40/40.

Well, the time is upon us where the end is near. I have officially reached my E.D.D but in my previous experience (with the exception of Miss E) babies do not come on their E.D.D.

I'm actually completely fine with this.
Granted, there was a time last week when I was desperate for any 'bring on labour' tips, but as they've all failed miserably and I've made it to this point, I have decided, I'm ready, when she's ready.

I was basking in my oh-so-fat glory last night, and realised with every swift kick and cramp to my groinage, that I am incredibly lucky. My body has been home to three healthy/happy babies and since I have no plans for anymore children, I am enjoying my last few moments of pregnancy before it's all over forever.

(I don't care what you say, Hubby, this is it.!)

I'll never have another chance to experience what I've taken, somewhat, for granted. PLUS, I am really keen to give the old 'kick the Malteser's' trick a go, and get it on film, so until I get some Malteser's, this Kidlet is not going anywhere. Not to mention, I vividly remember labour, and by Golly, I'm so not ready for that, yet.!

So, as it is, I know for certain I'll have my precious bundle on the outside by next Friday (if I make it to induction time, which both my OB and I don't see happening) it's just a matter of being patient.

And with two Kidlets already, I am the Master of Patience.

Happy 40 weeks of gestation, BeeBee.
As much as everyone is looking forward to meeting you, I'm happy to keep you to myself for as long as I can.

What if.

This post may take a turn for the whiney.

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Our Monday morning started like any other. The alarm beeped, loudly, I kicked Hubby in the butt crack to shoo him out of bed, while I managed the fat roll that has become my 'getting out of bed' maneuver.

I scrambled for Master S' kindergarten uniform, and then roused him from sleep, while Hubby made his lunch for Kinder.

Master S had a shower, got dressed, had some breakfast, then snuck into our bed, where he was going back to sleep, whilst I had a shower. He's never gone back to sleep on a Kinder morning (aside from his first day) so I made the decision to keep him home.

Miss E was still asleep, so I crawled back into bed with Master S and dozed off for a little bit, myself.

I was woken shortly after by Master S trying to wake me to go see 'Mrs. M'. I checked our clock, we had time to get him to kindergarten, he'd be five minutes late, if that. So I grabbed his bag, his lunch and drink, stuck his shoes on his feet, and the two of us were good to go.

Hubby informed me he was almost out of fuel (as was I) but I had more than he did so I could get Master S to kinder and THEN get to a service station, therefore, we'd be on time if I took him in my car.

As I left our driveway and got on to the main street, I asked Master S whether we should go a different way today. I don't know why, it seemed quicker, but he said 'no' so we continued our usual route, which takes us a bit longer.

We were driving along, singing, when I started getting nasty cramping in my stomach, and I undid my seatbelt to get comfortable. We were stuck in the school drop off traffic, so were crawling along at about 20kms/hr.

This gave Master S and I plenty of time to sing and talk about all the fun things he'd be doing at Kinder that day. Which consisted of 'draw' and 'playa trains'. I'm sure he does more, Mrs. M told me, but he only remembers the trains and the pictures.

It was in the middle of me reminding him that his Nana wanted him to make her a painting, that I spotted the lights in my rear view mirror.

I pulled into an empty car space on the side of the road, knowing that we were going to be later but hoping it would be a fairly quick licence and breathalyzer. As I leaned to unclip my seatbelt, I realised I'd done that not even two minutes prior and sat there feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

When the officer came to my window, I was surprised to see it was the exact same officer who'd actually pulled me over a week ago. He made a remark about how bad my back tyre was.

Asked to see my licence, no problem... Shit it was in my handbag on the bench at home. No drama, I'm within ten kilometers of home, that's fine. Took my details, asked me if the car was mine, no I reply, it's not.

He asks me if I have an exemption from my doctor for not wearing a seatbelt. No, I do not, I just took it off because I was experiencing some bad pains. I'm stupid, I'm late, I'm sorry.

*BAM* here's a $244 fine and you've lost three points off your licence.

I respect that, I did the wrong thing.

Okay, Hubby's not working, I bring in meatballs for pay, I'll figure something out to cover it.

And here's a defective vehicle notice. You have until 10am today to get this vehicle back to the address it's registered at and it's not to move until you have at least three new tires.

Tires, I can manage that, somehow. Or not, but I'll have to.

You'll need a full roadworthy on the car before the sticker will be removed.

Oh fuck.

I can't manage that.
What else will it need?
I can't take it anywhere in ten minutes to find out.

It's Easter in two weeks and I physically can't work anymore hours than I am.

Thank you officer, I appreciate you advising me that the vehicle I am carrying precious cargo in is unsafe, I truly do, but I think I'll go die in a hole now.

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Everything could have been different.
I could've not taken Master S to Kinder.
I could've taken the quicker road.
I could've taken Hubby's car and been late by stopping to get fuel.
I could've left my seatbelt on and hardened the fuck up.


But it wasn't different.

It's happened.

And now I've fucked us.

Freeway.

I've never posted anything about this before, because, well, I'm supposed to be fearless. This is a story about a fear I have, and how I overcame it. Kind of.

I'm the spider catcher in our house because Hubby is incredibly arachnophobic and can't even stomach squishing a money spider with his shoe, (mind you, with two little one's learning to talk spiders range from anything to ants, to actual spiders, to flies and so on in our house, too).

Back on point.

I have a few phobias, the usual things, well usual for me, moths/butterflies (a.k.a glorified moths) and live flapping chickens (or any chicken that is alive and near me, doesn't necessarily have to be flapping). There's no way in hell, I am making any effort to overcome these phobias. I've lived long enough being afraid of them, and will continue to do so.

Locusts, crickets, worms and beetles while unpleasant, I can handle being near, just don't want them touching me, so not really a 'phobia' as such.

The other phobia I have, which can leave me feeling physically ill and sweating like a mule is... driving/traveling on a freeway.

I never realised I had a 'fear' of it as such until I moved to a town where in order to get to the next suburb, you had to get on the freeway. Or go over a bridge, which isn't nearly as convenient or quick.

My phobia became apparent to me, when, for no reason, I'd find myself clutching at my seat until my knuckles went white, while being a passenger on the freeway. I never had a car when Master S was first born, so I never drove over it, until after he was born.

No logical reason as to why.
I've been on freeways before, never drove on a freeway except on my L's where everything involving driving was exciting because I was 16 and didn't fully comprehend just how dangerous driving can be and I suppose it wasn't until I had my children that this phobia sort of emerged.

Driving, while a normal everyday task is scarier to me now that I have precious cargo in the backseat (and currently, in my tummy) and even if I don't have my children in the car, I still worry about potential high speed accidents in which I won't come home to them.

This kind of fear, while understandable, no-one really wants to die on the road, is a bit irrational in my eyes. If I have to be in the next town for anything, I will normally take the bridge, stay in the left lane traveling comfortably at 75kms an hour and NOT freak out about dying. It just means I have to leave home fifteen to twenty minutes earlier. Not always possible with small children.

I have driven on the freeway, and I'm clutching the wheel, trying not to blink, and constantly checking my mirrors for fear that the learner barreling up my rear end at 110kms an hour is going to actually smash into me.

It really is quite nuts.

I don't 'do' overtaking on a freeway.

That is just asking too much, and the one time I feel stressed enough to the point only a cigarette can calm me, I don't smoke in the car, and if I did, I'd be too afraid to take a hand off the wheel for even a drag.

The silence while driving on a freeway with only the sound of rapid wind hitting the windows and whistling, along with cars zooming past, only intensifies the sick feeling I get in my stomach.

With a phobia like this, it's best for me to avoid the freeway. Because while I'm a freaking out mess, I am the most dangerous driver on it, even if I don't mean to be.

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Today, for a reason I don't know why, I left home early enough to go to the next suburb.

I didn't take the bridge.

I took the freeway.

I don't know why, but I felt like I had to. I had to move past the fear.

I did the speed limit, instead of 10kms under. I overtook when necessary.

But when I stepped out of the car, I swear my legs were like jelly.

I was proud of me.

But I was so bloody afraid.

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And so I ask you:

Do you have a 'freeway'? Something that scares you so badly that it leaves you a mess? What is your 'freeway' and have you attempted to overcome it?

Things that grind my gears while pregnant!

I'm 28 weeks and 1 day pregnant, and already, I'm just about ready to throw in the towel. And by throw in the towel, I mean nothing. Because at 28 weeks and 1 day of gestation, there's really not much to do from here on in except expand, piss a lot, and answer ridiculous questions.

I have admitted previously that I suffer the severe medical condition that is 'Baby Brain', but it would seem that my forgetfulness whilst having two brains in my body, merely brings out the fact that several people around me are barely functioning with the one brain they have. The fact that I'm forgetful is nothing on how stupid some people are, so here is my top ten list of:

'Stupid Shit People Ask Me/Say To Me (and possibly other poor pregno's) During Pregnancy!'

1. 'When are you having your baby?'
Is. This. A. Joke? I have never come across anyone I know personally who has had an elective C-Section. This is the only way anyone could possibly know when they are going to have their child. Or, if they are Alison Dubois then I suppose they'd probably know.
I am not having an elective C-Section, and I am not Alison Dubois.
If you mean 'when am I due?' I can tell you that, but it really means jack shit. Not all babies are born on their due date. I fluked it once, but I am the minority, and even if I was to go on my due date, the fact it is about 12 weeks away, how the fuck am I to know that'll happen when you ask me now.!?

2. 'Is this your first pregnancy?'
No. 'Second?' No. 'Ohhhh' *insert look of discomfort*. I'm sorry, but by learning I am expecting my third child, why do you insist on looking so uncomfortable? I am the one with an infant headbutting my pelvis, I should be the one who is pulling that face, NOT you!

3. 'Wow, you're getting big/bigger' or 'You've popped since I last saw you!'
I'm sorry, but excuse me? Yes, I am pregnant. Yes, I am aware of the fact I am fatter than I normally would be. The fact I haven't seen my vajayjay or feet without the assistance of a mirror, nor can I squeeze into anything without an elastic waistline, reminds me that I am no longer thin. You do NOT need to point out the obvious to me. I'm pregnant, not blind, I can see my gut is expanding. Not everyone wants to hear how fat they are! Even if they have a reason to be fat! Would it be appropriate if I pointed out how many blackheads, greys, or bad manners you've accumulated since I last saw you.!?

4. 'Not long to go now!'
Shut. The. Fuck. Up.
Twelve weeks until Christmas/Easter/Your Birthday/Any other fucking occasion that requires a ridiculous amount of spending, is 'Not long to go now!'
When you're counting every fucking minute until you're doing a loo dash every ten minutes to change a maternity pad and NOT doing a loo dash to piss because your baby is sitting on your bladder, 12 weeks is a LONG GODDAMN TIME.
Granted, I've been pregnant longer than the time I have left, but just shut your pie-hole! I hate you!

5. 'Have you felt any movements?'
This is okay if the question comes from my doctor, as she needs to know. To anyone else, I am 7 months pregnant. Seriously. Stand there and watch my shirt during the length of this exchange. It's fucking 'Alien Vs. Predator' in there.

6. 'Are you in labour?'
Again, I'm seven months pregnant. The minor 'ooh' sound I just made because I either got booted, elbowed, kneed, poked, or punched, does NOT indicate labour. If I felt like I was going into labour this early in my pregnancy, I'd be demanding an ambulance, not going 'ooh!'

7. *giggling and pointing* when you see me holding my back.
I'm off-balance. Top heavy. I've got more junk in the front than I do in the trunk. When I'm standing for a ridiculously long time, I like to support my back with my hand so I don't tip over. This is hilarious? Let me kick you. A lot. In the crotch. Then we'll see who's laughing at who's grabbing of what!

8. 'Are you ready?'
Ready for what? To give birth? To go to lunch? To rumble? Elaborate you fuckstain!

9. 'Getting excited?'
The moment I pissed on that over priced stick to find out my family was about to expand, I've been excited. I'm having another child, I've been having another child for over 28 weeks now. Been excited from Day 1, fool!

And finally,

10. 'Do you know what you're having?'
I am pleased to report that after the second ultrasound, it was confirmed we are having a person, and not a red crayon! It was a bit hard to tell at first, but we're lucky!

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So Mama's, admit it, what stupid questions or statements did you encounter during pregnancy? Did you get as stabby as I do?

Or, for anyone who hasn't been a hormonal pregnant woman, have you asked a question you wish you hadn't.!?

Letter to my Children.

To my darlings,

It's very late, and very cold, as I sit outside and write this to you both. You are both tucked up in your nice warm beds, hopefully, having pleasant dreams.

As you both know, Nigel hasn't been doing very well lately. He hasn't wanted to play as much and you have had to be extra gentle with him, so as not to hurt him.

While you were both sleeping, Nigel wasn't doing very well. He was very sad because he missed his brother Carlos, and wanted to go to sleep to be with him.

He missed his brother a lot, and although Nigel loved you both, he thought that because you have us, Pepsi and each other that you would be okay if he went to sleep.

Nigel is in a beautiful place, where he is happy and he isn't lonely or sad anymore. He's with Carlos and they are both playing together, watching over you, but knowing you're both okay.

I know you'll be sad when I tell you this when you wake up, but I also know that you will be very brave and know that Nigel is in a much nicer place.

He'll always remember how good you both were to him. He'll always remember how much you both loved him, too.

He's happy again, and I know this will make some of the hurt go away, knowing that he's happy again, because it made you both sad to see him sad and hurting.

I'm sorry babies.
Mummy and Daddy love you lots and we're very sorry that Nigel had to go away, but we know that somehow you'll understand this.

Lots of love and cuddles,

Mummy xoxoxoxox

Me? Funny? Haha, what?

I was greeted by the usual crumb bum emails that dictate my inbox this morning, but was pleasantly surprised to find something else sitting there.

Apparently, I have been nominated for the Circle of Moms - Top 25 Funny Moms.

I was incredibly excited, albeit a little confused, because I actually did not nominate myself and no-one in my social circle nominated me either. Rather, when I asked them, they looked confused, which clearly screamed 'sorry love, we don't find you funny!'

Bastards.

So, thank you to whomever it was that took the time to read my posts, found me to be funny, and then nominated me.

Do you think you could vote? I have a button on my blog, and don't want to look like a total loser by being nominated and having no-one vote for me.

Circle of Moms Top 25 Funny Moms - 2012

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P.S. It's probably a good thing I didn't post the sooky-la-la post I have in my drafts folder. That shit is SO not funny!

New member of the Happy House.

Due to unknown circumstances, Carlos Lopez, Master S' beloved Guinea Pig, was found peacefully sleeping in his hutch a few days ago.

He was buried in a special spot in the backyard, and Master S was incredibly brave.
He, at the age of three, knew his Pigga was dead. He's no stranger to pet death, and it sucks that he expects and accepts it, when my heart breaks for him everytime some stupid animal becomes a mate of his then decides to kick the bucket.

Master S was asked a few days after Carlos Lopez had passed away whether he'd like a new Guinea Pig, but his mature response was 'No, Mum, no more. Master S' Pigga dead'.

I left it at that and watched him spend time with Miss E's Guinea Pig, Nigel.

Since the unfortunate passing of Carlos Lopez, Nigel had not been himself. He'd been sitting in his food bowl, only nibbling and drinking small amounts. If we tried to hold him, he'd squeal as if in pain, and even if we didn't hold him, he'd squeal as if in pain.

It's been heartbreaking and we've been expecting that he'll soon pass away.
Every morning, we'd check him, expecting the worst, but were pleased to see while miserable, he was still with us.

He'd lost his brother who he'd been with since birth, his only Guinea Pig Companion. He was feeling lost and lonely himself.

Today, I broached the subject with Master S again.

'I know Carlos is gone, mate, but Nigel needs a friend, an animal friend, what do you think about getting another Pigga?'

'No, no, no'

I decided to go with my gut, and my gut said although Master S wasn't ready for a new pet, we needed one or we'd be burying Nigel soon enough. If Master S was still adamant he didn't want a new Pigga after we got one, I'd keep him for myself.

My Dad took me to the Pet Store, and while there we saw so many gorgeous Guinea Pigs. Two looked like Carlos Lopez, a few looked like Nigel.

Only one stood out from the bunch. And luckily, he was a boy.

He was named 'Pepsi' on sight, for his Pepsi-esque colouring, and am pleased to report, that Master S was delighted to see the box when we produced it, and knew it had a Pigga just for him inside. He didn't hesitate in opening the box and taking the little frightened bundle into his arms for a cuddle.

I am also pleased to report, that Nigel is no longer squealing, and is quite enjoying the company of Pepsi.

I have no doubt that Master S and Nigel will miss Carlos Lopez for a long time yet, but I am hoping Pepsi can help keep them both company and ease some of their hurt a little.

And he is a cutie, too, I think.