Hmm
I’m now horribly ill with pharyngitis (Wikipedia describes it as “quite painful”* – and it’s worth noting that the first third or so of labour is usually described as “uncomfortable”). CJ covered about five hours of my at-home babysitting yesterday (he said, “I see why you’re so tired on Wednesdays”, which was gratifying), and I’m not doing any of the twenty hours of work I had scheduled for today (Thursday) and tomorrow. For a while yesterday I thought maybe I should quit everything and just relax forever, but that was quite evidently sickness talking, and if it wasn’t – what could I do? I have a toddler, so even if “do nothing” was my avowed life goal, I’d be minding her for the usual 12 hours a day anyway. Today, although still very sick (barely conscious, really) I miss work. My normal Thursday is six and a half hours at the child care centre, followed immediately by 3 hours of work at home. I’d so much rather be doing that than what I’m actually doing today – which is mostly sleeping.
Work is my drug – which I think is actually true for most people (they just forget it, because it’s so easy for them to DO work, despite the boredom and soul-crushing-ness) – just ask someone who’s long-term unemployed. I can embrace it, a bit (especially in my current phase of life, when I may as well really), but I’ll try not to forget how easy it is to overdose.
*My doctor literally printed out and gave me the Wikipedia article. This, apparently, is what the future looks like.
My Foolish Addiction
(We totally sorted the garden, by the way. It was epic – over twenty bags of mulch.)
I have an addiction – and for once I’m not even talking about chocolate. I love stress. I love pushing my capabilities right to the edge and staying there. I can’t stop thinking of original ways to make life better – for my family, for my workplace, for other people – and it’s nearly impossible to resist an idea, no matter how much extra work it is for me.
I tell myself I want to work full-time for a few months – mostly just to see if I can – but I’ll be studying full-time at the same time. And of course looking after Louisette, with all the busy-ness, organisational complexity, and lack of sleep that entails. Am I on the road to giving myself a nervous breakdown?
I have plenty of options for where to take my life. Most of my income is extra for us (although we’ll need a lot saved if the next pregnancy is as bad as the first). But am I even capable of rest?
Today I worked a full day at the daycare centre, and I was genuinely enjoying myself for about 90% of the day, with a couple of stressful moments (the after-lunch rush is always a challenge), but I was pretty pissy about not getting an afternoon break. Which is sort of fair, because it’s hard work and – for someone with a spinal injury – increasingly painful over the course of the day. But I probably shouldn’t have been as pissy as I was – after all, who made me even go to work today (knowing I’d end up in pain)? But I can’t seem to help myself….
So, something to think about for me. And a lot of women (and a smaller number of men, I think). The biggest problem, of course, is if one teeny tiny thing goes wrong – I can’t take it. Because I’m already using 100% of my coping/organising/working/being nice-ability.
In Louisette news, we were playing inside when she went into the house and then tried to lock me out. Adorable and evil. Is she the perfect child or what?
A Squamous Day
When CJ and I bought our house about two months ago, it was clear the owners hadn’t weeded the (mercifully small) front garden in a while. Yesterday – an unseasonally warm day after two days of weed-loosening rain – we finally cleansed the entire garden bed (excluding the bits I’d done already, and the forlorn strip along the driveway). It’s planted entirely with Australian natives, which means I’ll probably water it about once a year – in keeping with the “easycare” theme of the rest of the house (oh, how I love this house). The ground is solid clay from a few centimetres down, so one of our annual jobs is to treat the dirt with gypsum and mulch (over several years, this will magically turn clay into more actual dirt) – and, in order to cut down on the proliferation of weeds, a layer of newspaper too. Today is the absolute perfect day to do so. . . .but it’s cold and sunless outside, and I’m still sore from the weeding.
Will we begin our epic trek towards an (even) lower maintenance and less weed-prone garden? Or will we live for a year with several bags of gardening supplies lurching guiltily on our front step? ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN PEOPLE!!!!
In other news, I DON’T have a chronic hip problem! Yaay! I’ve been in constant pain for about two months now (not uncoincidentally, ever since we moved house) and finally had my free physio appointment last Thursday, expecting to be told that it was the same thing I had last year – a displaced hip due to leftover relaxin hormone from pregnancy (the hormone that makes your muscles turn to jelly months in advance, in order to help with labour). But it wasn’t! It was a brand new non-pregnancy-related problem. . . which means that not only is it fixable, but the nice young man doing the massaging doesn’t have to spend a large amount of time massaging my bum (which is, inconveniently, where one’s hip is located). So that’s good news (I compressed a disk while we were moving house – it should be fine in a month or two).
Meanwhile, I’m adjusting to the new state of hormones brought on by my new contraceptive. It’s not easy to handle a chemical change, but I think the worst is over, and I’m also seeing some positive effects already. If you’re the praying type, pray that it doesn’t cause weight gain. . .
Aaand, in other news, it turns out that if I do a Certificate 3 in Child Care (a qualification that will be essential from next year, and which I was already planning to get as a courtesy for my Early Learning Centre employer) as a traineeship, it saves me $3000. I need to be doing a regular 15 hours per week at the centre – and my ELC is willing to give me that. So I’ll very shortly be working more than thirty hours a week. Which is extremely exciting both in terms of money gained and in terms of self-respect (yes, I have something to prove to myself), and somewhat scary. Can I really handle THAT much poo and screaming? Can my back?
…….we’ll see.
Eep!
It’s Wednesday afternoon and no blog post. Quick! Find a picture of Louisette with a cat! That will make it all better!
(Incidentally, the colonoscopy went fine and the doctor reckons my problems can be solved by avoiding foods high in FODMAPS – basically I lack enough enzymes to break down fructose, lactose etc. We’ll see. Also, valium is cool. And a little scary. It’s literally a moment of, “Well, Louise, you’ll be falling asleep real soon” followed by, “Hi Louise, how are you feeling now that your colonoscopy is done?” Good thing I didn’t swallow those fluorescent purple corn kernels, because I would have missed that delightful moment of discovery, and that would have been SUCH a shame.)
Colour me yellowish
Last Tuesday I saw a dentist and a gynocologist. Woo. This Tuesday I’m having a colonoscopy. Double woo. The worst (and yet most interesting – other than, apparently, the VIDEO that they make of one’s intestines) part is the preparation. Today my food groups were as follows:
Bread and cereals: White rice or white bread only.
Meat and meat substitutes: White fish. Egg.
Milk and dairy: Low fat plain yogurt. Cottage cheese.
Fruit and vegetables: Well-cooked peeled pumpkin or potato.
Fats, oils, sugars: Boiled lollies – but only yellow or orange. Virtually any kind of yellow or orange drink including soft drinks (but no milk).
And, most alarmingly, no chocolate. Also they don’t tell me when I can eat until after the procedure….I suspect that it depends on what they see traipsing about my innards. Fingers crossed they say, “Hey, you’re fine. Go eat whatever. Chocolate? Sure! As much as you like! Have a nice day!”
On Monday I’m on liquid only (although I can also have yellow or orange jelly – I made jelly today for the first time ever).
The thing that fascinates me is the colour coding – strictly yellow or orange. I like to think that my colon will be dated like the rings of a tree – yellow or orange means it’s been there 48 hours, and anything else is older. Makes me want to colour some corn kernels fluorescent purple and swallow a whole bunch of them whole, just to mess with the doctor. But then they might make me go a third day sans chocolate, and that would not be worth it.
See you on the other side.
This Week in Louisette-Land
Louisette will often do an approximation of a word when she wants something – book, milk, down. She loves the day care centre – when she realises where we are she bursts out laughing. She always walks to and from the car (unless she’s very sleepy or I’m in a hurry) wherever we are, but will often chuck a hissy fit when I won’t let her wander off elsewhere along the way. She’s suddenly started nodding and shaking her head (correctly, too), which is hilarious and adorable. And today she opened a closed door – d’oh!
She’s sixteen and a half months old, and over eighty centimetres tall.
Fall back! Fall back!
At latest count, I have eight medical dramas happening simultaneously – everything from chest pain to displaced organs (none life-threatening, which is the main thing). In the next three weeks I’ll be seeing two specialists, a physio or three, various chemists, and a dentist. In a month I hope to be down to three ongoing medical conditions. Maybe four. The good news is that I can confidently name all but two of the original eight (the other two have been suggested by doctors but not yet confirmed), and I have some kind of plan for all eight. So things should get better – rapidly in some cases, and very gradually in others. I’m a little pissed off that back when I said, “I don’t think my body is how it’s meant to be” several months after Louisette was born, no-one sat down and talked to me to find out what was wrong. Even my pregnant looks (as opposed to JUST fat, which is of course also happening) are likely to be partly due to medical conditions. (Another person congratulated me on the upcoming birth of my second child this week. For every person saying it out loud, there are twenty people thinking it.)
In the meantime, I’m toning down my enthusiasm for casual shifts at the childcare centre. Because I’m tired and achy, and somewhat medically busy for the next little while.
Here’s Louisette with one of her great-grandmothers (because AWWW):
Ouch
I have a fabulous true story coming up for you, but right now my hip is playing up (yep, I’m eighty years old) after a full day of work (I personally changed more than thirty nappies today) and then a swim, I’m exhausted. So here’s an adorable picture from our housewarming last weekend.
I wasn’t able to load a new photo, so here’s one selected entirely at random (I genuinely don’t know what it is – but I’m guessing it’s either a young Louisette or a cat. Or both.)
Eurovision 2013
As usual, my friend and I played drinking games (“Whenever there’s a dramatic key change/item of clothing removed/needless acrobatics/etc) with lollies. Hence the enormous bowl of lollies.
The best song of the night by far wasn’t the winner. . . it was the song by host Petra Mede. Try it; you’ll like it (don’t freak out at the non-English opening) – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nwgcivdWnUA
The winner was Denmark, who was awfully cute – the song was the inevitable side-effect of a pixie woman with a thing for tin whistles: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k59E7T0H-Us I actually pretty much agree with this choice, although my personal favourite was (unbelievably) even cuter – Malta (ignore the first 44 seconds): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LchnYSvdUzk – a cross between “Friends” and “Sesame Street” as one tweeter described it.
Ok! Now the relative sanity is done, who was the most eurovisiony Eurovision this year???
In a haze of alarming eyebrows, Shiva-style backup dancers, and wind machines frantically attacking skirts, here are the best of the best:
6. It started with a pair of betasselled legs birthing from a giant disco ball. I was sufficiently dazzled to remember absolutely nothing else about the song (you’ll have to sit through another 44 seconds of normalcy for this one – although there are some monkeys towards the end): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0Focy6JtVI.
5. The Most Amazing Prop Ever (you’ll know it when it. . . . activates. In the meantime, the hair alone will entertain you. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWdHkjAUjUc)
4. The upside down metaphor mirror man in a box (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_GX3-TvKw88).
3. Do you like bogan wedding dresses, startling costume changes, a somewhat out of context kiss, and emotional manipulation? Then this song is for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uxtGRWCvIU. According to her interview, she wrote it for her boyfriend. Apparently he decided not to get the hint….ouch! Incidentally, she’s not actually saying what you think she’s saying in the chorus (it’s “FOR you FOR you FOR you”. When you hear it, you’ll be wondering too).
2. Men in kilts (running), a luminous trumpet, an accordian, and a moustache-wearing man who just doesn’t react to anything. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsHdCjLnWtA. Oh, Greece. Your song is called “Alcohol is Free” and clearly it WAS free for your choreographers.
And far and away the greatest performance of the night…..I won’t say too much, but you might just meet a falsetto volcano vampire in a dark alley if you travel to ROMANIA anytime soon. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV3xp5ZXSYA
Life as a movie cliché
Ever feel like your life is the first five minutes of an action movie? The establishing scene, when the (male) hero’s emotional stakes are laid out: loving wife, adorable child, charming house – in short, everything Joe Everyman could hope for. It is generally followed by violence – depending on the rating, the family is endangered from afar (PG), the wife is kidnapped/harmed (M), or some or all of the family is killed (MA).
Luckily, life is not an action movie. Living a clichéd life has a lot going for it – all the more so because all three of the crucial pieces – husband, child, house – are still largely an overwhelmingly pleasant surprise. And although the rating on my life is TBA, I feel fairly secure from assassin attack at this stage. Hurrah!
There is an interesting article at http://bluemilk.wordpress.com/2013/05/13/radical-jam-making/ about a rift among feminists. Bluemilk and I believe that caring jobs such as mothering and running a household deserve the same respect (including estimates of the practitioner’s intelligence) as other jobs. Other feminists are convinced that someone who focuses their life on their family is wasting that life and letting women down (including, presumably, the daughter who they have to palm off on someone else against their own will). Although it’s important to me to do paid work (an instinct too deeply engrained for me to fight at this stage), and although I long to spend more time writing novels – being a mum is most of what I am/do at the moment, and anyone who thinks that makes me less of a human being needs to ask themself what they’re fighting for.
Obviously being a mum has enormous physical and emotional down sides (even before society sticks its judgemental nose in), and I didn’t expect to like it half so much as I (mostly) do. But here I am.
Luckily, I can handle an intellectual fight just fine – and I don’t even need my man to do the shooting for me.
Felicity Banks 