratulations because L is the one who should be congratulated on being engaged to you, but I will say best wishes" to birthday cards written in her broad and curly writing-always in black, felt tip pen.
In February 2009, I went to Europe for a month. I needed a break between full time work and embarking on full time study. As per usual, I got a card in the mail a few days before I left. "Bon Voyage!" It declared in black felt tip. "All the best on your holiday and when you come home, you will start a brand new journey and you have my love and best wishes for that too." She was, of course, referring to me returning to study. I think.
So i went to Europe, traipsed about, had a fantastic time if truth be told. I got back to Melbourne and had 6 days of jet lag and classes. On Sunday night, the phone rang, my mother in law was dead. She'd suicided. And a new journey had indeed started. But a completely different one to the one i had envisioned.

Fast forward to my last class of that course. Having painted my way through grief and sketched a new life outside of my marriage, I was single, at the end of a journey And SO ready for a new adventure. I assumed that I'd get a fabulous job, save the world, bite off more than I could chew. The next day I put on a pretty dress and went to a friends party. I told everyone how i had finished school, how crazy the last two years had been. I shared a beer with my ex husband and danced to this stupid song that seems to follow me around like a puppy. And then I met this gorgeous Welsh guy with bad manners and unusual eyes. I gave him my phone number and woke up the following day wondering if my qualification would be recognised in the UK. 6 months later I sat in his parents farm house in the middle of rural Wales and ate cake. Pregnant with their grandchild. Talking about sheep.

Once again, the adventure I was gearing up to, morphed into a surprise, life changing, beautiful, scary journey of epic proportions.

We have this one tiny life. A limited amount of forks to confuse us. A line of a certain length to lead us through the thick and the thin of it. We might not be able to choose our own adventures, but I am so glad that mine chose me.



Thursday, August 25, 2011

zzzzzzzzzzz

So...I thought the not sleeping part came after the part we will not mention. (You know the one..."what's that puddle...give me drugs...this is barbaric.....wah, wah, wah...let's never do this again.")

But I am still 13 weeks from my due date and I am having such trouble sleeping. Welsh and I have been together less than a year. Is that too soon to sleep in separate beds? Before little mini me was in town, we could have slept in a single bed that Welsh picked up from the side of the road. In fact, we did sleep in a single bed that Welsh picked up from the side of the road. And it had a great big lump in the middle of it. Oh the joys of falling in love with a back packer.
We'd just cosy up and cuddle all night and wake up after a few hours sleep refreshed and ready for the day.

These days, the only way Welsh can spoon me is if he also spoons my human sized sausage pillow as well. And if i spoon him, he complains that my stomach is too hot. Then there is the getting up at least twice a night to visit the bathroom. Then being kicked constantly and gasping loud enough to stir Welsh who then strokes the pillow to calm it down. More than once I have given up and gotten up, only to return a few hours later to find Welsh cuddled up to the pillow with no knowledge that I have left the bed. Our legs always seem to get tangled, my hair gets in his mouth and when his alarm goes off I thank goodness that the night is over.

We plan on having the baby sleep in our bedroom for the first six months. I mean why not?

Thursday, August 18, 2011

The idea of family.

Before i start this post, let me just put in a disclaimer that i am 6 months pregnant and for an already emotionally motivated woman, that equals close to cuckoo. These hormones have me screaming at the TV (footage abut the recent UK riots and the absolute lack of empathy shown by both the perpetrators and the public makes me want to hide in a cave) crying at the drop of the hat and lauging so much that my already stressed out stomach muscles threaten to pack it in. The other thing is that I feel love INTENSELY. C to the Rrazy.

Anyway.

Ohhh i feel like the energy it took to put together that first paragraph has worn me out. Do all pregnant people feel like this? How do people work? I struggle to finish a sentence most of the time. I really do. i sometimes have to tell Welshy to shut up so I can close my eyes and think of the word I am trying to find. Sometimes I just give up and say things like "What doing after?" so I don't have to put together "What are we doing tonight?"

Basically what i wanted to write in this post is that I really love and miss my family. And i wanted to say that i have another family now which is Welshys family and there are some moments that I have with his nieces that make me want to wrap them up and put them in my pocket. And the last thing I wanted to say was that there will be a new family soon with this little person on the way.

So that's the general vibe and i guess it would have sounded lots better if I had full use of my mind.

The end.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Gawd, I really have no news.

Oh i went to stonehenge for a few minutes. That was pretty cool.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Winding dowwwwnnnn.

Good morning blogland!

Well i finally feel, after two months of a strange square peg, round hole sensation, that i have settled in to my new abode. The surrounding hills seem familiar, I have worked out our hot water system, I can even tell you which village child belongs to which set of parents.....
I call them village children because for two months, I have seen them move about the village en masse. There are 24 of them in total. They all look vaguely similar to each other in an un-brushed-hair and sneaker wearing kind of a way and further more, they are always on their own, without a parent or guardian in sight.
When I've questioned Welsh about their origin, he usually gives me some convoluted answer such as "Well you know Emma Golly Gosh that is always in the pub? Well she was married to Gog for a spell and they had the blond one then he had an affair with Mr Marples daughter and they had the other blond one. Then She married Bill, the Scottish guy and had the twins. One of the twins has the same name as Mr Marples youngest too!" And who is Mr Marple? "You know, the guy that lives in The Old Smithy." Who or what is a Smithy one may ask.
It's a confusing place where sibling groups span two generations and everyone seems to have been married at least 13 times before they are 21. I heard a four year old explaining her family to my neighbour in the pub the other day. It is disturbing to hear such a small child say "they got divorced because it just didn't work out. But mummy met her new boyfriend at the karate club and he has muscles out to here!!" whilst she gestures 30cms from her spindly little forearms "I really like your dog" she continued on as she patted a humongous Afgan Hound, the wrong way up its back.

They travel in gangs on their bikes, usually with three or four dogs trailing them. They shout out "I heard you're having a girl! congratulations!" from across the street, even though at that time, we had told noone that information. They use words that should be beyond their vocabulary and state things with such authority, I think they must be true. They've shown me their secret club house beside the river and infiltrated my facebook page, despite my privacy settings being set to maximum. And when I told Welsh that one of the small boys looked at me in a way that made me uncomfortable, he glanced back to him, only to see him wink and give Welsh the thumbs up. (I'm actually a bit scared of that kid.)

These kids seem wild, yet have incredible manners. They seem to understand boundaries without having to be told. They stay awake until midnight and drink shandies like little old ladies. There is no such thing as school holiday program or nannys or even parental supervision really. Sometimes there will be 6 of them playing in my backyard for hours on end until Welsh gets home from work and shoos them on to the next house. Noone is allergic to anything, and if i give them all dinner, they eat everything on their plate then ask what i put in the cheese sauce. There's no room for tantrums in this village, no space for "but daddy, I want an Oompa Loopa NOW!" There is just jumping in the river and being home in time for tea and asking the alarmed look Australian women when her baby is due so they'll have a new friend.

There is something in this way of being bought up. I am not sure what it is yet, but there is something.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

I stopped watching TV and started writing again. I also got divorced once and for all on Sunday.

Letting you go began in that moment when i realised that you were not the lighthouse, you were the rocks I was about to wreck myself against.

I’d resisted walking away. Resisted even admitting to myself that it was a vague possibility. I sat in a bar with one of the strongest, smartest women I have known in my lifetime and shook my head though my tears when she suggested that I start looking after me.
Not only could I not fathom that I couldn’t drag you kicking and screaming through the rip tide of grief, I could not see that I was actually drowning myself in the process.

I guess that’s when I knew. I guess that’s when the stone of fear and regret and loss and panic, that had been sitting in my throat for a year, shaped itself into words and left my mouth, skimming truths, leaving ripples along my carefully constructed surface.
“But if I start moving in that direction, it will spell the end for our marriage.” Feelings are not facts but I was reading from a script that we had been writing since I signed our marriage certificate.

I knew I was about to leave you behind. I couldn’t stay though. Our love had evaporated and left a salty trail or everything that could have been, if things had been different. If you had been stronger, if we’d both been more patient, and the inescapable, insurmountable, excruciating reality, that if she had not had died that night, we would have been different people. In a perfect world, grief ends and people are made more resilient. In a perfect world it takes nothing more than love to make something work. In a perfect world we’d never have known the horrors of divorce. 

Then once I started looking at me, I knew that I could survive this. I knew that I would come out the other end, mostly intact. I also knew that you would not. And I couldn’t stand it. Being pushed away. The silence. The averted eyes. Being held hostage by guilt, in our dark flat with a cat that would not sit on my lap and a husband who ignored me. How could I live like that? How could anyone? And for how long? A month? A year of sorrow? A lifetime of unhappiness?

I guess that’s when in started. In that bar, in the Summer time. And I have been walking away from you ever since. It’s Summer time again where I am and I am still leaving you.
I skim real stone these days, in the stream beside my house. The silence is often broken by the sounds of tractors or sheep or cows or my own voice, singing loud and clear across the field of my belly, finding her tiny ears, filling her tiny heart, a love song that could not exist without that conversation, in a bar, a thousand years ago, a million miles away. I stopped drowning that night and started swimming.
I built my own lighthouse.

Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Real Housewife of whatever county this is.

I have to stop watching so much TV.
I do.

Before i moved to sunny Wales (see! even my sense of humor is suffering) I rarely watched TV. My consumption was the sum total of The Bachelor with Special Beef Yakuniku Don on a Tuesday night, after seeing my personal trainer with my sister and random episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker, some show about emotionally unstable women living in a house with a guy who was most definitely not a psychologist or vintage Hills-all these at the end of a girls night or during the girls night really if truth be told.

These days, with the luxury of unemployment and SKY TV, I have access to an incredible about of trash, day in and day out. Miami Ink? Sure! Teen Mom 2? Why not? I Used to be Fat? Don't mind if i do! It's ridiculous! And don't even get me started on Jeremy Kyle, Jerry Springer or Maury. Or Jersey Shore, Geordie Shore or the Real Housewives of Orange Country for crying out loud. I just cannot take any more.

I've always been a believer that the input impacts the output so no more rubbish. I am going to fill my days with reading books, writing haikus and tankas, taking photographs, sitting by the stream and learning some Welsh so I have half a hope of knowing what they are saying when this baby and Welshy gang up on me in years to come.

I'm not even going to watch the final episode of Audrina. This is detox people and I am going cold turkey (damn it, that reminds me of Master Chef.)

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Swim is the new run.

I've been at a bit of a loss lately, as to what exercise a big fat preggers woman such as myself can do. From very early on, the doctors put a running and gym ban on me after I had some bleeding immediately after jogging and using a rowing machine. "But that's my favourite exercise" did not evoke any goodwill amongst hospital staff unfortunately and so, I was stranded on planet walk-a-thon.
Problem: Using an ipod on country roads is massively dangerous.
Another problem: When you walk in a field, horseflies bite you. Through your pants. Ouch.

I've researched prenatal yoga (ha!) general yoga (not a chance) walking groups (not likely) within my local area. I was beginning to think i was destined to a yoga DVD and an enormous bouncy ball when i remembered that there is a pool down the street!
The good thing about living in the country is that hardly any people use the local pool. The bad thing is that the people who are in there, are most likely perverts. Just kidding (sort of.)

So the breakthrough is that swimming is like running. The breathing, the endorphins, the achey legs. And then i discovered that running in the pool is almost like running in real life except it doesn't make you feel like your stomach is about to fall off. I'm sure the perverts thought it looked weird but you know, they are welsh for gods sake so go take a look in the mirror like. (I'm half welsh now, so i can say stuff like that.)

Hooray.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Thought of the day.

I've just been reading about Norway. More specifically about the recent mass murder. The murderer tweeted about it all and also wrote something on his blog. They always seem to have blogs, don't they? Hmmmm.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Hullo!

It's fricking raining as per usual. Wales seems to have a reluctance to admitting to itself that it is Summer. It's obviously in a deep denial and using clouds to cover up. Bloody clouds.

So....car insurance is totally expensive when you are an Australian living in Wales. It's like a thousand pounds which is a thousand pounds more than i have earned this month. Luckily i have my sugar daddy, i mean baby's daddy, I mean boyfriend who is good at managing things like Being A Grown Up. I am more in charge of the saying illogical things and banging in to door ways side of the deal at the moment. Don't worry, it will all even out when we move back to Australia and he becomes the house husband. I told him we needed an ebay account and the next thing I knew, he had given me his credit card to register. Is the man crazy? I mean, he has had a wife before so surely he understands that ebay plus a credit card plus me being unemployed and home all day plus feeling like i need new clothes daily because my stomach keeps growing, is a recipe for trouble.

Talking about husbands, my divorce is dragging itself out like nobody's business. Is it just me, or does this ordeal feel like it has been going on for at least 16 months? No, it is not just me. That is how long it's been going on. We appear to be on the home stretch after months of being disorganised and signing the wrong bits and getting the wrong people to witness and scribbling out addresses etc. Apparently something was read out in court and I think that means we are divorced officially, officially in a week or so.
I actually feel very married right now. In that having to be patient and being bound to someone weather you like it or not kind of a way. It's rather annoying despite the fact that i don't actually have any contact with him. I am just impatient. I want it over.

Mostly so I don't have to tick "married" on my insurance applications anymore. I will officially be "single" and "pregnant" and possibly in trouble for buying too much crap on Ebay.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Say it aint so

http://www.theweezercruise.com

I actually cry a little inside for my lost youth whenever i watch this promo. It's probably not okay to take a newborn to something like this is it?

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Sugar and spice and everything nice.



We had our 20 week scan yesterday. It's a little girl.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Happiness writes a blank page.

I have been very quiet in my little corner of the world lately.

This blog has mostly been used as therapy for me as I grieved, got divorced and ran a little bit in between. Now I have put in the hard yards and landed on planet Content and i find my mind empty of blogging content. When i do go jogging, I usually stop to pick flowers like these to put around the house.





I guess i am also somewhat distracted by the small being growing in my heart shaped uterus. There is not much to say about this except for the fact that I am gaga over this child already and watching Welsh whisper to my belly late at night makes me feel things i have never felt before.




This is boring for other people to read because the joy that exists within our bubble is cringe worthy to the general public. This photo was taken at a music festival by the way. The baby preferred the Welsh and irish music which is both alarming and charming. Or else it was squirming around to try and jam its tiny fingers in its tiny ears.

Yesterday, i visited Dylan Thomas's boathouse where he did the majority of his writing during the last years of his life.



It was stunning visually and lent itself seamlessly to his prose about the landscape and surrounding area. The thing is, he was a chronic alcoholic and died at 39 from alcohol related issues. It reminds me of when i saw Bret Easton Ellis speak about having to have fucked up shit happen to you in order to be a powerful writer. (By the way Easton is on our boys name list. See! Welsh is the most amazing man EVER that he would let me name our first born after the man I wish I was married to.)

So what does that leave me with readers?

I suppose we shall float around in no mans land until the new blogging direction reveals itself. In the meantime, let's just have a look at the sight that greeted me outside my door yesterday afternoon

Sunday, July 10, 2011

You say tomato

I cannot stop eating tomatoes. I have hated them my whole life.

And chicken is revolting.

I still want to drink beer and coffee on a daily basis though.

When I run, I seriously feel like I am going to wee.

When i sit in the rocking chair, the baby moves around. When i listen to welsh music, the baby moves around. When Welshy pokes my stomach to make the baby move around, the baby does not move around.

Sometimes when we are sleeping, Welsh uses the bump as an arm rest.

Thursday, June 30, 2011

The day I got divorced.

The day i got divorced, i woke up at 3am and said "I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you" before looking at the clock and realising that half a world away, my divorce hearing was happening at that very moment. Then i went back to sleep.
The day i got divorced, I saw Prince Charles and Camilla in the flesh, watching some little kids do some Welsh dancing. I saw the Prince of Wales, in Wales, watching Welsh dancing in the train station car park. There was no stage, about 6 policemen and then i went and bought milk and bread.
For some reason it didn't seem so strange.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Mary, Mary, quite contrary.

Now that I am a housewife, i do fun things like weeding the garden of an afternoon. Gardens interest me in the same way that houses do. Residents come and go over the years and landscapes and details change and evolve. I don't know who lived here just before us, but it was someone who liked birds enough to put a bird feeder in one of the trees. Years and years ago, Welshy's grandmother lived here and as i was weeding today i wondered which trees she planted, if she guided the ivy up and over the garden wall, if she made the little path from the driveway to the lawn.
We are putting our own little mark on this property. Have a look at some of my favourite parts.


The garden shed. There is something magical (and cob webby) about this place.


Just over the garden wall is a gorgeous stream. You can fish here all year long, especially after it has been raining. I dreamt of this stream and of Welshy and a little boy with brown hair, long before i got pregnant, decided to move to Wales, or even knew this place existed.True story. They were in a truck.



Through the triangle window.


My pretty boyfriend planted a pretty rose.


I don't know what this is but it is growing in the vegetable garden and it is red.


I love this stone wall. It's so perrrrty.

And that's what I did today. x

Monday, June 27, 2011

Sunshine


Good day everybody!

We have had a glorious day and half of sunshine, but alas, the inevitable Welsh clouds have rolled in for an afternoon of showers and respite from the heat wave. I mean, it got to 20 degrees for God's sake. People were dusting off their fans and panicking about putting their children in the car. I wore a cardigan. No, i actually put on a bikini yesterday and sun baked in the garden until Welshy started mowing the lawn without a shirt on and I had to relocate to the conservatory. People go a bit bonkers in this place. I saw a nurse at the hospital spinning around, arms outstretched, face to the sunshine this morning. In the parking lot. I mean really, you don't have to purposely freak me out about having a baby here.

So I visited the midwives this morning to have all my bloods redone! How awesome! If there is one thing i love, it is spending hundreds of dollars in Melbourne getting blood tests and scans only do do them all over again in another country (luckily for free this time.) Welsh was impressed with how far i have come with getting blood taken. All the way from fainting and crying, general panic attacks and sleeplessness for a week before the test, to being able to actually have a conversation whilst i have a needle in my arm. Go me.
So she measured my stomach which is 19 weeks big with an 18 week old baby in it. Welsh loved that it's a week bigger as he has taken to calling me Tons of Fun since I almost had a heart attack when I discovered that I had put on a kilo and a half since i got pregnant. I just call him Shut the Eff Up and ask him when his twins, Fosters and VB are due. Then we eat crisps and watch the British version of the Biggest Loser.

Yesterday was my nieces birthday and I had that first pang of feeling REALLY far away from my family. I did get to hear her little 3 year old voice over the phone but God i miss just hanging out and talking Barbies and milkshakes. Thank goodness my parents will be here by the end of this week and if there are two people who love talking about my niece and nephew even more than i do, it is my folks.

I have been here for two weeks. Another 50 to go.
x

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Exercise. Country style.

Hylo!

Last night I ventured out of my warm little stone cottage and back into the magical land of exercise.

Exercising in the countryside presents a completely different set of challenges than in the city. In Melbourne, If i was to go for a run at 10.30pm, I would be worried about getting attacked. I'd be conscious of cars and well lit streets and rounding corners slowly so I didn't bash into someone.
Last night after checking murder stats in the village for the last 100 years with Welshy (zero murders, rapes, aggravated assaults or armed robberies by the way) I set out for a close-to-midnight run.
I strolled up and out of the village into the countryside. I stopped worrying about being hit by a car because not one car drove past me. I also stopped worrying about strangers kidnapping me because there were no people. I did see a strange little animal at one point-in the dusk light, it could have been a squirrel, could have been a rat. I'm going to go with squirrel this time because the thought of a squirrel sized rat makes me ill. I waved to a few sheep and giggled at the quaintness of farm gates and wild buttercups.
With nothing for company except Damien Rices first album and a deep sense of external safety, i started feeling...well kinda bored. I can't even run properly because there is a fishbowl in my stomach. It's all swooshy and not tight.

Anyway, I went home and then Welsh and I went for a midnight tour of the grave yard and scared the shite out of ourselves (me mostly) by walking into the pitch black (unlocked) church. Then we spied on the people in the pub through the rear window and chased each other, laughing, all the way home.

The second run was definitely more fun.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Walk is the new run.

I've just been reading my wonderful friends post over at www.writehub.blogspot.com . Kate has been on a journey of investigation into her migraines and has come to the conclusion that some bodies are not designed to be pushed at every opportunity.
I wonder where this idea comes from? The notion that we should exhaust ourselves and sit on the edge of our limit as much as possible? Humans are a machine and machines get worn out with use. Professional sports people have to retire with bunged up knees, bad ankles and plastic hips about 25 years before other people quit their profession.
Back in Melbourne, I had a couple of episodes of bleeding during this pregnancy which freaked me the eff out. The general vibe after ultrasounds and blood tests and hissy fits at incompetent hospital staff, was that i was over doing it. I couldn't go running and work full time and have late nights without consequence. Suddenly my body no longer obeyed me. What tha?
Now living in the countryside, where half an hour of pre natal yoga or a 3km stroll through the forest is as exciting as it gets, my body is much happier. Strangely, I actually feel stronger. I feel more secure in this pregnancy. Less dependent on coffee and chocolate and more hydrated for some reason.
I guess when it comes to health, we all have a moment that is a wake up call. A funny turn, odd results from the doctor, a little click that sends us to bed for a week. So here's to respecting our limits. At the end of the day health is the most important thing right?

Monday, June 20, 2011

17 weeks.

We are officially sticking with the 28th of November as the due date for this little baby. Because I've had scans and tests in multiple countries, we have been given two due dates. Don't ask me how this actually works. But anyway, we are sticking with the 28th because it seems like a nice day to be born. And that means I am 17 weeks pregnant today.
I celebrated by sticking my hand in some stinging nettle whilst trying to pick wild strawberries then watching Americas next Top Model. I also missed my blood test appointment because zany Zeny forgot to tell me about it. Or i forgot. Details. It's all fairly casual so maybe someone mentioned it in passing and i was supposed to know that meant i had an appointment. I do like the way things just develop organically in the place but it does make for a confused Australian woman. Oh well. I keep saying things like "just to clarify" and "sorry, can i just double check that I am actually booked in to a hospital?" and i still don't get an actual clear answer. There is a national reluctance to making plans or uttering the words "yes" or "no."
The funniest thing is that my occupation on my medical records is "Housewife." It's so funny. I feel like i am in the 1950's. Especially because my mobile is getting cut off in a couple of weeks so i have used Welshy's number in my contact details. So everyone needs to call him and ask to speak to his housewife if they want to talk to me. It's extra funny because we are not even married (except for those pesky legal documents stating that I have a husband and he has a wife.) These are the things that entertain my idle mind.
Oh well, time for Teen Mom and a cup of tea then.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

When it comes to me, you can jog on like.

It's okay everyone, the puppies are fine. We experienced a short glimpse into life with a baby actually whilst they recovered in the lounge room. I named one of them Mona due to it's constant whimpering and the other one didn't get a name. It was shivering with shock and barking like a demented sea lion. Welsh is definitely the more laid back parent, giving them a quick blast with my hair dryer then relaxing in the rocking chair. I am a bit more anxious. I held them, kissed them and gave Welsh a running commentary on everything they were doing. ("It's shivering again, why is it doing that? It's trying to head butt the other one. Do you think they miss their mother? How long were they in the drain for? Mona seems like she is settling down now.") Anyway, Welshy took them back to the farm and apparently they are fine. i wish we were staying longer so we could have a pet. There is a puppy at the other farm called Meggie that i really like too. I know, I know, I need to get a job.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Having a (welsh) baby.

I know I've only been here a week, but I am constantly astounded by how different everything is.
Firstly there is the way everyone speaks: "Alright? Alright. A cup of tea is it then? In a minute now, like." I am pretty sure the language barrier extends to them being confused when i mutter "WTF." And the accent. I cannot tell if Welsh is talking about his ankle or his uncle most of the time.
The absence of take away coffee from the closest cafe (3 miles from my house) also leaves me baffled. And the fact that lunch is called dinner and dinner called lunch. Again, WTF. And yesterday, I saw a badger. Yes. A Badger. I thought they were an imaginary mix of skunk and hedgehog. They are massive by the way. Like small dogs.
There's nude women in newspapers and it's raining in the summer time. A pot of beer is called a half or a girly beer and the streets don't have names but each house has a different postcode. Home births are encouraged and going to the doctor or dentist is 100% free.

But by far, the weirdest thing, was the appointment i had with my midwife today. Her name is Zeny but i call her Zany because it seems funner that way. She called me and then came over an hour later to talk babies. At least, I think that's what she was talking about. Let me tell you, doing a urine test for...something...in your own lounge room feels slightly awkward. And then I lay on the couch while she let us listen to the baby with a doppler! In my lounge room! A doppler! I loved hearing the little whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh again and it was the first time Welsh had heard it. Zeny thought it was hilarious when he asked if it was running around in there (because the heatbeat is so fast.) People in this country seem to think everything anyone says is the funniest thing anyone has ever said. She also had a giggle when Welsh asked if it was normal that i was so mental. I said it is perfectly reasonable to shout occasionally when you are pregnant, have moved countries and your boyfriend is a fecking idiot. Zeny neither agreed nor disagreed. Then the home phone rang and it was a call for Zany from the antenatal clinic about referring me to a consultant because of my romantic uterus. So I'll have shared care which means Zany plus a doctor.

I have more to write but Welsh just walked in with two puppies. Apparently they fell in a drain so he is upstairs giving them a bath and i have been instructed to light the fire to warm them up. I can hear him talking to them. I promise I am not making this up. So it is very different but as long as there are puppies, I think i will cope.

xxxx

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Wales: Week One.

It's early in the morning here in Wales. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, the tea is perfect and I can see sheep in a field from my lounge room window.

My flight was only mildly torturous. I had a stop in Bangkok that was long enough to drink lemonade at a bar and have a foot massage, before another 12 hour flight straight into London. And who was waiting at the airport as the doors opened in front of me? Welsh of course. The very reason I am here.

Of course, i caught a cold somewhere along the line and discovered the joyous fact that pregnant people cannot get drugged up on cold and flu tablets. When the pharmacist suggested I "wait it out" I actually walked back to the car and cried. I was jet lagged with a head cold so ferocious that my teeth ached. I've really only left the house a few times since then to try and get fresh air. I also have a pollen allergy so that's awesome.

In happier news:
i went to the local Doctor yesterday to get a referral to a hospital. Navigating a really unfamiliar healthcare system is quite confusing. From what i could gather, he passes on my information to....someone....then i get a community midwife who visits me in a couple of weeks to talk about birth plans and sex (according to Welsh's brother.) So she will come to my house. I wonder if i should make cake or something. Then she links me in to a hospital that best suits my plan (my plan by the way is to have multiple people in white coats standing by with many drugs and baby equipment) and then i have scans etc there. She will visit me a few more times and also be there when the baby is born. It all seems rather simple really. Surely we are missing something.

Oh, I also wanted to write about how much i love my new house. My favourite things are the stream that runs on the other side of our garden wall, the fireplace, my reading nook that looks over the back garden, pay tv, and the bed linen that Welsh chose before i arrived, which has butterflies on it. I know. Totally cute.

I went to the pub once. It weirded me out. I can't understand Welsh or the Welsh accent very well. And the jokes don't seem that funny to me. Probably because i cannot drink. Everyone kept saying "Well done!" about getting pregnant and asking me how i felt. I'm not sure how i was supposed to answer that question. Are you talking about the flight? The pregnancy? Being in a different country with people i cannot understand?? Telling them "fine thanks" seemed to satisfy their eager faces. I didn't stay very long.

My neighbour gave me a welcome card. She also gave Welsh a card to wish him well on his journey to London to collect me. She is big on cards.

I need to get a job before I lose my mind.

xxxx

Monday, June 6, 2011

15 weeks.

So by my vague calculations, i am around 15 or 16 weeks pregnant and suddenly, I can feel it. My stomach is an unusual shape that i have never seen before (on myself.) Different to I-just-ate-a-loaf-of-bread bloating and sort of neater than god-i-need-to-go-to-the-gym. It looks like...well, it looks like i am pregnant.

Welsh keeps reminding me of the incredible thing my body is doing. Just when I feel fat and gross his wise voice travels across the world (via Skype) into my lounge room. "You are amazing! You are creating life in there!" and i feel kinda bad that I am still so attached to a body without stretch marks or cellulite. Let's just celebrate that fact while we still can. I somehow got to 30 without these things AND I have never had a filling. I guess all good things come to an end.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

To do lists.

Phone contract, suspended.
Car insurance, cancelled.
Travel insurance, purchased.

I am really going. Really, really, really, really going. On THURSDAY. Which is a mere 3 days away. What to pack? Nail polish? Books? My most favourite painting in the world? Or sensible things like maternity clothes and How to Make the Baby Stop Crying So You Don't Go Insane for Dummies? A mixture of the two.

I have no idea what I am going to do once i get there. I mean, I know the first week will be sleeping, re acquainting myself with the landscape and calling out "hello there!!" to all the locals across the fields. And then fast forward 5 months and it will be all breast feeding and watching reality TV at 3am. But the in between bit is kind of a blur between strolling through the garden like something out of the Darling Buds of May and joining the Country Women's Association simply because THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO DO.
I can see a few home hair cuts and some extremely abstract art taking place during this period. Perhaps i shall learn to bake and knit and harvest the crops. Or maybe i will just work on my Welsh accent so i can say these thing convincingly. OR I could finally write a book despite the fact my brain has turned into a field of forget me nots which i keep, inevitably, forgetting.

Goodbyes.

Goodbye to my favourite barista who gives me free coffee and tells me about his evenings at the Greyhound.
Goodbye to my work friends and all the outfit descriptions (shoes, Sportsgirl. Scarf, models own.)
Goodbye to my little niece who thinks seagulls are called sea girls and loves nothing more than barbie and stickers.
Goodbye my car that stinks of flood water and general grossness.
Goodbye my sisters, i carry your hearts in my heart.
Goodbye to my nephew and all our gun battles and lolly sharing.
Goodbye to the beach
Goodbye to the Australian accent
Goodbye to my parents (for the next three weeks.)

Goodbye to my empty bed.
Goodbye to skyping at 7am every morning and goodbye to running late to work every day.

Here's a painting of my village:



It's so much more beautiful in real life (the village, not the painting.)

5 more days!!

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Alone

As the youngest of three very strong, opinionated, passionate and somewhat enthusiastic in the participatory sense (ie, we interfere in each others lives) sisters, i have never really had the occasion to feel alone. I break my arm at four, my sister carries me to the house, first day of school, there they both are in matching uniforms to mine. We've seen each other through countless breakups, nights out, tears and teasings for 30 long years.
Sure, we've all travelled....and then we travelled right back to our family home to share bedrooms and secrets and secret eye rolling towards our parents. We've grown in different directions. Paths shaped by family, careers, passions and partners. But our paths always loop back to each other and the safety of looking two other people in the eye and knowing they (usually) get it and even if they don't, they have your back anyway. Unless you are currently in an argument in which case they are on the phone to the other one stabbing you in it until you see each other 24 hours later and wonder what all the fuss was about.

And now suddenly, i am to be without them? Excuse me?
Next week, I'm getting on a plane. Alone. To travel to a foreign country. Alone. To have a BABY. ALONE.

I never imagined I would be having a baby without my two sisters right beside me. Literally, beside me. The face of the father was always a little blurry in these imagining (handsome, capable, luscious) but the faces of the women who would hold that little baby and introduce it to its cousins? Those faces have been clear as day since my dad bundled me into the waiting room and told them they had a baby sister.

My sisters are my family.

And now, I have a new family. A tiny family of me, Welsh, and lifetime of promise in my belly. He sent me a text message the other day; "I just bought you some vegemite!!" He's over in Wales, painting our house, buying furniture and sourcing cots and god knows what else and he goes to the supermarket to buy me vegemite, so that when i open the cupboard on my first morning there, it will feel like home. I think of Welsh and vegemite toast and the baby in my tummy and suddenly, I no longer feel alone.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Fate, Destiny and Safeway.

I just ran into an ex work colleague's wife in the supermarket. When i mentioned i am moving to Wales, she told me she had lived there for three years and loved it. Apart from the weather. The last time I saw her was the night I met Welsh and a few months later her husband offered me an incredible job, just when I had decided to go to Wales. Oh and she had a baby in a foreign country with none of her family around her. I feel like she is quite central to my story, without even knowing it. You see, I used to nanny for her sister in law when we struck up a friendship of sorts. Then I met her husband and we started working together on a photography project with young mums. I ended up working with him fulltime for a couple of years. Then the organisation we were working for was taken over by a new boss. I gotmarriedquitmyjobseperatedfrommyhusband and then that boss had a birthday party which is where i met Welshy.

Oh and I am having dinner with her and my ex work colleague on Tuesday night. They have just moved house. She wrote her address down on a piece of paper and as I walked to my car, I glanced at it. I shouldn't be surprised, but i was; Wales St.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

I forgot to tell you something

My divorce hearing has been scheduled for the 30th of June. I, of course, will be getting fat in Wales by then but will celebrate the day with some sort of mocktail and a folate pill.
So by my maths, I will be divorced by August one. Fancy that.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Knock knock. Who's there? Boo. Boo who? No need to cry, it's only a joke.

What the effing crap is up with these fricking baby hormones? I get it okay? I get that i need them to do....well, stuff i guess. Actually, on second thoughts, what is their real purpose? Apart from making me break down every time i accidently watch SBS, i mean. I saw the last five minutes of Australian Story this afternoon. BIG mistake.

I cry at the news, I cry at masterchef and yes my friends, I even cry at Dancing with the Stars. I bawled at Britains Got Talent whilst in Wales and continued to blub when i saw the Australian version. The people were trying so hard and some of them were so talented and it was touching and moving and profoundly inspiring! Not inspiring to me, you understand. I am too exhausted and baby brained to even consider doing....that thing...you know, that thing with the movement and the smiling...oh you know what i mean...dancing! Yes, I have always liked dancing. What were we talking about again?

I've turned into my mum. I have turned. into. my. mum.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

I just booked a flight.

And now i am getting scared. The "what ifs" and the middle of the night dread is starting to creep its' way into my optimism. I have had too much time to think about this. To consider the impact it will have on my life. To enjoy all the things i am leaving behind.....

However. It is time to move forward. It is time to be brave and remember that this is an adventure. This little life of mine has always been interesting and i suppose this is the next chapter. The one called The Year I Moved to Wales and Had a Small Baby. But it's scary right? Leaving everything i know and love behind and shacking up with a Welshman. Jebus Jebus. Luckily this particular welshman is sweet and kind and has spent the last week buying furniture for our home and digging out a vegetable garden. Bless. I really like vegetables and i read somewhere that you should sometimes feed them to your kid too. You know, just for a change from ice cream.

I'm looking forward to the fresh air. To the quiet. To the slower pace and the easy smiles. Wales to me is Welsh sipping tea in the mornings. His nieces' tiny hand curling into mine as we wander down a lane. Kicking water at each other in a stream until we are all wet and laughing like something out of an OMO ad. The wild violets and the tame lambs. Oh, it's so beautiful there. So, so beautiful. You should see the sky at night. Unbelievable.

So on the 9th of June I will go to Bangkok (possibly have a massage) and then arrive in London at 7.15am (my Visa starts that very day and i don't want to miss Welsh for even a day longer than i have to.)

It's crazy really, isn't it? It's crazy.