I've come to love reality tv with judges. Why? Because I love the fights! It seems that it's not just simple enough to be passionate about your art, but you have to be right and no one else's opinion matters. The near punch up's, the tantrums, the spitting (yes, that's happened), the fighting and so on make for excellent tv. It's like watching your friends or family having a spat but being able to completely enjoy it simply because you're not involved.
Maybe I'm being a bit sadistic, but admit it. All of us have that little piece inside of us that loves to watch a good fight. If not why does 90% of the school run off to the local park/ oval to watch a slapping contest between two 7th graders?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Pink Prams?????
I don't get pink prams, aside from the fact they're usually a rather gaudy shade of pink, I don't get the attraction! Pink is one of my favourite colours but I have to say that I would never ever buy a pink pram. Firstly, I wouldn't subject my husband to pushing around a pink pram. Secondly, I see prams as an investment, why waste money on something that I would want to use again and I can't guarantee that my next pregnancy will result in a girl. Thirdly, what if the ultrasound was wrong and I have a boy instead?
From observation there are 2 types of people that buy pink prams:
1) The pretentious wannabe that wants to show the world that they have money to throw away.
2) The single mum who's just a bit too trashy for her own good.
I'm not trying to be judgemental, it's just an observation. I'm only trying to figure out when a pram became a status symbol. It's a pram not a car.
From observation there are 2 types of people that buy pink prams:
1) The pretentious wannabe that wants to show the world that they have money to throw away.
2) The single mum who's just a bit too trashy for her own good.
I'm not trying to be judgemental, it's just an observation. I'm only trying to figure out when a pram became a status symbol. It's a pram not a car.
Friday, May 30, 2008
1 Cheeky Monkey Playing in the Laundry
Life with 3 kids has been pretty hectic (hence my lack of blogs since #3 was born) but it's been a learning curve and a bit of an adventure.
Elijah has proved to be a wonderful addition to our family. I still get a shock sometimes when I look at him and realise that he is my son, my beautiful little boy. Jemima and Amelia have adjusted fairly well to having a baby brother and need to be (constantly) reminded that they're his sisters, not surrogate mothers. Despite the sometimes misguided enthusiasm, both girls are wonderful helpers and loving big sisters.
In their enthusiasm they both enjoy playing "house" and it was during one of their games that they both ended up in the laundry. I was outside hanging out the washing, Elijah was with me in his rocker. After a few minutes the laundry door closed, this didn't alarm me as Jemima is quite capable of opening the door on her own. I finished taking the dry washing off the line and made my way back to the house, when I got to the laundry door I tried to open it and found that it was locked. Jemima, who was on the other side of the door, started to panic after realising what she had done and what she was unable to undo. Fortunately (for me) I was able to get Jemima to open the front door and I was able to get back inside.
It was a lesson learned for my 4 year old who now knows not to play with the keys in the lock. But I am now left wondering if I need to have a spare set of keys on me all the time, just in case.
Elijah has proved to be a wonderful addition to our family. I still get a shock sometimes when I look at him and realise that he is my son, my beautiful little boy. Jemima and Amelia have adjusted fairly well to having a baby brother and need to be (constantly) reminded that they're his sisters, not surrogate mothers. Despite the sometimes misguided enthusiasm, both girls are wonderful helpers and loving big sisters.
In their enthusiasm they both enjoy playing "house" and it was during one of their games that they both ended up in the laundry. I was outside hanging out the washing, Elijah was with me in his rocker. After a few minutes the laundry door closed, this didn't alarm me as Jemima is quite capable of opening the door on her own. I finished taking the dry washing off the line and made my way back to the house, when I got to the laundry door I tried to open it and found that it was locked. Jemima, who was on the other side of the door, started to panic after realising what she had done and what she was unable to undo. Fortunately (for me) I was able to get Jemima to open the front door and I was able to get back inside.
It was a lesson learned for my 4 year old who now knows not to play with the keys in the lock. But I am now left wondering if I need to have a spare set of keys on me all the time, just in case.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
A Very Special Anniversary Present
On Saturday the 1st of March I ran out of insulin. As far as I was concerned it wasn't a big deal (if anything it was a relief not having to inject myself everyday), I was on a low dose and I figured that as long as I was careful with my carbs I would be ok, let alone the fact that I was due in 4 days.
Tuesday the 4th of March was my due date. I woke up at 3am, got up at 3.30am and had a few niggling pains. I was pretty depressed once again to be awake and still be pregnant. But there wasn't much I could do about that. I had a shower about 11 in the morning (yes, I was rather unmotivated) where I had a bloody show. After talking to Russ about it we decided to call the hospital, just in case. I spoke to the midwife and got the biggest lecture because I had stopped taking insulin, despite the fact that my Blood Sugar Levels after dinner (when I took the insulin) had been quite low since running out. The midwife told me to call back in an hour and let her know what was happening. Within 5 minutes of hanging up the phone rang, it was the same midwife telling me I needed to come in for an assessment. Russ and I finished getting ready, packed up my hospital bag, organised stuff for the girls, organised the babysitter, had some lunch then headed out.
When we got to the hospital I was assessed by the Obstetrical Registrar and the student OB. They were very thorough, taking my entire history and giving me 2 internals. After they had finished Russ and I were kept waiting while they spoke with the specialist and decided what to do with me. After a while the mid wife came in and told us that I was being sent up to Perinatal Ultrasound for another sizing scan (I think I had 3 in a fortnight), then I would be kept in overnight to be assessed by the team in the morning and possibly be induced. We went up to ultrasound and had the scan done (I had the same radiographer 3 times in row, she was fantastic, very reassuring), Oli was still on the lower end of the weight scale, still plenty of fluid etc. Everything was normal! We then headed back down to the delivery suite where we waited for the specialist to look at the ultrasound report. While we waited the head midwife walked into see if I was there or not. I practically burst into tears and asked her what on earth was going on as no one was telling us anything. I gave her a brief overview of my pregnancy including that I'd stopped taking insulin. The midwife (before I told her why I had stopped) said that to buy more would have been a waste of money (finally, someone who listened and understood where I was coming from!!!!). She told us that because I was a high risk pregnancy and because I had been on insulin, regardless of how low the dose, the hospital wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly. She was lovely, very reassuring and even if I didn't like what was happening at least there was a logical reason behind it.
We were sent up to Antenatal where I was to spend the night. We were in the room for less than 5 minutes when we were sent out by another midwife as they were inducing the lady in the bed next to me. Russ went to get my hospital bag out of the car and I eventually made it back to my room. This was where it got fun (please note the sarcastic tone). From that moment on none of the staff I encountered knew why I was there. I was fed, given my insulin and taken care of but just about every midwife asked me why I was in hospital. Nothing had been written in my file as to why I was being kept in overnight. It was rather depressing being asked by midwife after midwife why I was there. I didn't even really know, except that it had to do with not being on insulin. By the time Russ left at 9.30pm I was feeling very low. I decided to bide my time by reading when I started getting contractions every 7 minutes. By 10.30pm or so I was exhausted and desperately needed sleep, it was then that the contractions stopped. At midnight I woke up with a contraction and a had a bit of a cry as it was my wedding anniversary and I was stuck in hospital rather than being with my husband. For the rest of that night I slept in 30 - 45 minute fits, awaking to a contraction or 2 (and the snoring of the girl next to me) and then falling back to sleep.
5.30am came and I was wide awake. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee, climbed back into bed and the contractions started again. Once again coming every 7 minutes. Somewhere between 6 and 7am I had another midwife come in and ask me why I had been kept in overnight. That was it, I couldn't cope with it any more. I rang Russ and asked him to come down as soon as possible, I was in pain and no one knew why I was there. I felt alone and uncared for. Fortunately the contractions continued for the rest of the morning. The girl next to me was induced again and this time it worked. At about 10.30am the specialist came into see me, he gave me an internal and told me that I was 3cm dilated and that hopefully I would go into labour naturally. If not, I would be induced on Friday and would have to stay in hospital until then. That was a very unappealing prospect. Russ and I made the most of our 8th wedding anniversary and took a wander down to the kiosk (after the midwife suggested that it would be a good idea and hopefully would get things moving). We sat at a table next to a family of 3, I tried to be as discreet as possible but being in labour is no easy thing.
After Russ had finished his burger we took a short walk around the hospital before heading back to antenatal. By the time we arrived back the girl I was sharing a room with was heading down to delivery and my contractions had started coming every 4 minutes. I toughed it out for another 20 minutes as I really wanted some lunch, then the contractions stopped for about 10 minutes then started again. After waiting those 20 minutes I couldn't take it any more, despite really wanting to eat, and asked if I could go down to delivery, after telling them about my contractions the mid wife went and called delivery. She came back to tell me that they were too busy to take me and I didn't fit their criteria, simply because the contractions had stopped for a short while. For the next 3 hours or so I laboured in antenatal, with only heat packs for pain relief, sharing a room with a girl who was 26 weeks pregnant. Finally, around 3pm, the midwife gave me another internal and told me that I was 6cm dilated, by then the contractions were 3 minutes apart. The midwife organised for me to be moved down to delivery - finally!!!
When we were given a room in delivery I was asked if I wanted to use the gas. At first I said "No", all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go to sleep. However, the next time I was asked my response was a big "YES". At first the gas was nothing more than a distraction, something else to focus on and take my mind off the pain. Eventually it got the better of me and I was just a little stoned, saying completely bizarre things to Russ and wondering if the mid wife thought I was weird. As the contractions intensified the gas was less and less effective but it still gave me something to else focus on. Eventually the midwife asked me if I wanted her to break my waters and I said "Yes". She used what looked like a plastic knitting needle and boy did it hurt. The next thing I knew the baby's head was crowning, I started to push and 3 minutes later (although it felt like much longer) my baby was born.
The midwife asked Russ what it was and when he said that it was a boy I think I went into shock, I turned to Russ in tears and repeated "It's a boy" over and over again until reality began to sink in. We hadn't found out at the many ultrasounds that we had what the sex was and I think a larger part of me expected another girl. To have a little boy (after two girls) was the best anniversary present I could think of giving my husband. Russell cut the cord and our son was laid down on my chest. After the midwife and Russell had left the room I peeked under the blanket just to double check that yes it was a little man. Thankfully he didn't miraculously change sex.
Elijah James Blair was born at 4.43 on the 5th of March 2008, he weighed 3.06kgs (or 6lbs, 12oz) and was 49cm long.
Tuesday the 4th of March was my due date. I woke up at 3am, got up at 3.30am and had a few niggling pains. I was pretty depressed once again to be awake and still be pregnant. But there wasn't much I could do about that. I had a shower about 11 in the morning (yes, I was rather unmotivated) where I had a bloody show. After talking to Russ about it we decided to call the hospital, just in case. I spoke to the midwife and got the biggest lecture because I had stopped taking insulin, despite the fact that my Blood Sugar Levels after dinner (when I took the insulin) had been quite low since running out. The midwife told me to call back in an hour and let her know what was happening. Within 5 minutes of hanging up the phone rang, it was the same midwife telling me I needed to come in for an assessment. Russ and I finished getting ready, packed up my hospital bag, organised stuff for the girls, organised the babysitter, had some lunch then headed out.
When we got to the hospital I was assessed by the Obstetrical Registrar and the student OB. They were very thorough, taking my entire history and giving me 2 internals. After they had finished Russ and I were kept waiting while they spoke with the specialist and decided what to do with me. After a while the mid wife came in and told us that I was being sent up to Perinatal Ultrasound for another sizing scan (I think I had 3 in a fortnight), then I would be kept in overnight to be assessed by the team in the morning and possibly be induced. We went up to ultrasound and had the scan done (I had the same radiographer 3 times in row, she was fantastic, very reassuring), Oli was still on the lower end of the weight scale, still plenty of fluid etc. Everything was normal! We then headed back down to the delivery suite where we waited for the specialist to look at the ultrasound report. While we waited the head midwife walked into see if I was there or not. I practically burst into tears and asked her what on earth was going on as no one was telling us anything. I gave her a brief overview of my pregnancy including that I'd stopped taking insulin. The midwife (before I told her why I had stopped) said that to buy more would have been a waste of money (finally, someone who listened and understood where I was coming from!!!!). She told us that because I was a high risk pregnancy and because I had been on insulin, regardless of how low the dose, the hospital wanted to make sure that everything went smoothly. She was lovely, very reassuring and even if I didn't like what was happening at least there was a logical reason behind it.
We were sent up to Antenatal where I was to spend the night. We were in the room for less than 5 minutes when we were sent out by another midwife as they were inducing the lady in the bed next to me. Russ went to get my hospital bag out of the car and I eventually made it back to my room. This was where it got fun (please note the sarcastic tone). From that moment on none of the staff I encountered knew why I was there. I was fed, given my insulin and taken care of but just about every midwife asked me why I was in hospital. Nothing had been written in my file as to why I was being kept in overnight. It was rather depressing being asked by midwife after midwife why I was there. I didn't even really know, except that it had to do with not being on insulin. By the time Russ left at 9.30pm I was feeling very low. I decided to bide my time by reading when I started getting contractions every 7 minutes. By 10.30pm or so I was exhausted and desperately needed sleep, it was then that the contractions stopped. At midnight I woke up with a contraction and a had a bit of a cry as it was my wedding anniversary and I was stuck in hospital rather than being with my husband. For the rest of that night I slept in 30 - 45 minute fits, awaking to a contraction or 2 (and the snoring of the girl next to me) and then falling back to sleep.
5.30am came and I was wide awake. I got up and made myself a cup of coffee, climbed back into bed and the contractions started again. Once again coming every 7 minutes. Somewhere between 6 and 7am I had another midwife come in and ask me why I had been kept in overnight. That was it, I couldn't cope with it any more. I rang Russ and asked him to come down as soon as possible, I was in pain and no one knew why I was there. I felt alone and uncared for. Fortunately the contractions continued for the rest of the morning. The girl next to me was induced again and this time it worked. At about 10.30am the specialist came into see me, he gave me an internal and told me that I was 3cm dilated and that hopefully I would go into labour naturally. If not, I would be induced on Friday and would have to stay in hospital until then. That was a very unappealing prospect. Russ and I made the most of our 8th wedding anniversary and took a wander down to the kiosk (after the midwife suggested that it would be a good idea and hopefully would get things moving). We sat at a table next to a family of 3, I tried to be as discreet as possible but being in labour is no easy thing.
After Russ had finished his burger we took a short walk around the hospital before heading back to antenatal. By the time we arrived back the girl I was sharing a room with was heading down to delivery and my contractions had started coming every 4 minutes. I toughed it out for another 20 minutes as I really wanted some lunch, then the contractions stopped for about 10 minutes then started again. After waiting those 20 minutes I couldn't take it any more, despite really wanting to eat, and asked if I could go down to delivery, after telling them about my contractions the mid wife went and called delivery. She came back to tell me that they were too busy to take me and I didn't fit their criteria, simply because the contractions had stopped for a short while. For the next 3 hours or so I laboured in antenatal, with only heat packs for pain relief, sharing a room with a girl who was 26 weeks pregnant. Finally, around 3pm, the midwife gave me another internal and told me that I was 6cm dilated, by then the contractions were 3 minutes apart. The midwife organised for me to be moved down to delivery - finally!!!
When we were given a room in delivery I was asked if I wanted to use the gas. At first I said "No", all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and go to sleep. However, the next time I was asked my response was a big "YES". At first the gas was nothing more than a distraction, something else to focus on and take my mind off the pain. Eventually it got the better of me and I was just a little stoned, saying completely bizarre things to Russ and wondering if the mid wife thought I was weird. As the contractions intensified the gas was less and less effective but it still gave me something to else focus on. Eventually the midwife asked me if I wanted her to break my waters and I said "Yes". She used what looked like a plastic knitting needle and boy did it hurt. The next thing I knew the baby's head was crowning, I started to push and 3 minutes later (although it felt like much longer) my baby was born.
The midwife asked Russ what it was and when he said that it was a boy I think I went into shock, I turned to Russ in tears and repeated "It's a boy" over and over again until reality began to sink in. We hadn't found out at the many ultrasounds that we had what the sex was and I think a larger part of me expected another girl. To have a little boy (after two girls) was the best anniversary present I could think of giving my husband. Russell cut the cord and our son was laid down on my chest. After the midwife and Russell had left the room I peeked under the blanket just to double check that yes it was a little man. Thankfully he didn't miraculously change sex.
Elijah James Blair was born at 4.43 on the 5th of March 2008, he weighed 3.06kgs (or 6lbs, 12oz) and was 49cm long.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
God's Timing Is Perfect
With 10 days to go until Oli is due, and a million and one things left to do, it's hard to imagine ever being in a position where I'm ready to have this baby. Admittedly I'm over the whole pregnancy thing; injecting insulin, testing my blood glucose levels 4 times a day, having this whopping huge tummy that gets in the way of everything, monitoring everything I eat, braxton hicks, etc. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy being pregnant and am looking forward to meeting our new little one. But this is a scary prospect, I have no say over when this bub decides to make it's entrance. Nor can I control every circumstance on the planet to make sure that everything goes according to my plan.
Once again it all comes down to trust. I can't trust myself in this situation, simply because I have no control. But I can trust God. I can trust that He has the whole thing worked out, that I will go into labour at a decent hour, that the people I need to look after my other 2 kids will be available and eager to help, that the things that still need to be done will be taken care of by someone else.
It's an issue of control. I watched Firefly with my husband last night and the Shepherd said to River "You can't fix faith, it fixes you". I guess in this case I need fixing, fixing from my need to control everything. I had a clinic appointment the other day and had someone tell me that I'd give birth after Thursday (when we have the bunk bed delivered). At the moment, as much as it scares me, I'd like to go into labour before then, simply so it is out of my control. I don't want to be God, nor do I want control of my little world, it's all too much.
So, I therefore surrender to the insanity and chaos that is life and choose to let the One who is in control set the path before me. (I just hope that I can stick to it)
Once again it all comes down to trust. I can't trust myself in this situation, simply because I have no control. But I can trust God. I can trust that He has the whole thing worked out, that I will go into labour at a decent hour, that the people I need to look after my other 2 kids will be available and eager to help, that the things that still need to be done will be taken care of by someone else.
It's an issue of control. I watched Firefly with my husband last night and the Shepherd said to River "You can't fix faith, it fixes you". I guess in this case I need fixing, fixing from my need to control everything. I had a clinic appointment the other day and had someone tell me that I'd give birth after Thursday (when we have the bunk bed delivered). At the moment, as much as it scares me, I'd like to go into labour before then, simply so it is out of my control. I don't want to be God, nor do I want control of my little world, it's all too much.
So, I therefore surrender to the insanity and chaos that is life and choose to let the One who is in control set the path before me. (I just hope that I can stick to it)
Friday, February 22, 2008
It's just one big journey home
I've been a bit stressed lately about the prospect of having 3 children, not too mention bringing home Bub #3 to such a tiny house. To be honest it makes me really sad, I keep wondering if my husband and I have made wrong or rash decisions. But when it all boils down, we are where we are regardless of the good or bad decisions we've made and it's up to us to make the most of our situation.
I've come to the conclusion that life is one huge exercise in trust and faith. We have a Bible verse calendar hanging on our kitchen wall and the first passage for this year was Jeremiah 29:11-14. Regardless of who the prophecy is for (whether I'm trying to cash in on Israel's promises or not), it's true. God does know the plans that He has for us and ultimately they're to bring us hope and a future. It may not be in monetary or earthly possessions, our hope and future really lies in Jesus Christ, but God does clothe the lillies of the valley and feeds the birds of the air. It doesn't matter what interest rates do, whether they rise or fall, God is in charge and will not let me slip. It's a case of trusting in Him. That's not necessarily an easy thing to do. But what other options are there? Trust myself or the capabilities of my husband to provide enough for us? Where's the joy and freedom in that?
God may or may not exist, I believe that He does. As pointless as it may seem to believe in something that may not be real I'd rather put my trust outside of myself then lean on my own capabilities. Ultimately I will fail, I'll let myself and my family down. Why, because I'm human and far from perfect. God will not fail and will not fail me or my family because He does have plans for us, plans to give us a hope and future.
I've come to the conclusion that life is one huge exercise in trust and faith. We have a Bible verse calendar hanging on our kitchen wall and the first passage for this year was Jeremiah 29:11-14. Regardless of who the prophecy is for (whether I'm trying to cash in on Israel's promises or not), it's true. God does know the plans that He has for us and ultimately they're to bring us hope and a future. It may not be in monetary or earthly possessions, our hope and future really lies in Jesus Christ, but God does clothe the lillies of the valley and feeds the birds of the air. It doesn't matter what interest rates do, whether they rise or fall, God is in charge and will not let me slip. It's a case of trusting in Him. That's not necessarily an easy thing to do. But what other options are there? Trust myself or the capabilities of my husband to provide enough for us? Where's the joy and freedom in that?
God may or may not exist, I believe that He does. As pointless as it may seem to believe in something that may not be real I'd rather put my trust outside of myself then lean on my own capabilities. Ultimately I will fail, I'll let myself and my family down. Why, because I'm human and far from perfect. God will not fail and will not fail me or my family because He does have plans for us, plans to give us a hope and future.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I'm NOT public property!
Ok
So just because I have a swollen belly does not mean that I am public property or open to public scrutiny. I was out shopping the other day and was accused (jokingly????) by a stranger of taking up all the room in the aisle. My very dry reply was "Yeah, yeah, wide load coming through."
As a pregnant woman I know that I'm large, larger than usual anyway. But that does not give everyone the right to point it out. How would you like it if I pointed out your middle aged spread, your receeding hairline, your saggy bum, or your crooked nose? It's not nice, so why do it to me?
If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all! Remember, I don't know you from a bar of soap, I don't know if you're being funny or just plain rude. Most importantly, please remember that pregnant women have feelings too - if you're not careful we may just hit you over the head with our handbags.
So just because I have a swollen belly does not mean that I am public property or open to public scrutiny. I was out shopping the other day and was accused (jokingly????) by a stranger of taking up all the room in the aisle. My very dry reply was "Yeah, yeah, wide load coming through."
As a pregnant woman I know that I'm large, larger than usual anyway. But that does not give everyone the right to point it out. How would you like it if I pointed out your middle aged spread, your receeding hairline, your saggy bum, or your crooked nose? It's not nice, so why do it to me?
If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all! Remember, I don't know you from a bar of soap, I don't know if you're being funny or just plain rude. Most importantly, please remember that pregnant women have feelings too - if you're not careful we may just hit you over the head with our handbags.
12 days and counting!
Right, so I have 12 days left until Oli is due. Not sure if I can keep it together for much longer though.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to enter into the world of parenting 3 children. So far the majority of people have told me that it's really easy. That was up until Monday when 1 lady said to me that it was really hard. I think she's the first person that has ever been truly honest with me about it. I even thanked her. I know that the only way I can do this is in God's strength, but it's hard to believe it or even see it from this end of the tunnel.
Well, in 12 days or so we'll see whether we sink or swim.
I'm not sure if I'm ready to enter into the world of parenting 3 children. So far the majority of people have told me that it's really easy. That was up until Monday when 1 lady said to me that it was really hard. I think she's the first person that has ever been truly honest with me about it. I even thanked her. I know that the only way I can do this is in God's strength, but it's hard to believe it or even see it from this end of the tunnel.
Well, in 12 days or so we'll see whether we sink or swim.
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