OH so cool!

I think this is our only completely indulgent kiddly purchase, and by George, did we make it count. It turns out that one of us alone can resist cool kid stuff, but both of us together are a bit useless.

Still, we did need a lamp ...

Hehe. I love that he even comes with his own plant to pee on. Dogs are awesome.

Plus, the latest belly shot. Complete with sausage fingers and meat pattie hands. You wouldn't believe I've only chunked on 10kg so far in this business would you? I look like a great big puff ball.

And, speaking of chunking it on, it turns out that Cuinn has not slowed down his endeavour towards the title of world heavy-weight champion of the maternity ward on whatever day he arrives - the little pudding is 7lbs 8oz. It turns out that the last lot of measurements were a bit off.

Now might be a good time to start hoping I'm stretchy ...

Eating two pieces of chocolate nutcake was a very bad idea

Trying to wear them off by cleaning the lounge windows was an even worse one.

Barf.

No to mention that sparkly windows seems to be a screaming invitation for our resident canines to immediately rub their noses all over them again, so it's back to looking like you've been sitting on the couch all afternoon doing nothing. Which I suppose is almost accurate. One of these days I'm going to take a photo of my sparkly clean windows in the 10 second window that comes after I've cleaned them, and before the dogs re-snot them, so I can frame it and hang it up next to said windows just to prove that they do actually get cleaned. One of these days. When I can find the camera (not to self - it is not a good idea to be 37 weeks pregnant and unable to find the camera ... just in case the kid pops out and you are left sans memories captured forever in ... bollocks. Memory card. Film sounds so much cooler).

Tomorrow is the first of our last OB appointments before kiddly does his thing (as in, we're down to weekly ones). I'm still hopeful that I have a couple of weeks up my sleeve, but you never can tell. There is a level of strangeness which is stranger than normal, to how I'm starting to feel which makes me think that hormones etc are changing, and my body is planning something evil. Nothing imminent, it's just being thoughtful.

Mind you, for all I'm hoping I have a few weeks up my sleeve, I'd dearly love my numb sausage and meat pattie hands to un-numb themselves and apparently the only way that is going to happen is by giving birth. I suppose I should just be grateful that I at least finished work before they got really really bad and became next to useless. I'll take a photo of the husband cutting up my dinner, shall I? (reminder note to self in case I've already forgotten - find the blardy camera)

I think the one thing that has really surprised me (aside from sausage and meat pattie hands, because of all the weird and wonderful late pregnancy things I've heard about, and as much as I've heard that one often does blow up like a puffer fish, I really wasn't expecting to blow up so much that the nerves to my hands would have a fit) is that I really wasn't expecting to have to adjust to the idea of finishing work. I'm relieved and then some, believe me - my body has just gone puh! with exhaustion (how on earth do people work up to 2 weeks out, or even till they pop? Seriously! Maybe it's that they don't try to do it at this time of year when there are all manner of socialisy things on as well as extra workloads that come with the year coming to a close) ... but it's coming to terms (I guess? I'm not sure if that's the right expression) with a new life about to begin, anticipating the absolute unknown, and yes, the single income because that really is a bit scary and my awareness of no longer contributing to the household financially is really strong.

Even trying to set new routines for myself is a bit strange ... I've been getting up before 6am to get to work during the week for years, collapsing at weekend, mucking about during holidays, getting washing and housework done on Fridays and Saturdays, or Sundays if I couldn't be arsed on Friday or Saturday. Now I get up and I don't have to be anywhere to do anything, I can do washing whenever I feel like it (not that I couldn't before, but in the middle of the day in the middle of the week I was usually at work and more often than not by the time I got home I couldn't be arsed, hence washing in the weekends), same with the housework (ditto), and yet I've just realised that it's almost dinner time and I can't remember doing my teeth today (niiiice!), and it was lunch time before I had a shower. 'tis just a new beginning that feels a little stranger than I imagined it would I guess. Of course it's probably a complete waste of time even worrying slash thinking about it because whatever new routine I establish in the next few weeks is going to be blown to hell and then some in very short order.

And on that note, I have just fixed up my millionth typo from trying to blog with little feeling/movement in my hands, so I'm off to sulk gracefully on the couch about sausage and meat pattie hands while I try to stay away from the batch of Queen cakes I made shortly after the chocolate cake, which are sitting next to the chocolate afghans which really should be eaten because they're two days old.

I think I might just give the scales at the OB's rooms a miss tomorrow.

I. Want. STUFF!

Lots of stuff.

So much stuff.

Hideously expensive stuff too! (Which is why I want it, as opposed to need it, or, more importantly, have it. Hehe)

Everywhere I look (bearing in mind I suppose that I'm passing time in between bouts of nest-industriousness actually looking as opposed to coming across it randomly) there is cool stuff for kidlets, and I want it. All of it. Lucky for the husband though at this point, the thought of going within ten feet of a shop, any shop, in my current waddly whale-like condition with people teeming in all directions (there was an incident on boxing day where I thought that the boxing day sales would be an excellent time to pick up nursing bras that I still needed to get (motivated by a minor panic that our friends from antenatal classes who were due two weeks before us had their baby on the 24th - eek!), and I thought that getting there super-early would ensure a quick and easy shopping trip, netting me exactly what I wanted, on sale, with minimum fuss. Ha! I'm still in a cold sweat days later remembering it, and I scarpered out the shop sans nursing bras at 100 miles an hour in a very traumatised state) is enough to stop me cold (I'm pretending I don't know about internet shopping ... well, where it doesn't involve lusting after completely gorgeous, completely unaffordable, cool kiddly stuff).

So, obviously I'm amusing myself in light of that making a completely dreamy list of stuff that I'm so not going to buy (We just kissed goodbye my income. You do the maths), but I have to share what I'm lusting after because it's all just sooo cool!

Firstly, four words - eeni meeni miini moh. I'm not picky. The entire range is cute enough to eat.

Ugly dog. Heh. We love puppies. We already have Jeero all packed in Cuinn's bag for Birthcare, but a kid can never have too many scary looking toys.

He will actually get this trolley at some point. It's a must-have lust-have.

And how cool is this picnic set? I have no idea if boys do picnic sets but it deserves an honourable mention on a coolness scale of one to ten. (Actually, the circus set is probably cooler for boys, but he wouldn't know the difference)

As for this felt train ... awesome. Enough said.

Vaguely scary but still cool.

Not even remotely scary and very cool.

Gorgeous. *Sigh*

Lucky, GrannIE can knit gooood. (Hint hint GrannIE)

A book for meeeee!

This is wicked too, and even better, it's sitting in Cuinn's room courtesy of Pal Katherine. Tra la laaaa!

Oooooh! And I did justify this indulgence as a kiddly-related purchase in a very round-about, long-winded, mumblecoffeegroupmumblequalitytimebakingwithCuinnintimetocomemumble sort of way, but it was worth every cent (plus I got 10% off AND a free coffee, so it was a bargain. Honest. Oh, and, of course, most obvious, since it relates to food, I paid for it out of the grocery budget. Ka-ching! Genius). There is a Viennese chocolate nut cake that I intend to bake tomorrow and probably eat in one sitting, and the chocolate afghans have been done and digested. Non-baby pregnancy weight, here I come. The husband is going to have exploding cake tins when I eventually go into hospital to have Cuinn, and an empty freezer. Still, that's why McDonald's was invented wasn't it? (*shudder*)

The danger in all of this of course is that we've just sold the spa pool (yusssss!) on Trademe and buying lots of cool things for the kidlet seems so much more interesting than fixing the car, so I stuck my Visa down the other end of the house because I'm pretty sure I couldn't be arsed walking that far, even in an emergency.

(The next question is - who could be bothered looking at all the links? Hehe)

Oh, and of course, YUSSSSS!!! for maternity leave! I'm so relieved. Exhausted, and relieved.

A belly, art and some greens

The belly (no, I have no idea if my feet are still there)

Art (yay for stickers!!) (Actually, it felt very brave to put these up this afternoon. Although we can peel them off, they're pretty permanent. Everything else in Cuinn's room is able to be packed up and put away but doing this felt like a concrete acknowledgement that we are actually expecting to have this baby. Al and I just kind of gave each other a look of the 'Holy Shit' variety (sorry GrannIE and Pop) when we were done and wandered off in separate directions to absorb the ... whatever.)



Greens (veges and weeds living in happy harmony)

(Hehe. There would have been tomatos interspersed through the corn as well, except I did a little bit of weeding the other day and ... uhmmmm ... guess who can't tell a tomato plant from a weed? Ooopsie)

It's tricky doing washing when the washing is the size of a peg

Whether Cuinn's feet are actually that little when they start kicking about in the wide open space that is the world outside his current accommodation, who knows, but in the meantime, seeing these sitting side by side in the folded washing pile gave me a moment's pause.

I'll post a four-weeks-to-go belly pic tomorrow I promise - along with, in theory, the nursery decorations that we're finally getting around to putting up. Assuming that we finally get around to putting them up. We did buy them at least and they've been transferred to the nursery which is a good start. I should probably do new vege photos too - we're completely blown away that they're actually growing and actually look like veges. Most impressive.

And continuing the theme which is general bloggy uselessness, I meant to post an update on Wednesday after our latest OB appointment, but there was a slight fell-asleep-on-the-couch-then-couldn't-be-arsed-for-days issue that held proceedings up some till today so sorry about that. Ish. I blame the time of year. Nothing like being almost 36 weeks pregnant, up to your eyeballs in calendared events and socialising, general exhaustion as I try my damndest to make it to the end of the working year (Wednesday. Amen to that) and complete lack of sleep from, among other things, being cooked from the inside and out courtesy of 1x kiddly and, I'm sure, unseasonably toasty weather. Aren't we all normally complaining that the weather is unseasonably crap this time of year, therefore meaning that the lovely weather, as it used to be at this time of year in days gone by, is actually now the unseasonable stuff?

Anywho. Cuinn is good. Great in fact! Beautiful and wiggly and happy and everything else we could possibly want. He's also slowing down on the growing front which is a complete relief - our latest weigh in had him at 5lbz 9oz, and he's looking more like he'll end up around the 8lb mark than 10lb full term. PHE-ew! 8lb I can do. Likely with loads of swearing, but you know. It's less horrifying to contemplate. I think.

But, on that note, while everything is going beautifully for us, my younger brother and his partner are having a more difficult time of things with a pregnancy 10 weeks younger than Cuinn. Mum's body is struggling and baby is looking to make an early entrance into the world - we're all hoping, very much, that she'll stay put for a while longer. She'll be 26 weeks on Wednesday. So far things have been able to be held steady-ish since Thursday by a team at Waikato hospital and mucho druggy goodness, and for the second time this year, our family has to say a very big thank you to modern medicine. But, in light of the general scary situation, you can never have too many people crossing too many things, so you know what to do. Fingers, toes, eyes, arms, legs ...

Fishy Fishy

Man hunted and gathered. And for his trouble, was ordered to do disgusting decapitations etc outside.

Veeery interested puppies.

And the cat suddenly appeared from nowhere and parked herself in range as well.

I thought I did pretty well taking photos in the dark with one hand holding my nose very firmly closed. I can't stand the smell of fresh fish.

Curious

It's an interesting thing how one can be part way through making a cup of tea one minute, and then some time later finds oneself scrubbing down the internal walls of the house (sans cup of tea). It's also interesting how I don't think I ever noticed exactly how many internal walls our house has, until I found myself compulsively scrubbing them down. Furthermore, where on earth does the energy come from when one is knackered beyond belief? At the moment I swear the only thing stopping me from tumbling over backward with exhaustion is the enormous great weight sticking out the front of me which seems to be assisting gravity in keeping me upright.

So, I now have one seriously, seriously stewed cup of tea leaves, but several large walls which are once again the colour they're supposed to be. As opposed to the colour they're supposed to be underneath a winter's worth of dog shake-off related mud splatters.

And since the husband is currently bobbing around somewhere in the Manukau (presumably) on a boat, fishing a glorious, sunny and hot Wednesday afternoon away, despite it being extremely bad form, I'm going to have to point out my awesomeness in getting a percentage of the walls clean when he gets home, since he wasn't here to see me do it.

Perhaps also the on-hands-and-knees scrubbing for an hour or so will have helped turn kiddly around to facing the right direction for a bit too - apparently it doesn't matter so much if he stays that way, but just so long as he gets a bit used to being in that position so that he can get back there easily enough when we're in labour.

Anywho - the achievement blathered about above kind of makes up for realising after about an hour that I'd accidentally put an entire load of the husband's clothes on a 95 degree washing cycle instead of a cold one. I don't think it matters a whole lot as far as t-shirts and undies goes, but I really don't want to have to stick all his woollen socks in Cuinn's drawers.

And you thought I'd fallen off the face of the earth

Close, but not quite.

We are creeping closer and closer to due date which is a bit scary - tomorrow is 34 weeks. In theory I'd have an OB visit on Wednesday, but bless his socks, he's going away the following week for two weeks, so he wants to see me as close as possible to his leaving, after which appointment we hope like hell that Cuinn doesn't do anything funky like try to arrive before the OB is back from doing something completely inconsiderate and selfish like spending time with his family before the Christmas/New Year baby rush.

I feel a bit like I should be in a panic, or something akin to it, but I'm really not. Bags are being packed, clothing, nappies and linen is all washed and waiting (and probably folded and organised for the first and last time), we have slowly either culled or bought our way through our list of wants and needs with only a few outstanding items which aren't super urgent so we have time to save for them. I think the only thing that is making my eyes pop out at this stage is that we have to pay for parking while in the hospital having kiddly. Not so bad after all. Oh, that, and the bag of mini Milky Ways that I had in the 'nose bag' as Al calls it (the big ol' bag of food to keep either or both of us sustained depending on how long the big event takes) is ... uhmmm ... well, empty. Dunno how that happened.

Still, luckily we aren't seeing the OB this week because it's birth plan time and so far my birth plan, nevermind all the important decisions we need to make vis a vis interventions, various injections of whatever whenever, Vitamin K for Cuinn, etc etc etc, consists of 'get the kid out?' and 'somehow stop him growing any more in the next 6 weeks?'. I think I'm perhaps supposed to come up with a bit more than that, so at least I have another week to do it.

It's the last week of antenatal classes tonight too, and thank heavens for that. Two hour classes on a Monday night when one is completely and utterly smashed from growing a kid is a bit of a 'mare. I have to say though, and I really didn't think I would, but I'm glad I did them for the few things I learned and the relaxedness I currently feel in relation to all (OK, most) things kiddly. Apparently tonight is about taking baby home, so I may update that 'relaxedness' to 'complete state of panic' of course, but we'll see.

And now ...

Finally! It's taken 55 years (by the way, in case anyone wonders about the significance of 55 in terms of 55 years, 55 million of something, 55 whatever elses, I have no idea. It is just is what it is. but here are pictures of our gardeny efforts! Of course, these are pictures I took a couple of weeks ago, thought I'd posted and then found yesterday, unposted, so everything has grown lots (I can't believe everything has grown - most likely because I haven't been anywhere near it) and I'll need to do more pictures anyway, but still!

So, this is what we've got ...

The beginning of a passionfruit vine.



Ummmmm ... lettuces? Corn maybe? Oh. I know. We got everything started by loading up some old guttering with potting mix. Or maybe compost. Something along those lines. So, there is something growing in there, but I don't think I'm expected to know what it is at this point. Also note, it's very eco-friendly using old crap around the house instead of just biffing it. Genius idea. Wish it'd been mine, but unfortunately I was all for biffing the guttering and the husband came up with the whole reduce, re-use, recycle plan.

OK. I'm pretty sure that's corn.

Heavens above. I should have just put all the pictures up and not bothered with commentary. Silverbeet?

Ah HA! Zucchini!!

A bad picture of the whopping great frame the husband made to make sure that the passionfruit vine, once it's grown big and strong and we've actually wired up between the pillary things, lives happily ever after. We've got one vine going on each side.

I think this was just to show you we made a garden. With dirt we stole from the backyard of the little old lady next door. Don't worry though. She didn't need it - she was just going to level out her section with it or some such thing, so it's much better off growing our veges.

That's the other passionfruit vine.

Our little worm farm. Which I don't go near. Yuck. The theory is though that apart from worms making awesome fertilisery composty ... something environmentally friendly that makes your plants grow ... Cuinn will eventually have much fun learning about the wriggly worms. From his Dad.

Blueberries. Yum. We've actually had these for about two years, but we finally liberated them from their vege garden store pots, and put them in the garden. Lucky little blueberries.

I'm such a gardeny womble. But still. Yay us! And, even better, since Cuinn's only about 6 weeks away Mum and Dad'll be up soon and they can do the weeding! Heh. And visit their grandson. Of course.

One toy box to rule them all

Suffice it to say, uncle Alex has redeemed himself after buying, in cahoots with Pop, a metal hammer amongst other destructive buildery type things for the Cuinn-kid.

They do say that 'gun control' is using both hands

In the immortal words of Charlie Brown

Good grief.

That seems a slightly more acceptable alternative to what I came out with at the obstetrician's office this afternoon.

The Cuinn-kid is going great guns - growing like ... heaven knows what ... healthy as a little horse (and same blardy size as one near enough too), sporting a chubby little puku, still covering his face with his hands if we try and get a look at it, and head down. Apparently trying not to face-plant off my swiss ball on a nightly basis has been a bit useful in turning the little demon. Plus, I feel quite good that what I thought was his butt this time actually was, although what I thought was his head is apparently feet, and what I thought was feet is apparently hands ... but you know, one step at a time.

As for size ...what did I say last time? That the kid was expected to triple in size between then (28 weeks) and full term? Yes. Well. Try almost doubling in 4 weeks, leaving us with 8 weeks to get who knows how much bigger. Apparently he's picked up on the fact that daddy is a gargantuan, but has overlooked entirely that mummy most definitely is not. Well, I am heading that way a bit at the moment, but usually I'm not (much) and the important consideration is bone structure, not ass expansion.

At 28 weeks he was 1200 grams thereabouts (2lbs 11 oz), and today he's 2100 grams (4lbs 9oz). Holy crap. No wonder I'm growing out of clothes faster than you can say 'next size up! Quick!'. Best we all pray that he doesn't go overdue ... can you imagine it?

OK. I'm too horrified to type anything else. I'm going to go and pack my hospital bag and hope he arrives about a month early.

Here's the pic I promised .

And one of Jack having a beer, just because.

There are advantages to being pregnant, oh yes

The guilt-free (well, not entirely guilt-free but close enough to it) inability to assist the husband as he retrieves in several trailer-loads, loads and unloads, stacks, splits, and then loads into the wood shed approximately 8 cubic metres of firewood for next winter, while the temperature outside seems to have gone through the vile muggy sticky roof.

I haven't even got the heart to whinge that I'd just broomed up the backyard over the weekend so it was all lovely looking (I am going to whinge though that after a day of heavy lifting and hard labour, he reeks something chronic).

Poor husband.

This ought to make the husband raise his eyebrows heavenward

Cos he is

Uber perfect kiddly threads from Pal Katherine

The problem is going to be keeping up the coolness if we eventually incubate another embryo. WAY down the track.

Anywho. Yes, I continue to be useless, and I do feel bad about it, but to give you an idea of how onto it I am with life in general these days, nevermind bloggy-life, a few days ago the husband left me to dish up dinner and then left the room for some unremembered reason while I accomplished the set task. He came back to find half our dinner on our plates ... and me cleaning the pantry. I still can't decide if it was a step up from me standing outside the loo at Birthcare when I did a tour last weekend, and then stopping a nurse to ask where the loo was. I think perhaps they just go in the basket together.

On an update front - I'm still growing, kiddly is still growing, and both are happening at an alarming rate. By the feel of it, and the fact that feet tend to stick out of my side with alarming regularity exactly where feet are not supposed to be, his Lordship is still embracing the breech way of life, but getting a bit peed off with his cramped confines. Not much I can do about it though other than attempt to balance on my swiss ball on a nightly basis, and continue with nesting, where possible (and where there's someone to crane me off the floor) at ground level on hands and knees. The cat was a bit shocked the other day to find her cat door scrubbed to sparkling ... I'm pretty sure she hasn't been able to see through that thing ever.

Our next obstetrician visit is next week, the last of the four weekers, the one where we meet the other obstetrician who, all being well, won't be delivering our baby, but just in case, will be our back up in case our own obstetrician hasn't realised that if he fails to appear on the big day for any reason short of death and even then I'll be expecting a very good explanation, I will hunt him down and do him harm. Two weeks after that we discuss my birthing plan. I was going really well with planning it until I learned at antenatal classes last weekend that you're not allowed naked flames in the birthing suites ... there goes my plan to float fifty five white candles in individual mineral water pools while listening to the sounds of the forest on DVD ... so back to square one.

I'm going to make you wait till next week for a photo though - it'll accompany the OB update. I promise! As long as my broadband doesn't do to me what it's been doing to me for weeks and have a mental breakdown for several hours around the only part of the day when I manage to sit and think coherently enough to upload photos.

And now, I am about to undertake the increasingly dangerous task of ironing. I have post-its reminding me to turn it off afterwards now though...

Old School

Awesome.

I'm in the 'it's good that some kiwi kids get to stay kiwi kids' camp myself.

When idiots attack (in which I have a wee angry moment)

I was riveted by this article in this article in The Herald today - IVF Without Hormones.

Until I got to paragraph 3.

Then, I'd quite happily have smacked Steve Conner upside the head.

Actually, to be honest, I was riveted by the heading, and then I started reading. It was about paragraph 3 that I uttered something unrepeatable and started having to re-read and re-read and re-read to see if I was missing something, but no. I wasn't missing it. It wasn't there to begin with.

The whole article is a gross over-simplification bordering on ... what? I can't think of a suitable word that quite captures the complete lack of ... what?

Suffice it to say that the writer spits in my face to simplify IVF like that.

Actually, that's just it. I think. It's too simplified. It's offensive.

Yes, ok, fine, it's accurate insofar as it does state some facts - one does take stimulating hormones for 2 or 3 weeks for example. But seriously?? One does a shite load more than that, I can blardy well assure you.

It's an article which does nothing to inform or educate, to address prejudice, and it most certainly does not show respect for the topic it approaches. It's ... ack. It's filler. I spit on you Steve Connor for spitting on me. IVF and variations of IVF are not a subject for filling.

The article tells me nothing other than IVM is being explored.

I mean, how exactly, or if that's too hard, don't even be that exact about it, does the process of IVM work in the context of the body's natural function? As in, how do they get around the natural ovulation process bearing in mind that before one is "given hormones for about 2 or 3 weeks" (Steve Connor is an arse) to stimulate the ovaries, one takes drugs to effectively shut one's natural function down for any number of weeks depending on how cocked up one is (we were for example 4 weeks worth of cocked up) and then continues to keep one's natural function shut down with drugs while artificially stimulating it with more drugs to make sure that nature did not interfere with science.

Quoting Sven Lindenberg as the final paragraph that it is "best suited to women who have regular periods" is not enough, for me or the next person. Why? Why is it best suited for women who have regular periods you fool? I know, but do you? And, if you know, the word 'because' is an excellent way to lead into explaining it to the lay person who has just read the article and learned nothing. And, again, it's over-simplified. My guess is that IVM is best suited to women who have regular ovulatory periods. Big ass difference, and the problem with quoting out of context.

Don't even get me started on the rest of its basic flaws. Why may younger women stand a better chance of getting pregnant with IVM? Why is the under 35/over 35 marker significant in the context of IVM? Is the significance any different than with conventional IVF? At what point are the immature eggs harvested? How much shorter is the process? Is paragraph 6 just smoke and mirrors? It looks to me, and I read it about 10 times, that paragraph 7 has the actual initial clinical pregnancy statistics (and incidentally, how many cycles were involved on average?) Then again, we've well established in the last few weeks (Hrrp hmmm ... months ...years) that my brain don't go so good, so maybe I'm just being vile. I get the impression (and that impression comes from my own knowledge, so it possibly wouldn't even occur to the lay person) that the selection criteria for IVM is significantly refined from the selection criteria for conventional IVF - how is it refined?

No wonder people don't get the whole IVF process. No wonder people don't understand the hell and the significance and the sacrifice and the ... ug! when what they are fed through mainstream sources is lacking in what I believe to be basic information. If you're going to dare write on a topic like IVF, educate yourself or stay the hell away.

I'd be staggered if the man had any background at all in this field. And yes, I know there is only so much you can say, and perhaps he had a word limit and included what he thought were the important bits, but this new IVF thing he writes about is huge and the article completely fails to project the significance of it.

If nothing else, imagine the accessibility aspect which is absolutely huge. The price tag for a straight forward ICSI cycle is in the vicinity of $12,000.00. In the course of the cycle you take follicle stimulating hormones for 14 days. The cost of each dose of that hormone is $500.00. Obviously there would be a set off between egg maturation and presumably increased monitoring (due to natural cycle variations) costs, against the eliminated drug costs, but you with me? $7,000.00 of that $12,000.00 is one drug.

Anywho. I go on. Just a little. The stupid article annoyed me a tad.

It's the most crappily handled article since, well, the one about the Huge Decline in Kiwi Sperm Count, which I meant to shred at the time, but forgot. Again, it lacks educative content. It doesn't provide the full picture.

Heh. Pregnancy hormones. 69 days till due date (AAARRGGHHHH!!!).

Imagine what I'll be like in a few more weeks ... not even pictures of John Key holding cute fluffy ginger kittens will be safe.

How the mind of a genius works

My first thought was "woops!", followed in quick succession by "uh oh", then "I wonder why the video clip just stopped?" and finally "oooooohhhh ...".

I really hope Cuinn has his father's brains.

Things that make you go hmmmm

We had to draw the pregnant female anatomy last night at antenatal classes. We were separated into boys and girls, and both groups had to draw a picture.

I don't think we, the girls, were supposed to find it so funny that we had no idea where anything was, and I really don't know how we expected the baby to come out successfully when we placed our bladder between our uterus and our cervix, but there you go.

The boys even drew a proper baby. We drew a breech stick figure.

Heh. We didn't even do it on purpose.

I have been a very bad blogger (a disorganised little update)

A very, very bad blogger indeed, but I'm more tired than a tired thing and I feel like I'm going to fall over backwards any moment and sleep for the next ten weeks. Actually, that sounds kind of wonderful. Maybe I should do that...

Anyway, that's about as clever as I can get in the excuse department.

We have been doing stuff - we started antenatal classes last week (although the sitting and concentrating (ish) for 2 hours is a bit rough. I couldn't sit for 2 hours before I was pregnant, let alone now, and hello? concentrate? Yeah. Right. Nevermind that they finish at the unholy hour of 9pm, waaay past bed time AND I miss out on my evening hot chocolate. Still, I suppose I can chalk it up to sacrifices for kiddly and just make sure I remember to remind him about it for forever), we've been making a vege garden (or rather Al has, and by 'making a vege garden' I mean that there's dirt and compost and a frame and the weeds have been sprayed, and there will be seeds shoved in there soon - there are also photos which I'll post eventually) and I've single-handedly saved Nature Baby from feeling the effects of the economic crisis (well, maybe not because it turns out that budgety seriousness has kicked in already, but I can't be having you all thinking I've changed toooo much, and I do adore their kiddly things) so kiddly is all set to arrive whenever he feels so inclined, so long as it's not for another ... say 8 weeks.

Ooooooohhh and there has been nesting. That instinct is a powerful wee beastie, isn't it? For absolutely no reason whatsoever, I turfed the entire contents of our linen closet into the hallway about a week ago, much to the delight of the cat, and reorganised it making sure everything was folded and easily found, and the crap was allocated to become someone elses problem. The wardrobe in the spare room will suffer similar abuse this weekend probably. Maybe. At least I have boxes ready and waiting. I was part way through the linen closet organising when I stopped to wonder if the instinct to nest and organise comes from the number of women who used to die in childbirth ... thereby ensuring that her household could be run by either a husband or whoever. Very morbid, but kind of interesting. I mean, instincts come from somewhere/something surely?

I bought a swiss ball too which came out for the first time last night (I wish my blimmin danger instinct had stopped me from that one). I'm sure to those of you who know me, the idea is a bit amusing, and believe me, in practice, it's equally if not more so. I didn't do too badly though - just one little woopsie where I rolled on jack's tail, he took exception, I over-corrected and then face-planted off the front landing ever so delicately I'm sure with my butt in the air, much to the husband's amusement. He did ask if I was alright though. Or, at least, he sort of choked it out. Cuinn thought it was a marvellous joke and continued with what he interpreted as bouncing for about 10 minutes - either that, or he landed on his head too and was trying to get back up the other way.

The swiss ball came about (in case you're wondering) because we learned at antenatal classes that it can be helpful for a) pelvic something or other and b) getting baby facing the right way because of the way you have to sit on it. What got my attention was the 'if baby is facing the wrong way 11.5cm of pressure will bear down on your 10cm dilated cervix' and 'if baby is facing the right way, 9.5cm of pressure will bear down on your 10cm dilated cervix', and shite at maths though I may be even I can manage those wee calculations and I owned a swiss ball within the day. There was also a visual demonstration with a squeezy pelvis model thing showing what crossing your legs does to decrease the amount of room in your pelvis severely, and then after reducing the amount of space on the model by about half the childbirth educator tried to jam a doll-baby's head through. That maths wasn't lost on me either. Obviously, I uncrossed my legs that instant and haven't done it again since.

Tonight we're watching a birthing video so I have ear plugs and a blind fold at the ready, and we're having dinner nice and early so that it's all well and truly digested beforehand.

TTFN xo

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ....

I'll have to work on this telling-a-head-from-a-butt thing

It'll come in handy, methinks, when it comes to working out how to stick a nappy on.

80% of babies by this stage are head down, so I was thinking that the roundy solid thing poking out with great regularity below my ribs was his butt, and was feeling very pleased with myself when I trotted off to the obstetrician on Wednesday. However, this is, of course, our child, and statistics supporting any norm be damned, the little demon is cheerfully breech and the roundy solid thing is his noggin. His large noggin. In fact, the exact words of the obstetrician, after he asked who ate all the pies (yes, he did) were "That's a big noggin" as he measured away, and the husband stifled a snort while I groaned. Although it may not be an issue when push comes to shove, or, rather, doesn't (here's hoping). There may be fittage issues vis a vis a kiddly head and a mummy pelvis, in which case, I have been given a pre-emptive 'our priority is to ensure a safe delivery of baby, the health of the mother, and we will do what is best when it comes to the birth' which really was quite unnecessary ... they could put two sunroofs in for all I care at the moment. That head looked big even to my untrained eye.

Anyway, we'll see.

We're otherwise healthy as a horse - some of us more horse like than others of course, although it's a competition between me and Cuinn as to who is growing faster. He's up to 2lb 11oz (1214 grams), so he's doubled in size, and apparently the general rule of thumb is that between now and his due date he should triple that. And by 'general rule of thumb' I'd say that by the veiled smirk on my obstetrician's face, the fact that we've bucked the trend from day one with the little demon, one should probably just rely on the kiddly likely being enormous. Excellent.

Next visit to the obstetrician = last 4 week visit to the obstetrician.

Also, just as an aside, I'm wondering if it's entirely appropriate that my concern at this point with the possibility of a c-section is that I won't be transferred to Birthcare afterwards, but will have to kick back at Auckland Hospital. Ergo, I doubt there will be creme brulee. Very uncool.

Oh, and different topic altogether. Ack. Halloween is tonight. I think. There seem to be an inordinate amount of pumpkins and cobwebs about which tends to suggest. And that means that there will be countless numbers of little kids flooding the neighbourhood, not wearing even a hint of a costume, making for our front door to ask for lollies. In lieu of a sign telling them to go away because they usually ignore that anyway, I've just not fed the dogs. That should ensure ... well, not peace and quiet by any stretch (have you ever heard our dogs tell us we have visitors? It's the anti-peace and quiet I can assure you), but at least the only sightings of little kids not wearing a hint of a costume will be them running back down the path as fast as their little legs will carry them, having made it only part way to the door.

So yeah ... 28 weeks ...

And no, I can't believe it either. 12 weeks to go. 12 weeks! Eek! Actually, eek from the perspective of time running out, but also eek from the perspective of I'm kinda the size now that I thought I'd be full term. Uhhhmmm ... Oooerrr. 12 more weeks of kiddly growing.

Mind you, maybe, maybe not. IVF kiddlies have a bit of a habit of coming early apparently (yes, I know google isn't a medical authority, however) so Al and I are thinking that an appearance at the 38/39 week mark might be nice thankyouverymuch. Then again, I don't know that it's so much a case of them coming early (if you discount the 28ish weekers whose super-early arrivals I am inclined to think perhaps relate to the issues that required IVF in the first place), or that conception is extremely accurate, but calculated the same way in everyone. Does that make sense? Hopefully, although I really don't care if it doesn't. The whole brain-don't-go thing really does add a dimension of serenity to one's existence.

Having said that, serenity aside, I'm still a bit dark about having to do antenatal classes, which incidentally start next week (7pm-9pm! How the hell am I supposed to stay awake till 9pm? Honestly! Do they realise they're dealing with pregnant women at these things? We're supposed to stay awake and absorb information. Yeah. Right. Mind you, it could be advantageous falling asleep at about 7.10pm considering some of the stuff they want to talk about at those things. Episi ... you do what now? *shudder* Epidural? Yes. Definitely. I want five please. The husband will just take the gas. And a blindfold probably. And a chair which will allow him to keep his head between his knees for the duration of the fun stuff. And someone exceptionally large (or several normal sized someones) to catch him when he faints if he's stupid enough to take a squiz at the business end. There'd better be blimmin creme bruleee on the menu at Birthcare is all I can say.

Anyway. That whole 12 weeks to go thing was supposed to be a segue of sorts into what we've been doing lately, not an entire post on whatever I was on about.

When the penny dropped (I heard a marvellous version of that saying the other day ... something about the penny dropping, rolling down something and clunking somewhere else ... it was very clever. Can't remember it though. I should have written it down) that Cuinn had reached the milestone whereby he'd have a fighting chance if he was born (actually what did it was re-booking for our obstetrician appointment tomorrow and realising that it's the second to last 4 week appointment before we go down to 2 weekly and then weekly check ups), it also dropped somewhat more loudly a wee while later that he could potentially be a toad and give us all hysterics, even though we're hoping that he's more his father than his mother, and that he's far too comfortable splayed out on his uterus couch playing whatever version of xbox he's got in there to be getting all impatient-like about this in utero growing business. But, you have to think of these things, and as soon as I did a vague but insistent sense of anxiety set in that I needed to get organised. Just in case. The husband did venture to suggest that if for some reason Cuinn did come this early, he'd be in hospital for ages so we'd have plenty of time to buy whatever we needed. I've pretty much been hoping ever since that no one will actually notice that the husband's gone missing and that there's a rather large patch of freshly turned earth in our back yard ...

I was very good - I made a list instead of just going shopping, and over about 2 weeks I thought about it, took things off it, put things on, changed quantities, stewed on why I wanted what I wanted and whether it was a valid reason (why did I 'need' 2 plastic bottles instead of glass ones, when plastic ones are 3 times the price? Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, though I did get them anyway on the basis that I'm perfectly happy with glass at home, but plastic for going in the baby bag, or to the park, or anywhere else it could be annihilated where it's not easy to clean up, seemed sensible) blah blah etc etc, and eventually managed to shave quite a bit off the end bill. I still have no idea whether I should have gone with onesies or separates, but I opted for half and half on the basis that whichever works out to be best, I can make do for a couple of months and then just run with my preference for the next size up (crap I forgot to get singlets for under separates).

I'm pretty sure that we have everything we'll need. I don't feel any anxiety that we don't anyway, even if we do end up finding out in due course that we have nothing we'll actually need and everything we'll probably never lay a hand on.

We also made sure that we had the carseat ready to go in the car by making sure that the anchor bolt was fitted, and that we had everything we needed eg. the belt extension we didn't have, but we found we needed when the car belt proved too short. And there there was the oh-bollocks-the-carseat-has-every-safety-feature-under-the-sun-but-doesn't-fit-in-the-backseat-of-the-car-rear-facing-reclined-for-a-newborn moment, and we found it necessary to add a baby capsule to the list. Argh. On which note, I'll say a very loud bless Pal Katherine for coming to the rescue on that front. I'm assuming it'll work like a charm - Jazz seemed to think it was all good anyway.

In a moment of uttery nesty-madness, I even cleaned out the wardrobe in his room and made sure it only had kiddly supplies stacked in it. Of course, that does sound a bit more impressive than it really is - although his wardrobe is nice and organised, I highly recommend not even thinking about opening the wardrobe door in the end spare room. I'm still not sure the best way to go about getting into that to clean it out when the mood strikes, assuming that it may do at some stage. Either that, or at some point, a guest is going to want to use it. I might wait a few weeks and then send the unsuspecting husband down there to retrieve something for me and let everything fall out of the wardrobe all over him. That really does seem like the best plan.

So muchos organisyos has been taking place over the last few weeks. That, and 'enjoying it while it lasts' has been the order of the day as far as sleep, relaxation and spending time together just spending time together, musing over whether the kid will be a ginger, and cursing the little demon when he goes to ground for a few days and refuses to move even so much as a muscle to let us know that he's perfectly happy and just having an extended snooze thanks.

Oooooh! There has been vege gardeny goodness though, which I'll tell you about and provide photos of. In the meantime, those of you who know me well can amuse yourselves having hysterics at the thought of me trying to do anything that involves plants, let alone edible ones (the husband won't even let me water the house plants because as soon as they see me they die), but I can assure you that so far all is well, because there aren't actually any plants involved yet. But, for now, I'm going to have a sleep.

Zzzzzzz...

(Also - just a wee end note ... if any of this doesn't make sense, I wouldn't hassle yourself complaining about it because I don't really care. Such is the joy of pregnancy-induced serenity from my perspective. Tra la la)

There's a post in here somewhere ...

A girl knows that when even her dad complains that the blog posting has become a bit non-existent, that she really should try and jump start a few brain cells enough to give some form of update.

Unfortunately, I can't find the jumper-leads just at the minute, so I'll give you an updated kiddly-house pic instead to tide you over.

28 weeks.

'twas a day for awesome conversations

Courier delivering who knows what to the office (I probably should have checked in case it was a little bit vital I guess), looks at my stomach and said "You look about the same size as my sister!"
Me, completely at a loss as to the appropriate and/or expected response to this "Oh. Yeah?"

Courier, nodding enthusiastically, apparently pleased with himself though I have no idea why "Yep"

Me, still at a loss but building up to asking how long his sister has to go because really, what the hell else am I going to say? "Ohhh...?"

Courier "Yeah. Do you have about three weeks to go?"

Me "Uhhh. No. About three months."

Courier, eyes wide, making sure that the door was where he left it, and there were no sharp objects in my immediate reach, looks back at the stomach and can't help himself "Geeeez!!!"

And then runs (yes, runs) out of the office.

So, siblings DO have their uses

My youngest rang yesterday to wish me and Al a happy wedding anniversary.

Bless him, he was a day out, which is extremely fortunate for me because said wedding anniversary is today and I'd forgotten entirely.

I'd intended to wake up this morning with the significant-date detail firmly etched in my memory so that I could remind the husband what a clever thing he did all those years ago, and I was close. I managed to recall the significant-date detail at approximately 8.30am on my way to work in the midst of what was close enough to a diabetic coma after a polycose test at Diagnostic (vile, vile thing. I really don't see how giving you a horrendous amount of glucose or whatever is a good way to see if you have diabetes. Poor Cuinn has been in hybernation all. day. And frankly, I don't blame him. I felt like complete shite too), and quickly telephoned the husband before my memory went funky again.

Me "Happy anniversary!"

The husband "Oh! Yeah! 8 Years!!"

Me "Uh. No. It's just feels like 8 years. It's 7."

Him "Oh. Really?"

We're all about the romantic and heart-warming in our house.

Still, it's better than last year - last wedding anniversary I lost the diamond out of my engagement ring.

For my parents

and other associated family members who'll get it. Al and I saw this on TV the other night, and I actually had to go to the loo because I laughed so hard there was a question of whether I may, all jokes aside, actually pee myself.

Remind you of anyone ...?

The good life

Puppies at the park, doing what puppies do.

The half-way stop since I can only waddle so far involved a cup of tea and scones. I'll leave you to imagine how interesting it was a) lowering myself onto the actual ground and then b) getting back on my feet again. Nevermind the little bank we clambered down to have our picnic.

Hehe. The moment Jack realised he just walked past scones. Bless him, he came back and shook muddy pond water off in my tea. Puppies are great.

Oh, yes I do. I really, really do.

Firstly, it's best not to ask what I was googling when I found this.

BUT, I swear by all that is good in the world, I gotsta get me some of this stuff!

Pee & Poo

Why I would prefer to think we weren't decended from monkeys

Among other reasons ...

Has anyone else noticed the time?

Last week, I breathed a sigh of relief. Even when Cuinn stuck in there and started growing, and then kept sticking and kept growing, I kept holding my breath waiting for that 24 week mark where he'd have a fighting chance at life if he was born. It is a worst-case scenario and then some, sure, but ... well ... who'd have thought we'd be here? We didn't. Not really. So that everything keeps on trucking from day to day, accordingly to plan, not hiccups, no worries, really is a bit staggering. We're not exactly waiting for the bang, but we're suspicious that there hasn't been one. Then again, I suppose we did do some hard yards at the start. Little demon.

We're celebrating milestones from our little man every week now. He's getting stronger every day and it's really, really cool. His kicks are getting harder and harder and I can almost make out the difference between his hands and feet by the force that goes into either punching or kicking me. I can also often feel him building up to something too - there'll be a sensation like something is moving and then usually some form of abuse of my insides. I can feel him easily from the outside, as can Al, and if you're quick, you can see him too - my stomach will suddenly pulse out. The other day he stuck his foot out which was incredible. I figured it was a foot anyway. Something stuck out. A hard lump was poking out, and I went with a foot based on the length and width of it, and the force he must have been pushing with to stick it out there. That, and when I pushed back on it, the little demon booted me with the other one. Nice and hard. Bless.

Al can hear him moving which I'm a bit jealous of, although I suppose I do get the rest of it, all day ... and it was extremely funny to see the look on his face when Cuinn gave him a solid kick in the ear. Apparently he likes his privacy.

I'm still sulking about the antenatal classes though, which start in a month. In fact, they start around the time I need to come up with a birth plan for my obstetrician, which is a whole other post entirely. So far my 'plan' consists of avoiding the topic entirely because I'm pretty sure that my other plan of just waking up one morning to find Cuinn tucked up in his hammock, blissfully asleep, is just a wee tad unlikely.

Unbelievably though, when it comes down to breathing sighs of relief about babies having a chance if they're born, antenatal classes and birth plans, that means that the time has come to do a bit of a kiddly-stuff stocktake and make sure I have what I need for him should it all happen. Because it does sometimes. And sooner or later (preferably later. Not too late, but later is good), it definitely will. So I'm working through a list of what various stores say I desperately need as a bare minimum, and by cutting the 'necessary' amounts of various clothing items etc in half, forgetting about most of the hardware (do we really need a baby bath when we have a perfectly good sink? and a nightlight? Seriously? He definitely needs seven pairs of shoes though...), and being just a wee bit honest about the difference between wants (since he's not likely to have teeth for quite some time, I can probably flag the rimu teething rattle. I guess. If I have to) and actual needs (Uhhhmmmm .... pants and nappies) from a budgeting perspective, we seem to be getting somewhere. ''Somewhere' being a wee bit closer to a mortgagee sale, but, you know, that's still somewhere.

I can definitely report though - even now, it's still very surreal.

Can I have $500?

Two words ...

Nature Baby.

Honey, I'm home!

I'm pretty sure I am the worst holiday photo taker ever in the history of the world.

I got 17 snaps of this street sign, and none of the lolly shop for a start. I do love cardigans though.




The husband feeding ... I have no idea what at the deer park. It's either a goat, a thar or a yak. Probably a goat. It looks like a goat. But, the point is that there's one less hungry animal in the world.


A llama. Possibly.



The view from our hotel room. I think. If not, the view from our hotel room was pretty much the same. There was definitely a lake and mountains.





The inside of The Cow. The Cow do the best pizza ever in the history of the world (bolognese sauce and cheese. Mmmmm. Had I been slightly more onto it, I would've taken a photo of the pizza instead of the bar.)

The cheesy sign I made the husband stick his head through. What I should have taken a photo of as well was the gap that he had to limbo under to get behind the sign which is lodged between two buildings. The sign is made for kids, so it's about a foot and a half off the ground. VERY funny watching the husband get under there. Obviously, he was extremely cheerful about it.

THE best pie shop this side of anywhere. And the back of Stu. You can't tell, but he was running (OK, maybe he wasn't, but I'm pretty sure he wanted to).

The pie menu. They also do an excellent custard square and a wicked caramel meringue square. I've heard.

Me feeding a piggy (back at the deer park. I figure that the photos are so random, the posting can be too).

Photos from the Chinese (gold-mining??) village thing in Arrowtown.

The husband, Sarah, Stu and Vaughan in and around a hut built into the side of a cliff. Exceptionally cool apparently, but it was up a hill. Enough said.

Me, with what looks like a serious case of muffin-top. It's a kiddly. I swear. And some pies. Not all of them though, in case you're wondering.

See? It can't be all the pies - Stu and Sarah had some which means I didn't have them all.

So, yeah ... I have no idea what happened to all the other photos I thought I was taking ...