Superwoman

These crazy hormones have given me the amazing superpower of supreme knowledge of everything!

e.g.
The man asks when Spock's due date is...
Me: "March 11th, but I would say it would be 1 to 2 weeks earlier."
Man: "Okaaay ... why?"
Me: "I don't think the lady who did our dating scan did it right."
Man: [confused] "Really?"

Now let me take a moment to explain that I have no medical training. I am not a midwife, an obstetrician, a radiologist, nor have I ever been a medical receptionist, or cleaner of any medical facility for that matter. Hence, the man's confusion. Now back to the story.

Me: "Yes. Remember, she was still a trainee and had a supervisor there to guide her?"
Man: [pretending to remember] "Uh-huh."
Me: "Well, she was supposed to be measuring crown-rump, but her hand was really unsteady and she wasn't quite getting it right. I reckon she dated us on a shorter crown-rump measurement than the baby's actual length. About a couple of weeks off."
Man: [now completely bewildered] "Okay."


Yep, it's lucky that I know everything, so we can just ignore all the medical professionals and listen to Google and the voices in my head (aka FIAPOKO!!). I've become one of those people that I loooooove to hate. Lord help me, but more so help the poor folks who cross my all-knowing path.

What to expect when you're expecting

Pregnancy hormones make a negro cray, so here are some activities you might want to ease up on.

1. Voting in any elections of any significance. Because you will vote for the underdogs. Who will probably lose. Then you will lament and vent on social media for them.

2. Going shopping. Because when you get charged full price at the checkout instead of the sale price shown on the racks, best believe you're gonna make them pay. At the expense of your dignity and your husband and children's pride.

3. Watching TV shows like Extreme Makeover Home Edition. I usually shed a tear or two of joy at the end of such shows. But hormonal imbalances result in full waterworks requiring a whole box of tissues, and that aloe vera crap ain't cheap.

4. Listening to depressing songs. All of a sudden you can relate to every bloody person's heartaches and suffering. More crying ensues. More unnecessary expensive tissue usage. Sam Smith, get some help.

5. Exercising. Not only have your hormones loosened up your joints and crap, but your tummy will make you off-balanced and likely to look even more gumby than usual, and you realise you are forever doomed to be a flabby, wobbly whale. Which you aren't in reality, but somehow you'll convince yourself that's the truth. Cue more wailing and gnashing of teeth, followed by excessive consumption of chocolate and honey toast.

But it's a blessing right?

[Grit teeth] Right!

Shallow

Is it bad that as Ant's due date draws near, I am getting extremely worried about:

• making sure my hair is constantly "maintained" (facial and elsewhere *ahem*)
• making sure my nails are "did"
• what I will wear should I decide to jump in the pool for a water birth
• how to keep my straightened hair dry while having a water birth
• what I will wear should I decide not to have a water birth
• what I will wear for my first post-birth photo
• (I think you get the gist of it...)

Maybe it keeps me sane and distracts from the upcoming pain.

Or maybe I'm just vain.

I am getting excited though. Looking forward to seeing my boy and finally staying home from work and getting my normal bikini bod back. Guffaw!

99 Problems

1. Work is out of control busy.

2. I am super lost (i.e. aivalea) at my current work assignment.

3. Having a primary school kid and having to arrange your life around the fact that there is no more full time care for your kid during all your working hours ... it's a new discovery, a new challenge, and my goodness I feel so bad for all you other working parents out there! Let's get together and have a whine-fest (or even better, a wine-fest!)

4. I still haven't won Powerball. Obviously, or problems 1 to 3 would be resolved.

5. Ant is such a boy of a baby. He hasn't given me a smooth complexion, a "glow" or shiny/tamed hair like Lali did. Instead, he has given me a grand appetite for spicy bratwurst, bacon butties, churros and all else that is needed for getting elephantiasis.

6. I work in the middle of Wellington city. You would think that being surrounded by cafes galore it would be easy to find a date scone when you crave one, right? Wrong. I had to walk around in circles, visiting 5 cafes on a rainy morning before I could find one! Not impressed.

7. Our neighbour's visitor parked on the road in such that a way that impeded me from backing out of our driveway the way I wanted to. The hubby wisely volunteered to ask him to move, preventing a mad-preggo-lady altercation and possible charges for destruction of property ( though I would have only removed the rear bumper of his car ... that was part that was poking into our side of the driveway ... )

8. I'm sure I have about 92 or so more gripes on food and fat. Ugh. My sister takes photos from amazing angles that make me look a quarter of the size I am. People see them and say "You look so great! Upload more photos!" No thanks. I will only upload the photos that pass the "Pregnant But In Impossibly Great Shape" criteria. Hence why there aren't many.

9. Looking at Crazy Cakes and Just Desserts Facebook updates is driving me insane with cake cravings. I am refusing to do any baking right now though, because I can see it turning into a slippery slope ... of ganache and whipped cream and buttercream and custard!! Joy.

Two more months. I can do this. Just focus on the prize at the end ... that bowl of oka. Nommmm ...

Eating for two (dozen)

I came across my maternity book from the first pregnancy and in it I found some disturbing figures.

In 30 weeks of pregnancy (from Week 10 to Week 40), I gained a whopping whaling 30 kgs! Oh. Em. Effin. Gee!!

My weight was recorded at all my midwife or doctor appointments, so I could see the progression of the weight gain, and even during the earlier weeks when baby was quite small, I was piling on the pounds.

And I do know why. I ate like a pig. I was nowhere near as nauseous as sickly as this time around, so I ate  whatever and whenever I wanted, justifying it with the "eating for two" mantra. Although I knew at the time this phrase was actually nonsense, what I didn't know was that the extra amount I needed to eat a day to handle mine and baby's energy needs was the equivalent of 1 to 2 slices of bread. Eek. I was eating at least an extra 1 or 2 loaves of bread, and that is not even an exaggeration.

It took a long and unhappy 4 years to start shedding that weight, and this time around I am determined to be much smarter. Prevention is key, I guess. I keep the old maternity book handy now, and when I feel myself losing the battle of the will, I take a glimpse at those weights *shudder* and try to make a better eating choice.

Don't get me wrong, I will eat cake, so help me God! Except now I schedule a day of the week when I will bake or buy what I am craving the most, and enjoy that with the family.

I know that by carrying this alien, I will get fat. But there's no need to get any fatter than necessary, right?

A hippo's guide to surviving earthquakes

If you have been watching the news like a good citizen should (and if you live in a country where they give a winkling about the tectonic plates in New Zealand) then you may know that there have been some rather significant earthquakes around the Wellington region for the past couple of weeks now.

It has been unnerving each time the tremors hit, trying to locate the little shadow and then proceeding to dive under the unfortunately too-small kitchen table.

What we also came to realise (many, many natural disasters later) is that we have no emergency plan of action, no emergency survival kit, no real reason that we should survive if or when the mother of natural disasters (or the dreaded zombie apocalypse for that matter) hits.

So I've done some thinking, as you do, and have come up with some tips that may help other alien-carriers out there having to put up with frequent quakes:

1. Pee quickly. Unfortunately, the little alien inside you won't stop kicking your bladder or producing all that waste, so when you gotta go, you gotta go. But no more taking the iPad or Property Press in with you. Just do the deed, and get out. Coz if the house collapses around your little ceramic throne, well, gooood luck!
2. Prepare an emergency kit. Fill it with all your favourite non-perishable cravings / snack foods. Then guard it with your life, especially if there are little hands (or big ones too) that keep trying to sneak in to that particular section of the emergency kit. Have none of it!
3. Keep your smartphone charged at all times! This one is important. If food and / or water supplies run out, at least you will be able to Scramble or Candy Crush.
4. Get fit. If you reach full term and there are no major natural disasters where you need to evacuate and hike around the hills of Wellington, you will still have a fully grown alien to push out, and any physical strength will come in handy for pointing (the blame), gripping (to death) your supporters' hands, and then after the birth give yourself a mini-makeover for the all important first photo with baby.

There you have it. Extremely helpful tips that I'm sure you could not do without.

PS. Don't forget to pack your happy pills in the emergency kit!

Aegon

This week I have some fantastic news to share.

I had my halfway point ultrasound, and found out:

1. The alien seemed all anatomically there, i.e. the correct number of limbs, the expected shape, one head, etc
2. We are having a little prince. EEEEEKKKK!!!!

Though the first bullet point was pretty important, the second one is a headliner for sure. My family is a largely female dominated family (by number and by volume ... lol). So naturally, we are pretty darn excited by the knowledge that this little alien is going to be the first grandson ... on both his parents' sides of the family!

We shall name him Aegon. The prince that was promised. His is the song of ice and fire.

Ok, no, we're not really naming him that. I couldn't resist a geeky reference to the Song Of Ice And Fire books ;)

Could you imagine how Samoans would interpret and rearrange the name Aegon? Yea, exactly. I don't wish that on anyone. Let alone the Prince of Toamua himself. Lol.

Now to find out how on earth you change a baby boy's nappies. Eek.

A new low

Just when I thought I had cried at every stupid thing there was to cry at, I discovered today I was wrong when I found myself crying while reading birthday messages on Facebook. On someone else's wall. Because it was someone else's birthday ...

Thank you, hormones. Thank you very, very much.

Are you inertia?

My big baby now knows about the developing baby. We told her last week, when we woke up one morning to find her snuggled in between us instead of in her own bed. She is over the moon. She insisted that she stay home from school that day to await the arrival of her new baby sister or brother. Oh if only it was that quick!

Now that she knows what's up, she does random checks on my discomfort levels.
"Mummy, are you feeling inertia?"
"Yes, I'm feeling a bit nauseous."
"Ok, lie down and I will get Daddy to help you."

That's my big girl. She is relishing the thought of being a big sister. Her first words when she walked into daycare the next day, instead of the usual "Good morning", were "Baby in Mummy's tummy!" I guess she forgot the part where we told her not to tell anyone ...

And here it be. Our little alien.

Baby Tupou

Mouse dung

I am a bawling mess. These out-of-control hormones are causing me to cry at just about anything and at just about any time.

I'm already what you would call a "sensitive" person, so I have always been a crier. But this is a whole new level of crying.

I cry when watching TV ads.

I cry when I think of my 4 year old (like who does that??)

I cry when watching cheesy romance movies that I would usually laugh at.

I cried when reading this: http://thepowerofprayer.tumblr.com/post/40525128644/powerofprayer

I'm pretty sure I cried while watching the final episode of My Kitchen Rules.


Sigh. I fear that if any Damien Rice songs play on the radio while I'm driving, I might just be inconsolable and possibly crash the car.

I am reminded of a lady back in my wop wop village who cried at pretty much everything.Someone once commented, "Koe o le ki'o a le isumu e le'i kagi ai."

[Loose translation: "The only thing she hasn't cried about is a mouse taking a crap."]

I think that's where I'm at now. Just gotta find a crapping mouse to prove my suspicion.

Rebirth (of sorts)

Hello tumbleweed! I felt the sudden urge to blog today, then the urge to make a new start by creating a new blog to reflect the new person that I am today. The "urges" left me drained, so never mind the new blog. I won't even promise to reformat this one. If I have learnt anything during my absence from the blogosphere, it would be: underpromise and overdeliver. Not the profound insightful lesson you were perhaps expecting, right? I'm too old and too tired for insight.

So why the return to the blog world, I know this question is keeping you awake at night. Well, where else do I get to rant and rave and carry on like a lunatic, but here in my diary blog. And these days I have much to rant about, the main cause being the alien that has invaded my tummy (hip hip hooray).

Disclaimer
I just want to put out a warning: I am the most pessimistic alien carrier you will ever come across. If my mad rants will in any way affect your desire to one day carry an / another alien, then the next phase of posts is not for you. I completely blame the hormones and, of course, my dear husband.

To the next phase! *clink clink* Oh wait, nope, can't do that either. ARGH!!!