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.)

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.

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.

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.

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?

Sugar and spice and everything nice.

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

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

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.