Lipstick Lesbian Seeks Perfect Color

Goldilocks and The 3 Spatulas.

2009-03-04T13:39:00.003+11:00

"Hon, it's 11:30. Will you please [get up and] make me some butterscotch pancakes before I have to go to work?"

I get up. I follow the directions on the pancake mix, which means I add water. How hard can it be?

"Hon! They won't flip! What's wrong?"

"Did you add butter to the pan?"

"Yeah. I think this spatula is too big, it's the plastic one."

"Try the egg flipper!"

I look at the utensils hanging above stove. It's all ladles, tongs and BBQ supplies. Except for what looks like a silver spatula that's bent in half. I don't really see how it has anything to do with eggs, but at least I can scrape around the edges so they slide and then toss them up in the air.

The first two or three turn out great... as long as they're not too thick, then they splatter.

Most of them splatter.

But if they don't splatter, they end up flipping only halfway and look like a cross between an omelette and crepes. Not one of them turns out right, and most of them are burnt from trying to stop all the splattering. (Why I bothered, I don't know, the dog was loving it.)

Melyssa starts to ask me about the smoke coming out of the kitchen, then sees the look on my face and stops. I'm about to lose my shit as each pancake comes out worse and worse.

"Umm... how long have you been flipping them like that?"

"The whole time, I can't get the spatula to work."

"Why aren't you using the egg flipper?"

I am!"

"Umm... that's the potato masher..."

Too big. Too little. Just right!

The pancakes. If that's what you can call them.

My single perfect pancake made out of the last of the mix and with the ACTUAL egg flipper.

Over it.

2009-02-20T10:51:00.002+11:00

Although this has been a week long trilogy, I think I can sum it all up best in one day.

Monday.

I was miserable and sick.

Kylan was miserable and sick.

And then suddenly Kylan had red puffy spots on his arm.

Followed by his other arm.

And chin.

And leg.

Decided to take Kylan to the Dr.

Car makes grinding plunking noise trying to back out of the driveway.

Car hardly makes it to the end of the street.

Decide to stop by the mechanics first.

If we can get there.

We literally have to rock the car up and down to change gears.

When we finally get there the mechanic asks us to drive it in and it stops working altogether.

He fidgets with it for 20 minutes.

Nothing.

Find out that it's the clutch. The clutch that's not even a year old.

But it's under warranty as long as it's not covered in oil.

It's covered in oil.

And he's out of loaner cars.

Sick + Stranded + Sick Baby = NOT HAPPY.

We walk 4 blocks to the taxi stand.

For the first time, it's empty.

We call for a taxi with a baby seat so we can still make it to the Dr's.

20 minutes, and 2 more phone calls later, the cab arrives.

We miss our doctor by 10 minutes.

We see another doctor to find out not only do Kylan and I have a virus, but Kylan also has the chicken pox and Melyssa has contact dermatitis over her stitches.

It takes half an hour to get home on the bus.

Without the coffees we'd been looking forward to all day.

Bird On A Wire.

2009-02-13T10:03:00.002+11:00

About a month ago Melyssa and I did something really stupid and impulsive. We bought a beagle puppy.

Wondering why you haven't heard about it before now? Said puppy didn't last more than 24 hours. She ended up being more of a rent-a-puppy-to-find-out-just-how-stupid-you-are-and-how-far-you-can-push-your-mother(in law).

Melyssa's mum (rightfully so) lost her shit that we'd bought a puppy even though she'd made it very clear that the one we have is more than she wants. And what good is a fight that only goes one way?

There was yelling. There was screaming. There was crying. Doors were slammed. Somehow coffee ended up on the walls. And the floor. And the table. And behind the futon. (I really wanted that coffee that day too.)

At the end of the fight... or at least the pinnacle where one walks away dramatically (usually followed by the accusatory "Don't walk away from me!") Melyssa pushed her way through a swinging door by slapping it with her palms.

Come on. You know you would have done it too. And you probably would have felt satisfied and moved on and been just peachy keen. The door probably would have even slammed satisfactorily into the wall, and at worst bruised your shoulder on the way back.

But you're not Melyssa.

Oh no. Not Melyssa. Melyssa hit a swinging door that decided not to open. Melyssa didn't open her palms flat. Melyssa is freaky flexible and had just the tips of her fingers bent. Melyssa broke the end of her finger.

But did she just break it? Of course not. She managed to break it and fracture it.

But this was a month ago, why do we still care?

Two weeks ago whilst she was at work one of the doctors got a glimpse in passing at how her finger was healing and immediately pulled her aside. Next thing she knew she had a referral to see a specialist in Sydney and the day off.

Since it was just a regular appointment, and we didn't want to juggle Kylan on a train for an hour and a half, Melyssa went up to her appointment alone.

And... found out that she needed surgery on her finger.

Fucking surgery.

And you know when they did it? 5 minutes later! So while Melyssa was there all alone, expecting to be told to keep it splinted another couple weeks, she was having a screw put in her finger.

But at least it's all done and right and over and we don't have to worry about it anymore. Sure, 2 weeks off work when we shouldn't really be affording it, but it's a (forced) holiday! We'll enjoy it.

2 weeks later, and back in Sydney alone (you'd think we'd learn) Melyssa was due to have her splint checked and another x-ray done. So she's sitting there, in the hand clinic, and while she's waiting with a couple other patients she sees an x-ray up on the light board. And it is a GNARLY x-ray. The kind you want to get up and look at closely and be grateful that's not you.

Except this is Melyssa.

It was her x-ray. And her screw had moved. And she was back in 3 pieces. And not only that, the screw was now sitting in the middle of a nerve cluster.

By the way, nerve clusters don't show up on x-rays. Do you know how they find where they are in relation to a loose screw? They twist your finger around until it hurts.

A week later, and 3 weeks off work, we were back in Sydney. They took out the faulty screw and replaced it with a long piece of wire. And I mean LONG wire. So long it's hanging out the end of her finger.

Hanging. Out.

You'd think that's the worst of it. But you have to remember, this is Melyssa we're talking about.

In 3 weeks, they're taking the wire out. Scratch that. RIPPING the wire out. With pliers. Just grabbing it and giving it a great big YYYAAANNNKKK!

I can't wait to watch!

Still curious? Keep scrolling...

Modern Living: Bomb Shelter Chic.

2009-02-11T20:52:00.001+11:00

Don’t know if you’ve been keeping up on the Flickr photos over there. Couldn’t blame you if you haven’t been, they’re mostly for my family, but our little dynamo is now a crawling (worming), self-feeding (if you count the fluff off the carpet), and sitting (yeah right, that’d mean he’s still) 7.5 month old.

And, he’s still perfect.

Seriously. I know I haven’t caught up on the America trip AT ALL, but what other 5 month old could you take on a road trip up and down the California coast? And then follow it with a road trip to Vegas? Not to mention a kid who slept both ways on the 14 hour plane ride?

PERFECT.

Or... at least he WAS.

Ok, he’s still perfect to us, but he’s also shittin’ us something terrible. I can handle the carpet eating. The getting into everything. The preference for crawling on dirty surfaces. The days I spend turning him around, picking the dog hair from between his fingers, and scooping paper off his tongue.

But what I CAN’T handle, is mealtime.

Breakfast is usually ok, although it’s getting worse. And lunch pushes me, but I can get through it.

But I absolutely can NOT handle dinner time. ESPECIALLY when Melyssa goes back to work (next post) and I’m stuck feeding him every night (and every meal) 6 days a week by myself.

Feeding him at home just absolutely kills me.

First it was just that he wanted to look at the TV. Fine. I turned the TV off and haven’t caught up with my soap since.

Then he wanted to look at the dog. So I put her outside.

Then he wanted to eat his bib. So I took it off, and now we feed in the nude.

God forbid, then I dropped a spot on his high chair tray. And he wanted to play with it. So I feed with the tub of wipes next to me.

But then he wanted to look at his feet. The kids playing outside. The toy on the floor. That shiny thing behind him.

I’ve poked. I’ve prodded. I’ve begged. I’ve played airplane, and train, and dinosaur. I’ve put him in front of the TV so he’ll look forward. I’ve bribed the dog to sit next to me so he’ll look at us. I’ve coaxed, cajoled and resorted to holding his head.

NOTHING. WORKS.

We are now feeding in the cleanest, most un-stimulating, boring place on earth and he can still manage to find a thousand things he’s rather be focusing on than the food in front of him.

And fine. He’s not feeding himself. He doesn’t need to pay too much attention. But he needs to open his mouth! He needs to remove his lips from his chest! And his fingers from his mouth! And that damn pout from his face!

I could be feeding him in a sterile bomb shelter and he’d rather be licking the wall.

He’s gone from eating 2 large jars of baby food, a single serve of yogurt, and a package of toddler crackers for dinner (I know, that’s a lot, and he still takes a bottle afterward!) to fighting just to get him to finish a single jar of food.

But what do we do? We make sure he’s hungry, we make sure we’re consistent and have a routine, and we try our dandiest to make sure we don’t lose our temper... but I can tell you from personal experience it’s a losing battle!

Other than Melyssa bringing home a set of restraints from work, a point we’re not far from, have any ideas?

Second Chances.

2009-02-10T16:48:00.001+11:00

Year 10. I'm getting on the (school) bus to go home and as usual, it's pretty full. I sit down next to a girl my age I don't know, and don't remember seeing before. She's wearing grey pants with a white Emily Strange shirt, the first one I've ever seen, and it says "Emily didn't search to belong, she searched to be lost."

We start talking. Who WOULDN'T talk to someone with a shirt like that. Turns out it's her sister's shirt. We each start talking about boys who have crushes on us.

Oh yes, crushes. And boys.

At the end of the conversation it turns out that we were both talking about the same boy. Who btw, is now Out.

That's all it takes to seal our friendship. She lives down the street from me, and is by far the coolest person I have ever known, with the coolest family. There's so much about us that's different, but it doesn't matter. We're best friends immediately.

We stayed best friends all through high school, even though I'm not really sure how she could stand me. I was depressed, and having seen depression from both sides now I can tell you that being around someone who's depressed can be SO annoying. Plus our senior year she started hanging out with a new crowd, and with that new crowd came drinking, parties, sex and piercings.

While that may sound like something I would have WAY been in to, at the time, I wasn't. I was Sheltered. I was Good. And I SO couldn't pull something like that past my parents.

But we stayed best friends, walking into graduation together in the 100 degree heat holding hands. Even when I went away to college, and she got a boyfriend (now husband), and I partied, and she studied.

You could easily say she's still one of the coolest people I know, and I have always envied her. She may have had her fun, made her mistakes, but she's always Stayed The Course. She always knew she wanted to work in the medical field. She's always had a job, always been in school, and was taking college courses already in high school to try and get ahead. She lived at home until she graduated college, and is now a very successful nurse.

She's focused. She's dedicated. She's a Planner. And although she doesn't always come across it, at least in those early years, one of the most loyal and caring people you could ever have in your life. She's who I am in my head, but not in my actions.

But I took her friendship for granted. I was always surprised when she was still there. Surprised that she was still trying.

And now I'm not surprised that because I didn't treat her the same way, with the same care and loyalty and dedication, that she's not waiting for me anymore. She always had faith in me that I'd find my way, but I finally floundered too long.

I can't blame her in the least. She gave me more chances than I deserved. I lied to her when I started dating my first woman, and she caught me. But loved me. I bailed on plans, I didn't answer or return calls, and when we were together she wasn't my first priority. Not even on her graduation day from college. The day that she'd worked harder than anyone I've ever known for.

It was somewhere in the year following that party that things just kinda... stopped.

There was no moment. No 'thing'. Just... not as many phone calls. Not as many returned calls. And why would there have been? I wasn't anyone's friend during that time.

Since then, I've moved to Australia. Had a baby. I didn't tell her about any of it, just expected her to notice through Myspace on her own. She's gotten married, to the same guy we always knew she would. The same wedding we'd talked about for years, planned with me in, and even when I noticed... I didn't say anything either.

And now she's pregnant. I can still remember sitting around with her and one of her sister's talking about having a baby with him.

She's living all her dreams. Without me. And it hurts.

She's about to go through this absolutely incredible experience, the same experience that changed my life, and things between us have dwindled down to that stage just above nothing. That stage where talking is awkward, where admitting wrongs is awkwarder, and any day now when she looks through her friends I may well find myself deleted.

I hate it. I want more. And sadly now that I'm 8000 miles away, I'm ready to give it to her.

I just don't know how.

I emailed her sister whom I know well enough, and asked for her address since I couldn't find it listed. I want to make her something for the baby, I'm getting pretty good on the sewing machine these days, and send her a care package with a long letter like the ones we used to pass to each other between classes.

But she doesn't know what she's having yet, and the suspense in the planning is killing me.

I just miss her. The person she knows wouldn't cry over missing her... but I am. And that's all I want her to know. That she still means something to me, that I still love and care about her, but that I know we're in that awkward stage and wouldn't blame her in the least if she ignored me altogether.

Hence why I think a package and letter would say a hell of a lot more than an email over myspace would.

But what would I say? Do I acknowledge the awkwardness? Do I admit my wrongs, even though we've never aired them? Do I assume she knows nothing about me? Do I talk about how I've changed? Do I act like nothing has happened? Or does that sound as selfish and ignorant to you, as it does to me? Is sending her something overbearing or nice?

I just don't know. But I'm not ready to lose her yet.

(Oops, thought this was feeling a little familiar. Thought it was because I'd written this post everyday in my head since I found out she was pregnant but... that wasn't quite it.)

Stay-At-Home-Cuz-I-Can't-Get-Out Mom.

2009-02-06T10:49:00.000+11:00

It keeps getting brought to my attention, annoyingly so, that it's about time I got off my ass and got a job.

Nevermind that we only have one car between us, and that two days a week that car is split between 3 of us.

Nevermind that while I only got comfortable driving a stick shift in the last 2 weeks, I still can't do a comfortable hill start which means I can't drive to Melyssa's work.

Nevermind that... I'm out of logical excuses but felt like I needed a third thing.

In the last week or so I've finally started applying for jobs, but I think my fallbacks are far outweighing my job experience... and that's just from my carefully worded resume, let alone when they start asking questions.

The majority of my work experience is either in retail, which I'm good at but hate, or banking, which I'm not comfortable going back into being as every single common sense thing about it here is different.

I'm a foreigner, with no job experience in the country, and no verifiable skills without an overseas phonecall.

My last job was in 2007.

I'm on a temporary visa, and although I have every intent of staying here permanently, there's nothing on my passport that says "It's only red tape! I'm here for good! I'm not going to waste your time!"

Said temporary visa expires in 2010. Next year. Sure, end of next year, but who's looking that close? It's still next year.

Otherwise, my resume is just like any other person applying for a job in which they have no experience... professionally bullshitted and boring.

Boring being the key word. Nothing about it stands out except all that crap I already listed. Hell, I wouldn't hire me, even if I took more than half a glance at my resume. It doesn't surprise me in the least that the most I've gotten is a verification email from the job search website that my resume was sent.

So, what do I do about it?

Just stick to it, maintain the professional route, and enjoy my time at home with Ky while still technically looking for a job?

Add a cover letter telling them how great I am and even though I look unqualified with no experience it doesn't matter because I'm great?

Or get their attention? Change the "objective" on my resume from professional bullshit to something honest.

"To find a company willing to take a chance on a hardworking foreigner so I can have some self respect and pay taxes."

"To find a job that will give me a reason to get out of the house everyday."

"To get a job that's not in retail so I can finally get a mortgage and do my part to boost the economy."

Hell, I could even make a totally honest cover letter and REALLY let it fly.

Let's face it, we all know once it comes down to the interview it's about whether they like you or not... but I have to get that interview first.

Ideas?

I'm blaming childbirth.

2009-02-05T14:00:00.005+11:00

*Current recreation of said old photo.

*Scene: Melyssa and I are sitting on the lounge watching TV. Melyssa is looking through my archives and I see her pull up a picture. (Go look, I'll wait.) She looks at me, looks at the picture, and looks back at me.

"Hey hon, look at this picture. It doesn't look anything like you! Do you even recognize this chick?"

"Jesus! Who IS that?! Why do I look so different? Is it just the hair? And no glasses?"

Melyssa pats my cheek and smooths my hair looking at me sweetly.

"Aww... you look tired. You need a week off."

It Doesn't Necessarily Mean I'll Be Blogging More.

2009-02-04T19:44:00.005+11:00

I've decided it's time to go back to my roots. All Drains just never really felt like 'home(page)' to me but more of a cover and let's face it, this title is still catchier. And less cliche.

I wish I could say I've spent the time since last November just working to make this place so cool, but... it's only taken me the last couple days between picking Kylan up and turning him around so he'll stop eating the carpet. Plus, it wouldn't say much about me if I'd been working on this place so long and not finished it yet.

That image up there, btw, for the uninitiated is from Andy Riley's 2009 calendar of Bunny Suicides. Cracks my shit up. He also has a couple books out called "Great Lies to Tell Small Kids" which I'm dying to get.

Who DOESN'T want to get their kid a book like that?

I've also gone through and deleted some older posts, I'm sure you can guess which ones and those reasons yourself. But going through my older shit it's really opened my eyes to though things have been... complicated... these last few years, they've also been really good.

I'm sure we've all heard throughout our lives that you should do everything you want to do before you have kids and I've only recently noticed just how true... and not... that is. I don't think its that having a kid changes those types of things so much, it's just more that it ruins your daydreams. You can't watch an ad about studying abroad or hiking through the treetops and think "I could do that" and daydream it all the way through without the reality check that you CAN'T. You never would have done it anyway, but it takes the thrill out of thinking about things.

Going through my old stuff though I realized that as much as I've spent a lot of time thinking about the things I wish I HADN'T done, there is so much out there that I've forgotten I HAVE done. Not only in this past year, but in my lifetime. And I can see just how hard my parents worked, my dad in particular, to make sure we had those experiences. And I love them for it. I even sent them a letter today thanking them for it.

I've played piano, tennis, soccer, softball. I spent summers sailing, chartered a yacht around the Gulf Islands in Canada, hiked/biked more national parks than I can name, and seen a large portion of America. Yet I don't know how I'm going to share any of that with Kylan.

But I'm certainly going to try and make the most of our time. What are you going/trying to share with your kids?

Shitting Me.

2008-11-14T11:06:00.001+11:00

-That I've completely acclimated to Australian food, especially dairy, so all the things I was looking forward to being able to have in America again... I'm going to hate. Nothing will be as I remember it and I'm not even going to be able to enjoy a Starbucks.

-The exchange rate. It totally sucks.

-The whole in-law thing.
1. My sister is sleeping with my brother-in-law. Umm... EWW. Tell me that doesn't sound incestuous. I know they're married but... it's just wrong.
2. What about Melyssa's brother's wife? He's my brother-in-law, but what is she? My sister-in-law? Or nothing at all? And what's her family to me, or Melyssa?

-As overwhelming as the feeling of coming home is... eventually it all becomes bittersweet as you realize that everything has, and is still continuing to, moving on without you. I think it will be extremely apparent that this is where I belong, making the whole trip a bit anti-climatic.

-Not quite mobile children. Especially ones who spend all day rolling back and forth across the room but once they're in bed cry because they can't remember how to get off their tummy. How do you explain to a 4 month old that 10 minutes doesn't count as a nap and they need to stop doing push ups and go back to sleep?

-My accent hasn't changed at all, so no one will know I've been in Australia unless I tell them. Albeit, I haven't really tried to change it, just my vocabulary, but I can't even fake it. It's nowhere close.

-The fact that I love my cheapo toothbrush way more than my handy dandy cool electrical one.

-Children for whom nothing works twice when trying to get them to sleep. It's so bad it makes me feel guilty for asking my mother to babysit, ever, whilst we're in America.

-The weather on Sunday in LA is supposed to be 94 degrees. That's 34 celsius. And even though it's almost summer here... we've made sure we bought Kylan a bunch of winter clothes for America. Apparently, all for nothing.

Desperation at it's Finest.

2008-11-08T15:51:00.001+11:00

The last 2 weeks or so Kylan's napping and sleeping abilities have been slowly going downhill.

We thought it was just a growth spurt, or teething, or just a change in routine as he got older.

Then it got worse.

He started crying every time he was put down in his cot, or every time we walked out of his room. Last night he cried from 7-9:30pm only stopping when I read to him, or held him, or talked to him.

We tried everything.

Google.

The baby whisperer.

Reading.

Rocking.

Singing.

Crying it out.

Bathes.

Routines.

Watching his cues, responding promptly, making sure we were in his 'sleep window'.

We've spent many a night where we've considered letting him stay asleep in his carseat, putting the monitor in the car, and locking the doors.

The only thing that has worked consistently for us to feed him to sleep which was just making the problem worse. It meant he was relying on us to put him to sleep, and resulted in him waking up crying when we weren't there instead of waking up peacefully.

The cot has become a war-zone... as we knew it would eventually.

I don't know if this is better or worse than a friend of mine who refused to sleep until she saw the "Chicky Lights."

Translate that into toddler, and it meant she refused to sleep until her parents would drive her to the local KFC to see the lit up sign.

But hey, at least it was consistent and it meant she slept.

As the nights pass, and cries change to smiles the second he sees us, it's becoming more apparent that our little 4 month old has developed a new skill... manipulation.

But the tide may be turning...

This morning I was reminded of the little star nightlight/lullaby cot companion we had. After the batteries ran out a few months ago we forgot about it.

Unfortunately, it turns out it wasn't the batteries, but the whole thing shat itself.

Like any desperate parent would let that stop them...

I went MacGuiver on it's ass.

Behold.

Oh yes, that's a cell phone!

I took Melyssa's old cell phone which still had some of her old music on it, created a quick playlist of Melissa Etheridge and Missy Higgins, MacGuivered it to his cot and would you believe it? It worked.

He just layed there. I walked in and out of the room, he couldn't have cared less.

I heard a little whine when the music ended... and then nothing for another hour.

Thank god for the endless useless capabilites of handheld objects which never do the one thing you want them for... until you get rid of them.

Heartbroken.

2008-11-07T14:33:00.001+11:00

I truly do not understand.

I woke up this morning and I can no longer get married.

Imagine waking up tomorrow and finding out that you can no longer dream about your wedding, you can no longer plan your wedding, you can no longer have any hope of getting married, or you are no longer married at all.

Because of your race.

Because one of you is military.

Because of the color of your hair.

Because you've already been divorced.

Because your neighbours don't like you.

Because the guy in the shop on the corner doesn't like your partner.

Because the person you love doesn't meet someone else's standards.

Now imagine telling your child why they may not be able to get married one day. Explaining to your child why you can never be married. Why you don't 'deserve' to get married.

Discrimination is the word that comes to my mind.

If this happened to another group of people they'd run riot. They'd be on the steps of the White House. They'd stage protests. It would make national headlines and "DISCRIMINATION" would be shouted from the rooftops.

But I'm gay, so my opinion doesn't matter.

It's ok to take away my rights.

It's ok to tell me that I don't deserve the same rights you do.

It's ok to tell me I'm separate, not equal.

All because I'm in love. Happily. Starting my own family. Paying my taxes. Your average law-abiding citizen in a loving and respecting relationship... who dared to love your son or daughter... but not the one you wanted me to.

It was one thing when we never had the right. I get that. Change sucks. 'What if' always get blown out of proportion. You needed time to come around to it, to get used to the idea, to think about it.

Everyone has the right to think through their own decisions.

And everyone has the right to their own opinions.

I respect that.

But gay marriage was legal for 6 months. Did you even notice? Did you remember? Did it affect you in any way?

What about your own relationship? For the last 6 months have you felt invalidated? Threatened? Has your own relationship been affected directly, or indirectly, through a few more people getting married?

I just don't get it.

I'm sure you have friends where you don't like their spouses. I'm sure you have family where you don't like your in-laws. Do you believe you should have the right to tell them that they're not allowed to legally be married because of that? Should someone tell you you can't be married because they don't like you or your partner?

What about murderers and prisoners? They lose their consititutional right to vote, their right to bear arms... but they can still get married even when they're on death row. Why them and not me?

I'm not naive. I know one day my son will come to me and ask why he has 2 mommies when his friend has a mom and a dad. But I can answer that honestly and truthfully. I can explain to him openly, with no reservations, that not everyone has 2 parents. That some people have a mom and a dad. Some people have just a mom, or just a dad. Some people don't have any parents, but they have foster parents, or grandparents, or step parents. Some people have two moms and two dads, and sometimes those moms or dads live together. All that matters is that they have someone who loves them. That's what makes a family.

But what do I say when he asks me why his mommies aren't married?

Because some people don't like us? Because some people think we're inately wrong and don't even deserve to have a son? Because some people think we should be discriminated against because we shouldn't love each other?

God forbid he be taught either at home or in school acceptance and equality to all people.

I just don't get it.

I don't understand how we can go from slavery to a black president, but not from two consenting adults who love each other, to two consenting adults who love each other.

I don't understand what makes someone else better than me.

I don't understand what makes someone else more qualified to be married than me.

I don't understand what qualifications someone else has to tell me who I can love.

I don't understand.

AUSSIEAUSSIEAUSSIE! OY! OY! OY!

2008-11-06T14:33:00.001+11:00

While I really want to rant about how heartbreaking I find California's decision... not only has Melyssa beaten me to it, but there's news that trumps it.

Immigration just called.

I'm officially approved!

The paperwork is in the mail, she sent it pretty much the second she received Kylan's documents and I am now an official Temporary Resident of Australia!!!

That means in 2 years, if Melyssa and I are still together, I get Permanent Residency!

And then, if I want it, Citizenship!

I can stay!

Ok, I really never doubted that I'd be able to stay, but nonetheless, I'm staying!

Legally!

Yipee!

*The "official" 'Go Aussie!' type cheer for Olympics, World Cup, Australia Day, etc.

The Big C.

2008-11-04T13:08:00.001+11:00

Years ago I remember my parents mentioning offhand that the daughter of one of my teachers had been diagnosed with skin cancer after scratching a mole. I knew scratching it didn't cause the cancer, probably just lead her to the doctor, but I didn't think much of it except that she wasn't much older than I was.

Until a year or two later when my parents told me she had died.

From a mole.

A few years ago I woke up to find that a mole on my shoulder was bleeding. I didn't waste any time and immediately called the dermatologist. I went in to get it checked a few days later and the Dr was surprised that it was the only reason I had come in. She said the mole was completely normal and I, or my cats, must have scratched it in my sleep.

After I got home that night I realized I should have asked her to check me completely while I was there and decided to check myself. I found a few moles that looked differently from the others, and one on my leg that I noticed. I can't say why I noticed it, I can't say why it was different, I just noticed it. But since I'd just been to the dermatologist that day, I felt silly to go straight back in for a reason I couldn't explain.

Over the years I've never forgotten that mole. I've always checked it regularly and although I've never been able to point out a specific change or difference I've always just wanted to get it checked. It's always stayed on my mind.

Two weeks ago I did. And two weeks ago I was diagnosed with skin cancer. Melanoma. The worst of them.

All because I went to my local clinic for a 5 minute full body check.

The Dr checked me all over and said he wasn't comfortable with leaving that mole there. That was all he said about it. 5 minutes later, after some local anesthetic, he had replaced that mole with 4 stitches.

I didn't really think about it again, other than the fact that I was so surprised that having stitches didn't hurt. I hardly noticed them. Being the first time I'd ever had stitches besides childbirth, it was really a nice surprise.

Two days later Melyssa called me from work trying not to cry.

Melyssa works for the pathology company that my mole had been sent to and was the one to receive the fax of my results. Faxes are always bad news in pathology, it means they can't wait the couple hours it'll be before the results are uploaded on the computer.

She'd already gone into full panic-mode. The entire medical centre knew my results, she'd managed to panic everyone she talked to, and apparently had half of them in tears trying to figure out how to tell me.

I didn't exactly react how she expected.

All I saw was the bottom line. Although I had come back positive for melanoma, I had also come back with a .5mm margin, meaning there was .5mm of regular tissue surrounding the melanoma. The doctor had already removed it all.

I had cancer. But it was gone before I even knew it was there. What was there to panic about?

Mind you this is coming from someone whose mother has survived breast cancer. Whose mother has had skin cancer twice, and was having surgery for it the same week. The same mother who along with her two sisters has had a preventative hysterectomy to make sure they would never get the same cancer their mother died of. All before her mother was 50.

In retrospect I was just trying to calm Melyssa down. We've never both broken down at the same time, we always have each other to lean on.

The following Monday I was expected back in the clinic to officially hear my results. They were already double booked, but asked me to come in anyway and they'd fit me in. It was that important.

The night before, it hit me. Really hit me. What my mother had gone through, what a friend of Melyssa's is going through right now, why they had both fought, and were still fighting, so hard.

I'll admit, I panicked. The thought of leaving Melyssa, of leaving Kylan, of leaving Melyssa to tell Kylan about me because he wouldn't remember me. It was heartbreaking. And it's still something I think about everyday.

How can you not?

That Monday I received the official news that it was Cancer. I'll have to get full body checks every 6 months for the next few years... if not forever. He took pictures of another mole on my side that he's not comfortable with and I'll have to go back in 8 weeks to see if it's changed at all.

And then he took a chunk 3 times the size of the original out of my leg.

Just to be safe.

The blue marks around the outside in the shape of an eye is what he actually cut out, along with going at least 5mm deep all the way around.

I'll admit, cancer or not I love wounds. The second it was pulled out I was inspecting both the chunk and my leg and it was much bigger than I expected. The Dr actually had to tell me to lay back down because I was so excited looking at it.

Then he stitched it back together with both internal and external stitches. The yellow bruised bits on the end are now soft and squishy, as though they're just empty gathers of skin with nothing underneath... which I guess they actually are. A stark contrast to the skin on either side of the stitches which has been stretched and feels tight and hard.

I'm lucky in the location, and that in a few years it probably won't be noticeable at all. Right now, if I point it out, you can see where my leg is concave from the fat layer that was scooped out. It'll take awhile before that fills back in.

Hopefully this is the end of it. The results are back and they weren't faxed through. There was no more melanoma or cancer cells in the bigger piece that was removed and as long as my lymph nodes don't swell it should all be gone for good.

But if I ever get anything showing up in that spot again I have to go straight to the doctor. Doesn't matter if it's a freckle or an ingrown hair, I have to go back.

I guess in the scheme of things it's all good news... except that I am now officially more susceptible to both skin and other cancers. It may never be over.

But for now I accept that it is.

GET YOURSELF CHECKED.

UPDATE: Reinforcing how lucky I am: My sister-in-law's sister's fiance (not as far removed as it sounds) just found out he has 2 months to live. From a melanoma.

Attn: Californian Voters.

2008-10-30T15:37:00.001+11:00

I think I may have mentioned this earlier when I was talking about voting but I really only registered because I have an opinion about the president and a personal interest in (NO! On) Prop 8.

But there's all this other stuff in there.

Being away I haven't seen any of the ads, I haven't talked to anyone, I know nothing about anything other than these little carefully worded blurbs on recycled paper.

Are there any props that are important to you? Anything you'd like my support on? Reasons help. :)

Another Sign Your Life Has Changed.

2008-10-24T16:03:00.001+11:00

Sitting on the couch watching your two favorite characters from your favorite TV show FINALLY hook up... while your son sits on your lap 3 hours past his bedtime showing you how he learned to blow spit through his lips to make fart noises today.

Guess What I'm Voting!

2008-10-21T23:10:00.001+11:00

Oh Baby!

2008-10-17T17:50:00.001+11:00

We just got the birth certificate! And not a moment too soon! It is officially the first same-sex birth certificate ever issued in Australia!

Before we leave we still need to get Kylan a passport, receive Melyssa's new passport in the mail, and send Immigration copies of his passport and birth certificate.

If we're lucky and things go as planned, it'll all be done by next week... but who knows. It's starting to feel like we're cutting it a lot closer than we are.

I'm just glad we're finally going to have Immigration done one way or another. Then again, then it'll be time to actually stress about what the decision will be!

In other news, I haven't done an update about Kylan in awhile. I just feel like blogging about him is so... boring. Worse than mommy blogging it'd just be factual updates and endless posting of pictures... the same pictures available just over there --->

Kylan is currently 15 weeks... and bigger than our friend's 5 month old. He's just massive. Another half a kilo and we'll have to turn the car seat around already, a milestone which is usually reached around 6 months old. Not only that, but he's only one size smaller than his cousin was on his first birthday.

He started getting his first tooth already too, we had joked he was teething already, but now it turns out he's got a tooth poking through on the bottom. It's really far to the right side though, which I think is kinda weird. His top gums are really hard, almost clinking against the plastic spoon, so we're expecting more any day soon.

He's taking it like a champ. Other than some dribbling and some difficulty falling asleep, he's just been great. Nothing a little Panadol can't handle!

He's just starting to play with toys, and it's been taking him a lot of concentration. There just doesn't seem to be any toys that interest him enough to reach out for, the most he's doing is hitting things in his lap and very rarely picking them up to put in his mouth. It's frustrating when we know gnawing on something will help his gums, but he doesn't chew on anything other than his hands.

His absolutely favorite toy by far is his Hippo which we hang where he can see from his car seat. Every time we start to get him out of the car he gives Hippo a great big smile like "Bye! See you soon!" and sometimes Hippo will stop him from crying more than his dummy will.

19 Seconds of Kylan giggles...

Long Arm Of The Law.

2008-10-09T07:47:00.001+11:00

I'm going to take risk here, I'm not proud of what I'm about to say but I also really would like opinions/answers... assuming they're not the antagonist scare tactic type ones.

I've never voted.

I know, I know. Every vote counts, we should be grateful we even have the right, you can't complain about the gov't then not do anything about it, blahdy blahdy blah...

But I haven't. I've lied a couple times and said I did, but I didn't.

This year I really want to vote. I'm aware of the irony in the fact that the one time I want to I'm not even in the country, and I still don't think my vote will make any different and frankly... I don't really even think that anyone can fuck things up more than they already are (or even fix them)... but I really don't want to find out either.

I know I can register for my absentee ballot online, I have all the information... but I have a dilemma.

A year ago, just before I left America, I had my license suspended for failing to appear/failing to pay/failing to give a damn about the fact that I had been driving without insurance. I also have one or two credit cards in collection. Not major amounts, but not worth dealing with right now either.

Yes, yes, I know. I could make rationalities, explanations, excuses, but I'm not going to bother. They're just things left over from my old life that I need to deal with... eventually.

So here's my question... if I register to vote, will those things then stalk me here?

Rrr! I'd totally roll my R's if I could.

2008-10-06T18:07:00.001+11:00

So now that Melyssa and I have worn out all our TV on DVD (any suggestions? Just finished Big Love, Dexter and L Word) we've taken to doing puzzles in bed. Not those kind of puzzles, crosswords, sudoku and word puzzle types.

Last night I tried a new type of puzzle, called "Sounds Like". It's your standard word search, but instead of a list of words to look for it gives you a homophone, like "Horse" so in the word search you find "Hoarse". Get the idea? Genes for Jeans, Knight for Night, etc. If you don't get it, don't do this puzzle.

It really wasn't hard, but there were two that I just could NOT figure out.

Sauce.

Court.

And it was driving me up the fucking wall.

I know you're trying to figure it out now, did you get it?

Because I couldn't. So I gave in and asked Melyssa. Without skipping a beat she had the answer for me.

"Honey, what would it be for Sauce?"

"Sauce? Sauce."

"Excuse me?"

"All I can think of is Sauce. S-O-U-R-C-E."

It made perfect sense to her. Because Australian's don't fucking pronounce the letter R.

So did you figure out Court yet?

Well obviously, it's Court. C-A-U-G-H-T.

And you know what? She was right.

And while we're on this subject, will the Americans please clear this up for us? How do you pronounce the word "Been"? As in, "I've been there."

Is it pronounced the same as Ben or Bean?

America! Food! Family! America!

2008-10-06T18:05:00.001+11:00

2/3 American, 2/3 Australian.

2008-09-29T16:18:00.001+10:00

Way fun stuff going on over here!

Melyssa, Kylan and I are going to America for Thanksgiving! We leave November 16th and get back December 7th!

I don't know how Kylan's going to do on the plane ride, especially with the horrible time change, but I guess we'll find out!

Also exciting news? Kylan has dual citizenship!

Our birth certificate is being rushed to us, and because Melyssa is listed as his mother he gets an Australian Passport. We talked to Immigration today and she said if he has an Australian passport then he doesn't have to go through Immigration, he's Australian!

After we get it we have to send it to our case worker so she can verify it then she'll give us the decision on my Visa! She said we'll know before we even leave for America!

Things are looking GREAT!!!

WEGOTITWEGOTITWEGOTIT!!!

2008-09-26T13:58:00.001+10:00

After being dicked around for 12 weeks and 3 days we finally got it! A birth certificate with BOTH my name and Melyssa's as parents! Legal parents!

Well, kinda anyway. We have the FORM to fill out to get it!

First there was the lady in the office who said to call the 800 number and refused to call it for us.

Then there were the weeks of people at the 800 number who couldn't give us any information about when or if it would be available other than "a few weeks".

Then there was the parliament member's office who sent us the legal legislation and cussed out the people at the 800 number on our behalf..

Then the lady in the office, who again, said there was nothing she could for us.

And the Attorney General's office who said it would be MONTHS and we'd be better off just applying in my name.

And then... there was the lady in the office with the gay daughter. Our savior.

She had us fill out the form, attached a little note saying what we wanted, and today we got the proper forms to fill out, with a prepaid Express Post Next Day Delivery addressed envelope, and a letter which says fill it out, send it in, and I'll mail you the birth certificate.

About. Goddamn. Time.

But seeing as we were expecting a birth certificate with just my name on it, and now we'll have one to give to immigration with BOTH our names on it, and we can FINALLY finish Immigration... today ROCKS!

12 Week Irresistability.

2008-09-24T18:21:00.001+10:00

Who can resist these cheeks?!

If you're interested, I also uploaded two quick videos of him.

Pirate Boy!

And Frustrated Boy!

Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda.

2008-09-21T20:36:00.001+10:00

Have you ever had those moments where you feel like you could have, or should have, done something more? In the moral dilemma sense?

Like when you see a kid being picked on in the park, or the person in front of you in line being discriminated against because of their race?

We all like to think we'd do something, say something, anything, but when it comes down to it, would you really?

I had one of those situations last month. One where something was seriously wrong, one where someone else needed to get involved one way or another.

But I didn't do anything.

Melyssa and I were on our way home in a part of town I don't know well, and walking along the road was a woman. I don't know how old she was, I'm going to guess 20's, with long stringy hair, dirty clothes, and barefoot. It was clear she was intoxicated, heavily. I'm going to guess drugs, and so intoxicated that she could hardly walk. She was stumbling, barely able to keep her balance, stomping one foot down in front of her and dragging the other. The kind of walk you do when you can't remember how and have to focus on taking each and every step. Her face was just vacant.

It was just a sad, disturbing and disgusting sight to see... the type of person you would immediately write off as a hopeless case, only a matter of time, and cross the street to avoid...

But in her arms was a baby, about 6 months old.

I didn't know what to do.

I wanted to turn around. To cry. To scream at her. To call the police. To follow her. I fantasized about kidnapping the baby, going through all the options. Keeping it. Dropping it at the hospital. Doing something. Doing anything.

But in the end... I did nothing.

I don't know why. Maybe I thought with all those other people on the road, in the streets, that someone else would do something. Maybe I thought that her neighbors would do something if they hadn't already. Maybe I thought that short of following her, the police wouldn't be able to do anything. Maybe I was worried about involving my own son asleep in the backseat. Maybe I was just grateful it wasn't him. Or maybe I just thought it was none of my business.

But everyday I can still picture her perfectly. Everyday I wish I had done something. I wish there was something I could still do.

Everyday I feel guilt. Heavy shameful guilt. And I don't even know where we were to go back and try.

What would you do? What would you have done?

What Could Have Been.

2008-09-16T12:35:00.001+10:00

I've been spending a lot of this past year thinking about where I've been, what I've done, how I've gotten here. Most of the time I am so proud and happy of where I am, of how my life has turned out.

But there are also times where I'm nostalgic for how things could or "should" have been, and even times I'm ashamed for how I've gotten here.

I was on Myspace today (everyday) and saw that one of my best friends from high school had posted pictures from her wedding.

Kristina.

Just her name makes me nostalgic.

We met riding the bus together in high school, she was wearing an Emily Strange shirt, the first one I'd ever seen, and we bonded over the fact that we each thought a boy had a crush on us, which turned out to be the same boy. (Who, interesting fact, is now gay.)

Soon we were best friends, driving to school together every morning, ditching pep rallies, passing notes, and everything else teenagers do.

Well, almost.

Senior year she fell in with some new friends and started partying pretty hard. Clubbing, fake IDs, drinking, staying out all night, nothing normal teenagers didn't do... except that I didn't do any of it. Yet somehow she still managed to be the most responsible and focused person I knew. She was taking courses at the community college, working at a gym, and knew exactly what she wanted out of life.

We stayed best friends, held hands as walked we through the stadium at high school graduation and spent most of grad night together, and stayed close our first year of college still seeing each of regularly.

Then eventually it changed. We just got caught up in our lives. She met her boyfriend that summer, lived at home while going to community college and eventually commuting to a University while working full time and interning at a hospital.

I dropped out of college, started working full time, lied to her when I started dating my first girlfriend, and as I'd always been... got pretty self involved.

We went from talking daily to monthly, then 6 monthly... and now... I don't think I've talked to her since her college graduation almost 3 years ago. And that night, once again, I was completely self involved and inadvertently rude at her party.

She's married now to the same guy she'd been dating since that summer, and doing almost exactly what she set out to do. After high school she pretty much stopped partying, got serious, and got down to her life. She was so responsible she lived at home to save money, to pay for college, to start her life on her own terms. She did everything right. Everything as planned.

I knew she always would. And I am so fucking proud of her. Not only did she do it all, but she's genuinely happy.

Which can't help me from thinking... What if?

What if I hadn't dropped out of college?

What if I hadn't had the jobs I've had?

What if I had followed The Plan? Any of The Plans? Gone into Sports Med? Become a European History teacher? Or been a vet with my own ranch for rescued horses, running a camp and teaching lessons to children?

I have to admit, it makes me sad to see Kristina so happy and successful, knowing that I could be there too right now. It makes me sad to see people younger than me, in professions that I could have had. Seeing it all makes me think that all these years... I've just wasted.

And in a lot of ways I have.

But then there's the part of me that sees all the little things that got me here. How dropping out of college and meeting that girlfriend got me into banking. How banking lead me to Brooke, and Brooke to Melyssa. How losing that job brought me both Melyssa and Kylan.

I may not have taken the easy way here, but if I had, odds are I wouldn't have either of them. And I have to think that if I had taken the easy way here, the mistakes would have come one way or another and it doesn't matter. All that matters is I'm here now.

Unfortunately it doesn't change that off the top of my head I can think of two other friends, like Kristina, who were everything to me one day, and I lost the next because I was too caught up in myself and my own things. Yes, we may have drifted apart, but they kept giving me chances. They kept trying. And I took it for granted. I wasn't there for them the way they were for me, and I was the one who eventually just couldn't be bothered to pick up the phone, or even answer their calls.

Maybe it's too late for all of us. Maybe I'll never know. But at least I have this. At least I have right now, even if right now is sitting in my pajamas being drooled on while I watch Oprah. I wouldn't change being here for the world, even if I'm not proud of how it happened.

Where could you have been?

Go Ahead. Hate Me.

2008-09-15T15:35:00.001+10:00

Kylan will be 11 weeks this Tuesday and while I haven't been around much it's not because I'm adjusting to motherhood. In fact I'd ask, What adjustment?

I know I'm shooting myself in the foot here, but I just keep waiting for it to get hard. I feel like nothing has changed. Life with him is just totally normal.

Motherhood is EASY. Of course, I have to think that part of that is due to reading The Baby Whisperer before he was born since she solved the only potential problem we might have had. When he was switching from newborn sleep-all-the-time-cuz-I-wanna to infant I'm-tired-but-I'm-going-to-cry-until-you-figure-it-out I remembered what she'd said about setting up a routine. Turns out, at his age he was only supposed to be awake for an hour at a time.

Fuck if I knew that. I thought he'd sleep when he was tired, or should stay awake all day. Hell, I felt guilty always putting him down to sleep, like I was just being lazy or taking the easy way out. As soon as I started watching for the signs that he was tired turns out... it was on the hour like clockwork! No more problems.

This whole motherhood thing is just... natural. We were out shopping within a couple days of him being born.

So without further ado, a list of things I love about Kylan. (Yes, I know you don't care but I want this to look back at when I don't remember these little things.)

-The way he can stare at the ceiling and kick the air with a smile on his face for hours.

-The way he watches TV upside down while we change him.

-The way he curls his toes against my face when I kiss his feet.

-The feeling of his little squishy bum in my hand when we give him free ballin' time.

-Picking the hand fluff out of his fingers from keeping his hands in fists so often.

-The smell of his sweaty little hands, especially when they're up near his face and his sweet milky breath.

-The grey and slate blue color of his eyes.

-His rolly polly thighs.

-His hairy little welcome mat on his back, and the long black hairs on the back of his ears that hasn't fallen out yet.

-The way he always gets so much attention when we're out. He can't help it, he's cute.

-His hair. It couldn't be more perfect than if we'd gotten it styled.

-Dressing him up in obsessively matched unbearably cute and impractical outfits. With shoes. Always with shoes. And matching socks.

-The way he wraps his arm around our shoulders when we hold him.

-The way when the sun hits his face he throws himself backwards to get out of it instead of burying into our shoulders.

-The way he burrows into our chests when he's tired.

-The way he smiles when his nanna or Melyssa play with him.

-The sound of his snoring through the monitor.

Party!

2008-09-02T11:42:00.001+10:00

Melyssa's brother turned 30 this year and had a massive party. We're talking karoake, two margarita machines, catered dinner, the works. It was fucking awesome! Behold the pictures*...

And the morning after...

*No shit from you Aunty Gregory for no pictures, you're so damn picky I didn't want to post any that you might not "approve" of. See, I'm thinking of you...

The Grown Up.

2008-08-18T16:07:00.001+10:00

I'm all for reinventing myself.

I've done this more times than I can remember, from athlete to artist, surfer to goth, trendy bitch to scary trendy bitch.

When I reinvent, I throw myself into it. I love changing my wardrobe, trying to find different styles and pieces, studying similar people to find My Look, and that inner nervous-giddy I get when I go out for the first time.

And the hair. I LOVE changing my hair, I always have. I've never had the nerve to really do anything drastic, but I think it makes the outfit. Makes the person. I know I don't look it, I never do anything with my hair on a daily basis other than a boring middle part, bandana, or ponytail but I love a drastic new haircut or color and how it justifies paying 'too much' for "salon quality" hair products.

I am totally hording a dream of becoming a hairdresser.

But I guess you could say what I love most is the shock factor. The way changing elicits reactions from everyone. It's like the way you love to shock your mother. It's just fun. And probably why I am so in love with my 4 inch platform knee high bondage boots.

And come to think of it, why I work so hard to be seen only as one type of person but when I meet people who only know me as the one, I go out of my way to shock them with pictures of how I used to be.

Lately, I'm going through another transformation. And while I'm loving that this means new clothes, and that this new look is much more relaxed and low maintenance, it's also... Adult.

It's kinda scary. My obsession over what to wear and trying on 3 different things before I leave the house is the same, but instead of deciding between fishnets and belt buckles I'm deciding between t-shirts and jerseys.

Everything I was proud of, my alternative wardrobe, my signature accessories and hair, in short, the way I looked, I don't care about anymore.

I mean, I CARE. I put effort into myself, I'm not a total slag. But where as once I was looking forward to the day I could get back into My Things, show people who I "really am", I just don't care. I hardly even care about getting my body back.

I'm just... relaxed.

I'm rethinking my entire exterior, and what's scaring me the most... I'm even rethinking if I really want to get another tattoo. Ever.

I have this overwhelming desire to be adult. I don't know if it's being a mom, or just my age (25 is young, but not Young) but I want to be seen as a mom. As an adult. As responsible. Where I was once proud of how I appeared, of how I thought people saw me, I'm now afraid of being seen as too young to have a son. I'm afraid of being compared to all the pregnant teenagers and knocked up junkies.

I want to look my age, but respectably so.

Is this just another phase? Another look? Or is this what it's called to come into your own?

Sneak Peak.

2008-08-14T16:15:00.001+10:00

I can't show off these new pictures in my usual way (Flickr) because they overlap with my mom's birthday present (which is late) but since I'm so excited about them and can't even show them off to Melyssa yet, you're getting a sneak peak.

The ones where he's dressed his top says "My hero is a Cancer Slayer. (But I just call her Grandma.)" for my mom's birthday.

I'm slightly obsessed with my son.

Unexpected Awesomeness.

2008-08-11T17:21:00.001+10:00

Having a baby is great. But the never-ending flow of gifts, well, it certainly keeps the novelty from wearing off.

Behold some unexpected awesomeness we've recently received.

One of a dozen burp clothes my mom and her sisters made for us, except I get the feeling she doesn't actually know what she wrote on this one... Aussie translation: Fuckin' Fartin' Cowboy.

T-shirt from Auntie Greg. You can't go wrong with insults, and i think we're going to make sure he's wearing it whenever Greg is holding him.

Randomly appearing in the mail without notice? That'd be Annie's. How fucking cool are THESE?! She'll know soon how even MORE perfect they are after I get around to writing the blog I've been meaning to about what it's like being Two Mums.

(Shit! Annie! I totally forgot to send you your thank you email! So sorry! We love them! Thank you!)

Gift from one of Melyssa's co-workers. Even though we're not breastfeeding anymore (it's a long crying/screaming/guilty story, weaned with Doctor's blessing) how can you go wrong with a Boob Boy?

Another totally unexpected from Qiana, you can never go wrong with anything from Retro Baby.

Speaking of gifts (and because I never miss a moment to show off my kid) check out my hardcore man with his faux-hawk and skull singlet from Jamie.

No small feat, you can only be so hardcore in a Winnie The Pooh nappy.

Holy Motherfucking Miracle.

2008-08-09T10:26:00.001+10:00

Kylan just woke up. And it's 10am.

Finished a feed around 11:30 last night, whinged around 5:30 but was asleep when we went in, and nothing else until now!

He's always been a good sleeper but HOT DAMN!

Whatever the hell it is we did yesterday we're sure as hell going to do again. I just wish I knew what it was...

EDIT: Apparently I stand corrected. While yes, he whinged at 5:30 and then stopped, he apparently started again and Melyssa fed him... whilst I slept. Oops! It seemed a little long to me... Either way, I got a lot of sleep!

This Post Brought To You By Phenergan.

2008-08-01T08:57:00.000+10:00

Cute:
When your partner refuses to wake up because she "can't find her feet".

Not Cute:
When your partner refuses to wake up because she "can't find her feet" even though the baby's crying and it's very clearly her turn.

Whorish Addictions.

2008-07-31T16:03:00.000+10:00

Confession.

I am an Internet Addict.

Ok, maybe you're not surprised. Most people know this about me, and I have a theory that all bloggers are. Well, that and narcissists.

For awhile I had an excuse, long distance relationship, email as main form of contact, who wouldn't be constantly attached?

But I take it at least a step further. In the list of Top Relationship Fights, my Internet addiction is easily in the Top 5. Maybe even Top 3.

If I can't be on the Internet, I'm thinking about it. Wondering what I'm missing, getting antsy thinking about the things I need to look at and check, and even when I know I've JUST checked something, I'm constantly refreshing Just In Case.

The Internet is practically my mistress. The Other Woman. And now that I make that analogy, wow. I totally understand why I've gotten in so many fights over it, because it's so sadly true.

It's not just Myspace and Email, but probably my theory that you can find anything on the Internet... if you know where to look. And remember to take the parental controls off.

But most of all, I'm an IMDB Whore. I am queen of "Where do we know him from?!" and if I can't figure it out in 5 seconds jumping online to find out. Of course, even if I do know, I jump online anyway just to see if I'm right, or where else I know them from, or mostly, just to prove Melyssa wrong... which usually ends up with her giving me an "I told you so" look because she's ALWAYS right.

This isn't the point. I just threw in the IMDB reference to see if anyone else out there is an IMDB Whore.

The point is, after Kylan was born I lost my addiction.

Which I'm not using for lack of blogging, because I was pretty shitty before then, but I just can't care less. Days passed where I didn't even check my email, let alone Myspace. And when I did, I could hardly be bothered to skim my forums, let alone return emails and check my blogs.

This is a MAJOR thing for me, because I'm still hardly online compared to what I was. Google is going through withdrawals from my sudden lack of random searches.

I can't even blame Kylan, other than today he's been almost entirely maintenance free. Eat, Sleep, Poop and even when he is awake he's content just to stare at the walls and practice pulling funny faces. I can't even blame lack of sleep because other than wanting a nap here or there, I'm getting a hell of a lot more sleep than I thought I would be.

They say your priorities shift when you have a baby, that you suddenly have to be completely selfless and grow up and while I knew I'd change, that I was changing already, I NEVER saw this coming.

Internet, I think we need to talk... it may be time to break up.

Fucking Life.

2008-07-19T13:01:00.000+10:00

You know how sometimes the obvious just hits you and no matter how stupid or blatant the significance just blindsides you? Like the first time you realize that the little red symbol on the side of the Target building IS a target.

Shut up. You know you've had moments like that too.

I'm living in AUSTRALIA. Halfway around the world where it's totally normal to find a kangaroo or koala in your backyard. And it feels completely normal. Just like home. Even the words and foods and accents and people. This is just home. AUSTRALIA. Let's face it, no one thought this was ever REALLY going to happen.

I spend every single day waking up and going to bed with MELYSSA. MY MELYSSA. The same woman who a year ago I was crying over because she had just left America and we didn't know when we were going to see each other again. I get to be with her Every Single Day. In person! All the time!

I'm a MOM. I was pregnant, with a great big moving basketball, then had Scary Natural Labor, and now... Kylan's not just a word. It's a name. I don't just have a baby, I have a son. A child. A little person that's part of both myself and Melyssa. I'm never going to get a full night's sleep again because some kid is running around calling me Mom.

How is this my life? Especially considering where things were a year ago?

I fucking love my life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need some cuddles from my child.

Oh, and because I don't know who has blog custody of our new photos, check them out in my Flickr. And before you ask, Yes, I am one of those mum's who posts the same picture 3 times because her kid moved his foot and now he's that much cuter.

What The World Needs, Another Mommy Blogger.

2008-07-15T12:25:00.001+10:00

Don't you hate those bloggers that have a baby and then disappear for 2 weeks? I mean really, we all know the kid is doing nothing but eating, sleeping and pooping and the mother is doing nothing but staring at them, so why the no blogging?

Personally, it's because I even bore myself. You thought it was bad when I was pregnant? Try "Kylan does the cutest ______..." I've started 3 blogs in just the last week alone and I just don't have the heart to post them.

So if you're going to be bored, it might as well be with a list.

-Time is going WAY too fast. I'm trying to appreciate every second he's this small, but nothing is making the time slow down. Already it's been two weeks and I can't believe how much he's changed.

-Kylan's growing and changing really quickly which makes me sad, he's starting to fill out and get a little chunky, and I know its what we want, but I already miss his skinny little newborn limbs. He's also trying really hard to hold up his head and look around, which he does quite often.

-I'm shrinking and changing really quickly, which I'm certainly not going to complain about. I'm pleasantly surprised, especially considering I'm definitely not putting any effort into it.

-Pads suck. Wearing pads for two weeks sucks. Knowing I'll be wearing them for another 4 weeks sucks even more. Sucking most? Pad chafe. I certainly didn't miss having a period when I was pregnant, and after this I will never complain about it again. I am so very aware of why I was already using tampons during my first period. I miss my vagina. I want it back.

-Kylan already has a couple dozen nicknames. My personal favorite is Tin Tin, Kylan's hair is always flicked up in the front and he constantly purses his lips together while raising his eyebrows, it's one of my favorite faces.

-Calling him Kylan is just weird. Kylan was an idea, a concept, a name for a persona we liked to fantasize about, not an actual little person.

-The truth about the name? Melyssa came up with the idea because she really liked the nickname Ky. What reminded her that she liked the name Ky? A tube of KY Jelly.

-Kylan is feeding pretty well. While we're feeding on demand, which is really the only option with newborns, we're also on a pretty good routine. He's feeding every 2-3 hours, except at night where he goes 4 hours. For the lack of sleep I was expecting, feeding at 11pm, 3am, and 7am really isn't that bad at all, especially considering he's a little power feeder feeding in 10 minutes plus 2 burps, some spit up and a diaper change.

-No matter how tired I am, short of patience, don't want to get up, or just plain annoyed, the second I see his face I just don't care anymore. I am totally in love with him and he could make me do anything. We're in trouble when he figures that out.

-As wonderful as breastfeeding is, it's not only physically draining, but emotionally, which I didn't expect. It's not the lack of sleep that bothers me, or the fact that I'm the only one who can get up to feed him, it's the fact that I'm on a never ending cycle of 2-3 hours... if I'm lucky. Sure I can (and do) pump, or we could supplement with formula, and then someone else could help me or I could sleep in, but while nice in theory it doesn't change that not only does he need to feed every 2-3 hours, but my body needs to feed. Go any longer and it HURTS.

Which agan is fine, I'm okay with the discomfort, but the constant need, the knowledge that it's only a few hours before it starts again, the knowledge that there's no break coming, that even if I do go sleep, or read or go somewhere that it's only a matter of time before he needs me, and only me, is just emotionally and physically exhausting.

We're going to stick with it, there are a ton of benefits for both of us, and I love that it's our time together, there's just more to it than I expected.

-Melyssa goes back to work on Thursday. I know Kylan and I will be fine even though she's clearly the favorite, but it's just one more reminder that time is going by way too fast. I love having her here, I love having our days together doing nothing and everything, I love that she's the one who can always make him stop crying, help him burp and the way he looks at her. Not having her here will suck.

-I'm old. And a mom. I keep falling asleep sometime between 6 and 7, which wouldn't be so bad... expect that I'm falling asleep upright. In the middle of company, watching TV... and at the dinner table.

-Melyssa and I just got completely addicted to Dexter. Something I'm feeling a little guilty about since we're usually watching it with Kylan in our laps. When are you supposed to start worrying about what your kids are watching on TV, or what kind of language you're using around them? Hope it's too early, because I don't think a likeable serial killer should be the way he starts learning his morals and ethics.

-Melyssa and I make one good looking kid. I need to take more pictures. Starting right now.

A Post Labor Story, Or What I Didn't Know About Birth.

2008-07-05T09:42:00.001+10:00

I know the last post ended kinda awkwardly, but I really wanted to include a Post-Labor Story and didn't know how to end one, without the other. I guess a "To Be Continued" would have been the obvious choice but hey, hindsight is 20/20.

So, I'm laying there with him in my arms and I'm completely out of it. Just gone. Between the gas, the pushing, the pain, and my adrenaline dropping enough for the Pethadine to kick in (did it?), I'm just GONE.

So far gone, I can't even write the rest of this post without consulting with Melyssa what happened when.

There's another midwife in the room at this point, I have no idea when she came in. According to my mother in law, she was pacing the hallway, walking back towards our room, when a bell went off, a midwife sang out "There's a baby coming!" and she (the midwife) hurried towards the room. At the same time my MIL heard screaming, and promptly turned around to make herself a cuppa. (How lazy are Aussies? "Cuppa" for "Cup of tea/coffee/drink".)

I'm still (obviously) not really clear on what's going on except that there's this perfect little person in my on chest looking up at me and around the room. Without hesitation the midwives ask Melyssa if she wants to cut the cord. This means the world to Melyssa, it was something she really wanted to do and was afraid she wouldn't be acknowledged as my full partner.

Next thing I remember, the midwives are asking me to push again and I just can't be bothered to put in much effort. I'm exhausted, my entire body is shaking uncontrollably, especially my legs. Apparently they didn't need much effort from me anyway because the placenta comes out.

Or most of it anyway, I hear one of them tell the other that it tore. I have to lay there while one of the midwives kneads her hands into my tummy and because my insides have been so compressed for months her hands disappear almost entirely inside me and it looks like she's massaging my spine through my front. The kneading hurts, and it's not just once or twice, it feels like they're kneading for a good 5-10 minutes.

At this point the entire process just seems ridiculous and surreal, I've just gone through what felt like a drug-free labor, I'm so deeply and physically tired my body is weak and shaky without actually being sleepy, and some woman is still hurting me. I'm so over it, I just want them to leave me alone, and how is this STILL hurting when in perspective, nothing should ever hurt again?

While they're kneading, Melyssa whips out her phone and takes her official first photo of him... only to be disappointed when his first photo isn't perfect because my boob is in the way. Really? We're worried about a boob when she just literally watched him being born? From my vagina?

I can't stop looking at him, he has a furrowed brow like mine, a nose like Melyssa's, huge eyes looking around the room, perfect little hands and feet, and lips that never stop making expressions. He's gorgeous, absolutely perfect, but I can't decide if I'm really qualified to make such a decision when I'm still so fuzzy on gas. I decide I don't care, he's beautiful.

The midwife finally removes her hand from my spine, they pick him up off my chest, wrap him up and hand him to Melyssa. The midwives then assess the damage I've done to myself and decide I need stitches. They say it's mostly superficial grazes, but as they're jagged, need stitching... which means they're going to give me a local anesthetic.

They tell me to suck on the gas again while they give me the injections and I swear they're stabbing into my clit. I'm glad Melyssa is holding him, not me, since last time I sucked on the gas I went limp, dropping it out of my mouth, which scared Melyssa while the midwives giggled and just told her I'd ODed on it. Again, I'm wondering if that Pethadine did anything at all since both the kneading, and now the anesthetic, is hurting.

This is ridiculous. Why does no one tell you that labor isn't the end of it? That there's still more pain and discomfort and you're just laying there being manipulated and put back together like they're a couple of mechanics working on a car? Why does no one tell you that this stuff takes forever?

While I'm receiving my stitches, just a few in each of 3 places, I tell Melyssa she can let her mom in and show him off. She looks at me worriedly because up until this point I've refused to expose so much as my thigh to her mother, even though we live together two days a week. After looking in awe (and jealousy) at the technique and precision of the midwife's stitching ability, Melyssa takes him out quickly for a cuddle with her mum. Her mum cries.

The stitching takes forever. Since I can't feel a damn thing down there, I'm grateful for the rest.

Melyssa comes back in and after the stitching is completed, hands him back to me. The midwife comes up to us and asks if we're planning on breastfeeding. Since we are, she sits me up and tells me we should feed him, she'll do it for us this first time, then she'll help us learn how to do it, but we need to remember that not only myself, but Kylan, is learning how to feed. She plops him on my boob, and after once or twice, he takes straight to it.

She leaves the room.

He pops off.

I pop him back on, and after two or three goes myself, get him on properly with no problems.

Breastfeeding is hard? This shit is easy. I'm proud of myself, I'm a mom!

Melyssa and I can't stop staring at him in awe. This thing came OUT of me. This thing was INSIDE me. We have a mild panic that his ear is deformed and flat against the side of his head... but it's just sticky from the merconium. We unstick it and it pops right out perfectly.

Melyssa's mum comes back in the room and I get used to the fact that A LOT of people are going to be seeing my boobs soon.

We finish feeding and can't stop staring at him... but we're getting impatient. We haven't messaged anyone, or called my parents, because we know the second we do everyone's going to want to know the weight and they haven't weighed him yet.

It's 1:30am before she comes back, almost 2 hours since he's been born. She gives him a bath and weighs and measures him.

His official stats are:
Weight: 3820 Grams (8 lb 7 oz)
Length: 50.5 Cm
Head Circumference: 34.5 Cm

We are all in awe of his weight, no one saw this coming. The highest guess we had (from someone who actually knows us) was 7lbs even. We hand the midwife one of the outfits we've brought for him and she starts to dress him for us... until she seems confused.

She says there's something wrong with the outfit, the foot of it must be on wrong or something until she realizes the problem... his feet are too big for the outfit! And all the outfits we brought are that same size! Luckily, one is another brand and fits... sort of.

The midwife then helps me get ready for the shower. She has me direct her through our bags pulling out my pajamas, shower things, and is so nice and helpful... except that we've somehow forgotten all of my underwear. The brand new pack that I picked up as we were packing... and apparently put back down.

The shower is nice. The piss in the shower that she recommends, is not. It burns so badly over my stitches, even though it's diluted by shower water, that I consider asking for the epidural just for peeing.

The midwife also hands me 5 pads to wear. I've heard rumours about this but seriously, it can't be THAT bad, right? I use all 5 anyway. Yes, all at once. I go through them, and I mean literally (and profusely), within an hour or two.

Rin - Stock up. Especially on the surfboards the hospital provides.

At 2:45am we're finally transferred to the maternity ward, which is both a relief (rest!) and disappointing, since it means Melyssa will have to leave soon. Australia isn't like the US, visiting hours apply to partners as well, no matter the conditions.

As we're walking to the maternity ward it's my ass that hurts more than my vagina. I feel like I have a fist stuck up it, which I say out loud. The midwife laughs, albeit slightly uncomfortably, and says that your coxix (tailbone) rotates during labor, hence the discomfort.

Kylan is taken away from us for the first time while they give him his Vitamin K and Hep B vaccinations, but my MIL stays with him and the nurse while we go to our room and says that his cry from the needles while pathetically small, still makes her cry.

I can't get over how uncomfortable my ass feels, while the rest of me, amazingly, feels fine.

At 3:30am Melyssa and her mum are sent home and Kylan and I are alone for the first time. The midwife who's assigned to our room for the rest of the night is really nice, and the same one who checked us into the hospital 7 months ago.

Kylan starts whinging, and without hesitation I check him for hunger, then change his nappy. After a few minutes, I decide he probably is hungry and feed him.

Everything about taking care of him is completely natural. I hardly even have to think about it, and even though I'm exhausted and weak, from the inside out, nothing has ever felt more perfect.

I am a mom, wholly and completely, without reservation. Without doubt. Without worry. Everything about him, about us, about our new family, just fits perfectly.

I am so in love with this new life, and I've never been more sure of where we're all headed. Next to me is our perfect little boy, and there is no better way to fall asleep.

A Labor Story, Or At Least That Which I Remember.

2008-07-03T12:34:00.001+10:00

We're all home from the hospital, safe and sound. They usually make you stay in 3 days but before Day 1 even started I was over it and completely bored. He's feeding quite easily, we haven't had any issues, and we're both healthy so we high-tailed it out of there at first chance, which happened to be Wednesday arvo.

Right now he's contentedly looking around the room and farting whilst Melyssa pretends not to be just sitting there staring at him, completely enthralled, so I'm going to try and recap what I remember about his birth. Keep in the mind that for the most part, I'm totally making up these times other than the few which were recorded by the hospital, so cut me some slack on details.

Where'd we leave off? Pre-labor with no real hope in the world that it was going to turn into the real thing? Irregular contractions all day long?

2:00pm - Still having contractions. Completely irregular, both in time and pain threshold, but I decide to start writing down the times anyway because frankly, I have nothing better to do.

5:20pm - Have a contraction that takes my breath away and I find myself hunched over against a wall puffing to get through.

6:20pm - Realize that for the last hour I've been having contractions every 6 minutes, with the exception of one that was 10 minutes apart. Is that considered regular? Still hurting like a motherfucker.

6:26pm - Message Melyssa at work and tell her if these things don't go away I'm willing to go to the hospital anyway and see if they'll at least check me out, it has to be doing SOMETHING.

7:30pm - Just as we decide to call the hospital because it's been 2 hours of 6 minutes apart, they start coming 3 minutes apart. They tell Melyssa I need to come in.

7:31pm - We start giggling whilst Melyssa's mum pretends not to panic. We feel silly even packing up our bags when they're just going to check me and send me home. I call my parents to tell them I'm going to the hospital, and my dad seems pretty unfazed, taking it just matter-of-fact, even though I've called him at 3am.

8:10pm - We leave for the hospital. I have a contraction just as we get in the car which we take as a good sign. I even still have my sense of humour... for the moment.

8:25pm - We get to the hospital. I've yet to have another contraction. We start panicking that I'll never have one again.

8:30pm - I have another contraction while they're checking me in. Is this good? The midwife seems pretty unfazed, but helps me get through it. It's amazing how when someone you don't know tells you to relax it's A LOT easier than when your partner does. She does an exam and seems surprised because I'm apparently dilated to a 6 or 7.

6 or 7! That's real labor! I'm almost there! No going home now! I don't even get to put my pants back on, they hand me a sheet to wrap around me and walk me down to our room. We're assigned a midwife, someone really young (probably our age, but weird how that seems really young) and nice, and sets me up with a nice hot (and huge!) bath.

9:00pm - While we've been surprisingly undisturbed aside from a few quick checks of blood pressure and his heartbeat I tell Melyssa to remind me to blog how NAKED labor is. Just handing me the sheet to walk from the exam room all the way down the hall to the bath seemed like an afterthought. There's no knocking, and nothing seems to phase them. While yes, I'm aware that birth is a rather... exposing... experience, I didn't expect labor to be as well. I take comfort in the fact that sitting in the bath my tummy is covering everything else.

9:05pm - The hot bath has me sweating uncontrollably. I can't decide if I'm loving the bath because it's keeping me relatively out of pain and helping my back, or if I can't handle all the sweating.

9:20pm - My contractions are now completely irregular. We can't even quite remember the last one I had, and the intensity is dropping. The midwife starts talking about breaking my waters to speed things along if nothing changes within the next 30 minutes. I agree to breaking my waters, but ask about my options for pain relief. They are: Happy Gas, Pethadine, and of course, the all powerful Epidural.

9:48pm - As we walk back into my room for the water breaking, another contraction hits. Melyssa tells me to relax, rubs my back, and tells me to relax my shoulders. It's the exact same things the midwife was telling me, and has worked. But since it's Melyssa and I love and trust her, I can tell her what I'm really thinking. She can fucking relax her own damn shoulders.

9:50pm - They break my waters. It involves what looks to me like a large plastic chopstick with an itty bitty plastic crochet hook on the end, nothing like the wire coat hanger I had imagined. I brace myself for the contractions I'm sure will make me wish I'm dying.

9:51pm - Breaking my waters actually takes a little while. It's not a quick poke, but a long slow sweeping tickle... that doesn't tickle. It's mildly uncomfortable but for the most part sensationless. Suddenly I feel like I'm pissing myself uncontrollably, the waters are REALLY warm (which I guess makes sense, it would be body temperature at the least) and it just keeps coming. The next contraction hits and while it's a little worse, nothing like what I was expecting.

9:52pm - They help me into the shower where I lean against a chair with hot water massaging my back while the midwife hooks up the happy gas just in case I decide to try it. She warns me that the first few puffs will make me dizzy and possibly nauseas, if I decide to try it I have to take deep slow breaths from the beginning of the contraction all the way through the end, and close my eyes for the first few times. The gas is not a mask like I thought, but a mouthpiece that you clench down on with your teeth.

9:53pm - Melyssa has her mom come back in the room and sit outside the bathroom to time the contractions for us while Melyssa sits in the shower with me. Another contraction hits and I'm suddenly completely nauseas. I'm handed a puke bag seconds before it hits the floor.

9:55pm - Contractions are now a minute and a half apart and getting worse.

10:20pm - I give myself 3 really bad contractions before I give in and go for the gas. They're so intense I don't let go of the chair and wall, but just gasp and motion desperately to Melyssa. She sticks the gas in my mouth and I count slowly in my mind while I breathe.

10:21pm - Contractions are a minute apart. From what I've heard about waters breaking it's just a matter of time before contractions are lasting 5 minutes and just seconds apart... I'm scared.

10:30pm - Contractions are getting worse, and I'm counting higher and higher before letting go of the gas. I love the gas, but this shit still HURTS.

10:40pm - I'm so high on gas that between contractions I'm practically passing out against the wall. I'm tired, so tired, and can't seem to say anything else to Melyssa. I just want to sleep. Melyssa keeps asking me if I can hear her as I'm practically non-responsive until each contraction hits.

10:55pm - I tell Melyssa I need something else, the gas isn't cutting it anymore. I don't care what it is, I just need something else.

10:56pm - The midwife comes back in to check on me. I tell her the same thing. She recommends Pethadine and I agree, from what we'd talked about earlier I can still have the epidural afterwards if it's not cutting it for me.

10:58pm - She gives me a shot in the ass of Pethadine and another of Maxillin so I don't have to worry about throwing up anymore. She warns me I have 20 minutes before the Pethadine kicks in.

10:59pm - Another contractions hits, I suck the gas and try to remain upright. I decide if I can keep count of my contractions by the time I have 10 of them it'll have been 20 minutes and it'll have kicked in.

11:00pm - Our midwife goes off duty. The new one comes in to check on me and I'm so high on gas and pain I can hardy even acknowledge her presence.

11:01pm - This sucks. I can't do this. Just keep counting. Not that many to go... there can't be that many to go. Fuck, there are too many to go. Just keep counting.

11:10pm - I start feeling a lot of pressure that makes me want to push. Not need to push, but I definitely want to. This is not a good feeling. This is almost as bad as the contractions.

11:12pm - I apologize to Melyssa that I can't do this anymore, there is no way. I know she's scared of me having an epidural, scared that something will happen to me or the baby, but I just can't do it. She tells me she doesn't care, she just doesn't want me in pain.

11:13pm - The midwife comes back in to check on me. I beg her for an epidural. She hems and haws, says we'd have to do an internal exam and they usually only do them every 4 hours, it's only been an hour since my last one. I tell her I don't care if I have to have an exam first, I feel like I need to push. Just do whatever the hell needs done so I can have the epidural. I NEED SOMETHING ELSE, THIS HURTS.

11:15pm - The midwife does the exam and is clearly surprised. I'm already at a 10 and both she and Melyssa can see the top of his head. She says there's no time to give me an epidural, she wouldn't even have time to give me an IV. When I have the next contraction I can push, which consists of tucking my chin to my chest, hands underneath my thighs, holding my breath, and, well, pushing.

I start yelling. It is not pretty. Everything here on out is pretty much a blur. I'm yelling completely irrational things, I know they're irrational. I'm telling her I can't do it, I don't want to do it, to do something else, anything else. I'm pushing during contractions and it's the worst pain of my life. It's not even the pain that bothers me, it's the pressure.

After every push I let out the loudest, most primal grunting scream I can manage. It's not pretty. I don't think I've ever screamed before in my life, I don't even yell, I refuse to shout down an aisle in the empty grocery store, so this is WAY out of my character. When they say you lose all your dignity during labor I thought they just meant in exposure, it is so much more than that.

I know I'm scaring Melyssa, I know I'm acting like an idiot, but I don't care. I can't care. The midwife keeps telling me I'm close, she can see the head, we're almost there and Melyssa (who's watching the entire thing) agrees. I keep screaming at them that they're lying.

Between contractions the midwife keeps pushing something against my ass, I'm assuming it's towels but it feels like she's pushing them inside me. This is topping off my discomfort, the last fucking thing I need and I find out later it's because I was shitting on the table, she was trying to make sure he wasn't going to land in it. Even now you'd think that'd be the height of my embarrassment but really, I just don't care. It was fucking NATURAL BIRTH.

The midwife tries to put my legs up, have me change positions, but I refuse to move. Even between contractions I'm yelling at her, just ranting and raving, all but crying, because I just can't do this. No one can do this.

The midwife is disturbingly calm. Nothing I say changes anything, nothing evokes a reaction, she might as well be just smiling and nodding at me. Midwives are saints.

If the Pethadine has kicked in by now, I don't realize it. The pain never changes, never lessens, and the mixture of gas, pain and maybe the Pethadine makes me feel foggy and detatched but certainly no less in pain. It's like I can feel the pain, entirely, but my reactions to it are slowed.

Everything is so warped by pain, pressure and gas that I don't even fully realize his head is out until they tell me. I have to push again to pass his shoulders but I'm so weak and shakey I can't push as hard as I was but he still slides out really easily.

11:44pm he's officially born. He's placed on my stomach and I put my arm around him, waiting to have a reaction. Anything. I'm drained, disoriented, just staring at him, and confused. They could have placed a bouquet of daisies on my chest and I would have had the same reaction. He's surprisingly clean and alert and perfect.

We have a son. Kylan James. It fits. I like it.

Kylan James.

2008-07-02T04:26:00.001+10:00

Hey!

It's Melyssa here. Posting at 4:27am. Just got home from the hospital!

Kylan James was born at 11:44pm on 1st July 2008. He weighed in at 8lb 7oz. Measuring 50.5cm (19.8 inches) and perfect as any little man could be.

Emily was up since 2am yesterday with mild irregular contractions. They started getting worse around 5pm.

We wound up at the hospital at around 8:30pm where we found she was 7cm dilated already.

Then they broke her waters for her.

She had 20 mins of pushing and then out he came.

It was magical.

I got to cut the cord and everything.

I have to go get some sleep right now so I can go back to the hospital ASAP but here are some first photos!

Thanks to you all for your continued support!

Emily is fantastic and Kylan is perfect. Breastfeeding like a little champion already.

~Melyssa xxx

11 Hours Of Pre-Labor Later...

2008-07-01T12:49:00.001+10:00

So I thought labor was either this entirely spontaneous last minute panicky thing, or some pre-planned induction/casear scenario. I was wrong. It's a slow torturous joke.

Last night I started having contractions around 2am. I should be more specific about the word contraction. I mean tight searing lower back pain that creeps and burns into your sides and around your abdomen until suddenly it's rock hard and you involuntarily hunch forward. Which yes, while painful, is NOTHING compared to the Braxton-Hicks I had a few weeks ago where I thought I was dying.

So, I ignored them since I've been having so many weird and painful contractions for the last couple months.

Around 3am I started timing them. They were every 20 minutes on the dot and quite painful, lasting 30 seconds to a minute, not to mention entirely regular for 2 hours. I've never had regular ones for more than an hour so I woke up Melyssa (no small feat, she was dead to the world) to let her know what was going on and tried to go back to sleep myself because 'the books' say I should while I can.

Then they started getting weird. They were coming every 10-15 minutes, but weren't as strong. Still painful, just not the teeth gritting, dig my fingernails into Melyssa painful. More of a "That's it? I can do this!" painful.

An hour later, they were back to every 20 minutes bite my arm off painful.

And we kept going in this cycle. It was almost like I'd have 2 or 3 small ones close together, then one major one. But what no one told me about contractions is that between them, it's not like period or diarrhea cramps where you suddenly feel perfectly normal. It still hurts between them, but it's a more mild crampy feeling (and by mild, I mean don't-necessarily-want-to-die painful, not actually 'mild pain') that still makes it impossible to get comfortable or move certain ways.

Obviously, I wasn't sleeping much.

Around 9:30am Melyssa finally woke up from me grabbing her too hard (remember they started at 2? She slept through them all, and my getting up and pacing for an hour) and we decided to call the hospital.

Thankfully they were really nice (a good sign, since I've heard nothing but horror stories from that ward) and talked me through it all. Apparently it sounds like I'm in the latent phase of labor, or pre-labor. My body wants to be in labor, it's trying to be in labor, but it's just not there yet. It could stop at any time, it could start at any time, and... it could go on for the next week.

Fuck. That.

If they get regular and stronger, I have to call back. If he's not here by Monday I have to go to the hospital to see about an induction. Otherwise, I just have to wait it out.

It's been 11 hours since they started and I've yet to go more than about half an hour without a contraction. We went for a long walk on the beach and they've been a bit stronger ever since but no more regular. I'm not even really timing them because they're SO irregular there's no point.

This motherfucking sucks. If something hasn't started, or stopped, by tomorrow I'm going to go back to my Doctor and see about another internal to see if things have changed. Otherwise, this is ridiculous.

TMI.

2008-06-30T15:33:00.000+10:00

Last night around 11:30 I started having lower back pain. No real surprise there, but it was very specific, spurts of pain lasting around 30 seconds and starting every 8 minutes almost to the second. It lasted at least an hour and a half, maybe longer, I don't know because I feel asleep.

Multiple times throughout the night I woke up with the same back pains and even contractions. Not the painless ones, but ones that were strong enough to wake me up. Thank god nothing like my "I must be dying" Braxton-Hicks.

I started to get really excited, everything was going almost exactly like Dooce's Labor Story. First the violent toilet incident, then 24 hours later the very specific back pain, followed by the contractions.

Looking good, right?

Until I woke up this morning. Everything had stopped. Completely.

Fucking bullshit.

So I took Phoebe for a REALLY long walk, the kind that makes her start dragging the leash not wanting to keep going.

Still nothing.

Then 10 minutes ago I lost my plug. I won't get too detailed here (although Melyssa is mad I didn't take a picture) because you probably don't want to know, but let's just say it was both mucus and dried blood, exactly like it should be. I expected more of it honestly, maybe there still will be, but it was definitely that... or I have some really gnarly infection. I'm going with mucus plug.

Of course it means nothing, you can lose your plug up to a month before you go into labor, but it does mean that my cervix can (and will, please, WILL!) start dilating. Any dilation is good, it means less that needs done in actual labor.

Otherwise, I don't feel any differently. I'm just entirely over pregnancy. I've loved it, every minute of it, but I've done my time and I'm ready for it to be over. I'm ready for him to be here, for us to be mothers, and as horrible a person as it may make me, to have my body back and MINE. I'm sure I'd feel differently if pergnancy were supposed to be longer than this, but it's not. I'm there, I'm done, BRING HIM ON!

UPDATE: Went to the Doctor's just to double check things. She said I'm dilated 1cm and my 'membranes' are... umm... full or doing something, or something. It just means that when my waters break, if it's natural, there will be no missing it. It will be a flood, not a leak. They're very... present. Of course, this all still means nothing. Could be an hour. Could be a few days.

PAIGE! Posting Continues Below! :)

2008-06-29T16:48:00.001+10:00

40 Weeks And Counting.

2008-06-29T12:12:00.001+10:00

Well, this is it. The due date. In fact technically, the due date has almost passed since it's currently 7:15pm on the 28th in America. I will however give him the benefit of the doubt and hold out until the end of today before I officially announce him late.

This kid is so going to be late. Perpetually. Just like his mothers. And since we're 100% on the dates, there's no excuses.

Once again I thought labor was starting last night. My lower back has been hurting the last 3 days, getting worse each day and coming in waves, and then at midnight oh two (the same time my mother went into labor with me) last night it felt like it was seizing up and spread into my sides and tummy. It hurt like hell so we started timing it.

And of course since I'm NOT in labor, we were timing the fact that my bowels had sprung a leak. Next thing we knew I was projectile vomiting and leaking from every crevice but there was still hope that it was early labor, apparently your body often cleanses itself in preparation (and to save you the agony of shitting on the table).

I wasn't so lucky. I was just, well, sick, I suppose. Nothing since then. It's now 12 hours later and... nothing. Nothing except that suddenly this kid feels MASSIVE and Melyssa had to go to work on very little sleep due to timing poop cramps. Such is the life of a partner.

If he hasn't popped out by Wednesday I have to go back to the Dr and she'll arrange with the hospital what we do next. Since it'll take a few days to fit me in, worst case scenario means we'll go in sometime mid next week to be induced which is the last thing we want. From what I understand about being induced I think I'd just rather have a Caesar, but as much as it's up to me, it's also not. I trust my doctor and I'll just go along with whatever she recommends.

I guess the only good news is that my sister's wedding is successfully in progress, so I won't be having him in the middle of it and stealing her day. Consider it my wedding gift. Happy Wedding Erica!

ONLY 2 Days To Go?

2008-06-27T15:10:00.001+10:00

These 2 days can bite me. I'm seconds away from giving in and accepting the fact that it's just never going to happen. I am going to be pregnant FOREVER. This is just the way it is, this is just my new body, I will never grow, I will never shrink, this is just IT.

And all the people (real life people that is, not you who only have access to me via internet) who every time they see me say "No baby YET?!" or talk about how small I am, or tell me to jump up and down (then yell at me for doing so), they can bite me too. And not just because every time they say something like that I don't know what I'm supposed to say in response.

It's so stupid, and I'm going to blame it on pregnancy hormones and not my own complex, but when people say those things, especially when Melyssa gets impatient and starts trying to coax me into labor, I get this huge Inferiority Complex and want to scream "I'M TRYING. I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN!" like it's my fault that I'm not going into labor yet.

It makes me feel incompetent that I can't will it to start, or at least have some inkling as to when it's going to happen. And while I KNOW that no one does, no one knows or can do anything and every woman in the whole wide world has been through it... I still just feel... Stupid. Yes, with a capital S.

Thankfully it hasn't gone so far that I feel like a failure of a mother already (although I'm expecting that the second I go overdue) but I can say that Braxton-Hicks? Doesn't help. Because every time I have a contraction that doesn't turn into labor, I feel like an idiot for not knowing that it wasn't real. Especially when I have painless contractions every hour, on the hour, for an entire day, followed by a Very Real Contraction that night... only to have it now be 3 days later with NOTHING... I give up.

That's it. I just plain Give Up. I don't care anymore. If my body wants me to go into labor it's just going to have me more clear signs when it's time because I'm done trying to figure it out. I'm done analyzing my tinges, and back pain, and tight tummy. I'm done hoping and waiting for it to start. I'm done trying to predict dates and times and caring about the fact that we have family in from another state only for the next few days hoping to see the baby, and being scared of going into labor during my sister's wedding. It'll happen when it wants to, if it's ever going to happen at all.

I just don't care anymore.

I. Give. Up.

True Beauty.

2008-06-26T15:09:00.001+10:00

Melyssa and I recently had some friends over for dinner, another inter-continental couple. We were true adults, cooking dinner and everything, and they not only brought us some fabulous gifts for the baby, but an Angel Food cake mix that they picked up at an American food sale special in the city.

I couldn't find an O shaped pan so I used a large stew pot with a beer bottle in the middle. So far it looks good, but we'll see how it looks after it cools and I have to take the bottle out. It's going to take all my self restraint though not to eat the entire thing right now. I really want to bring it over to Melyssa's mum's so she can try some after trying so hard to make me one for my birthday... but it's going to be hard!

Maybe I'll just save her a slice...

How To Tell If Your Doctor Is Amazing.

2008-06-24T18:58:00.001+10:00

Your doctor is hospitalized for pancreatitis and even though she knows you just saw an OB/Gyn yesterday (and is also the one who made the appointment for you), she calls to make sure everything's ok and find out if you've had the baby yet.

Can your doctor top that? Let alone your GP?

I fucking LOVE my doctor!

And selfishly, I hope she's feeling better by the time I go into labor, I want her to be the one we go to first instead of the hospital since she's been so good to us. Going into labor without her feels like cheating. Can you cheat on your doctor? It just feels wrong.

39 Weeks. For Reals.

2008-06-23T21:10:00.001+10:00

Thought I might as well wait until tonight so we had the most up-to-date Dr's information. Unfortunately, there's not much to share.

He's definitely dropped, fully engaged, everything looks fabulous, and the Dr at the hospital says that he thinks he may even be early. Of course early just means any time before Monday, and if he's not here by then I have to go back and they'll look again.

I thought at this point not only would I be bigger and more uncomfortable (Rin - Lesson 1 of Pregnancy: Expect pain and horror, it's a much more pleasant surprise when it's better than expected, rather than worse) but I'd be feeling like I'm literally about to pop. I don't.

Mostly I've spent this last week feeling LESS pregnant as each day passes, I'm assuming it's a combination of the fact that my belly is measuring smaller and I'm (supposedly) breathing easier, not to mention just damn used to be this way... but I just don't feel that pregnant.

Which DOESN'T mean I'm any less impatient. I'm dying to have him here, to have everything here and started already. Until of course I'm woken up at 4am with an hour of Braxton-Hicks that I think are going to result in my death, then I suddenly change my mind and decide I'm willing to wait.

Until then, we're just waiting. Impatiently. Oh, and trying not to kill each other. As we predicted earlier, Melyssa is PMSing. And as you can guess, PMS and Labor just don't mix that well.
Especially when her mum PMSes at the same time, and those two together... not a good mix either. I was counting on her mum to be there to calm her down, and right now I'm not sure how that plan's going to fare. I may spend most of labor keeping those two separated and far away from me.

I'm SO looking forward to this... in the words of Alice, I hope she bleeds soon. I really do. (I love you honey!)

Fake 39 Week Post.

2008-06-22T22:55:00.001+10:00

It was recently brought to my attention that I'm to the point where any sudden change in my habits (or perceived change) puts people into a panic that perhaps I'm in labor Right This Very Second.

I'm not.

I'll give you the real update tomorrow, it's nothing exciting. But as of right now, I'm not in labor and not expecting it... as much as I want it.

Or, the baby anyway. Not the actual labor.

Although right now I'd settle for less foot in my rib, the skin only stretches so far and at this rate the only stretch marks I'll be getting will be from his feet pushing in all the wrong places.

Another Cause of Nipple Leakage.

2008-06-19T15:10:00.001+10:00

My parents just randomly sent me some baby pictures of myself, all ones I've never seen.

It is SO weird looking at baby pictures of myself, particularly when I'm looking at that little thing thinking "That's INSIDE me".

It doesn't get more real. Except you know, like labor. And reality.

Behold. I am now officially scared. Especially because I look HUGE! And I'm questioning my own cute factor...

The Medicare Saga Continues.

2008-06-18T14:18:00.001+10:00

Rang Immigration this morning. The direct number to my case officer keeps ringing through with no voicemail; I'm pretty sure she's on that month-long holiday she told us she'd be taking.

So I rang the Immi hotline and talked to a REALLY nice woman who confirmed that I abso-defi-lutely have work rights and there is no reason I shouldn't be issued Medicare. She also sent out a mass email to my case officer, her supervisor, and all of the Residency department asking someone to call me at their first availability and marked it Urgent.

In the meantime, Melyssa and I went into the local Medicare office. The rep there called around trying to find out what exactly was the problem since all of the paperwork was clearly adequate, and while she was on hold with them, Medicare called ME.

Apparently the bitch we talked to yesterday transferred my file to someone else, and this someone else was AMAZINGLY helpful. It appears that it was all a problem of timing. My Bridging Visa, with the work rights, took affect (effect?) the day my Visitor Visa expired... which was 5 days AFTER I applied for Medicare. So when they received Electronic Confirmation from Immigration of my Visa it still showed the conditions of my Visitor Visa, not my Bridging Visa. Hence the issue.

This woman though took sympathy on me and said that if I could get someone, anyone, from Immigration to either call or fax her confirmation of my work rights she would issue me a number the same day. This is after she spent half an hour of her own time trying to track down someone herself.

Since Immi was so helpful this morning, shouldn't be a problem, right?

Wrong.

The call centre isn't authorized to discuss my visa with anyone other than me, and the best they could offer (after an hour of cajoling) was A) to go to the Sydney Immi Office (hour and a half train ride), get a new letter from them, and fax it myself or B) to send out another mass email to everyone in Immi to get someone to ring Medicare on my behalf. The rep thinks someone will contact her by the end of tomorrow.

But of course, no guarantees.

If she hasn't heard anything by tomorrow lunch I'll be calling Immi again and talking to someone else. I know they're just doing their jobs, but I'm on a time limit here and I really don't think I can handle another ride into the city.

The best part? When I told the local rep who I had spoken to in Medicare yesterday she said she knew of the woman. I asked if she had had good experiences with her, or if I'd just caught her on a very bad day. She fumbled a little bit and admitted that she was known to be a bit "Grumpy", which she made clear was PC for "useless fucking bitch".

EDIT! EDIT! EDIT!

I have Medicare! They just called me and gave me my number over the phone (20 minutes after the office closed nonetheless!) and my card is in the mail! AND! It's effective as of 20 May which means I can claim back all my bloodwork and doctor's fees from the last month. I wasn't even expecting that!

Bring on labor! Bring on the drugs!

Medicare Can Fucking Bite Me.

2008-06-17T17:13:00.001+10:00

Medicare. I need it. Every Australian citizen and resident, permanent or temporary, has it. It means you get basic medical attention (Dr's appointments, hospitals, surgery, etc) for free.

We all know I applied for it, and I'm still waiting for it.

Today, I received a letter from Medicare stating that while they received my application, they did not receive any of my supporting documentation, namely, copies of my Bridging Visa and a letter from Immigration.

The same documents that were photocopied in the Medicare office where I applied.

At the bottom of the letter it says if I have any questions to call So-And-So at XXX-Number. So I called. Immediately.

The number could not be completed as dialed.

So I called the generic number and asked to be transferred. There's no record of this person existing. And the number I was given? No one knows who/what/where it's supposed to be.

Over an HOUR LATER my mother in law and I finally got through someone who could tell me what was 'really' going on with my application. Apparently they DO have copies of my documentation but don't have anything stating that I have work rights, which is a condition of being granted Medicare.

IT SAYS ON MY BRIDGING VISA "CONDITIONS-NIL" WHICH MEANS I HAVE WORK RIGHTS, this specific condition was pointed out to me by my case officer specifically for the purpose of receiving Medicare.

I told this to her. She says it doesn't say that. I have it sitting in front of me. She all but tells me too fucking bad. The bottom line is I need a get a copy of my visa stating that I have work rights (the same copy she HAS) and also get a letter from Immigration stating that my application is still ongoing... the same letter that she supposedly HAS.

She was a total fucking bitch, refused to listen to anything I had to say, and just kept repeating herself. It was clear that while she stated she had pulled my file, she actually hadn't (she asked me if I was married to an Australian Citizen) and was just reading whatever was on her computer screen.

5 minutes later we tried to ring her back to point out the specific line on my Visa which states my work rights, as well as the big bold shaded box on the letter which says "Note for Medicare Officer: We know that Medicare might require a letter from Immigration stating that this particular applicaton continues to be processed. We hope that this letter is satisfactory for that purpose."

Her phone wouldn't ring through, and 45 minutes later we finally got someone else to get ahold of her for us just to tell her I needed to speak to her. Her answer? "I already told her what she needs" and refused to let me be transferred through. We asked to be transferred to someone else instead, but their office was closing... because it had taken us 2 hours to get NOWHERE.

I'm at a loss for what else we can do other than sending the same paperwork back to her. I'm going to call my case office tomorrow (assuming she's not on holiday) to verify I have work rights, and see about getting a letter, just in case, but there's no guarantees. Especially when it comes to getting the letter, getting it to Medicare, and getting someone to issue me a number all within the week. Odds are I'll spend tomorrow again fighting it out with someone in Medicare.

The kicker? I was woken up this morning with Braxton-Hicks so bad I was wishing I was dead and convinced I was in labor. We were just waiting for the Dr's office to open (they were too far apart to worry about going to the hospital) when they stopped. Labor could be very VERY soon. And without Medicare, VERY expensive.

38 Weeks Over It.

2008-06-16T18:06:00.001+10:00

I am so fucking done with this pregnancy. For those of you not in the know, I have really bony feet and ankles, or at least I DID. Now I have cankles on cankles.

And I've grown 150% of what I was supposed to last week, and it's looking like I've grown even since I was measured on Friday. And you know what? It HURTS. I woke up this morning and couldn't move the pain and pressure in my lower abdomen/hips/ass was that bad. I could only shuffle a few steps at a time without wishing I was dead.

This is ridiculous.

I have no pain when I sit, assuming I sit a certain way, at certain angles, and don't move whatsoever once I hit that sweet spot. When I walk I want to die, but if I keep moving I'm eventually 'fine'. Fine being that it calms down exponentially the more I move, but then my ankles swell even MORE from being up. And the swelling? It hurts too.

I'm over it! It's even to the point where when he moves it hurts! I don't know if it's because he's dropping or just because my ligaments are so stretched, but FUCK!

TWO WEEKS IS WAY TOO LONG.

And the kicker? We called Medicare on Thursday... and they have no record of me. They haven't even started processing me yet. Which means I better keep my legs crossed. It's been 4 weeks, and I was told that by processing it as urgent I *should* get it in 4-5 weeks instead of 4-6.

I'm fucking over it! Get him out!

Labor Watch 2008 - 37 Weeks.

2008-06-08T11:28:00.001+10:00

So, who's taking bets on when this child will appear?

37 weeks is the official full term mark, although of course most women go to around 40 weeks.

To keep things simple, we'll work off of my American due date, June 28th. I keep saying my due date is the 29th because the 28th in America is the 29th here, but Melyssa keeps arguing that that shouldn't change my due date. Since most of you, I think, are American, we'll keep it the 28th.

Melyssa thinks I'll go either a week early, or a week late and go on the 4th of July. I have no real inkling one way or another, but I'm guessing exactly on my due date. I was born exactly on my due date, this pregnancy has been on par almost to the second (my growth is back on track btw), Melyssa and I could fight FOREVER over who was right about the due date, and of course... the 28th is my sister's wedding. It would be my luck to be in labor at the exact moment my sister is halfway around the world getting married.

I was all set to tell you that these next 3 weeks will hold no new changes other than some minor physical discomforts (the archs of my feet are hurting from the new weight, and my engagement ring is only fitting sporadically) but of course that all changed in the last 24 hours.

My nipples are leaking. Well, nipple, actually. Last night Melyssa and I were babysitting our nephew when I felt something wet and looked down... and what do you know, a wet spot. Just a little one, NOTHING like what a breastfeeding mother experiences (trust me, I've seen it) and about 15 minutes later, another one appeared.

It was totally weird.

Also, I think he's begun to drop. Sometime before labor he's supposed to "drop" putting a ton of pressure on my groin, and taking the pain off my ribs, as his head engages and we prepare for labor. It could happen weeks in advance, it could happen while I'm in labor.

I think it happened last night, or at least started to. Suddenly the pain in my ribs was completely gone (as opposed to constantly threatening to kill me) and the pain and pressure in my pelvic bones started again. I'm still waddling this morning from it.

Also this morning? I think I started having the tiniest Braxton-Hicks contractions. I felt some pressure in my stomach and it was completely hard, then a few minutes later, it wasn't. Happened a few times. They say most women don't even feel them, but who knows.

All I know is that Labor Watch has officially started when you get shit cramps and both your girlfriend, and her mother, start running down a mental checklist of what they'll need to sterilize in a pot of boiling water just in case.

Hey! H-UGE News!

2008-06-05T13:10:00.001+10:00

Lesbian families were just recognized under NSW (our state) law!

"The law clears the way for children from lesbian couples to inherit money from their non-birth parent and receive workers' compensation on behalf of their non-birth parent.

It also allows both mothers to appear on their child's birth certificate.

NSW Attorney-General John Hatzistergos says the Bill is a big step.

"It means that the non-birth parent will have obligations to that child in the same way that every other parent has," he said."

This is motherfucking HUGE!

Along with this, our Prime Minister is working on passing 100 other anti-discriminatory laws for gays which means that by the end of the year Melyssa and I should have full rights, including medical and beneficiary! I love Australia!

They are, however, refusing to initiate any change that might even MIMIC marriage, so no civil unions, no domestic partnership registery, but hey, Melyssa gets to be a Legal Mum! Legal! Recognized! Courts! Schools! Hospitals! Medicare! Any and every legal right I have as biological mother, she'll have too! Unquestioning! Unwavering! Unchallengeable! Can anyone say RELIEF?!

I don't know when this all goes into affect, it seems to take quite awhile here between when things are passed and when things actually change, but hey! It's a start! And it means we can always change his birth certificate later if we can't get her on right away.

Guess it makes sense that it would take awhile. They're changing everything gender specific to gender neutral, not only on birth certificates and legal forms, but the wording on all legal parental laws like Paternal Leave to Partner Leave.

But if she's recognized immediately... Watch Out Immigration! We were told in our interview that if Melyssa was a legally recognized parent (read: biological father) that our relationship would automatically be validated in their eyes (and therefore the process quite a bit easier) so if we can get her on the birth certificate actually AT birth... WOW!

This is a GOOD time to be alive! And a GOOD day for queers!

36 Weeks = 9 Months.

2008-06-02T13:43:00.001+10:00

Well, turns out I keep thinking I don't look 9 months along because I DON'T.

As of Friday I'm measuring 2cm's smaller than I should be, which doesn't sound like much, but means I'm measuring 2 weeks small. My growth has slowly been slowing down, now averaging half a cm a week, instead of 1, and if it slows down anymore I'll have to have another ultrasound or Baby EKG just to make sure everything's ok with him.

The good news? The Dr's not worried, she just thinks he's going to be small. And I'm certainly not worried, I just think it means he's going to be late, and I'm ok with that.

The weird part for me is I feel like I've suddenly regressed. I'm not excited or impatient for him to be here. Not because I'm NOT, but because I'm really comfortable being pregnant. I'm comfortable with everything in our life right now and the idea that there's this little person in there moving around is completely surreal. I feel like I'm just going to be pregnant, and we're going to here in this moment, forever.

I'm hoping this feeling goes away sometime before labor, or else I may be in for quite the shock!

I think I may have mentioned this earlier, but I still have no appetite. Not only am I filling up really quickly, and suffering some awesome heartburn, but I'm just never hungry. The last few days I've even been skipping lunch. The word skipping gives the wrong impression, more like forgetting. I get up, and next thing I know it's around 5pm and I'm starting to get a little hungry, but then we eat dinner and I can't take more than a few bites. I've heard that some women lose weight at the very VERY end due to a super squished stomach, but I'm nowhere near that. It's just kinda weird.

My stomach is really sore as well. The ligaments that are simultaneously stretching and supporting him feel like they're reaching their limits and coughing and stretching have become near impossible. Then again, so's bending over. I can hardly find a position comfortable enough to put on socks, let alone tie my shoes or shave my legs.

Is it unrealistic of me to think that while I'm in labor, before I go to the hospital, I'm going to shave my legs, do my hair, and pack my hospital stuff? The thought of going through labor not completely clean freaks me out, there's nothing worse than being sweaty AND dirty. And my hospital bag? It's all stuff I wear on a daily basis, how am I supposed to pack the stuff I'm using? Not to mention, Melyssa or her mum can bring me anything I need or forget.

Completely insane, or calm and reasonable?

Not A Fucking Chance.

2008-05-29T12:42:00.001+10:00

Umm... so apparently 37 weeks is considered full term?

Because that's like, in a week and a half. Not even.

And that's not NEAR as long as the 5 weeks I was planning on.

Which now is not looking so far away either.

Especially when I was banking on the whole "the first one is always late."

Which apparently, isn't true either.

Melyssa was standing in the waiting room at her work talking to a co-worker and happened to mention that little tidbit... to which half the waiting room piped in "No, actually my first was X weeks early."

HE COULD BE HERE NEXT WEEK.

I don't feel... labor-ish. But it COULD happen. Healthily. Normally. And no one would be surprised, except me. And probably Melyssa.

FUCK.

35 Weeks of Perfectly Normal.

2008-05-25T15:08:00.001+10:00

Maybe it's all the TV. Maybe it's living a block from the ocean. Maybe it's just crazy pregnant hormones, but I've just been hit with the first ultimately cliche pregnancy symptom.

Irrational, impulsive, need for Hair Change.

I want to go blonde. Very blonde. Not to be confused with Really blonde. Just a frosty, goldy, mostly blonde. If this is not a signature move of pregnancy hormones, I don't know what is. Because this desire to be blonde? It hit about 5 minutes ago and I want it RIGHT NOW. In fact, if our resident hairdresser wasn't also the same cousin who JUST had her baby, I would have her on the phone making plans.

Melyssa is stoked. She's been dying for me to go blonde as long as I've known her, she has a thing for them. And me? I don't. So why the sudden desire? The NEED? No fucking clue.

Saw my Dr this week, who I'll be seeing every week from now on, and she said that every single thing about my pregnancy has been perfect. There is absolutely nothing we could ask for to be better with either him or my pregnancy. How's THAT for good news?

Until she also pointed out that it would be perfectly normal for me to go into labor in 3 weeks. I was perfectly happy in denial. 35 weeks down, and 35 days to go. If I'm perfectly full term. Fuck!

I also finally talked to my Dr about my concerns following the pregnancy, post-partum-wise. Although I've been nothing but healthy throughout this entire 9 months, I was concerned about going cold turkey off the Happy Hormones, but it turns out, I have nothing to worry about. Sure, things may still happen, but that doesn't mean I have to deal with them the way I was. And if I start wanting to, my Dr is now aware of what they were and we're working on a plan to handle them, which will be great considering I'll be seeing her often and I really like her.

The one thing I don't understand is that in my weekly Google search for "35 Weeks" I keep reading that I won't be putting on any more weight. And while I understand the concept, that HE's going to be putting on the weight, not me, I think it's an infinitely stupid thing to say.

It's like saying that once you finish your growth spurt and reach your full height, you won't put on any more weight. Who can make that claim? Who can say that in the next 5 weeks won't be when my cravings kick in and I gain 5 pounds? Who can say that my lunch phase of Top Ramen, which changed to Peanut Butter Sandwiches, won't change again this week to Hot Dog Covered Nachos? Who can say that at 35 weeks my body has just STOPPED putting on weight? I've stopped being able to bend over, cross my legs, and get off the bed in one go, think of all those calories I just stopped burning!

What does that even mean? How much weight should or have I REALLY put on anyway? They give you a range for normal, but part of that is placenta, and amniotic fluid, and uterus and bloddy bloddy bloddy, but they don't say that so much of that is "Your Weight", do they? I'm not naive enough to believe I haven't put on weight, the stretch marks on my thighs say otherwise, but the way it's worded on those websites just confuses the fuck out of me.

Maybe it's just because I equate it with the fact that if I'm not supposed to put on more weight, then I'm not supposed to get bigger. And I think we all know I'll be getting bigger in the last 5 weeks.

At least, I kinda hope so. Next week I'm 9 months, and I neither feel nor look 9 months along.

Incoherent Mumbling Of Profanities

2008-05-22T08:24:00.001+10:00

So here's the deal. In the last 24 hours I have done nothing but sleep and chase down leads for how we can prove Melyssa's American address. And the sleeping? Not so much.

Things I've been doing in the last 24 hours...

-Contacting our American Bank. (That looks SO funny, if you knew that our American Bank actually has a foreign name.) We added Melyssa to my accounts but because we're procrastinators, we didn't add her until June. We have to prove from May.

-Contacting the San Diego Blood Bank. Melyssa donated blood in both April and June, and while her records are online, and her address is online, neither are on the same page. We're trying to get someone to send us a statement verifying them TOGETHER. This one looks extremely possible, I've even gotten an email from a LIVE PERSON.

-Contacting the company her prepaid mobile was through. They don't have records that the phone was in her name last year because it was longer than 60 days ago. I now understand why drug dealers use prepaid.

-Searching any and every online retailer we/I have ever used for purchase history to see if anything was shipping in Melyssa's name. Of course not. We shipped everything in MY name. I'm getting old bank statements mailed to me anyway to pour through for ideas of places we might have gone, things we might have bought, ANYTHING.

-NOT watching All Saints (Aussie version of ER), Neighbours (My Soap), House (Love!), or Big Brother (don't judge me, you would too if you only have 5 channels and it was on every single night). That's a serious "Not" by the way, I really missed them all yesterday because I was too busy.

-Calling the National Marrow Donor Program. We found a card in Melyssa's wallet that she registered for it, but you can't talk to a live person on the phone, or email anyone, so I had to leave a message. I don't think we'll be hearing from them.

-Calling the Postal Annex from which Melyssa mailed her infant nephew a Christening present. He has the address of the recipient, but not a shipping record since it was (just!) over a year ago.

-Making Cornflake Cookies with the butterscotch chips I got at a special USA Foods promotion. I needed the sugar, the America, and my eyes needed a rest.

-Contacting the US Customs and Immigration Service. When Melyssa flew over she had to fill out an Immigration form stating the address she would be staying at. Does anyone have record of that? So far, no. But their office is also located on the East Coast and of course, I called an hour after they closed. The good news? Instead of getting up crazy early tomorrow, I can stay up late and call at midnight.

-Contacting Regal Cinemas. We signed up for their ~~Spam~~ Rewards Club and are trying to find record of it. It says it never expires, your points never disapear, so she must be on file, right? I wouldn't know, their phone line is also on the East Coast.

-Begging my parents and a mutual friend to write Statutory Declarations that Melyssa was living with me at my address. It's not foolproof, but we'll take ANYTHING, and since we had to include Stat Decs the first time around, at least we know they accept them. I've heard from my mother (she didn't seem pleased) and I'm still waiting to hear from the friend (who also happens to be who I took the lease over from) as to whether he's willing and able.

-Calculating just how tight this deadline is. 28 days? When International mail takes approximately 2 weeks? And we then have to mail it to Sydney, another 2-3? This is not a lot of time. We basically have a week to kick everyone's ass into gear if we want to make it.

-Reading all Melyssa's "Sent Emails" from her time in America to her family. We're going to print out half of them to include. Most of them talk about how happy she is, and emphasize and re-emphasize the fact that she's not visiting, she's living with me. They're certainly not foolproof, probably don't count for a damn thing especially because she didn't include her physical address, but since half of you out there have email addresses like FirstName.Lastname @ email.com we figure it can't hurt.

-Leaving messages on any forum I can find where people can give me creative ideas for proving Melyssa's address. And did anyone else see Tors' comment on the last post? She's also the moderator for that American Expats Group we're part of, she's seen it ALL. Makes me feel better that hers wasn't perfect either. And the ATM Receipts Lady? Priceless.

-Going through Melyssa's scrapbook for letters, packages, purchases, ANYTHING. But her scrapbook is mostly just that, scrap. And she didn't save any of the letters or packages she received, not that anyone can blame her. The good news? Her nan did. She has two letters from Melyssa talking about living with me, with envelopes, return San Diego address, and legible San Diego postmark. I heart Nan.

-Oh... speaking of... maybe we'll get Melyssa's mum to fill out another Stat Dec that she mailed packages to Melyssa at that address, and also called her on my home phone. Can't hurt.

-Seriously considered tracking down Crazy Vons Lady, Afro Blockbuster Boy, and Hardly Speaks English Handyman, each of whom we saw on a regular basis whilst in America who commented regularly on Melyssa's tattoos and accent. What about our Regular Starbucks Barista? Or the lady at the 7-11 who always sold us Reese's Fastbreaks? Am I getting desperate enough yet?

Melyssa's still panicking that we don't have enough evidence to show our caseworker, but I can't think of a single other thing to include. And if any of you dare to suggest a joint rental agreement, credit report, or major joint purchase, I WILL hurt you.

So far, I really think we're going to be ok. It's just going to be a matter of speed. I, for one, am going back to bed while sleep may still be possible.

A Tale Of Immigration.

2008-05-21T09:25:00.001+10:00

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...

No, seriously.

Yesterday was the day of close calls... all of which I could have done without. I think the day could have been summed up within the first 30 seconds of leaving home.

*Melyssa, her mum and I are all in the car and we've just pulled out of the driveway...*
Me: Where'd I put my Mountain Dew? I just had it... did I put it down inside?
*Melyssa's mum changes gears and you hear a loud THUNK on the top of the car*
Me: Oh. Oops. Too late now.
*We stop down the street at a stop sign*
Melyssa: I didn't hear it roll off...
*I get out of the car and the can is still sitting there, it hasn't even rolled, it's just been knocked over. I pick it up and open it. It's perfectly fine.*

I guess the first thing I should tell you about Immigration is that Melyssa is, and was, alright. By the time she woke up everything was back to normal and because the anti-histamine had been injected rather than taken in pill form like usual, there were no side affects. LUCKY!

Also lucky? Us pulling up to the train station right as the train was pulling in.

Not so lucky? My mobile dying before we even got to Sydney.

Lucky? We got to Immigration heaps early. Ok, that was just fantastic planning on our part. We had time for coffee and everything.

Doubly Lucky? Having enough time between drinking the coffee and realizing our stomachs were NOT happy about it, to get to a toilet before our interview.

About 15 minutes before our appointment we went in to the Immigration Office and got in line, and at 10:28 are told that we don't have to wait in line, we have to go up to the second floor. Well, SHIT.

So we go over to the lift (look at me, I'm all Aussie and shit) and there's an Asian woman standing there looking around waiting for an elevator. But none of the buttons are pushed. So I push the up button and the woman comes over to me, panic in her eyes, and says "Seven? Go seven?" I'm taking this as a good sign that there's someone else applying for Immigration that can't use an elevator. I had to help her into the elevator and push the 7 button for her.

We made it to our interview at exactly 10:30, and I'm also taking it as a good sign that our case worker (along with everyone else in the office) was clearly not Australian, and by clearly, I mean I only understood about every other word said to me.

We sit down, she takes our MASSIVE application and my passport, and after a quick skim asks us how long we've been living together. We tell her 13 months (and I know some of you are getting hung up on logistics now, but as long as we weren't apart on a 'permanent' basis the time between Melyssa living America and my moving here counts) and she asks for proof.

I now start to panic. I suddenly can't remember a single thing I've included in our application. I start fumbling pulling out bank statements, showing her the statement from Melyssa's mum stating that we live with her, and this is all well and good... except that it doesn't show anything before November 07.

She asks for proof as of May 2007 or earlier, anything showing Melyssa's name and our San Diego address. And you know what? We have nothing. I'm getting flushed and sweaty and stammering trying to think of something, anything, and cursing myself for not thinking to include anything from America.

And even though I know we're not trying to get away with anything, that we're not guilty, you know you start feeling guilty which just makes you sweat and flush more, and then you start panicking that you LOOK guilty... it was bad. I thought she wasn't even going to accept our application, and she would have been well within her rights to tell us to come back when we had our shit together.

I look at Melyssa and she's panicking just as much as I am, and feeling just as guilty, and all she can keep repeating is "How did you not think to include that stuff? How did I not remind you?" I know in her head she's picturing the same thing I am, me leaving the country in the next 5 days or trying to fit me under her bed until next November when we can prove our 12 month requirement again.

We pull out her passport showing she was in America, but it doesn't include the address where she was staying. We show the phone records for when her mum was calling my home phone, but it doesn't prove she was calling Melyssa even though it was during work hours. We show her the pictures of us in Coronado, Disneyland, Hollywood. Doesn't prove our address. She asks for joint invitations from then, American bank statements, anything. All of our joint invites were via text message or Myspace (Damn Myspace!), and our bank statements are in America.

We. Are. Fucked.

Mind you, we haven't even been sitting there for 5 minutes.

Did I mention we were panicked?

This should also be where I mention that I LOVE our case worker. She looks up my visa and sees I only have 5 days on my current one and asks us if we could provide proof within the next 28 days. ANYTHING with Melyssa's name and my address from May. We swear up and down and sideways we'll come up with SOMETHING.

She accepts our application.

Everything else seemed to go really smoothly. We had everything else she wanted and more, we regaled her with stories of our engagement, how I surprised Melyssa with the ring, how excited her family is for us and our child.

Oh yeah. The pregnancy? She was a little confused on that part. She looked at Melyssa clearly stumped and said "But... you're a lady... right?" and then at me. Once we explained the situation, and her family's acceptance of it, she got excited for us asking us questions about the pregnancy and our plans for a commitment ceremony.

The great things about our case worker?

-My bridging visa (the one I have between now and when a decision is made on our case) is supposed to have No Work Rights, and most people apply for them afterwards, and once you receive them, you get Medicare. She issued my Bridging Visa WITH Work Rights because she wanted to make sure I had no delays getting Medicare for the birth.

-She's going on holiday for a month and instead of transferring our case to someone else in the meantime, she's going to keep our case because she feels she understands our (unusual) circumstances and will be able to best handle us. I agree.

-She's going to hold our application until after the baby is born. Because of his due date being so close she was afraid that if she made a decision before then and mailed off the paperwork, that he'd be born whilst it was still in transit. It would mean trying to add him whilst our paperwork was in 10 different places and slowing down the process considerably, rather than having one single joint application processed.

-When he's born instead of getting online and tracking down all the requirements and paperwork, she said just to call her. She'll tell us then what she needs and how to get it.

-She seemed genuinely concerned about our best interest. This alone speaks volumes. Who expects to find that in a Gov't office?

To the best of our understanding, if we can provide the missing paperwork she requested (I've been up since 7 calling America chasing down leads) within the deadline, we will then meet all the criteria. And meeting all the criteria? What more could we, or they, want?

34 Week Ultrasound.

2008-05-19T13:00:00.001+10:00

Let's see... 34 weeks... I'm sleeping both better and worse. Reflux is kicking my ass, I have to eat dinner by 6 or else when I go to bed between 11 and 12 I spend the first 3 hours re-swallowing dinner, but when I do sleep, it is GOOD.

Rib pain still sucks. Lower back pain is kicking in. Hip feels better somehow. None of this is really relevant, it's all the same as it has been and none of it is really inhibiting me, it's just there so I guess it's worth a mention.

No swollen appendages, my engagement ring still fits, although my face is filling out and I think looks funny, but if anyone else has noticed they're not saying anything, Melyssa included. The only real difference I've noticed this week is that suddenly it's rather uncomfortable to bend over, and getting up is certainly easier with some help.

Other than Immigration and our All Mighty Checklist that seems to keep getting bigger instead of smaller as it gets closer (dye hair color other than purple or pink, take lip ring out, transfer money for fee, look up train times, find color other than black to wear, DON'T FORGET THE APPLICATION...), and by closer I mean TOMORROW, we haven't really had time to think about anything else.

We had our 34 week ultrasound today and we are the absolute epitome of "average". No seriously, she pulled up a graph of what range we should be in, and in the middle of it was a red line marking, well, the middle and that was EXACTLY where we landed. I'm taking this as a VERY good sign!

He currently weighs 2.4 Kilos (5.3lbs) and his little foot is 7.2 cm (2.83") long. So without further ado, our boy!

This is the only picture of him we could get where he wasn't putting his hands over his face. Look at those lips! And that nose! Absolutely, without a doubt, my lips and Melyssa's nose.

Our little guy have a good old eye rub, he looks tired. But you can see his little finger all cute and curled up.

Grumpy Grumperson! He was NOT happy to be disturbed. You can even see the little scrunch marks on his forehead from his pout! Look at those lips!

He spent most of the ultrasound sucking on some appendage and rubbing his eye. We couldn't be certain if he was sucking on his fingers or his toes. Look! You can see his little cheeks all sucked in from sucking so hard!

His scrotum and penis. He was very persistant in showing it off today. He's still a boy!

The Joys of Pregnancy -Or-Warning Signs of Pregnancy Brain.

2008-05-15T15:49:00.001+10:00

You know something's different when...

Bra shopping becomes a challenge, and "Easy Access" takes on a whole new meaning.
(Top: New Maternity Bra - 14D. Bottom: Once Favorite Bra - Barely B.)

You utter the words "I don't care what they look like, do you have any idea how COMFORTABLE these are?!" and then proceed to walk out in a pair a size larger than usual... that fits.

You buy new pajamas and can't see or care that loose or not, they just don't fit.

You get pretty new things from your pretty fiance.

You start taking out your maternal instincts on the dog.

Your fiance spends an hour saying nothing but "III'mmm MATER! That's like TOMATER without the Tuh."

You keep baby wipes in the bathroom... for yourself.

You spend way too much time trying to figure out how THIS

Is supposed to fit in THERE.

33 Weeks and Mother's Day.

2008-05-11T13:01:00.001+10:00

So I was all set to update about how at 33 weeks I've yet to have any cliche pregnancy symptoms such as cravings, swollen appendages, and difficulty rolling over in bed when I noticed two things. 1) I've been having such intense mood swings the last 3 days that Melyssa can't tell the difference between when I'm bitchy and ecstatic and 2) It's Mother's Day today and that applies to us!

Kind of anyway, Melyssa and I aren't celebrating it between us this year, we're going to wait for our first real one next year and apparently, according to Melyssa's Myspace anyway, she's expecting Pajamas from him. Remind me, will you? Because I'll totally forget.

In the meantime, a Mother's Day Story...

I don't think I've mentioned, but about every female in Melyssa's family who lives within a reasonable driving distance from us is pregnant. You have me (duh), Melyssa's sister-in-law, and Melyssa's cousin, who practically grew up as Melyssa's sister. Our kid is not going to have a shortage of kids his age to play with.

Last week we found out that Hayley, Melyssa's cousin, was going to be induced this week (38 weeks) due to not only the very healthy weight of her baby, but her gestational diabetes.

Melyssa has been a wreck ever since.

She's called and checked up on her, taken her shopping, and mostly spent her days nervously giggling and fretting over whether she's going to be ok and the fact that there was going to be a new baby. And if you ask me, over whether she was going to be right in her prediction that it was a girl. (Aside: How the hell do you go 9 months not knowing whether it's a boy or a girl??? Who has that kind of self control?! Especially when you can be SHOPPING!)

The plan was that on Thursday they'd put cream on her cervix, and depending on how things went, induce her on Friday.

You should have seen Melyssa on Thursday. She watched her phone more diligently than she did when were apart. She messaged. She called. She checked up. I know she was just trying to be supportive, and that Hayley needed it, and that she was reasonable in the number of times she contacted her, but you weren't sitting next to her the times she wasn't. She was giddy, and nervous and difficult to restrain.

Hayley started having contractions Thursday evening around 6:30 or so.

At 10pm they kicked her husband out of the hospital because labor wasn't "really" starting and the other women needed to rest. (She hadn't yet been moved to the birthing unit, she was in the maternity ward with all the new mothers.)

They called him back in at 2am when she was moved to the birthing unit because the pain was too intense and she needed to have an epidural.

Melyssa stopped calling around midnight because she finally fell asleep, but texted again when she woke up.

By the time Melyssa got off work at 7pm, Hayley was still in labor. Melyssa rushed to the hospital under the guise of checking to see if either Hayley's husband or mother needed anything brought to them... and spent an hour by her bedside. She then proceeded to compare contractions to diarrhea cramps and was shot the look of death. She left at 8, which I'm guessing it shortly after that remark and not because she wanted to come home to me.

8:30pm Melyssa gets home, drops to her knees hugging my belly, and apologizes profusely for what I'm about to go through and tells me she loves me. She's not exactly forthcoming with the details but is still so empathetic of what Hayley's going through she can't let go of me and I can tell she's been crying.

I remain in denial about labor.

9:45, after 27 hours of labor, Hayley receives a C-Section and her little girl Zara is born. She is BEAUTIFUL. And very alert. Even while they're wiping her down and weighing her (8lb 5oz), her eyes are wide open and she's looking around taking everything in.

(Cell phone photos do her no justice.)

Yesterday, we're finally able to see her. Melyssa is walking so fast through the hospital her mother and I aren't sure we'll even see her when we turn the corners. When we're finally allowed into the room I have to step out of Melyssa's way before I'm pushed.

Did I mention Zara is absolutely beautiful?

We spent an hour with them, holding and changing Zara, brushing and braiding Hayley's hair, and I make the mistake of thinking how tiny she is and how labor will be no problem if she's considered large... until I hold her.

Melyssa is finally calm. And relaxed. And I realize, if she's like this over Hayley's labor, what's she going to be like during OURS?

I'm going to be deathly quiet and zoning out like I do in pain, and even though at one point or another I'll probably end up kicking her out of the room because I'm spending more time calming her down than myself... I wouldn't have anyone else there with me because she's going to be a GREAT mom.

Happy Mother's Day hon.

No, I REALLY Don't Think You Understand.

2008-05-08T16:42:00.001+10:00

With Immigration coming up in two weeks it is, of course, on our minds. Not only do we need to have our application finished (check!), and all of our supporting documentation in order (check!) but there's the very real possibility that we'll be interviewed to make sure we have a "genuine and continuing relationship".

And you know what? None of this bothers me. We have SO much together, I have never been more prepared for anything in my life.

And if we don't have what they want/need, then I've talked to enough people to know it's not the end of the world. It's not an automatic denial, just a delay. There are always options.

Does this mean we have it in the bag? Hells no. ANYTHING could happen. But what I can control, is controlled.

What does that mean?

Well! Let me ~~brag~~ show you!

Need some perspective?

That is what we're handing over to Immi, our entire relationship as it's defined on paper. Currently holding just over 75 page protectors, each holding anywhere from one sheet of paper to 35, and color coded by the aspect of our relationship it applies to.

16 pages of applications and forms (medical and x-ray results, FBI and police clearance, statements summarizing our relationship, etc) followed by another 50 pages of supporting documentation of our financial (bank statements, employment history, wills, etc), personal (phone records, cards, letters, emails, etc), and social (joint letters, cards, pictures) relationship.

Not to mention the 1 inch binder we have of "just in case" documentation. I'm sorry, is one year of phone records not substantial enough? Here's another year. Is bank statements with direct deposit from Melyssa's employer, and a letter from them verifying her employment not enough? How about all of her paystubs?

I have no doubt though, with all of our preparation, that they will without fail ask us for something we DON'T have. But I'm pretty sure that 75 pages says "we are SO not fucking around with this, and take our relationship just as seriously."

What do you think?

32 Weeks.

2008-05-04T12:41:00.001+10:00

Holy Motherfucking Shit. Less than 2 months to go. He could be here completely healthy and complication free in as little as 6 weeks. 6 WEEKS.

Nothing's really changed this week. More weird cramps. Lots of late night hunger-nausea and reflux... with a still much decreased appetite. Alien movements are becoming easier to identify as hands vs. knees... and getting stronger. We were in Starbucks yesterday and everyone in there who was looking even vaguely in our direction could see massive volatile movement.

I did also finally find out that my back/rab pain is from my uterus compressing up underneath my ribs. This was good to know because now I know how to make it feel better. It involves a lot of sticking my chest out and showing off my boobs.

Oh! And my belly button does something fun! If you put your fingers on it when I cough you can feel the inside knob of scar tissue or whatever pop out and move up and down. That's fun for freaking people out, especially Melyssa.

As far as we know we're out of things to buy before he gets here. Now we just need to get the nursery back into operational order, we kinda slacked off after making it all pretty and it's cluttered with baby goods again. Needs a good clean, dust and couple dozen loads of laundry.

Maybe it's naive of me to say with 2 months left, the hardest 2 months at that, but all in all I'd say this whole pregnancy thing has been a piece of cake. Yes, there's been pain and discomfort and self doubt and worry but really, nothing that bad. Nothing like what I'd heard as far as inconvenience and discomfort, but maybe that's because I've loved almost every second of it. Maybe it's because I'm unemployed. Maybe it's because I haven't gone through labor yet. We'll find out.

Mostly, I can't wait until he gets here so not only can I show him off, but so I can stop deleting his name when I post and TELL YOU ALREADY.

Not The Cure For Stretch Marks.

2008-05-02T18:48:00.001+10:00

Two dozen in 3 days. Mmm...

More importantly, we have our appointment for Immigration! Tuesday May 20th Melyssa and I will be sitting in the Immigration Office in Sydney handing in our application, possibly being interviewed, and not-likely-but-I-can-dream getting approved!

We have anything and everything they could ask us for and then some. Seriously, there will be a post just documenting our documentation so you can see how much goes into this. Let's just say there's color coding, a table of contents, and over 75 page protectors involved.

Final clarification for how this all works...

Step 1 - Apply in person...
-Pay extortionate fee
-Get assigned caseworker
-Have application reviewed, be notified if anything's incomplete or further documentation needed.
-Possibly be interviewed
-(Slim slim slim chance) Possibly have decision made on-the-spot

Step 2A - If no decision is made in the office...
-I can stay legally in the country until a decision is granted, some known to take up to 9 months.
-I still receive Medicare in the meantime

Step 2B - If granted...
-I have a temporary visa for two years, with work allowed
-In two years if Melyssa and I are still together, I'm granted a permanent visa, at no further cost or paperwork to us.

Step 2C - If not granted...
-Receive notification of why the application was not approved
-Receive paperwork to lodge appeal with timeline

Step 3 - The baby, his citizenship not granted automatically by being born in Australia...
-Notify Immigration of his birth
-He is automatically granted the same visa that I'm on, whatever that may be
-Same goes for when I receive residency, dual citizenship, etc.
-Notify American Embassy, in person, of his birth along with my proof of American residency for the last 5 years.
-Social Security Number and American citizenship issued.

31 Weeks.

2008-04-27T11:15:00.001+10:00

Does anyone think I'm showing yet? We were actually semi-social this week seeing some family we haven't seen recently and going to Melyssa's work for my 30 week check-up and everyone keeps saying I'm so small!

I'll admit, I thought I'd be bigger considering I'm 8 months next week, but hell, I also thought there would NEVER be a time I'd look at my 14 Week photo and not only think that I looked good but wish I were that size again. Guess what, I was wrong.

According to the Dr I'm measuring exactly where I should be so I'm not worried, I'm just sick of feeling like I'm not showing when I know I AM. I just feel like I must still be at that awkward "pretty sure she's pregnant but not certain enough to say anything" stage. Then again, someone told me this week that I must be having a boy because my ass is a lot broader, so maybe I won't trust other people's judgements. I'm still not sure whether to take that comment as an insult to my weight gain or a compliment because she must have checked out my ass before.

I don't know if anything else this week is really a new development or just an exasperation of the old, but there's really only been two real changes in my mind. One is that I've lost half my appetite. The last few days I just haven't been hungry, at least not when I should be, and can hardly eat dinner or sometimes even lunch. Not just lack of hunger, but an increase in nausea, and unfortunatly it's not the kind to be satiated with food. I'm still eating, but not much and I'm not enjoying it.

I'd be okay with this except that it means just as we're going to bed, and early in the mornings when I roll over, I am suddenly FAMISHED and aching with hunger, which is not exactly convenient. I suppose it's just a forewarning, nothing is about to be convenient, is it?

The other development of sorts is that every time I get a cramp I get excited that it might be Braxton-Hicks. This, I know, is extremely naive of me because who wants labor pain without the labor but hell, if you had a choice between bowel-related-crampiness or Braxton-Hicks and they both felt the same, which would you hope it was? I'm still not entirely sure WHAT half my cramps have been lately, but I'm pretty sure if they were of the pregnancy variety I'd be more aware of it.

Other than that, our little guy appears to be thriving in there. Alien movements all over the place, and poor thing gets hiccups twice a day. I wish I was still naive enough to believe he just had a song stuck in his head and was tapping out the beat, I feel sorry for him! No one likes the hiccups!

Blank.

2008-04-23T15:18:00.001+10:00

I knew I was forgetting something on my 30 week post. I knew I was forgetting something on my 29 weeks post. I even know that Right Now I'm forgetting something.

My memory.

I have not only lost my short term memory, but half my vocabulary. I'd give you examples, but that requires remembering.

All I know is I try and say something and in the middle of a sentence I can't remember the word I want to use. Not even a Cool Long Word, but a stupid word. And not any other word that could describe the word I want to use. Thank god Melyssa understands me better than I do, I've given up trying to finish sentences the way I want to and replacing the word I can't remember with "Blank".

Try living with someone who can't complete sentences. I have the utmost respect for Melyssa because it's not just things like "Hey hon, will you grab the Blank for me?" it's more like I'm in the middle of a story, or a serious conversation, and I'll forget the major word, or even the point of a story all together.

I'd give you an example, but I can't remember any of the conversations, or words, that I've forgotten. I'm sure Melyssa can give you a few.

Melyssa also keeps asking me to do things, and I forget a second later. She has to tell me things 3 times, not because I'm intentionally ignorant (although sometimes I have been known to be) but because I really can't remember her asking me things.

Cooking is hard too, our timer is the type that turns itself off after a couple seconds and even if I get up the second it goes off, there's no guarantee I'll remember to go into the kitchen and check on it. I've been lucky, so far I haven't actually burnt anything, but that's because I have enough sense to set the timer early.

It makes sense that this would happen once, or even twice, but I tried to bake cookies the other day and EVERY SINGLE TIME the timer went off, I forgot it.

I can't even walk from one room to the other and still remember why I walked in there. Usually I know it's because I wanted to look something up but... what? No clue? Walk back to the other room, I'll remember, and forget again before I get back to the computer, if I remember to get back to the computer to begin with.

Now, it's 3:30 and I know I'm supposed to do something... If you remember, will you let me know?

EDIT: I still don't know what I've forgotten, or need to do, or thought about doing... but I did remember SOMETHING I wanted to tell you! There's a cute little pink box over here on the right ---> that says "Click Every Day". By clicking it you're donating a Free Mammogram, and you can give one every day. (Well, technically you have to click the link, then click the big pink link again, but DO IT!) This year I'm trying to do all I can do for Breast Cancer in honor of my mother's Fourth Year Cancer Free. Now you can help too!

30 Weeks.

2008-04-21T14:22:00.001+10:00

Last week I had to go in for my Anti D shot at the hospital. For those not in the know, because I'm a negative blood type (O-) and there's a possibility that the baby is a positive, there's a risk that if our blood mixes, such as during labor, that I could die. Since I'd rather not, you know, die, I have to get a shot to make sure that doesn't happen.

What I DIDN'T know, was that the shot didn't take place at the Antenatal Clinic, but in the maternity ward at the hospital. At the END of the maternity ward. So Monday morning Melyssa and I had to walk past all these rooms of women in labor and crying newborns to get there.

WOW. Not only did it remind me that I need to schedule that damn hospital tour, it scared the crap out of me. I was happily in denial that in 9 weeks we'd be going to the hospital to pick up our baby, not deliver him!

Almost immediately after posting my 29 week update, things started changing. Not only is 30 weeks officially in the home stretch, meaning we're down to double digits now, but my body is changing in more ways than just size.

Nothing gross or weird like nipple leakage (eek!) or fake contractions (unless you count diarrhea cramps) but most importantly, I've reached the beginnings of that cool alien phase. He's moving with such intensity (or lack of space) that you can see the movements through my shirt on an hourly basis and when I pull my shirt up, it looks like I've got quite the circus performance going on. Most of the time I feel like he thinks I'm an etch a sketch and is just drawing all over my uterus and then wiping it off with his elbow.

In case you hadn't noticed, I'm losing my belly button too. It's almost completely flat and has the WEIRDEST sensation when touched. There's still room for it go flatter without popping, but I don't think I'll be that lucky since I've still got a ways to go size-wise.

My boobs are getting enormous too, my barely B's are now on the larger side of a D and even though that means constant itching from stretch marks that have extended almost all the way under my armpits, who cares! I have boobs!

Unfortunately, I can't say I spent my youth wishing for larger thighs. Yesterday morning I found that I'd sprouted a wicked set of stretch marks on my "support beams" in that awkward place between upper thigh and ass. I don't mean wicked in the cool way either, I mean harsh angry purple red setting suns. Note I've decided they're setting suns, and not rising, so therefore they'll get SMALLER, not bigger.

I actually noticed them about 6 weeks ago but as I have limited to no flexibility couldn't be sure. I made Melyssa check them out and she assured me they were just creases from sitting or sleeping and nothing to worry about. Well, there's no lying about them now... or any doubt.

I won't lie, I'm panicking that it's just a matter of time before I get them on my stomach. I KNOW it's natural and everybody has them but WHATEVER. It bothers me. I don't want them. And I still feel like I'm not "really" showing yet so to think that I've gotten stretch marks now in two places that haven't grown as exponentially as my stomach will is scaring the crap out of me.

The good news? I can't see a damn thing below my belly button, so as long as they stay down there, I can stay in denial.

Reader Appreciation Day.

2008-04-17T12:23:00.001+10:00

It was pointed out to me this morning that today is Reader Appreciation Day which I suppose means I have to get off my ass and blog. Or actually, get ON my ass and blog.

I started blogging 3 years ago or so at another address about... well... nothing. My life, random things I found amusing, and I put an effort into being both humorous and regular in my postings. I never expected anyone to comment, except my friends at work I had also pressured into starting blogs, and was absolutely shocked when I received my first "random" comment from Jeri.

How she found me, I still don't know. All I remember is that she was my first and I bragged about it outright and annoyingly. As surprised as I was that she commented that first time, I'm still surprised that she's still around.

After Jeri came John, Paige, and Annie and how they found me, I still don't know either. I think Paige found me first, and I think Annie through her, and John... Well, John, did I find you first? Or you me? I think it was through the comments section of the sadly MIA UntitledLife.

My point is, my first readers are still here. I'm not longer regular or regularly humorous. I'm no longer at my former address (hence it being former), I no longer blog about that which I did before, and you've suffered through my obscurity, aliases, and not only the atrociously serious, but the atrociously sappy. But you're still here.

And not just them! It's the 17th of April and I've had 655 hits just this month. I see you, I see all of you! Ohio, Oregon, Virginia, Georgia, New York, Mississippi, Japan (both Osaka and Tokyo), Norway, England, My family, and of course, California and Australia. And on top of all of you, I see every single person who has ever Googled "Do all drains lead to the oceans?"

My point? Thank you.

Not just those of you who started with me and continue to suffer through (I know how disheartening it is to read an irregular blogger), but those of you who continue to find me and stick around. Whether it's for a day, or just adding me to your blogroll (I see those too...) Thank You. An even bigger one if you've ever commented, even just once. Comments make my day.

And Hahn, thank you for reminding me why it is I blog.

Best Advice Ever.

2008-04-15T08:45:00.001+10:00

"If you're not motivated, just start anyway. You'll GET motivated."

-Some Oprah show last week.

Either nesting has SERIOUSLY started, or I'm forcing myself to be crazy motivated. I've been up since 6am doing laundry, making Melyssa breakfast (and lunch), and soon, deep cleaning the bathroom, nursery, and organizing our MASSIVE DVD collection.

Why? Because I already cleaned the hell out of the rest of the house... and because my back hurts exponentially more when I sit down.

I hope since nesting is early, that means he will be too...

29 Weeks.

2008-04-13T14:46:00.001+10:00

(Sorry for the lack of a better photo. Melyssa's in the middle of working 12 days straight so I was on my own this morning.)

I can't decide if this trimester is already going WWWAAAYYY too slow, or WWWAAAYYY too fast. There's a part of me that's FREAKING OUT that there's less than 11 weeks left because I was only 10 weeks along when I got here, and I remember how fast that went!

On the other hand, I feel like even though it's only been one week in it's just DRAGGING because I am SO ready for him to be here already. I just want him! The crying, the diapers, the complete loss of sleep and sanity. I want him! RIGHT THIS SECOND! I just feel so READY.

It's kinda weird. I've never really felt ready for anything in my life, but maybe that's a part of being healthy.

Or maybe that's just a part of nesting, which I think has officially begun to set in. Suddenly this week both Melyssa and I are on hardcore productive-mode and it's sorta creepy. We're going walking, sometimes twice a day, cooking our own dinners (with RECIPES!), getting up early and I've even made a master checklist of daily and weekly chores that need done... and I'm doing them! Before Melyssa gets home everyday!

The house is CLEAN. Even half scrubbed! The dishes are DONE! And I don't mean last week's dishes, I mean the dishes from last night were done LAST NIGHT! Why? Because I felt like doing them! It's ultra creepy.

And somehow... ultra satifsying and rewarding. Never thought I would be this person! The catch will be whether it lasts more than a few days.

With the third trimster seems to also be coming the traditional... *ahem*... fountains runeth over. I thought this wasn't supposed to start until right before labor as your body starts to clean itself out in preparation but... no such luck.

It seems nothing about pregnancy I'm going through alone though because Phoebe (our dog) is going through it with me. We haven't changed her diet or anything, but every couple days she seems to get the runs with me.

But for THIS, I am so proud...

When I got to Australia you had to watch her every second to make sure she didn't go to the bathroom indoors, and while she's been better and I dare say even potty trained, there was still always that doubt and mistrust when she went to certain areas of the house.

Today, she scratched at the door to be let out! I took her out and she walked around for 15 minutes not wanting to go inside, even taking me for a lap of the backyard, but to no avail. I should tell you, she usually drags us back indoors, and will ONLY walk on grass the second before she has to.

I gave up and brought her back inside, but 5 minutes later she was sitting at the door whining. Took her outside and 10 minutes later she still hadn't done anything, so when I brought her back to the front door this time she wouldn't go inside. Instead she walked into her pagola (the outside covered and enclosed area she sleeps in at night and usually hates).

I knew something was definitely wrong then, so I closed the backyard gates, propped open the front door and pagola door, and 5 minutes later she let herself out and her poor little tummy exploded. Poor thing knew she had to go, but her tummy wasn't ready and she was worried about having an accident inside!

Maybe I should have prewarned you that all my maternal instincts are building up and I'm taking them out on Phoebe. Even in my dreams, I'm always protecting her or saving her or worrying about her. Projection anyone?

Proud.

2008-04-10T17:13:00.001+10:00

Big news!

But it was Melyssa's to blog.

Head over there to see what's new!

Best Birthday Ever. So Far.

2008-04-07T17:02:00.001+10:00

I usually hate birthdays. Not "hate" them, just... eh. I'm not comfortable with the attention, the gifts, the expectation of me being excited and happy, or even with enjoying it. I can't explain it. I like it, I don't dislike it, it's just generally more anti-climatic and a "big deal" than I'd prefer.

This year was different.

Saturday night:

Melyssa and I drove down to Sydney to meet up with the local Americans living Down Under that we met through our little forum Yanks Down Under. We met at a Mexican restaurant run by a Californian and WOW. The food was phenomenal, the people understood every aspect of what we were going through (meeting on the internet, moving around the world, immigration, all of it!) and we even ended up the topic of a very loud and heated debate regarding Gay Marriage.

That's us. The couple you can't take anywhere. We weren't even in the conversation to begin with, two other blokes were going at it over us!

After dinner we all headed next door to a Chocolatier where we got the BEST bowl of strawberries and chocolate dipping sauce. There is nothing about that evening I wouldn't repeat. It was great, even Melyssa had fun. And being that we don't usually enjoy meeting new people, it was a far greater success than either of us had imagined.

And making it even better? We stopped in a generic convenience store on the way in to get change for parking, and they had American candy! Butterfingers and Reese's and Hershey's and all sorts of fun stuff! For a good price! You can bet we stocked up!

Sunday:

Not only did we hit the official third trimester mark, but we went to Symbio Wildlife Park. Similar to the Wild Animal Park for you San Diegans, but more intimate.

That was surprise enough, but meeting us there was also Melyssa's mum, her nan, and her uncle Greg. I can't even begin to express to you how excited I was about going to Symbio. I've been dying to go there since I first heard about it and spent most of the day hopping around up and down more excited than any of the kids we saw.

I won't bore you with all the pictures (you can see most of them in my Flickr when I get off my ass and upload them) so here's the highlights reel.

It's Australia. I had to cuddle a koala. He was so soft! I think the koalas were Melyssa's favorite.

Holy shit I held a snake. You know how every kid has Their Nightmare? Their one recurring fear? Mine always included a snake bite of some kind. Ugh. But I did it! The same guy did all the shows and displays all day and was really nice (and sperm donor material!) so I couldn't let him think I was a wuss, even though I am. Note how far away my hand is from my body.

I got so excited about this guy that I didn't even notice that he wasn't a kangaroo, he's a Wallaroo! I'd feed him, hop up and down, and then feed him some more. I was a little excited.

How cute is HE?!

And of course, my favorites, the kangaroos. There were probably at least 30 of them just roaming around a corner of the park that you could walk up to and feed. They were so cute! And not shy! Even these little babies could stand up higher than my waist. I wasn't game enough to feed anyone bigger than them.

Which doesn't mean they weren't forthcoming enough to feed THEMSELVES.

And a wombat for Jeri. Jeri, I'm sorry, I didn't realize how BIG these guys were! He was bigger around than I am! But here's one for you anyway, we named him Bob. Melyssa and I were trying to get him to look at us for a picture and he looked up every time we said Bob.

Monday (So Far):

After going to bed at 9 last night completely knackered, Melyssa and I went out to breakfast at 7:30 this morning. It was, honestly, realistically and completely unexaggerated, the BEST MEAL I HAVE EVER HAD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. I can't emphasize enough how superb it was. I even stuck my head in the kitchen whilst Melyssa paid so I could tell them how much I loved it. Even the orange juice was good, it literally tasted like sticking a straw in an orange, it was that fresh.

Evidence? Ok!

Then... we bought a puppy!

Ok, that's a lie. We were about a BREATH away from buying a pug/jack russel mix. It was so hard to leave her! But we figure a newborn and a puppy might be a little much. Plus, she was expensive. But it still took us over an hour to talk ourselves out of it.

Otherwise, we spent the day shopping and now Melyssa's at work.

Still to come? Cake! And American presents! And Dinner!

I love my birthday! Happy 25 Me!

28 Weeks and Kangaroos.

2008-04-06T09:48:00.001+10:00

28 Weeks.

Third Trimester.

My back hurts.

My hips hurt.

Welcome to pregnancy.

Ok, now that the pregnancy update it out of the way, I'm going to see KANGAROOS!

Shh! Don't tell Melyssa I know, but she's taking me as a surprise to Symbio for my birthday so I can feed kangaroos and hold koalas and stuff because I won't shut up about how much I NEED to see a real life kangaroo!

And Jeri, there's supposed to be wombats there! I hear they're pretty slow, so I'll see what I can do about sneaking one out under my belly...

KANGAROOS!
KANGAROOS!
KANGAROOS!

Reason Number 1,736 Why I Love Oz.

2008-04-03T16:56:00.001+11:00

You may have seen this on Dooce already, but WOW.

I love that I live in a country where kangaroos are as common as deer in the midwest. Except for the fact that that means they're involved in just as many car accidents, and because of that fact I've seen more dead ones than live ones.

Americans have all these cliches about Australia; Kangaroos, Koalas, being founded by convicts... and they're all TRUE.

I LOVE IT.

Where else can you drive through and see this?

(Okay, I've never seen the camel sign, but I've see the other two.)

Where else can you find kangaroos and koalas in your backyard?

(I should probably point out that Melyssa was this fucking excited the first time she saw a squirrel in America. Apparently they're specific to us. :) )

And while I'm taking cliches, lucky fucking convict bastards! These 'convicts' are people who stole loaves of bread, or in our case, Melyssa's relative who stole some tobacco. So they were packed up on a ship and sent to PARADISE.

I've never been to England, so I could be wrong, but my understanding is there's a lot of rain and fog, and these people arrived in Sydney. With white beaches and greenery and gorgeous weather. Talk about punishment! But I digress...

I know I'm going all touristy, getting so excited about a baby kangaroo 11 hours away when I've yet to even see a live one myself, but people here just don't CARE. Kangaroos are nothing, there are so many of them they're being culled by the thousands because there are TOO many of them. Without sounding all veggie-righteous (because I'm not, veggie nor veggie-righteous) and opening a can of worms, you can buy kangaroo meat in the grocery and it freaks me out.

I guess it really is like The Thornbirds, "We all have contempt for whatever there's too many of. Out here it's sheep, but in the city it's people."

Ok, this just got way too serious for my point. My point? The Baby Kangaroo is cute!

One Of The Many Things I LOVE About Oz.

2008-04-02T11:23:00.001+11:00

This is what the rest of Australia that ISN'T a beach looks like. To me, it's what I imagine Ireland to look like. This is EVERYWHERE, all the green and grass and hills and gorgeousness.

This, btw, also happens to be the view from Melyssa's brother's backyard. Jealous!

27 (and 26) Weeks.

2008-03-31T16:24:00.001+11:00

So, like Melyssa said, our internet's been a bitch lately and we had to go without for about a week. It sucked. Until someone suddenly thought "Hey! I think I'll plug it in!" and then we had it again.

A week without internet. For no good reason. Makes me wonder why I'm here VOLUNTARILY.

Week 26 was the week of the hemmorhoids. Thankfully I never really got them, but was pretty damn close. I was paranoid for a full week, afraid to even sit down on the toilet for fear of gravity and suction making them worse. But I managed to walk around with a few extra puckers for a week or so and not full blown painful bloody icky things.

How's THAT for excitement?!

I've heard that pregnancy makes you throw any self consciousness out the window, but if there was any doubt it's crawling into bed with your ass in the air asking your fiance to not only inspect, but photograph, your asshole.

Week 27 has been less exciting, and for that I'm grateful. Mostly I'm just an emotional mess, crying even over the end of "Surf's Up" for the little penguin who had to overcome all that negative energy and just surf. I'm tearing up just thinking about it. It is a sad, SAD, day around here.

And then of course there's the freaking out that after this is all over, we're going to have a child. One that's ours. Always. All the time. Always wanting us and needing us and there's no going back. And as much as there's times that that thought brings me tears there's also the fact that That's it. It's over. We can never give it back, always have to deal with it and entertain it and worry about it, and as it gets older and becomes a child, be annoyed by it. ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

WHAT THE HELL HAVE WE DONE?!

As duh as it sounds I've also been freaking out that this could very well be the last time I'm ever going to be pregnant. I know that, I've always known that, because we want Melyssa to carry our second child, but I guess the end is sneaking up on us now that I'm in the third trimester and while I'm dying to meet this little guy already, I'm also a little sad to see this end.

I'm sure this is premature, before we know it we'll be feeling like this will never ever end, I know my hips and back feel that way already, but... still. It's here. It's a reality. And only getting more real as we washed all the baby clothes this weekend and did EVERYTHING we need to do to prepare for immigration.

Now that is WEIRD. All that's left is my chest x-ray and waiting for all our documents to get back to us before we have our interview. It really hit home today sending off the last of our stuff that I'm moving, really and wholly and legally to another country. Again, stupid, I know, I moved here 4 months ago, but this is IT. Eek!

Now all I need to do is figure what I'm going to do for a job!

Loved.

2008-03-27T15:07:00.001+11:00

At 10 this morning Melyssa called from work and asked me if I could have anything for lunch, what would it be?

I had just woken up and wasn't feeling particularly creative, so I said the first thing that came to my mind and what I'd actually been craving for the last week or so, a chicken, mayo and cheese sandwich.

At 2, my usual lunch time, Melyssa showed up at the front door with just that even though she was supposed to be in the middle of an 11 hour shift.

My over-worked, sleep-deprived, spends her spare time making dinner and doing her immigration homework fiance took time out of her no-time-to-eat-lunch-herself busy day, to drive across town and bring ME, her unemployed, slag around the house, bitching, moaning, doesn't do a damn thing all day girlfriend, lunch.

I. Am Loved.

Universal Donor.

2008-03-20T12:52:00.001+11:00

I've had something on my mind for the past few years, and may have even mentioned it once or twice on here, but it seems like every time I mention it for every person who's supportive, there's three who think it's irresponsible.

I want to be a kidney donor.

I think it's silly not to be one, I have two, I only need one, and people are dying everyday because they need one. People who can't get them from their families because either they're not a match or because they don't have families. Children on dialysis dying because the rest of the world is walking around with two kidneys and they don't even have one.

To me, I see it the same way I do being a blood donor. I have it, I can do, why SHOULDN'T I?

I know in particular both my family, and Melyssa's mother, is against this. They believe that while it's nice that I want to help someone I don't know, that I have a lifetime to donate and what if something happens to me? To my family? To my children?

And that's valid, it would KILL me to know that I couldn't help them because I didn't have one to give. But let me ask you an honest question, how many of you still have both kidneys? I don't doubt that each of you probably know someone who needed one at some point, who had to give or receive a kidney, but how many of you still have two?

I'm going to take a shot in the dark and say that you have two not because you said no to someone, but because you either haven't needed to, or couldn't, donate.

And what if something DOES happen to me? My family? My children? What if I could be the saving donor but I only have one? I know I'm not religious by any means, but I believe everything happens for a reason. And if by that slight chance that it's my family and I can't do it, I can't believe that my having already given mine up would cost them their life. Call it karma, call it the circle of life, call it naivety, but I can't find it in myself to believe that my saving someone else's life in a random act of kindness, would cost the life of someone in my family, or even myself.

Here's the one thing that plagues me. What makes someone I know more worthwhile of a kidney, than someone I don't? Why should I wait for it to be someone I know? Odds are if I met someone who turned out to need one, I'd want to give them mine. So why not someone I don't know?

What's the REAL difference between someone I know, and someone I don't? If a friend of mine needed one, would anyone be opposed to it? Would anyone say "No, don't do it. Save it in case your family needs it"? And what if that person was YOUR friend, or YOUR family, but someone I didn't know. Would you question my want to do it then?

Melyssa and I have talked this over in depth, and luckily, she agrees with me. If she didn't, I don't think I could ever go through with it. The recovery from the surgery itself is much harder on the donor than the recipient, and that alone I couldn't go through without the support of my partner.

I don't know how the process works here in Oz, but after the births of our children I want to start the process. If you could save a life, wouldn't you?

25 Weeks is BORING.

2008-03-17T13:28:00.001+11:00

Being pregnant and unemployed, does not a fulfilled woman make.

Not to say that I'm unfulfilled, it's just BORING. I'm not bored on a daily basis, I fill the time. I bake cupcakes. I eat cupcake batter. I take naps with the dog. I cry over Oprah. And more recently, I put together our Immigration Application.

Is it totally sad that putting together our Immigration Application is the most exciting thing to happen to me this month? I'm almost in orgasms loving it so much. And this isn't sarcasm! I get to color code and label and be obsessive over whether lines are straight and which piece of paper should go where!

And get this, our application is easily over 100 pages long. Remembering of course that we have to include phone records, cards, letters, emails and such as well. (Btw, Annie, Brooke, Qi and various members of both sides of our familes all make guest appearances as validity that we as a couple are socially accepted. Thanks for your help!)

Otherwise, I haven't done a damn thing this week. Except sit here and get bigger. The kind of bigger that required new underwear purchases. The kind of bigger that has me sitting here in a pair of Melyssa's shorts from high school.

My back still hurts, my hips still hurt, I still have heartburn, and he is still kicking, making regular appearance, and just generally thriving away in there.

The only good news is that Miss Phoebe Jayne is *knock on wood* back to her usual well behaved self, and in fact learning quicker than ever. She snuck out the door behind me again today and instead of sniffing the grass and having a romp she went straight out to her little pagola (don't ask me what this word means, I can't even remember it half the time but it's what Melyssa calls it) where she sleeps outside and walked right inside. We usually have to force her in there. It was WEIRD. But I'll take it!

God I'm boring. I apologize. What would YOU talk about if this is all you did all day?

Freaking! Out! In the good way.

2008-03-14T15:02:00.001+11:00

Just the other day Melyssa and I found a website for Americans living in Australia, ironically called Yanks Down Under (also the name of my yahoo address and Flickr account, guess I'm really not that creative).

Anyway, I've been picking their brains about Immigration, things we love and hate about Australia, restaurant and brand recommendations, EVERYTHING.

AND... along with getting a TON of advice on our Visa Application from people who've actually DONE IT, I found out the BEST NEWS EVER.

Get this...

After I apply, I automatically get Medicare, even though my visa's not approved yet.

This means, FREE birth, FREE EPIDURAL, FREE hospital stay, and not worrying about if something goes wrong how we're going to hemorrage $2000 a night for ICU out of our asses for the little guy.

I GET DRUGS FOR WHEN MY VAGINA IS RIPPED IN HALF!!!

Now if this doesn't make a pregnant woman cry, what will?!

24 Weeks and 6 Months Down.

2008-03-11T13:59:00.001+11:00

I find it hard to believe 6 months has gone by already, but apparently, it has. I'm also starting to think we've been taking this pictures at the wrong angle because look at THIS from a few days ago...

Not only do you now have a picture wherein I actually look pregnant, but you also can't see the weight I've been putting on my ass and thighs. I'm trying not to let it bother me though, I'm thinking of it as support beams for what's to come.

Note to self: Do not try on pre-pregnancy clothes no matter how low cut you may think they are. They will not get much higher than the knee. Denial. Denial is my friend. On this note, also don't try on non-maternity pants no matter how stretchy, comfy and athletic they look. You can tell yourself that maternity clothes are horrible and never fit right, but you can't use that same excuse when nothing fits in the Junior's department, including your ass in the mirror.

This week also seems to be the official onset of the afeared Pregnancy Hormones, which I was beginning to think I was immune to. For awhile Melyssa was having worse mood swings than I was but that has drastically changed. Not only do I cry every single day now (including walking into a house this weekend because it was so beautiful *wipes eyes just thinking about it*) but I am a motherfucking BITCH.

Those of you related to me I'm sure are scoffing saying "You just figured that out NOW?!" but trust me, you ain't seen NOTHIN' yet. Melyssa looks at me, questions me, asks me to repeat myself or doesn't know what I'm thinking the second I think it... and I relish taking her head off from all angle. In all fairness, we've both been bitchy (how can she not be when her partner always is?), but I'm sure as hell not helping the situation. It's going to be a LONG couple of months...

My SPD, or as we fondly call it now PTSD for Pelvic Traumatic Stress Disorder, is steadily getting worse, escalating exponentially the last few days. I wince to walk, to get dressed, to get in or out of the car, to sit on the floor, to walk up and down stairs, and routinely walk around grabbing my crotch when a burst of pain surprises me. I'm sure this last one in particular is making the mother in law rather uncomfortable.

Unfortunately there's nothing we can do about any of this, everything I've read says that bedrest won't help, just to keep going about my business. Sitting for periods of time makes my sciatica worse, so basically, I'm fucked. If you're thinking about getting pregnant, go for it, it's fun!

Well, that's a lie. We can probably stop walking through two story homes that look pretty but we'll never buy. We've spent the weekend looking at homes, land, and a bunch of other crap but I'm pretty sure that walking up and down all those stairs just to look at the home theatre with a full projection screen didn't help any.

The good news is, we were looking at homes and land! Someday might be right around the corner, and if it is, Immigration LOVES joint property ownership!

The Last Thing The Overtly Emotional Need.

2008-03-07T18:06:00.001+11:00

I just spent the last who knows how long chasing our god damn dog down the street and around the block.

She's normally really well behaved. She's not super dog, or even super trained, but she's well enough behaved that we can take her to a dog beach off the leash and she'll run around but come back immediately when called, she'll walk herself out to the front yard for a wee, and is PHENOMENAL with Melyssa's one year old nephew, Owen.

But lately, that's changed. Just before she started in heat she started taking off down the street, not all the time, probably only twice altogether, and we thought it was just because she was in heat and doing the dog thing, seeking some lovin's.

Now she's no longer in heat, was really well behaved again for a few weeks, but has started taking off more frequently and going much further before we're able to actually catch her. It's completely out of control. And it's not that we're letting her out without her leash regularly, but the few times she gets out, like today when she snuck out the front door behind me, she's not coming back at all.

It's simultaneously frustrating and angering and SCARY because it's not that she just runs down the block, she runs back and forth across the street. The basic suburban street that is extremely prone to speeding cars. Chasing her down the road you can't decide whether you want to kill her or cry because you don't know if she's going to be okay.

And if that weren't bad enough, as soon as you get close to her she looks at you with this know-it-all grin and runs away even further.

I don't know what to do with her anymore other than never taking her off a leash ever, even inside the house. I've looked it up online incessantly, but I can't find anything that works. She KNOWS how to come, we've done all the steps to all the trainings, she just doesn't WANT to. She'd rather ignore us and run around, and who can blame her?

I doubt you have any solutions, but I just need to get my frustration out because this is RIDICULOUS. We can't be chasing her down the block when there's a baby in the house, god forbid what'll happen when and if I get to the point where I can't bend over, and most importantly, for the sake of her safety!

I still don't know if I want to kill her or cry...

Things That Made Me Cry This Week.

2008-03-05T14:50:00.001+11:00

-Watching the series finale of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Full. On. Bawling. Tears. All the way through.

-Oprah. Multiple times. That show should come with a warning label.

-Thinking about our child drawing a picture of our family, including us, his two moms.

-Reading summaries of GLBT-friendly children's books.

-Thinking about taking our child to Pride.

-Hugging Melyssa.

-Baking cookies and realizing we were out of sugar.

-The way Phoebe looks at me.

-Oprah. I really need to stop watching her "20th Anniversary Collection".

-Learning about the empty feeling inside you after birth.

-The realization (for the 1,058th time) that there's a BABY in there.

-The way he kicks me after I shower.

-Myspace.

-Thinking about not being able to go to the grocery store tonight.

-The itty bitty identical triplet boys.

I think I might be pregnant.

23 Weeks.

2008-03-02T16:41:00.001+11:00

I'm starting to think I might be pregnant. Laying down, my belly gets in the way. Hugging Melyssa, it's mostly just our bellies touching each other. Sitting, can't put my knee up without it hitting my belly.

Otherwise, not much has changed this week. For about the past month I haven't had much of an appetite, was doing pretty well on a breakfast of yogurt and muesli (granola) followed by dinner (of course you have to remember I get up at noon) but this week, fuck, all I want to do is EAT.

Three bowls of cereal, plus yogurt, plus banana bread, and I'm still hungry. 2 hours later I'm eating whatever I can scrounge up for lunch (usually a HUGE bowl of pasta with a bag of chips and half a dozen cookies) and am still famished by the time dinner comes around. But I'm HUNGRY, so I blame it all on The Boy.

The most significant events of this week took place last night wherein I discovered... MY FIRST STRETCH MARKS. PLURAL. Thank god they're on my boobs and not anywhere else. According to Melyssa they've been there about a month, but I didn't notice them until last night and even then I just thought they were sleep creases.

Being the good girlfriend she is she didn't mention them to me and since they're small and evidence that my boobs have gotten ENORMOUS (barely a B to a D people, this is PHENOMENAL) I'm not too distressed over it. But the day one rips across my ass, or stomach, or god forbid my tattoos, all hell is going to break loose. I hope for all of our sakes the Internet is right about them being hereditary. I have HOPE!

SPD: Sucky Pelvic Druggies.

2008-03-01T13:29:00.001+11:00

I heart Google. You can find ANYTHING.

The last few weeks I've been having pain in my pelvic bones, particularly Right There. It felt bruised to touch, and movements such as walking or readjusting my position on the lounge were giving me annoying yet sharp muscular-type pains.

Then last night, I made the apparently bad decision to roll over and it SCREAMED out in pain that that was not such a good idea. I literally couldn't move my lower body for a good while, particularly if that movement were something so obscene as to move my knees apart an inch.

It eventually passed, I slept well, and again today I'm back to the bruised/sore to walk pain.

So I googled it.

I know some of you are rolling your eyes and shaking your heads already because a pregnant woman with access to the Internet breeds a hypochondriac (if by being pregnant alone doesn't make you an honorary member anyway), but when you don't have Medicare and your car is in the shop for a blown clutch all weekend, you'd rather read about it than see someone who's probably going to tell you you're pregnant and it's normal.

TELL ME SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW.

Where was I? Oh yeah, So I googled it. And I have the beginning symptoms of SPD, or Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction, not that means anything to me. All I know is I read all the links I could find and this one is Me.

Long story short apparently it means the ligaments holding my hips together are drug addicts and ODing on relaxing hormone. The relaxing hormone is supposed to gradually loosen your hips another 2-3mm (do you KNOW how small a MM is??? Smaller than the letters MM.) but my body's in overdrive with it. Pressure and discomfort, normal. Debilitating pain, is not.

Symptoms are:
Pubic pain, often much worse at night
Tenderness to touch
Lower back/hip pain
Difficulty/pain rolling over in bed
Difficulty/pain in any movement including separation of legs (i.e. walking, stairs, getting dressed, getting out of the car, etc.)
Sciatica
Incontinence

That's me!

It's unclear how common it is, right now it affects about 1/300 women but A) there's nothing anyone can do about it so Dr's often dismiss it as regular pregnancy pain and B) most women don't report it to their Dr's.

And me? I'm just lucky. Apparently as the pregnancy progresses it can get worse, a lot worse, making the whole spreading your legs to deliver the child a particularly painful process.

Wow! I can't wait!

Not A Request.

2008-02-27T15:27:00.001+11:00

So let's make it more worthwhile, eh?

Since I know I must have missed a National DeLurking Day being as I haven't posted one in 2 years, I'm making today an honorary one. Today being any day in which you happen to be reading this and can take two seconds out of your day to comment.

I get around 50 hits a day from all around the world, so today, stop hiding and tell me who you are. Leave a comment. Say hi. Tell me to fuck off. Comment about... anything. Just... do.

Hit that little "Enable Me" link down there and if you're not a blogger you can even be Anonymous and write in your name. There's nothing difficult or time consuming about it other than that damn captcha.

Have a heart. Soothe my ego. I'd do me...

22 Weeks.

2008-02-24T16:01:00.001+11:00

Question.

After you give birth and the baby comes out into the whole messy bloody icky world (this would be a reference to the placenta, not a social commentary) what happens?

Do they give him to you all sticky and icky? Do they hang him by the ankles and spank his little bum to make him scream? Do they wrap him up in a little blanket with the hospital issue hat and gown and nappy? Or just hand him to you naked? Or naked in a blanket? Or slap a nappy and hat on him and throw him in your arms?

I know you have a choice in some of this, but what's standard procedure?

Another Gay Post.

2008-02-22T13:19:00.001+11:00

So, I was just checking my Statcounter and along with my usual 99% of Google hits for "do all drains lead to the ocean" there was one person who found me by googling "Lipstick Lesbian".

Naturally, I got all excited and followed the link to see where I rate on results, but instead of finding my blog (which I still couldn't find 10 pages into it) I found a bunch of stuff about, well, lipstick lesbians. And you know what? It all SUCKED.

Not only does "lipstick" supposedly mean a feminine woman attracted only to other feminine women (whereas a 'femme lesbian' is only attracted to masculine women) but most of what I found out there is (porn, and) other women talking about how they're offended to be seen as lipsticks, hate the stereotype, and hate those who embody it.

It all just REALLY rubbed me the wrong way, especially after an event like Fair Day which usually ends up being the one day a year I actually feel accepted as gay by the gays.

Albeit, I don't wear lipstick, but I wear make-up. I wear tight fitting tops. I wear tight fitting jeans. I have long hair and generally put time and effort into my appearance. I've been known to wear skirts and heels and tops made for cleavage and LIKE IT. I like brand names, nice things, and I even love a nice set of acrylic nails, even though I hardly ever splurge on them.

And I know, without a doubt, that all of this is the reason I go through most days without anyone having a clue that I like women. And I'm okay with that. I don't like it, I hate it and it frustrates me not to be seen as who I am, but I'd rather have my pretty things than a pair of cargo shorts and spiky hair.

But this doesn't mean I love my fiance any less when her idea of comfort is a pair of shorts that look identical to the ones we just bought our little boy. It doesn't mean I'm trying to pass as straight. It doesn't mean I'm bi. It doesn't mean I'm not proud of being gay.

I know I'm getting frustrated for nothing. I know it's just another stereotype, a little pigeon hole into which no one adequately fits, but... to hear that the general (internet) population of gays view 'my kind' as an insult and a farce... it hurts.

Until today, I liked the term lipstick because I thought it very nicely defined me. I want my rainbow flag. I want my sign on my forehead. I want girls to look at me instead of boys. But I shouldn't have to give up any part of me for it.

And I shouldn't have to like brightly colored rainbows. :)

Day-O-Gays.

2008-02-20T12:27:00.001+11:00

As you are probably (not) aware this past Sunday was Fair Day, which is essentially the Aussie version of Pride.

I heart Pride. I don't know why other people go, and I'd take a poll but I don't think I even have any gay readers out there anymore. I go because...

-I'm gay.

-I like gays. Particularly the boys.

-I harbor a lifelong dream of (once again) becoming a handbag and helping to scope for fickle cute single boys preferably in tight shirts. (I miss Gary. :( )

-You NEVER know what (or more accurately, who) you'll see.

-Some of the coolest, most original, albeit overpriced, shopping.

-I like to run into people I know who don't know I'm gay. That's most people. (Not by choice, I just apparently don't have a sign on my head.)

-Mmm... FAIR FOOD!

-To see all the gays I didn't know existed and wonder endlessly where these people are hiding on a daily basis.

-And most importantly, to show off my girlfriend in a totally possessive objectification kind of way. (And hopefully be shown off as well.)

Fair Day is not unlike Pride in any way, except that it's free and they don't have the big drag parade to start it off, apparently that's reserved for Mardi Gras. The trade off? No anti-gay protestors being held off by cops on horses.

Unfortunately, this whole half way around the world thing ruined the whole running into people I know thing, although I will admit that on the way there I started to get really excited about the prospect of potentially running into Heather and April... until it dawned on me that hey, I'm on the other side of the world. And even if I WAS in the US, they're on the OTHER SIDE OF IT.

Strangely, this was the biggest disappointment of the day, even compared to swollen ankles and almost fainting down a flight of stairs. But what can I say, Melyssa and I have a huge little couple crush on them and would totally be couple-dating them if we had a chance. In that non-creepy, non-stalkerish sort of way.*

Seriously, lately Melyssa would rather lay in bed and catch up on her archives than watch Buffy with me. That. Is serious.

These places are totally fucking crazy though, especially this one here in Sydney and if you ever get a chance to go, well, you should. Where else will you see dogs with pink mohawks and purple feet jumping over a leather clad D-list TV gay celebrity to win a dog show hosted by a disturbingly scantily clad drag queen?

Next year my show off list is SO including Ms Phoebe Jayne and our little man...

*Heather, if you're reading this, we're blushing and Melyssa is hitting me for having given away our little secret.

21 Weeks And 2 Days.

2008-02-19T10:54:00.001+11:00

I know I'm two days late on this but... what's the point? I'm still not growing! That and believe it or not we actually WENT somewhere this weekend, but that post's still to come.

I'm trying to be grateful since the lack of growing doesn't mean a lack of discomfort but it's frustrating to walk into a baby store of all places and not be seen as pregnant. If he wasn't kicking as often as he is, I have no doubt I'd be worried if he was alright.

In the meantime if you're looking for something entertaining to read, I recommend Melyssa's Post from last night about our encounter with her mother. If you can't catch it from the title though, it's rather explicit, and certainly NOT recommended for family viewing.

You've been warned.

The Other Real Mom.

2008-02-18T14:46:00.001+11:00

Is it possible to PMS whilst you're pregnant?

All the women in this house who still have ovaries are PMSing as of late and I can't help feeling like I'm on the higher end of the emotional spectrum too. Then again, maybe that's just pregnancy, but the timing seems more than coincidental. And the fact that I'm crampy, just isn't helping.

Lately our little spud has been kicking like crazy, not so much all day anymore but at night when Melyssa's home and we're laying in bed. Every night I lay down, and every night he starts kicking. Until Melyssa puts her hand on my tummy that is. Then he gives her a few just to let her know he knows she's there and settles right down.

My hand on my tummy? Does not a damn thing. Hers? It's like he's being rocked to sleep.

Until she takes her hand off that is, then he gets needy and wants more cuddles because he'll push himself all the way up and we can feel his entire little body through my skin. I've coined this move as being 'babypated' because that's what it feels like on this end, that insane painful pressure of something needing to be OUT and not RIGHT THERE.

Melyssa is clearly going to be his favorite, as soon as she puts her hand back over him it's like you can almost feel him relax and nuzzle against her, and a few minutes later he floats back down peacefully and I can move comfortably again.

I am so lucky to have this woman as the mother of our child, I don't think I can possibly make you understand just how much she is meant to be a mother. And she is going to be my SAVIOR,

even more so than she already is. He's going to be the type of child who can't go to bed until she's there to tuck him in, they'll have their own routine that I just won't do RIGHT, and before I know it, she'll be the only one he'll eat his veggies for.

I fucking love it. I'm so proud she's mine.

Hurdle One: Check!

2008-02-16T14:27:00.001+11:00

My visa was officially granted!

My extension that is. For those as confused as... well... everyone, we can't apply for our Real Visa until April, since it's a requirement to wait one year since the day we met in person. It's all a rather complicated, yet very straight forward, deal.

Anyway, the visa waiver I came over here on expires February 25, so I had to get an extension so I could remain here through April until the official and Real Visa application takes place.

And that extension, is now in place! I'm here legally until May 25th.

Before you go getting all extra confused, when I apply for my Real Visa in April I'm automatically here legally on a waiting period until I'm either approved or denied, a process which apparently takes somewhere between 6-9 months. So gimme a year, and a baby, before we're permanent and I'm work legal.

Yay for extensions! Step One Complete!

Quelching Baby Fear 101.

2008-02-15T13:52:00.001+11:00

Practice makes perfect, right?

(No, we're not generally this cruel. Little miss started her period today, one of three things I didn't want to wake up to this morning. The other two being a knock on the door and a phone call from immigration asking for my email address... to which they've still sent NOTHING.)

And just because she's so darn cute all clean and stuff, Phoebe Jayne with her perdy pink bow.

Schmoopy Fest '08.

2008-02-14T19:00:00.001+11:00

Happy Valentine's Day, my love. I'm so glad we're doing this together.

I'd get all mushy sapperson on you, but I think we do a good job of that on a daily basis.

I love you.

Move? Huh?

2008-02-12T20:40:00.001+11:00

Every week on Sundays when I post my weekly photo update (even if for the last few I could have posted the same picture over and over again) I always Google "# Weeks" to see what's going on in there.

Sometimes it's interesting, like when I found out his little bits were working, and sometimes I'd rather not know, like when I found out he was shitting inside me and then eating it. Overall though it's the same generic information about the second trimester like how I shouldn't have morning sickness anymore, or how I'm supposed to be having this fantastic Burst of Energy! and using it to my advantage by doing fun stuff like Exercising! or Nesting! which is the one Melyssa keeps praying to come to every night.

At first this 'Burst of Energy!' made me giggle, because hey, me, burst of energy means three Starbucks or a really bad day, those are the only two things that make me burst in any way. But lately it's less giggling and more blah because I can't do a damn thing, let alone work up any bursts.

I'm not oversleeping, I'm not undersleeping, I'm not dying of boredom, I'm just EXHAUSTED. Not even exhausted... fatigued? It's that deep in your chest tired, the have to work to remember to breathe tired, the not getting enough air in your lungs, have to sit down weak tired. I can feel it right now just sitting here, but I don't want to sleep. I'm not that kind of tired, just UGH tired.

No, I'm not depressed. I'd know, I have enough experience with it. And no, to the best of my knowledge I'm not anemic. I've never had a problem with it and am taking antenatals with iron in them and eating red meat.

I'm trying. Melyssa and I have been taking the Phoebes to the beach for walks, and I romp with her a little and hell, I still make it to the toilet every half hour when I have to piss. It just takes it OUT of me.

Oh well, I'm too tired to think about it anymore, and clearly this boy-child isn't feeling any of it, he's kicking away harder than usual...

Goodnight All...

20 Weeks and Halfway There!

2008-02-10T14:00:00.001+11:00

That's our little boy in there! And at 20 weeks today, that also means we're at the halfway mark. It's gone by REALLY fast, but I have a feeling this is also where it really slows down. As I (supposedly) get more uncomfortable I can only assume time will pass more slowly.

Then again, these last three weeks the kid has supposedly doubled in size whereas I... haven't changed a bit. It's a little disheartening, and a little worrisome. Apparently it's normal, and since just a few days ago we were assuring that everything with HIM is normal, I'm left to assume that everything is and will be fine.

Warning: Uncensored Photos!

2008-02-06T13:40:00.001+11:00

Here's our little one's profile. You can see the nose and lips perfectly, the tech kept going on and on about how cute the lips are. Apparently this kid loves to show them off.

Full profile the other way around. You can see the head and profile perfectly again, as well as the little tummy! If you look above the tummy you can also see it giving us the thumbs up! Look at those lips!

The tech insisted that everyone needs a picture of their child as an alien. It's like looking at a skull in this one, it's the face front on. (If you're having trouble identifying body parts, they're tagged in my flickr.)

And this one... it's his penis! As our tech put it, our little boy has a doodle!

IT'S A BOY!!!

Security Blanket.

2008-02-05T14:18:00.001+11:00

I love being pregnant.

I know that statement surprises a lot of people, my fiance included, and I can't blame you. Maybe it's my cynical nature, maybe it's because it's fun to complain about all the cliches associated with pregnancy, and maybe it's because frankly, I'm not usually a happy person. Whatever it is, I love it.

Then again, why wouldn't I? This is the only time in my life where I have to gain weight, relax, and can't work. I don't even have a single financial worry other than calming down Melyssa that EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT. I sit on my ass all day with cable, internet and my own 1,000+ DVD collection.

I wear Happy Pants and get congratulated on my weight gain. I eat cupcakes all day and it's cute instead of gluttonous. I'm not allowed to lift heavy objects, which means I don't have to do a thing in the nursery. Which is probably a good thing because I really want to go in there and carry around/clutch/coddle/never let go of what I can only assume will be my child's security blanket and not doing so is taking more restraint than it did yesterday not to cry when Melyssa's mum washed the cupcake pans before I could lick the batter.

Of course this also means that the second I lay down my nose gets congested, not in a sniffly phlem way, but in more in a swelling of my nasal passages so it takes supreme willpower to draw a deep breath, a deep breath containing the oxygen of a single normal breath... if I'm lucky. Not that I get to lay down much, I spend most of the night and early morning sitting up to burp for no reason at all other than it's painful if I don't.

It means that I'm addicted to Top Ramen (or the aussie version of it), and if I get hungry I get so nauseas that the thought of food, the one thing I NEED, makes me throw up. But most annoyingly, that I contantly feel constipated, except that I'm NOT. I'm quite the opposite of it, I just feel the same pressure and bloat and uncomfortability of it. Although I suppose I'd rather feel constipated than actually be it.

But the best part about it all? (Okay, next to all the shopping I can do guilt-free...)

This time tomorrow we'll know what it is!

EDIT: Guess I didn't restrain THAT well, Melyssa's mum just brought me home my own security blanket. :)

19 Week Update.

2008-02-03T11:07:00.001+11:00

These pictures are getting harder to take each week, not because I'm so massive as to fit within the frame (although I'm sure that day will come) but because someone is already a little camera whore and starts moving as soon as I get into position. We have to keep waiting for my stomach to stop moving because all of a sudden one side will go concave and it looks like my stomach is doing the wave.

Come to think of it, it's always the side facing the camera, mayhaps someone is just camera SHY, which would make more sense given the parental units around here.

After this picture I tried to push my stomach out so we could see the difference and well... there wasn't one. Usually I can stick it out so far I looked pregnant on my skinniest days, and adversely when I sucked it in today... all you saw was some rib up at the top and some squirming down at the bottom.

I'm telling you, this is one ACTIVE little fucker, about once an hour I'm reminded it's there (I can't wait until I can stop using 'it', 3 days!) and I've even taken to talking to it now. Although talking is all relative, usually it's more along the lines of "Okay! I get the point! I'm feeding you now, knock it off!"

World's Best Mom, coming soon!

End Of World.

2008-02-01T11:19:00.001+11:00

Ya'll know I hate stupid shit. I hate forwards and Meme's and most video blogging. I hate stupid humor and stupid people, which as I've learnt so far, is all people.

So for me to post just a link, to a video nonetheless, I must have laughed outloud.

Fucking. Funny. Shit.

http://www.endofworld.net/

(I know it says it's a long load time but I have crappy internet and it took seconds. Volume on, give it a shot.)