Archive for the ‘Wherein I Ramble’ Category

I’m back with more dotpoints..

July 11, 2008

…But wait, I post so infrequently that no one knew I went away. But you must have missed my comments? Oh that’s right, I hardly ever comment either…

(*SIGH* Do you believe me when I tell you I do read? That bit is true…)

So. Just got back from the lovely tropics, where we visited my step-kids for a few days. It was nice. BB was charming and cute. Step-kids no longer really kids as such – being 16 and 12. (Crazy. They were 8 and 4 when I met them. When did this growing up  business happen?)

The flight there was a disaster area. BB was the official Toddler Who Cries The Whole Time, and squirmed and squawked on my lap and I had to take hime for walks down the aisle.

But then again, he is walking finally! Rah!

He certainly took his sweet time about it. But as I have been saying for weeks, I knew he would save his first steps for when his brother and sister could see them – that was what he did with his crawling too. And he did. We arrived about midnight Monday night, and he walked on Tuesday.

So there you go.

(I seem to blog with only half my conscious mind these days. It’s like I half-focus on it. So sorry for disjointedness. ..This is why I only got a shameful “Pass” for my uni subject this semester. Brain no care.)

I go back to the Work-of-Psycho-Bosses on Monday. So sucky. The feeling of dread is incredibly depressing. In fact, the feeling of dread at the end of school holidays is the reason I stopped teaching full-time and moved into the school library in the first place. Yet here I am, reliving it anyway via my megalomanic control freak micromanager boss. How ironic and sad. Let’s chant again: One day it will be your library… One day it will be your library….

In better news. I have now lost about 10 lbs. Go Weight Watchers. Not yet at first generation of jeans, but am feeling less frumpy. At least I will feel comfortable wearing something other than enormous Thai fisherman’s pants this summer. Heh. Maybe even a skirt. Heavens.

So anyway, much love to all in my slice of blogland. Thanks for bearing with my boringness in extremis for all this time. DD, happy birthday and good luck with your tummy next week. Everyone else… I have way too many feeds on my Bloglines right now, but trust I will be caught up with your news in the next couple of days…

(Pics to come soon, btw, and maybe video. Email me for password.)

Ex Oh Ex Oh.


June 19, 2008

Hi friends. Hi.

So, seems like my blog is now one of those rarely upated, unlikely-to-say-anything-of-note personal blogs. Do you know I don’t even have Statcounter on it? Ah, how things change… Perhaps I will change the title to My Ramblings.


I have been doing ok. You know. Whatever.

At the very least, I am pleased to report I have been doing a fantastic job of channelling my best OCD-ness this last three weeks, having commenced the dreaded Weight Watchers points system. I discovered this website  a few weeks ago, and have found it gratifyingly like Fertility Friend for fat people. So far, I have managed to get my bum to fit back in my old jeans (the ones I got after the ones I got when I started to get fat, anyway. I have several generations of old jeans to fit back in now. They are in storage as an act of hope.) so that is good.

So that has been occupying my time. And so has my writing project, which now has a whole seven pages to it. Those seven pages took me a month to write. I love me a bit of self-criticism, see. Just can’t get enough of it. I could self-criticise all day: M, your writing is a piece of shit… M, you can’t characterise for the life of you… M, this is all indulgent , sentimental twaddle… M, you don’t have the skills to pull off a first person narrative… 

Et cetera.

Oh, I also had a lovely big blow-up with my boss, which I care not to write about except to say it resulted in a confrontational, intervention-style meeting where she faced all the rest of us at the staffroom lunch table and we told her how much she sucked. And then nothing changed becasue she is a nutcase.

Hmm. What else?

BB is still dragging his arse with the walking. I had no idea he was so cautious! We have to trick him into it to get him to walk. But he is clever – any tricks only work once – then he realises what we are doing and plonks himself whining back on the ground. He has taken also to walking on his knees, which seems to satisfy the urge-to-be-upright to the exclusion of getting on his feet.

Funny little critter.

He remains the delight of my life. I feel bad about cutting off his mullet.


May 19, 2008

How have I been, Thalia asks.

I answer: Good.

Except when I haven’t been.

The last couple of months have been intense. I am out the other side of the worst of it, and battling through with good(ish) time management, but yes, it hasn’t always been fun.

Highlights of the last two (TWO!) months include:

1. Trying to complete long and incredibly boring assignments in the two hour gap between putting BB to bed and collapsing into bed myself.

2. Dealing with a boss who sometimes seems to be virtually a workplace psychopath, and with whom I have a soul-crushing love/hate relationship with.

3. Facing my 13-years high school reunion (I know, a rather arbitrary anniversary, isn’t it?)

4. Going a little bit crazy and actually having to google “Obsessive Compulsive Disorder” and face the fact that in a crisis, on a bad day, it is more than eccentricity. Mental health assessment with GP ensued. Referral to clinical psychologist occured. Awaiting appointment. Feeling better.

5. Realising I was tired of cataloguing books and feeling like a piece of shit about not writing. Fear of never writing a book at all starting to be worse than fear of not being able to finish one. Have commenced work on first novel, and am chipping away slow sentence by slow sentence. Trying not to be overly critical of my work, but not succeeding one little bit.

6. Finding myself needing to be reminded of the reasons that I only wanted one child as well as why it is risky and impractical and traumatic to try for another considering huge risk of another placental abruption even if IVF did randomly work again and knowledge that outcome of abruption is likely not to be so positive a second time. Husband completely resistant to idea, also, and will never bend on that. But still feeling twinges of pain on being asked (frequently) when I am going to have another and jealousy on hearing two second-pregnancy announcements in my mother’s group.

7. Quitting smoking again. Yay for me.

8. Delighting in BB, who is now very close to walking and talking. Words we have currently: woof, ta,  and hello.

So that is me.


March 3, 2008

I wanted to write a post, for myself really, about the reasons why I want to quit smoking again. Yes, shamefully, I am still at it. Shamefully.

I have started the second A.lan C.arr book (word of mouth must have spread it to you at some point, yes?) and hopefully his bad writing and cheesy metaphors will work their mysterious magic, the way they did when I quit before.

I give you: Reasons Why I Hate Smoking.

1. I hate the feeling of slavery that you get when you’re a smoker. I hate, for example, that I “have” to race outside at lunchtime, and duck around the corner as if I am one of the students. I hate that I look around me with paranoia, and come back inside praying that I don’t encounter anyone I know before  can get to the bathroom to freshen up. The fact that I lower myself to this is sheer embarrassment.

2. I hate the way it makes me feel, physically. Since starting again, I have really noticed the difference in my energy level. I had no idea back in the days of pre-quit, that it made such a difference – I honestly thought I was just one of those people who isn’t very vital, like the frail sister with consumption in Little Women or something. I actually thought that lethargy was my temperament.

3. I hate the fact that if I don’t stop, BB will most likely have to watch his mother die a slow, painful, and worst of all – self-inflicted death.

4. I don’t want to die a slow, painful and self-inflicted death.

5. It makes me stink, something I am uber-conscious of when I lean down to help a student with their work. Small, but I’m constantly aware of it.

That’s the top five. There is, of course, many other powerful reasons to stop. Then why haven’t I? That’s the question, really, isn’t it?

I think that in some part of my brain, I associate smoking with youth. With the immortality of youth – with Summer days and house parties and late night coffees with friends. I associate it with driving my first car along the freeway, into the city, or cold mornings at the bus stop. Drinking tap beer, performing my poetry, wearing Doc Marten boots with retro print, babydoll-style dresses.

I remember being fifteen and sitting in a small town cemetary with my best friend, eating fish and chips and singing Simon and Garfunkel’s Homeward Bound as we smoked our gold-tipped, skinny cigarettes.

It’s hard to let go of that in some ways. Back then, you always intend to quit later, before it becomes a problem.

Problem is: It is later.

In reality, cigarettes were never any of those things. Or maybe they were, but it was only for a moment. In reality, they were only ever what they were – chopped up bits of leaf wrapped in paper. The memories would have existed with or without the smoking; it wasn’t cigarettes that made those moments special. The reality is that smoking was just as it is now —

 A big fat five minutes of nothing in particular.

feeling a tad maudlin today…

December 30, 2007

Dear Buddha Baby,

A couple of days ago, you turned ten months. Today is not a milestone day. It’s the day before the day before the end of the year you were born. Nothing more.

But today, something feels different; I feel like I have seen the end of your infancy.

It wasn’t anything spectacular. You have started crawling, babbling, pulling up to a stand. You have two teeth. All wonderful, all familiar.

It wasn’t these things.

But in the glimpse of your long body in my arms in the full-length mirror, in the sleepy suck of what I feel you really do want to be one of your last breastfeeds, in the way you work so hard, so independently, to tap your spoon in the bowl of mashed pasta, I felt your babyhood slip away from me.

And it’s sad, though it’s as it should be; the natural order. It’s the end of something. You will never need me like this again. Every day, every moment, you move further into your own life. And it’s a long way away — but it’s there, off in One Day.

Sometimes it feels as if the reason we have children is to give them away to the world.

identity crisis

December 2, 2007

I just pruned my Bloglines. I am now down from eighty to about fifty feeds.

Many of these survivors are people who rarely post anymore; but I would have felt like a traitor if I had’ve pressed the little trashcan icon on them. 

I felt brutal enough as it was.

The blogging world is a funny, political place. Especially, I guess, when it’s a community tied together with like issues the way the IF blogosphere is.

I remember soon after I started my blog, searching people’s link lists and looking at blog after blog, commenting if I had something to say. I would do this for hours, literally. If they came over to comment on my blog, I would comment back. And thus it began.

I collected almost a hundred feeds this way. I say feeds; I mean friends.

At some point, I realised enough was enough. I stopped responding to new commenters on my site unless they came back a few times, and rarely took on new blogs – unless the writing really, really captured me. I gave up on fiddling with my sidebar and left it as it was. I unsubscribed to all those uber-IF-bloggers-who-shall-not-be-named, figuring they had enough readers; they didn’t need my support too.

Thank you to those of you who persisted with me anyway.

It’s funny – I’m only a couple of months off my two-year blogoversary now (Does a blogoversary re-set if you change sites? Hmm…) and almost all of the people who were on my hundred-feed Bloglines account have either gotten pregnant, are in the process of adoption, or have had a child and stopped blogging.

Most commonly the latter. And that’s great, of course. It’s what we want to see.

However, the stats at my old blog fell lower and lower the more I obsessed about breastfeeding, until I really only had my trustiest of buds visiting, and the many people who googled their way into my 12 week ultrasound photo.

I suppose the transitory nature of our subject matter does that. It gets harder and harder for people to visit as they have more and more treatments. I get that. I’ve even had one or two sideways confrontations about it over time.

But I feel kind of good about being here now, ready to redefine myself as something other than an infertility blogger.

I just don’t know what.

I don’t know whose links to peruse.

welcome to my new home

November 25, 2007

Hi everyone,

Thanks for following me here.

You know, it wasn’t the usual burst of paranoia that precipitated this move. No, not that.

Instead, it was just a slow kind of realisation.

I was looking over old posts some time last week. I was actually looking at the timing of a couple of events, trying to work out how much time passed between one and the other.

But neither of the events were there. I hadn’t written about them.

That kind of freaks me out.

All my life I was an obsessive diarist. I mean, obsessive. Our hall cupboard has about 120 or so notebooks in it, starting from when I was eight years old.

I depend on those notebooks. They stop me from romanticising the past; they remind me about who I was and who I am.

My old blog – I just wasn’t recording enough.

There were too many IRL readers.

In the beginning I didn’t mind that. Jesus, I was the one who kept on opening my big mouth about it.

But in the end, it got so I couldn’t really write about anything. Not my family, not my friends, not my job, not my marriage. Nothing of substance.

So it just became a series of baby photos (not that there’s anything wrong with that…) and listed milestones. Mostly.

Anyway, I’m hoping my relocation will help me get back to why I started the blog. I want to get it all down. To not forget. To remember.

It will likely be mundane to others.

But life is like that, I suppose.