Thursday, June 29, 2006

Expecting.... for it to end any day now


Five weeks five days. Fingrs crossed. One day at a time...

Monday, June 19, 2006

blurry, but I like it. 'Suspect' is a friend's dog, and looooves to play fetch at the beach. The water temp is 16*C, but he doesn't care Posted by Picasa

this cactus is taller than the house it stands in front of Posted by Picasa

look how grey I am!! Roots needed doing Posted by Picasa

tell me this aint art Posted by Picasa

cute graff Posted by Picasa

tank graffiti I liked Posted by Picasa

Yee-hah, here we go again (Or the family of Uncanny X-Men)

I neglected to mention that whilst in Adelaide, I was again pregnant. I also neglected to metnion that a week later, I wasn't.

I'm not going to mention that I am again pregnant; double striped this am. I have a horrible feeling I won't be this time next week.

This will make me G5P0. That I know of, of course; who knows the number of times I have actually been pregnant and then miscarried at 5 weeks. The irony is that until I wanted to get pregnant, I never really paid my period much interest. Now I can tell you, pretty much to the hour, when it is due. My GP asked what my cycle length was and I told her 28 and a half days. She laughed: I was serious.

We have had our genes counselled, and are awaiting our karyotypes to see if we are mutants. T is quite excited; he wants to be Hugh Jackman (I'd be quite keen for him to be Hugh Jackman, but that's another story altogether!). If it turns out we have balanced translocations this will mean one of three choices: 1. give up. 2. Continue naturally, and have CVS (with 1/100 chance miscarriage) to test the conceptus once we get a few weeks. The third option is IVF with them making 5 day embryos and then checking their karyotypes and then implanting the good ones (if any). There is a tiny risk we have gonadal mosaicism so our gametes are mutants but our own karyotype will be normal. That would suck.

Right now I have somewhere between 50 and 80% of miscarrying this one too. I'd love to be optimistic, but the plain facts just don't back this up.

Every now and then I have odd irrational thoughts along the lines of "We should start trying to have a baby!", and then I realise, oops, yes, that's what all those HPTs have been about. It's crazy that it should be so easy, and it's so very very HARD.

Now some photos to keep you amused.

Friday, June 02, 2006

beach haze, Glenelg Posted by Picasa

Meg in quiet contemplation "...of the thought of the thought of the thought of her name..." Posted by Picasa

Meg wearing MY slippers! Posted by Picasa

adelaide. Help! The caps are stuck on!! Posted by Picasa

Sunset, Glenelg Posted by Picasa

new camera. Glenelg Posted by Picasa

Lost in Adelaide

Unlike many women, I have a good sense of direction and, once I have been to a place I can generally find my way around it again without needing a map. It was odd, then, flying into Adelaide: I haven't been here for more than 20 years, and then we arrived by car.

Strange, then, to be flying into an Australian capital city with unfamiliar geography. I am more familiar with Dunedin, Auckland, Christchurch or even London, Moscow or Rome than I am with this pretty, well-proportioned city. Add that to the fact that the coast is to the west-south-west and my direction finding is approximately 180 degrees out. By the end of 5 days here, though, it will also be indelibly etched on my internal visitors' guide.

post 9-11 world

Can anyone please tell me if in the post 9-11 world of no nail files, knitting needles or samurai swords on board if the number of aeroplane hijackings has fallen?

Just curious.

-Nail Biter, Melbourne airport

My two pet travel hates. No, wait, make that three...

1. People who stand up and line up for the door immediately the plane hits the tarmac.

Helloo? They're not planning on opening the doors until we get to the gate! If I was the pilot I would take great delight in slamming on the brakes just before we get to the gate so all those people who take off their seat belts immediately on landing go tumbling over... "I'M the pilot and I tell you when it's ok to get up".

I love it that you see all the same premature exiteurs still waiting for their luggage on the carousel way after you have retrieved yours, eaten some greasy takeaway, had a piddle and made some inappropriate jet-lagged impulse buy ("But I need a kangaroo scrotum bottle opener! My life will not be complete without it!") and your late-arse lift has arrived. There they are, staring forlornly at the belt, still waiting, waiting...

2. People (and they're normally the premature exiteurs) who stand about a bee's dick away from the baggage carousel. I take extreme delight in bowling them over with my trusty old backpack. If you line it up right, it's people dominoes. Maybe they were sick the day they taught 'wait your turn' at kindergarten.

3. People who just don't get my backpack. "It must be so inconvenient" they say as they origami their joints as they lug their oversized wheelie bags up stairs and bang onto train platforms.

I suppose I should add that I love my backpack. This November it will be twenty years old. It has taken me around the world twice, honeymooned with me, sea kayaked, helicoptered, jeepneyed, bussed, Le Metro-ed, Vaporettoed, endured many back of the truck rides and uncertain train trips as well as faithfully cradling my gear on many, many bushwalks, big and small, north and south of the equator. It is not especially pretty nor capacious (hell, I know I've certainly used every last millilitre of its 65-litre capacity and hung my excess on eevery last spare strap, but it fits me like a well-worn shoe. I know one day it will die- probably in spectacular fashion on one of the monster baggage carousels, but until taht day I can't imagine travelling without it. Whether it's carrying Christmas Presents or duty-free Chanel, or filthy dirty thermals and a fuel stove, it's been my one constant travelling companion since I was 15 years old.

(Do you think if I sent this to Berghaus they will send me a new one, free?)

The ONLY thing that could make me stray from my one true travel love would be a Spencer and Rutherford travelling set. Mmmmmmmmm..... pretty.

I'm trying to kill 5 hours in an airport. I have browsed the Lonely Planet section of the bookstore and had impure thoughts... (I'm sure I'd be fine on the Annapurna circuit even if I was pregnant... and T is a doctor, after all...)