Sunday, March 22, 2009

Update on things at casa di gas

So last week was the first week of my maternity leave. This was the first opportunity we had to get Patrick's inguinal hernia operated on, given that Tuesday was a work day for me, and Tuesday is the only day our chosen surgeon operated at my hospital. We chose to have it done at our hospital because we would at least be familiar with the staff and environment, and hopefully Patrick wouldn't get as worried seeing as how we were almost relaxed. He did really well- our anaesthetist sung him a song about going to sleep as he gently held the mask on, and within a few verses Patrick was all azuz. Recovery was a whole other matter as he screamed and screamed and demanded to go "there! There!": pointing at any available escape route out of the unit. Luckily/unluckily the staff let us walk him about and show him all the equipment, but he still wasn't happy until we had left there entirely. He perked up once he had had some vegemite sandwiches and apple juice (juice is a real treat) and attacked the tiny teddies one of the recovery girls had given us.

Our surgeon had told us that he would recover remarkably quickly and maybe need one dose of paracetamol in the afternoon. I thought, yeah, right. Sure. But seriously- he went into theatre about 8.20 am, we were dischrged at 10 am, and by 1pm he was literally jumping around his bedroom to dance music urging us to join in.

He has now totally recovered, his wound is healing beautifully; in fact, it looks like a tiny scratch on his tummy.

But. Friday.

Patrick had been watching some videos I'd downloaded (like monkey vs tigers, the worldwide sirens of emergency and so on) on my new (November) laptop whilst I had a shower. When I came out he was playing with my reels of thread from my sewing machine, which I thought was a little odd, because once he starts with the videos, he generally doesn't stop. It wasn't until I tried to shut down the computer that I realised there was something seriously wrong with the screen. He had put something on top of the keyboard and the attempted to close the lid, pushing harder and harder until the screen cracked. Bugger. $1600 down the drain.

Then we went out to the car to go to our weekly 'singing' session- a little hippie kids music class. But car, she no go. Actually, car, she no even open with remote. Car battery- she VERY flat. Someone likes to play in the car after we get home sometimes: yes, I know, I know, but we never leave the keys in there, and even then, the start up procedure confuses most adults, let alone toddlers. But he does like to turn on the hazard lights and rearrange the mirrors. Oh, and put on all the internal lights: one for each passenger and driver, plus a front and rear middle light. Unfortunatley when MrT locked the car two days before he had forgotten to check all the lights were off.

45 minutes later the NRMA dude arrived and roundly criticised me for my choice of car ("You don't really need all this fancy stuff, all you need is a nice small 4 cylinder car. This wouldn't get any better economy on the road than a little runabout blah freaking blah blah...". [Sorry, sir, but go fuck yourself. This car gets far better economy than my old 4 cylinder job- wayyyy better]. And off we went.

Finally, I had a real 'mummy moment' in BigW- we were looking for baby things for a friend who has recently announced what looks to be a successful pregnancy after 2 prior mc, and Patrick was having fun pulling stuff off the racks and presenting it to me "Pretty, mummy" (he has a hankering for Dora gear, it seems). But then- I lost him.

Don't panic, I told myself. Don't panic. What would someone want with a healthy white kid with blue eyes...

I walked around for what seemed like an eternity calling his name and looking in the usual places- girlswear, toys, books: still no Patrick.

As I was about 10metres away from the front desk, I got the call "Attention shoppers, we have a little lost boy in the store..." HMG. I felt so terrible. But relieved. Relieved like you wouldn't believe. The good thing is that since then he has stopped wandering away from me so much when we are out and about, so I don't hae to do so much pregnant lady waddle/dash across open parkland, fearing for the blow dart that would ground me (but, then again; hey, Ketamine. Wouldn't that be neat?).

Did I say finally? Oh I did. Ok I lied.

Patrick has started making jokes. He's not about to win raw comedy, but it is the sweetest thing; and not a developmental stage you'll find anywhere in the books. Yesterday morning as I picked him up out of his cot, he pointed to the cat (Meg)
"It's a cat!" he said
Mummy: "And what's her name?"
P (massive grin): "MeeOOOOOWWW!" and then proceeded to laugh himself silly for the next 5 minutes.

This morning, he pointed at my belly button and said "Mine". And then back at his and said "Mummy's". And laughed his head off.

Ok, so it's absurdist humour. It's better than my first effort:-
Q: "Why did the angel fly up in the air?"
A: "Because she saw a snake!".
Cue hysterical laughter from me, with blank stares from my family. Followed by tears from me because no-one thought my joke was funny.

No other big news: baby is doing fine, large protruberance that feels like a knee to the left of my belly button is the most uncomfortable feature. He's moved down into my pelvis well: last Obstetrician visit we were at +1 and LOA. It's easier to breathe, now, since he's descended, but less easy to squat or move quickly. My cravings for ice chips and myl.anta tablets continue. I am pretty much ready except we need to scrub down the bassinette that has been sitting in the garage getting dusty and get the baby seat installed in the car. I have finally finished the maternity pants that I cut out about two months ago- I'll post some photos... next time.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Plus size maternity or nursing bras pretty

Ok so the title of this post looks like a search term, right?

There's be a reason for that.

Because I fed Patrick for 18 months, I had 18 months of wearing the same, boring, ugly bras. The same, freaking, awful, shapeless sack-like contraptions. Ugh ugh ugh. It hit me the other day that I probably have 3 weeks left before I'm going to have to stop wearing a nice, comfortable, supportive underwire and get back into a maternity bra for an undefined length of time, so I trooped off to David Jones' praying that in the last 6 months someone, somewhere may have designed a nicer bra.

Nup. There's a whole wall of maternity bras. And most of them go up to a D cup. Srsly. And the ones that go bigger cup-wise only go up to say a 16. So you can be a 24B (B cups for breastfeeding? Really? Wow) or a 10 G, both of which seem pretty odd shapes, IMHO, but not an 18G. Is it just me, or does it seem really weird that you would make a bra for someone naturally tiny with enormous gazoongas but not for someone who is either naturally bigger, or just plain fat who wouldn't have enormous boobs?

Anyway, the only choice I had left was the exact same style I had endured for the previous episode. I took it to the counter and asked for them to order me two in black. "We don't stock black in this size". No, that's why I'm ordering them, you idiot. I'm not blind. "I'm not sure we can order them". You did last time. "You don't want them in beige?" Look at me, lady, do I look like I wear beige? ever? Pussy bum face "I'll see what I can do". You go girl... not.

I came home and started doing what I shopuld have done in the first place. Hit the interwebs.

Now, I'm not one to advertise normally, but; Hot Milk. Up to 20G. God Bless New Zealand. I'm in love with that country.

And this mob.

And the one I'm wearing today: Freya.

Other sites: here, here and here.

I was a little hesitant about ordering lingerie off the interblags, because, like, how could I be sure it would fit? But a tape measure and being bluntly honest about what it read (Really? I'm more than a metre around? Bugger.) But, no, beautiful. Fits. Gorgeous.

Friday, March 13, 2009

I'm not dead...

I've just started selling stuff on ebay, and I have been spending a lot of time there trying to figure out wtf I am doing. Big clean outs from major nesting = tons of stuff to sell. And sell it has: 85% of the stuff I listed has sold! (I expected maybe 20%).

So we're all good here: I finally finished work 3 hours ago and now have 6 glorious months off. Hooray! Small matter of a squalling neonate to deal with, but, sheesh- how hard can it be, right? Right??

Ok- don't answer that one.

My pelvis is no longer joined reliably: the second SI joint gave way last night at work when I was trying to do a spinal. And the symphysis gave way about two weeks ago. So I no longer walk so much as wobble.

Loving every minute of it, though. Big belly and loads of kicks and rolls.

Bring on 4 weeks of sitting on the couch! WOOT!!