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.

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

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

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.

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?

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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!!