I saw this headline and my first thought was, how on earth do you shoot someone with a placenta?
Placenta in stolen car suspected of use in driveby shooting
Bless.
Thursday 31 July 2008
Wednesday 30 July 2008
How much of an excuse is No.9 really?
For sitting in my car at 7am on my way to work, eating a sugar donut?
*cough* andanotheroneassoonasIgottowork *cough*
*cough* andanotheroneassoonasIgottowork *cough*
Thursday 24 July 2008
It's all a matter of context
Certain people continue to be most displeased with our top two name choices of Rory and Harriet.
This just goes to show that it could be a whole lot worse.
I have tried to convince the husband to investigate other name options to add to the list. Or, at least, to help create a proper list, but he doesn't see the necessity of expending vital energy looking for more names when we already have two perfectly acceptable ones (depending on who you talk to, of course). Apparently adding extras just means more decisions. Mind you, since I have been investigating and nothing else really appeals to me either at the moment, on the basis that the names just don't feel like No. 9, I can live with that. I just hope it doesn't turn out to be a boy, because a 7 foot ginger bloke called Harriet could potentially have issues (the husband says that any 7 foot ginger is always going to have issues so it's irrelevant). Thankfully, Rory is do-able for a boy as well - we can just shove a James after it and booya! Just don't tell No. 9 that this is how it got named. I'm working on a long-winded explanation about deep and sentimental significance for later.
This just goes to show that it could be a whole lot worse.
I have tried to convince the husband to investigate other name options to add to the list. Or, at least, to help create a proper list, but he doesn't see the necessity of expending vital energy looking for more names when we already have two perfectly acceptable ones (depending on who you talk to, of course). Apparently adding extras just means more decisions. Mind you, since I have been investigating and nothing else really appeals to me either at the moment, on the basis that the names just don't feel like No. 9, I can live with that. I just hope it doesn't turn out to be a boy, because a 7 foot ginger bloke called Harriet could potentially have issues (the husband says that any 7 foot ginger is always going to have issues so it's irrelevant). Thankfully, Rory is do-able for a boy as well - we can just shove a James after it and booya! Just don't tell No. 9 that this is how it got named. I'm working on a long-winded explanation about deep and sentimental significance for later.
A tale of two boobs
But first, I need to whinge.
Either I have a virus or our kiddly is having a growth spurt ... but in any event, I'm pretty sure I'm about to die. Last night I crashed into bed at 7.30pm, woke up this morning not entirely sure where I'd placed my head ... until I bolted to the bathroom and threw up more than I've eaten in the last week ... then it turned up abruptly, on top of my shoulders, thumping like it was going to burst at any moment. Nice. I even resorted to drugging the baby (paracetamol, never fear) which I really am loathe to do. I know it's safe blah blah, but I'd just really rather not while I'm growing the little treasure. I figure though that when me sucking it up is more likely to cause kiddly distress than me drugging it, then drugs it is. The throwing up continued all day too. Wicked. (It's just a little bit wrong when you hunt high and low for soup for lunch because soup just might stay down, and you fall on a cafe counter in grateful relief because not only do they have soup, but their soup has no chunks in case you do throw it up.)
My thinking was that as my boobs hadn't grown, my current bra was hideously uncomfortable because my torso was expanding therefore meaning that my current size was too tight, and pregnant boobs appear to have a severe disliking for underwire too. So, I went up a body size and down a cup size - by going up a body size it would mean that the size cup was bigger anyway so that'd sort the difference out, there'd be no evil underwire (pregnancy and maternity bras as a rule are under-wire free) and my poor strangled body would be relieved of the strangled-ness which was the main goal.
I guess where I fell down is that size-wise he's perving at my boobs, but I'm seeing my current boobs in the context of my blardy great stomach, so they still look the same as they did before to me. So anyway, the size I ordered was back-ordered, and arrived on Tuesday, and of course, could I squeeze my boobs into it .....? Nooo.
Me, showing the husband my newly encased boobs and trying to make it look like I'm not in mortal agony "I got my new bra! What a relief!" (well, it was a little bit because it fitted me much better around the torso)
The husband, looking rather skeptical "That looks a bit small"
Me, sighing "Ug. It is. Bollocks"
The husband, most supportive "Hahahahahahaaha!! Ha!"
So, I phoned the store and arranged to go there to be fitted properly.
Obviously, the store was in a suburb I've never been to and I got completely and utterly lost in crap rush hour traffic and an hour later, in the midst of a total pregnancy-hormone-uncomfy-boob fueled meltdown, turned around and found my way home in the sure knowledge that I'd have to try and get there again the next day. Much map studying and concentration a day later, I did find the store, did get measured up ... and headed home, a full week later, with very relieved boobs, happily supported by the size that the husband told me to buy in the first place.
Grumble.
It really annoys me that a bloke had a better idea of what size to get than I did. Really annoys me. But then, I imagine he spends far more time studying them as a general rule than I do. Plus he's been sitting there for the last 3 months willing them to grow. Bless.
Now, I think I need to go and have a sleep.
Either I have a virus or our kiddly is having a growth spurt ... but in any event, I'm pretty sure I'm about to die. Last night I crashed into bed at 7.30pm, woke up this morning not entirely sure where I'd placed my head ... until I bolted to the bathroom and threw up more than I've eaten in the last week ... then it turned up abruptly, on top of my shoulders, thumping like it was going to burst at any moment. Nice. I even resorted to drugging the baby (paracetamol, never fear) which I really am loathe to do. I know it's safe blah blah, but I'd just really rather not while I'm growing the little treasure. I figure though that when me sucking it up is more likely to cause kiddly distress than me drugging it, then drugs it is. The throwing up continued all day too. Wicked. (It's just a little bit wrong when you hunt high and low for soup for lunch because soup just might stay down, and you fall on a cafe counter in grateful relief because not only do they have soup, but their soup has no chunks in case you do throw it up.)
Now ... my boobs.
I bought my first new bra to cope with pregnancy boobs last week. In some kind of weird cosmic twist, I don't feel like shopping. Not even a little bit (oh, except for today ... there was a moment on my soup hunt where me and the most gorgeous pair of boots on the planet met in a moment of instant love and the greatest joy). I'm sure it will pass, probably quite soon ... but in the meantime, I needed a new bra. So, I bought it online. I know! I know! Bras are not something you can buy online. Or, they probably could be, but in this instance, online shopping was a bit of a disaster. The husband measured me up and told me my size according to their sizing chart, which I told him was complete bollocks and proceeded to order a size which sounded far more reasonable bearing in mind that my boobs hadn't grown a smidge.My thinking was that as my boobs hadn't grown, my current bra was hideously uncomfortable because my torso was expanding therefore meaning that my current size was too tight, and pregnant boobs appear to have a severe disliking for underwire too. So, I went up a body size and down a cup size - by going up a body size it would mean that the size cup was bigger anyway so that'd sort the difference out, there'd be no evil underwire (pregnancy and maternity bras as a rule are under-wire free) and my poor strangled body would be relieved of the strangled-ness which was the main goal.
I guess where I fell down is that size-wise he's perving at my boobs, but I'm seeing my current boobs in the context of my blardy great stomach, so they still look the same as they did before to me. So anyway, the size I ordered was back-ordered, and arrived on Tuesday, and of course, could I squeeze my boobs into it .....? Nooo.
Me, showing the husband my newly encased boobs and trying to make it look like I'm not in mortal agony "I got my new bra! What a relief!" (well, it was a little bit because it fitted me much better around the torso)
The husband, looking rather skeptical "That looks a bit small"
Me, sighing "Ug. It is. Bollocks"
The husband, most supportive "Hahahahahahaaha!! Ha!"
So, I phoned the store and arranged to go there to be fitted properly.
Obviously, the store was in a suburb I've never been to and I got completely and utterly lost in crap rush hour traffic and an hour later, in the midst of a total pregnancy-hormone-uncomfy-boob fueled meltdown, turned around and found my way home in the sure knowledge that I'd have to try and get there again the next day. Much map studying and concentration a day later, I did find the store, did get measured up ... and headed home, a full week later, with very relieved boobs, happily supported by the size that the husband told me to buy in the first place.
Grumble.
It really annoys me that a bloke had a better idea of what size to get than I did. Really annoys me. But then, I imagine he spends far more time studying them as a general rule than I do. Plus he's been sitting there for the last 3 months willing them to grow. Bless.
Now, I think I need to go and have a sleep.
Wednesday 23 July 2008
When you're too lazy to post (and nothing interesting has happened anyway)
Distract everyone with a laugh and hopefully they won't notice ...
Monday 21 July 2008
Off Wax Bar is the business
If I hadn't spent half the appointment cowering in the corner whenever the therapist looked sidelong at the wax (I'm a bit wary of how much worse than waxing birth might be. Surely not much...?), I'd have even been done inside my lunch hour.
Happy joy.
(P.S. It's just up the road from my work, cheaper than my last place and you get every 6th visit freeeeeee! Plus, they were a bit clever about things, so I didn't even swear. Out loud. Much.)
(P.P.S. My therapist is the best therapist ever in the world because she told me complete lies - that redheads have deeper rooted hair than any other hair colour so it hurts more to yank, and therefore I'm not really a wuss)
(P.P.P.S. Next time you're having a crap life day, be glad that you're you and not my therapist. You think this whinging is bad? There's going to come a time, probably soon, when I can either no longer balance in the shower to shave my legs ... or my legs will disappear from view entirely, and I'll need them waxed as well *shudder*)
(P.P.P.P.S I wonder if she'll be sick when I have my next appointment ....?)
Happy joy.
(P.S. It's just up the road from my work, cheaper than my last place and you get every 6th visit freeeeeee! Plus, they were a bit clever about things, so I didn't even swear. Out loud. Much.)
(P.P.S. My therapist is the best therapist ever in the world because she told me complete lies - that redheads have deeper rooted hair than any other hair colour so it hurts more to yank, and therefore I'm not really a wuss)
(P.P.P.S. Next time you're having a crap life day, be glad that you're you and not my therapist. You think this whinging is bad? There's going to come a time, probably soon, when I can either no longer balance in the shower to shave my legs ... or my legs will disappear from view entirely, and I'll need them waxed as well *shudder*)
(P.P.P.P.S I wonder if she'll be sick when I have my next appointment ....?)
When it's time to move on
Five weeks on it's time to acknowledge that my beauty therapist really has abandoned me. Gone forever. And, the worst thing is that she has left the industry, so it's not even as though I can sit down with a coffee and the phone book and ring every single beauty clinic in Auckland (don't think I wouldn't do it) to hunt her down. Errr ... in a very non-agressive non-stalker type way, of course.
*Sob*
So, I must be brave. I must bubble-gum my broken heart back together and move on.
Here's hoping my new place will tolerate my bikini-wax related swearing, and not do evil things to my eyebrows. It would be very sad if a wax bar that looks so funky was a flop. It would completely ruin my unwavering belief that one really should judge a book by its cover.
*Sob*
So, I must be brave. I must bubble-gum my broken heart back together and move on.
Here's hoping my new place will tolerate my bikini-wax related swearing, and not do evil things to my eyebrows. It would be very sad if a wax bar that looks so funky was a flop. It would completely ruin my unwavering belief that one really should judge a book by its cover.
Thursday 17 July 2008
When baby-brain attacks
Scene: Sitting at my OB's office post-miscellaneous check up whatevers.
OB, gesturing to the ultrasound machine "Right. Let's have a look"
Me "at ......?"
Both Allan and the OB look at each other and then turn identical cross-eyed looks on me ...
Me, thinking ... thinking ...
*click whirrrrrr*
Me "Oh!! The baby!!"
Yes ... because that's why we're sitting there in the first place.
Argh!
All I can say about the scan is thank goodness I can't feel the little blighter yet, and it's no wonder I keep puking. It was kicking and shoving and wiggling and turning in circles ... I felt a bit ill just looking at it. I have a funny feeling that I'd best appreciate peace and quiet in the bladder/kidney region while it lasts.
The placenta is still in a bad place (I don't suppose it was very likely it would have moved in all of about 5 days) but I'm seriously not caring in the context of having to give birth naturally to the giganta-baby. The OB's answer to my complaint about the size of giganta-baby was a very unsympathetic "If you wanted small genes, you should have found some" and then looked pointedly at the husband and smiled innocently at me. I wonder if it has occurred to him that there is plenty of time for me to spend his fee on new shoes ...??
Still, I should be grateful for small mercies - at least he chose to do my scan in a room that has a chair that can be lain flat for the scan, and then propels you back onto your feet again, instead of on a bed. There was a wee moment at the hospital the other day when the NT scan was done (I was lying flat on a bed) when the technician told me I could get up and I ... err ... couldn't. I tried to move and my back screamed and I ended up lying there flailing like an upside down turtle trying to roll over enough to roll off the side. Not a good look. It can't be that unusual though because she just leaned over and gave me a helpful, well-practised, shove.
And, for my irrational moment of the week ...
The glucose and protein monitoring side of the proceedings has begun, and I am now required to wee into a square pottley thing at every visit to my OB. The thing is that I have to go into the bathroom, wee into the square pottley thing and then just leave it on the table next to the loo. Seriously! I have to leave a square pottley thing of wee sitting on a table. All by itself. Just sitting there! For anyone to see! Wees! Argh! I was completely mortified!! Never mind that I've had entire medical teams gazing up my bits on a semi-regular basis over an extended period of time and thought little of it ... I have to leave wees sitting on a table!! Every. Time. I. Visit. What if someone else has to go in after me?? It's an OB's office! There are pregnant people everywhere! Pregnant people have to wee all the time! (Actually, come to think of it ... I don't think there has ever been a cross-over of people waiting to see the OB's. They time appointments very well. But, it could happen. One day. Maybe)
*Sigh*
Anatomy scan wherein we confirm that everything is as is should be with kiddly, and we find out if it's a pink one or a blue one - 20th August.
OB, gesturing to the ultrasound machine "Right. Let's have a look"
Me "at ......?"
Both Allan and the OB look at each other and then turn identical cross-eyed looks on me ...
Me, thinking ... thinking ...
*click whirrrrrr*
Me "Oh!! The baby!!"
Yes ... because that's why we're sitting there in the first place.
Argh!
All I can say about the scan is thank goodness I can't feel the little blighter yet, and it's no wonder I keep puking. It was kicking and shoving and wiggling and turning in circles ... I felt a bit ill just looking at it. I have a funny feeling that I'd best appreciate peace and quiet in the bladder/kidney region while it lasts.
The placenta is still in a bad place (I don't suppose it was very likely it would have moved in all of about 5 days) but I'm seriously not caring in the context of having to give birth naturally to the giganta-baby. The OB's answer to my complaint about the size of giganta-baby was a very unsympathetic "If you wanted small genes, you should have found some" and then looked pointedly at the husband and smiled innocently at me. I wonder if it has occurred to him that there is plenty of time for me to spend his fee on new shoes ...??
Still, I should be grateful for small mercies - at least he chose to do my scan in a room that has a chair that can be lain flat for the scan, and then propels you back onto your feet again, instead of on a bed. There was a wee moment at the hospital the other day when the NT scan was done (I was lying flat on a bed) when the technician told me I could get up and I ... err ... couldn't. I tried to move and my back screamed and I ended up lying there flailing like an upside down turtle trying to roll over enough to roll off the side. Not a good look. It can't be that unusual though because she just leaned over and gave me a helpful, well-practised, shove.
And, for my irrational moment of the week ...
The glucose and protein monitoring side of the proceedings has begun, and I am now required to wee into a square pottley thing at every visit to my OB. The thing is that I have to go into the bathroom, wee into the square pottley thing and then just leave it on the table next to the loo. Seriously! I have to leave a square pottley thing of wee sitting on a table. All by itself. Just sitting there! For anyone to see! Wees! Argh! I was completely mortified!! Never mind that I've had entire medical teams gazing up my bits on a semi-regular basis over an extended period of time and thought little of it ... I have to leave wees sitting on a table!! Every. Time. I. Visit. What if someone else has to go in after me?? It's an OB's office! There are pregnant people everywhere! Pregnant people have to wee all the time! (Actually, come to think of it ... I don't think there has ever been a cross-over of people waiting to see the OB's. They time appointments very well. But, it could happen. One day. Maybe)
*Sigh*
Anatomy scan wherein we confirm that everything is as is should be with kiddly, and we find out if it's a pink one or a blue one - 20th August.
Wednesday 16 July 2008
Just over a week to go! Tra la la la la!
Na na na na na na na na, na na na na na na na na BATMAN!!
It's a tragedy of course that courtesy of the giganta-baby there's isn't a snowflake's chance that I'll get to sit through the movie in its entirety, but still ... I heart Batman.
I just hope that all of the excellent reviews aren't purely born of Heath Ledger popping his cloggs post-filming. Hopefully it actually is excellent.
It's a tragedy of course that courtesy of the giganta-baby there's isn't a snowflake's chance that I'll get to sit through the movie in its entirety, but still ... I heart Batman.
I just hope that all of the excellent reviews aren't purely born of Heath Ledger popping his cloggs post-filming. Hopefully it actually is excellent.
Tuesday 15 July 2008
Beautifully normal
Famous last words ...
Scene - No. 9 is crashed out, snoozing on its stomach, making it extremely easy for the technician to get the nuchal fold measurement.
Technician "Ok. Lets wake baby up so we can get the rest of the measurements we need"
Heh.
No. 9 *Wiggle... Wiggle wiggle... Wiggle... Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle. Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle wiggle .....*
Technician, trying to use the force "It should settle down in a minute ..."
Technician, five minutes later "This is a very wiggly baby"
No. 9 *Wiggle... Wiggle wiggle... Wiggle... Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle. Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle wiggle .....*
Twenty minutes later ...
No. 9 *Wiggle... Wiggle wiggle... Wiggle... Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle. Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle wiggle .....*
No 9 then started to do it's own little version of a push up - pushing its little legs against the side of my uterus and arching its back right up.
Technician, through gritted teeth "This is requiring some patience"
(No.9 was also very helpful and broke their printer when they tried to print a high-res photo of him/her. That's my kiddly!)
Things the person who has to give birth to the baby does not want to hear ...
Technician, sounding enchanted "This is a really big baby. And your dates are definitely right ..."
(TOP of the 95th percentile for size to be precise. I am definitely rethinking breeding with the husband. And almost blessing that placentia previa for now. Bring on the sunroof!)
No. 9 is doing perfectly. The neck measurement was really small, so our adjusted risk for Downs Syndrome is now one in five thousand plus (from one in seven hundred plus), and for Edward's and Patau's Syndrome, one in ten thousand plus (from one in thirteen hundred plus), and overall baby appears disgustingly healthy. And big. Did I mention big? Very big.
Wanna see our (big) kiddly??
No. 9 mid push up
Scene - No. 9 is crashed out, snoozing on its stomach, making it extremely easy for the technician to get the nuchal fold measurement.
Technician "Ok. Lets wake baby up so we can get the rest of the measurements we need"
Heh.
No. 9 *Wiggle... Wiggle wiggle... Wiggle... Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle. Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle wiggle .....*
Technician, trying to use the force "It should settle down in a minute ..."
Technician, five minutes later "This is a very wiggly baby"
No. 9 *Wiggle... Wiggle wiggle... Wiggle... Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle. Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle wiggle .....*
Twenty minutes later ...
No. 9 *Wiggle... Wiggle wiggle... Wiggle... Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle. Wigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewigglewiggle. Wiggle wiggle .....*
No 9 then started to do it's own little version of a push up - pushing its little legs against the side of my uterus and arching its back right up.
Technician, through gritted teeth "This is requiring some patience"
(No.9 was also very helpful and broke their printer when they tried to print a high-res photo of him/her. That's my kiddly!)
Things the person who has to give birth to the baby does not want to hear ...
Technician, sounding enchanted "This is a really big baby. And your dates are definitely right ..."
(TOP of the 95th percentile for size to be precise. I am definitely rethinking breeding with the husband. And almost blessing that placentia previa for now. Bring on the sunroof!)
No. 9 is doing perfectly. The neck measurement was really small, so our adjusted risk for Downs Syndrome is now one in five thousand plus (from one in seven hundred plus), and for Edward's and Patau's Syndrome, one in ten thousand plus (from one in thirteen hundred plus), and overall baby appears disgustingly healthy. And big. Did I mention big? Very big.
Wanna see our (big) kiddly??
No. 9 mid push up
Friday 11 July 2008
Because everyone loves a potentially serious pregnancy complication ... don't they?
I caved this morning and gave in to my (not very) inner, neurotic-first-time-IVF-mum and went off to see my OB.
I didn't feel so bad once I heard a story about a patient who had phoned in and demanded an urgent appointment with her OB ... because she was tired. Hehe. I guess that everyone is different in what they accept as normal in pregnancy.
Anyway, back to me. Despite my confidence yesterday that all really was probably well, I had a niggly feeling that I really wanted to be sure of that before the weekend and Monday's NT scan. I had a very long night with my belly full of knives last night, eventually caving and taking painkillers this morning (I know that paracetamol is perfectly safe for No. 9, I do, I'd just rather grit my teeth if possible. But, I figure at some point my stress is going to negatively impact on kiddly, and that defeats the purpose of teeth-gritting), and there have been small bleeds on and off.
The scan showed two things, which explains a bit:
1. The placenta is right down the bottom of my uterus, over my cervix (incidentally, that's exactly where you don't want a placenta to be. Placentas should be 180 degrees in the opposite direction. Although doesn't become a serious concern until further on in the second trimester if it hasn't moved, it's still not thrilling to see it now)
2. Kiddly, fully breech for the moment, is using the placenta as a trampoline. While sucking it's thumb. Kiddly is a thumb-sucking, placenta-abusing, baby-bandit. (actually, my OB seemed less interested in my very bad placenta and more in working out whether kiddly was in fact sucking it's thumb, or it just had its hand smashed into it's face)
No. 9 did wave hello though to me and the OB (a bit of an improvement on mooning us, like it did last scan)... either that, or he/she punched me. I'm going to pretend it was a wave. Sooo cool.
Oh, and it looks like an alien and is about ... crap. 6cm? I think. I can't remember. Bad mummy.
(Andrew and Ruth - No.9's nose looked distinctly Johnsony)
I didn't feel so bad once I heard a story about a patient who had phoned in and demanded an urgent appointment with her OB ... because she was tired. Hehe. I guess that everyone is different in what they accept as normal in pregnancy.
Anyway, back to me. Despite my confidence yesterday that all really was probably well, I had a niggly feeling that I really wanted to be sure of that before the weekend and Monday's NT scan. I had a very long night with my belly full of knives last night, eventually caving and taking painkillers this morning (I know that paracetamol is perfectly safe for No. 9, I do, I'd just rather grit my teeth if possible. But, I figure at some point my stress is going to negatively impact on kiddly, and that defeats the purpose of teeth-gritting), and there have been small bleeds on and off.
The scan showed two things, which explains a bit:
1. The placenta is right down the bottom of my uterus, over my cervix (incidentally, that's exactly where you don't want a placenta to be. Placentas should be 180 degrees in the opposite direction. Although doesn't become a serious concern until further on in the second trimester if it hasn't moved, it's still not thrilling to see it now)
2. Kiddly, fully breech for the moment, is using the placenta as a trampoline. While sucking it's thumb. Kiddly is a thumb-sucking, placenta-abusing, baby-bandit. (actually, my OB seemed less interested in my very bad placenta and more in working out whether kiddly was in fact sucking it's thumb, or it just had its hand smashed into it's face)
No. 9 did wave hello though to me and the OB (a bit of an improvement on mooning us, like it did last scan)... either that, or he/she punched me. I'm going to pretend it was a wave. Sooo cool.
Oh, and it looks like an alien and is about ... crap. 6cm? I think. I can't remember. Bad mummy.
(Andrew and Ruth - No.9's nose looked distinctly Johnsony)
Thursday 10 July 2008
The kid is going to turn my hair white
And yet I can't even bring myself to feel overly sorry for myself because it's proving a tough pregnancy, because I feel so lucky to be here and to have No. 9. That's crap luck. I can sort of complain, but since my heart's not really in it, I may as well not. Aye aye.
The little toad has been celebrating it's 12 week milestone this week by causing moi to be veeeery uncomfy for the last few days ... which is fine. I'm getting used to it. Today though I felt like I had a belly full of knives, and when it comes to kiddly, I'm not into new types of pain sensations. The old pain sensations were perfectly ouchy enough for a start, but intense sharp stabby pains? Not so keen. Add in a bit of a (red, bugger it) bleed just to liven things up and I'm very glad that I have my OB. I'm not even trying to imagine how many pairs of shoes I could buy with $4,000.00 any more. He can have it.
Horrible child. I'm beginning to think that it just really likes our couch ...or, at least, me on our couch.
The medical verdict at this point is that it looks like it's just more of the same of what we've had, and that it's probably just going to stack up to be a shite pregnancy. Wicked.
On the bright side, my couch-languishing has given me time to compile a list of preferred baby names at this point for your viewing pleasure/horror ... and in the hope that further inspiration may come to me. Which it hasn't.
Girly kiddly
- Harriet
- Ruari/Rori (I can't settle on spelling)
- Antonia
- Charlotte
- Elizabeth (middle name)
- Sarah (middle name)
- Hannah
- Ilspeth (middle name ... and I kind of just included it to irritate Stu)
- Annabel ... although I can't really imagine a child of ours being very Annabelly. But, you never know.
Boy kiddly
- James
- Dexter St. Cool
Boys names are hard. I think we might have to buy a book.
The husband's one contribution to the boy list was "What's the point? She hasn't got a penis."
The little toad has been celebrating it's 12 week milestone this week by causing moi to be veeeery uncomfy for the last few days ... which is fine. I'm getting used to it. Today though I felt like I had a belly full of knives, and when it comes to kiddly, I'm not into new types of pain sensations. The old pain sensations were perfectly ouchy enough for a start, but intense sharp stabby pains? Not so keen. Add in a bit of a (red, bugger it) bleed just to liven things up and I'm very glad that I have my OB. I'm not even trying to imagine how many pairs of shoes I could buy with $4,000.00 any more. He can have it.
Horrible child. I'm beginning to think that it just really likes our couch ...or, at least, me on our couch.
The medical verdict at this point is that it looks like it's just more of the same of what we've had, and that it's probably just going to stack up to be a shite pregnancy. Wicked.
On the bright side, my couch-languishing has given me time to compile a list of preferred baby names at this point for your viewing pleasure/horror ... and in the hope that further inspiration may come to me. Which it hasn't.
Girly kiddly
- Harriet
- Ruari/Rori (I can't settle on spelling)
- Antonia
- Charlotte
- Elizabeth (middle name)
- Sarah (middle name)
- Hannah
- Ilspeth (middle name ... and I kind of just included it to irritate Stu)
- Annabel ... although I can't really imagine a child of ours being very Annabelly. But, you never know.
Boy kiddly
- James
- Dexter St. Cool
Boys names are hard. I think we might have to buy a book.
The husband's one contribution to the boy list was "What's the point? She hasn't got a penis."
Wednesday 9 July 2008
Heh. Clever Ginger.
The husband has banned me from going anywhere near Kidliwinks' closing down sale due to mortgagee sale concerns of his own (I can tell you the name of the store now and give you a linky to the website since I'm banned, and I don't need to worry about trying to keep all the beautiful things for No. 9).
But, I found a loophole. Albeit, probably the only one I am likely to find and I can only use it once, but a loophole nonetheless.
Since they're vegetables, I bought them out of my grocery budget! Weeee!
(FYI - the lettuce is crinkly and the carrot and tomato have bells in them ... which will probably mean that the dogs will try to eat them in short order)
But, I found a loophole. Albeit, probably the only one I am likely to find and I can only use it once, but a loophole nonetheless.
Since they're vegetables, I bought them out of my grocery budget! Weeee!
(FYI - the lettuce is crinkly and the carrot and tomato have bells in them ... which will probably mean that the dogs will try to eat them in short order)
I'm up for that
The husband declared yesterday morning that we're only having one child.
Booya!
He won't get an argument from over here.
No. 9 has been a complete toad the last few days and I've had hours at a time where I can hardly move. And I have to be very careful how I hardly move because if I hardly move in ever so slightly the wrong way, I pop a hip. Bless. (We're not really liking pregnancy over here - phew that we're down to six months to go)
The husband was however, less concerned about my pain-swamped nether-regions and more shitting himself over an article on the best schools in Auckland (and consequently that all the worst schools seem to be in our immediate vacinity) in the latest Metro magazine and how much it is therefore likely going to cost us to ensure No. 9 gets a decent secondary education. Or any kind of education really.
Anyone seen Strathallan's fee structure lately? *faint*
The good news is, it's much worse at Dio.
And just to top it off (which should have him running for a just-in-case snip when No. 9 is about a week old), you should have seen the look on the husband's face when I floated whether we should start No. 9 there from primary so that he/she would be established and wouldn't have to make the change and therefore new friends and social networks come age 13 or whatever. He went five shades of white, then a startling green, put his head in his hands and moaned something that ended in overtime. (I love that his first thought was overtime, and not kicking my ass back to work. Maybe he just knows that about 6 to twelve months of shopping deprivation will deal to the at-home parent thing nicely)
Booya!
He won't get an argument from over here.
No. 9 has been a complete toad the last few days and I've had hours at a time where I can hardly move. And I have to be very careful how I hardly move because if I hardly move in ever so slightly the wrong way, I pop a hip. Bless. (We're not really liking pregnancy over here - phew that we're down to six months to go)
The husband was however, less concerned about my pain-swamped nether-regions and more shitting himself over an article on the best schools in Auckland (and consequently that all the worst schools seem to be in our immediate vacinity) in the latest Metro magazine and how much it is therefore likely going to cost us to ensure No. 9 gets a decent secondary education. Or any kind of education really.
Anyone seen Strathallan's fee structure lately? *faint*
The good news is, it's much worse at Dio.
And just to top it off (which should have him running for a just-in-case snip when No. 9 is about a week old), you should have seen the look on the husband's face when I floated whether we should start No. 9 there from primary so that he/she would be established and wouldn't have to make the change and therefore new friends and social networks come age 13 or whatever. He went five shades of white, then a startling green, put his head in his hands and moaned something that ended in overtime. (I love that his first thought was overtime, and not kicking my ass back to work. Maybe he just knows that about 6 to twelve months of shopping deprivation will deal to the at-home parent thing nicely)
Tuesday 8 July 2008
Sorted!
Since Stu keeps complaining about my name choices, I have come to a decision.
I shall name the kid after the day before the day I give birth to it.
Easy peasy.
Unless of course it's born bang on midnight. That could require some consideration.
(P.S. Does anyone else see the irony in Nicole Kidman giving birth to a child with the same name as a dessert .....?)
(P.P.S Heh. A contribution just to hand ... Sunday Rose sounds rather like Sunday Roast. Also ironic.)
I shall name the kid after the day before the day I give birth to it.
Easy peasy.
Unless of course it's born bang on midnight. That could require some consideration.
(P.S. Does anyone else see the irony in Nicole Kidman giving birth to a child with the same name as a dessert .....?)
(P.P.S Heh. A contribution just to hand ... Sunday Rose sounds rather like Sunday Roast. Also ironic.)
Sunday 6 July 2008
An addendum to my earlier post
The husband informs me, after a rather mind-numbing session of kiddly name searches on the net, that he does not hate Ruari. He quite likes it. He says that he said it would "take me a while to get used to it" and now he's used to it. He likes the traditional Irish spelling too, although to me it's a bit back-to-front. Rori would be easier.
Sweeeeet.
I'll stick it in the list next to Dexter St Cool.
My mother will curse of course, because I'm pretty sure she did hate Ruari. Something about two y's together (Ruari Walmsley) ... I think that if we were to break it up with something nice and Elizabethy, we'd be ok. Assuming No. 9 was a she of course. Not too keen on calling a boy Elizabeth. It might cause ... issues.
(P.S. Rory means 'Red King' - handy if No. 9 is a ginger)
Sweeeeet.
I'll stick it in the list next to Dexter St Cool.
My mother will curse of course, because I'm pretty sure she did hate Ruari. Something about two y's together (Ruari Walmsley) ... I think that if we were to break it up with something nice and Elizabethy, we'd be ok. Assuming No. 9 was a she of course. Not too keen on calling a boy Elizabeth. It might cause ... issues.
(P.S. Rory means 'Red King' - handy if No. 9 is a ginger)
In which I blather about No. 9
I'm glad you all kind of liked Harriet as a name option. I've added it to the list. Right over the top of Jaci which is one Al liked (consequently he will not be allowed anywhere near a pen come time to fill out name-type paperwork when the baby arrives), and above Ruari (the feminine version of Rory) which Al hates somewhat. I've left off Raoul for a boy altogether because I'm pretty sure Al was taking the piss.
We're doing ok, No. 9 and I. My morning sickness seems to be easing (I'm not saying that out loud though because if the kid hears, it'll be game over) and I'm getting days at a time at the moment where there's no barfing, or just one or two barfs, which is absolute bliss. Although No. 9 is growing, obviously, all the time, I'm pretty sure that about every week to 10 days I can feel him/her having a particularly enthusiastic growth spurt. My internal thermostat stops working altogether, I want to sleep all. the. time, and oh! the barfing! Plus my brains fall out my ears more than normal, and I can not get comfortable to save my life. I'm sure I can feel things shifting around in there as No. 9 unceremoniously seizes more space to use for his/her evil lair. It seems incredible that it's only likely to be another 8 weeks or so before I can actually feel him/her doing laps of my uterus and using whatever takes his/her fancy as a trampoline. Can't wait.
The next step for the moment though is our NT (nuchal translucency) scan (we check that No. 9 is growing on track, but more particularly the scan will measure the chances of No. 9 having Downs Syndrome or other possible developmental issues) which is on 14th July.
Ooooh! And I've been clean for the last 10 days which is heaven. Aside from cutting that last tie to IVF, it's very nice indeed not to be loading up with hormones 3 times a day. The transition was incredibly unpleasant - the first day off them was fine, but by day two my body realised that it wasn't getting its hits and complained loudly and painfully. The adjustment took about 4 days to come right and I've been absolutely shattered all week, but I think I'm coming out the other side now. I managed to make Al chocolate brownies this afternoon anyway, which is impressive because I managed to do it without hurling for a start, and secondly, I stood up for about 15 minutes without coming within a hair's-breath of passing out. I may even get brave this week and leave myself to wake up on my own in the night to make bathroom dashes instead of relying on pre-emptive alarms. As No. 9 moves up, the pressure on my lower abdomen which was causing screaming pain is easing which is such a relief, and even though I know it'll be back at some point, it's nice to be given just a little space to recover a bit.
I feel like I deserve a medal, I tell ya.
The only other thing of note is that Al and I did the 'ring test' - a highly accurate (I doubt very much) pagan tradition of hanging one's wedding ring off a piece of string or a hair (I went with hair) and dangling it over the kid to see whether it goes around in circles (boy) or swings from side to side (girl). According to this No. 9 is a pink one ...but we might just wait for the scan and see what sort of bits he/she has. I had to gape open mouthed at the husband (who has been and remains completely convinced No. 9 is a girl) last weekend though when we stopped in at the Pumpkin Patch outlet and he said rather mournfully "sometimes I wish we were having a boy ... there's so much cool stuff to buy". Ummmm .....?????????? He then proceeded to convince me that we absolutely had to buy a pair of newborn cowboy boots (and y'all thought I was the bonkers one) as a nod to Uncle Stu.
Otherwise, it still feels completely surreal and I have moments on a regular basis where I feel an overwhelming suspicion that I'm just getting fat, and even though it's amazingly peaceful and wonderful to sit down in a rocking chair in No. 9's room to read him/her stories, I can completely sympathise with the dogs who sit there in the doorway with their little heads cocked to one side looking at me like I've gone around the bend. It does sometimes feel a bit like that's all that's happened.
And since I'm here and downloading photos - would you cop a look at what happens if you let a border collie near a garden? (I suggest paying particular attention to her nose, which should not be brown) She hasn't worked out yet that she's a dog, not a pig.
Friday 4 July 2008
Argh! Trucking trucks!
I support the truckies, I really do - let's face it, it was always going to be an inconvenience, but their increased costs affect us all because they're going to end up coming out of our back pocket one way or the other. The cost of everything will go up even further because the truckies will have to pass it on.
They were starting their protest in Auckland city at 7.30am, so since I'm usually in the vicinity of Newmarket by about 7.30, I gave myself an extra half hour head-start to get ahead of the increased traffic probably doing the same, and thought I'd be sweeeeet. I was even amused when I tried to get onto the motorway this morning and it was at a dead stop. For about 10 minutes. The protest in the city was all well and good, but no one had mentioned the rolling blocks and stops on the motorways which started at goodness knows what hour of the morning, but which caused and are still causing absolute carnage.
After an hour I rang my boss to say that I wasn't even half way to work yet, so I wouldn't be in in a hurry. I also rang a friend of mine who is a truckie, and was in the thick of it all, to yell at him because I really needed to pee and I can not do holding on these days (aside from my bladder being the size of a pea, it irritates my endo something wicked and the pain is something else entirely). He assured me that he'd put it across the radio, whilst killing himself laughing. 15 minutes later when I was still parked in exactly the same spot, I could see a block of trucks ahead of me, nothing moving in any direction and I had had to make use of my collection of sick bags (I also need to eat at regular intervals, and today of all days I was going to buy my lunch so I didn't have any supplies!), I took my chances turning around and get home. That part of the trip went really well - there was no traffic at all heading south.
So, I'm cooling my heels at home, watching TV for news, and checking various online resources (although the webcams are down) and trying to work out whether it's worth trying to get into work or not. Marvellous.
They were starting their protest in Auckland city at 7.30am, so since I'm usually in the vicinity of Newmarket by about 7.30, I gave myself an extra half hour head-start to get ahead of the increased traffic probably doing the same, and thought I'd be sweeeeet. I was even amused when I tried to get onto the motorway this morning and it was at a dead stop. For about 10 minutes. The protest in the city was all well and good, but no one had mentioned the rolling blocks and stops on the motorways which started at goodness knows what hour of the morning, but which caused and are still causing absolute carnage.
After an hour I rang my boss to say that I wasn't even half way to work yet, so I wouldn't be in in a hurry. I also rang a friend of mine who is a truckie, and was in the thick of it all, to yell at him because I really needed to pee and I can not do holding on these days (aside from my bladder being the size of a pea, it irritates my endo something wicked and the pain is something else entirely). He assured me that he'd put it across the radio, whilst killing himself laughing. 15 minutes later when I was still parked in exactly the same spot, I could see a block of trucks ahead of me, nothing moving in any direction and I had had to make use of my collection of sick bags (I also need to eat at regular intervals, and today of all days I was going to buy my lunch so I didn't have any supplies!), I took my chances turning around and get home. That part of the trip went really well - there was no traffic at all heading south.
So, I'm cooling my heels at home, watching TV for news, and checking various online resources (although the webcams are down) and trying to work out whether it's worth trying to get into work or not. Marvellous.
Thursday 3 July 2008
Ooooooohhhh woops
You know how I said that the kiddly store up the road was having a sale? and also I've been reeeeeally good not buying loads of kiddly things? (Well, there was a Fish Lilly cotton wrap about a month ago. Oh. And the bag. But otherwise, I've definitely been good. It helps still being in a state of disbelief over No. 9)
Yeah. Ummm. Kinda blew that out of the water today (I wasn't feeling the disbelief so much today after No. 9 made me throw up 3 times before lunch). I got 40% off though! Obviously I'm not telling you what I got 40% off, but suffice it to say, it was lucky I looked at the mountain of beautiful kiddly things building up on the counter when I did. People collecting stuff off you to put on the counter because you're dropping things trying to hold more than your little arms can carry does have it's downsides. You forget all the other stuff you've already picked up.
Anyway. wanna see what I bought? Of course you do!
Books and letter blocks for an educated Kiddly:
Little cotton jersey, rompers and booties for a new No. 9 (they look too little until you remember how No. 9 has to come into the world ... and then they look waaay big!), AND an ugly doll! Score! I heart ugly dolls! I want the whole blimmin set.
Bunnykins fork and spoon set for a fed kiddley. Eventually.
Gorgeous snuggly dressing gown that will fit kiddly for about 5 minutes:
Last but not least a wrap, 2 bibs (the design was chocolate mint. Obviously they were necessary to own) and some flash spit cloths that will be stained and gross by the end of their first outing I'm absolutely sure.
It was very cool, but still very strange shopping for kiddly. And ... ahhh ... a bit expensive, so I won't be doing that again for a looong while.
Ooo! but since I'm showing off - the Fish Lilly wrap too:
Wednesday 2 July 2008
Yeee-HA!! A very happy shopping post
The plan was to not go down the baby bag route for carting all things kiddly, but then we (ummmm... well, technically when I say 'we' I mean me, but you know) thought there may be times when one may come in handy. Plus, this is me we're talking about. And a bag. So, I began shopping. Or rather, I began looking and trying to convince the husband.
I did find a very cool bag early on that the husband developed an immediate and unreasonable hatred for (he said "What is it with women that when they get pregnant that all their taste completely disappears?" and I went psycho-hormonal on his ass. But, he stood his ground, so I caved in and continued looking. In my defence, I was still drugged up to the eye balls and No. 9 was relatively recent news, and it was my ONLY meltdown in the entire IVF process) so it took a bit of work, but in the end he found one that he really liked and I absolutely loooooved, and the rest is history.
Actually the rest is that it, of course, was heinously expensive because it appears that once upon a time Brad Pitt picked one up (probably for about 10 seconds) blast the man, and there's blimmin photographic evidence of said picking up. Argh. What the hell is Brad Pitt doing picking up an off the shelf product anyway? The man is worth squillions. Commission an original! Honestly!
But, the husband was not to be deterred, and felt there were astounding merits to the bag (I wouldn't get sick of it in 5 minutes (we hope) and want a new one for a start) so I hunted and hunted and of course because of blimmin Brad Pitt, no matter where in the world I hunted, it remained expensive. So, I gave in and found a New Zealand stockist which happened to be, praise be to whoever determines such good fortune, just down the road from my office.
Obviously the next step was to laybuy the bag in the hopes of forstalling a heart attack at the price, and maintain the laybuy at a minimum level for about a month in the hope that the husband would get back to work and do an overtime before I had to pay the balance ...or alternatively our annual power dividend thing would come through and I could use that to pay for it (nevermind the power bill. Who needs power?).
And then, something wonderful and magical happened (and very very sad too of course).
I was walking down the road at lunch time this morning, and there's a sign in the shop window. A big, red sign. A sign that says "Closing Down - 10% to 50% off everything". Gasp!! Obviously I rushed in with my mouth hanging unbecomingly open (I buy so many presents there, I really am gutted that the little store is closing) exclaiming my sadness ... while looking around at all the kiddly bargains of course. And then I made a joke that I shouldn't have laybuyed my bag afterall (because of course, usually if you have something on laybuy and the shop goes into sale it's stiff shite) and do you know what?
No, you don't. Of course you don't. You can't imagine! Which is why I'm going to tell you.
The owner of the shop cancelled my laybuy and GAVE ME 40% OFF !!!!!!!
Weeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It completely cheered me up after forgetting to bring my left over Macaroni & Cheese into work for lunch today.
To make matters even better, I've been worrying about what on earth I'm going to wear to a wedding in Queenstown in October that will be warm, gorgeous and comfy, won't make me look like a complete hippo, and won't involve owning something I'll never wear again AND I may have found the solution to the problem shortly after the bag joy, courtesy of the wonderful wonderful ladies at Taylor Boutique in Newmarket. Stay tuned till I talk the husband into it. It's black (actually it's licorice which is a tone of black), which is not reeeally a wedding colour, but black is the only colour that makes me look pregnant instead of fat at the moment, and the whole point is to avoid a hippoesque silhouette. And I know, I do, that it's early to be looking for something for a wedding in October when any number of astonishing expansions could take place between now and then, but I also need warm and warm is going to be disappearing from the stores in about a month to make way for freezing blimmin cold for Spring (which is fine, except I'm putting my money on it still being cold in Queenstown at the beginning of October).
I'm so excited, I have a headache. The husband has a headache too, but his seems to be related to my credit card.
I did find a very cool bag early on that the husband developed an immediate and unreasonable hatred for (he said "What is it with women that when they get pregnant that all their taste completely disappears?" and I went psycho-hormonal on his ass. But, he stood his ground, so I caved in and continued looking. In my defence, I was still drugged up to the eye balls and No. 9 was relatively recent news, and it was my ONLY meltdown in the entire IVF process) so it took a bit of work, but in the end he found one that he really liked and I absolutely loooooved, and the rest is history.
Actually the rest is that it, of course, was heinously expensive because it appears that once upon a time Brad Pitt picked one up (probably for about 10 seconds) blast the man, and there's blimmin photographic evidence of said picking up. Argh. What the hell is Brad Pitt doing picking up an off the shelf product anyway? The man is worth squillions. Commission an original! Honestly!
But, the husband was not to be deterred, and felt there were astounding merits to the bag (I wouldn't get sick of it in 5 minutes (we hope) and want a new one for a start) so I hunted and hunted and of course because of blimmin Brad Pitt, no matter where in the world I hunted, it remained expensive. So, I gave in and found a New Zealand stockist which happened to be, praise be to whoever determines such good fortune, just down the road from my office.
Obviously the next step was to laybuy the bag in the hopes of forstalling a heart attack at the price, and maintain the laybuy at a minimum level for about a month in the hope that the husband would get back to work and do an overtime before I had to pay the balance ...or alternatively our annual power dividend thing would come through and I could use that to pay for it (nevermind the power bill. Who needs power?).
And then, something wonderful and magical happened (and very very sad too of course).
I was walking down the road at lunch time this morning, and there's a sign in the shop window. A big, red sign. A sign that says "Closing Down - 10% to 50% off everything". Gasp!! Obviously I rushed in with my mouth hanging unbecomingly open (I buy so many presents there, I really am gutted that the little store is closing) exclaiming my sadness ... while looking around at all the kiddly bargains of course. And then I made a joke that I shouldn't have laybuyed my bag afterall (because of course, usually if you have something on laybuy and the shop goes into sale it's stiff shite) and do you know what?
No, you don't. Of course you don't. You can't imagine! Which is why I'm going to tell you.
The owner of the shop cancelled my laybuy and GAVE ME 40% OFF !!!!!!!
Weeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It completely cheered me up after forgetting to bring my left over Macaroni & Cheese into work for lunch today.
To make matters even better, I've been worrying about what on earth I'm going to wear to a wedding in Queenstown in October that will be warm, gorgeous and comfy, won't make me look like a complete hippo, and won't involve owning something I'll never wear again AND I may have found the solution to the problem shortly after the bag joy, courtesy of the wonderful wonderful ladies at Taylor Boutique in Newmarket. Stay tuned till I talk the husband into it. It's black (actually it's licorice which is a tone of black), which is not reeeally a wedding colour, but black is the only colour that makes me look pregnant instead of fat at the moment, and the whole point is to avoid a hippoesque silhouette. And I know, I do, that it's early to be looking for something for a wedding in October when any number of astonishing expansions could take place between now and then, but I also need warm and warm is going to be disappearing from the stores in about a month to make way for freezing blimmin cold for Spring (which is fine, except I'm putting my money on it still being cold in Queenstown at the beginning of October).
I'm so excited, I have a headache. The husband has a headache too, but his seems to be related to my credit card.
Good thing they brough in that anti-smacking law
Or there'd be all these kids still being abused, seriously hurt and killed in our country.
Phew for that.
Phew for that.
Tuesday 1 July 2008
Clever Ginger. Since that was successful, this is sooo cute!
This one is much more appropriate for parental viewing.
Herein lies my first attempt to post a video. A toast to my future!
Actually, probably not because I can't afford new shoes ... but still. When a Ginger has to clap a hand over her mouth and pinch her nose shut because she made the mistake of drinking a cup of tea whilst watching a video, said video must be shared. My parents will not be amused.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)