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.

'Ello poppet

I am back from the depths of childbirth! (Yay)

What a bloody hard last couple of months.

Had a baby, had my whole fam descend on our place for the Christmas week, then immediately after had the folks-in-law staying (still to depart).

I have forgotten what a good sleep feels like. Or what having a relatively okay body feels like.

So I've signed myself onto myfitnesspal and started religiously tracking my eating in the (futile) attempt to regain some sort of acceptable body shape and functionality. Which means I'm hungry a lot. Lol.

Actually, the truth is, as easy as it would be for me to starve for weight loss, breastfeeding demands proper nutrition. The baby dictates everything. How I eat, when I sleep, when to pull my boobs out, when I can interact with other humans. I can't even deal.

So in summary, I'm now a hungry fat milk zombie with no income (i.e. no sense of control ... lol), living life one 3 1/2 hour feeding interval at a time. Goooood luck.

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?

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.

What the Foo?

About 5 weeks ago, I blogged in excitement and anticipation for the Foo Fighters stadium tour in December. In that post, I threw together a quick to-do list in order for us to be able to attend this concert. This was all before ol' Murphy (owner of Murphy's law) joined the party...

One of the main determining factors of us making it to the concert was one of my favourite f-words: financing. So, surprise surprise, we were blessed with the opportunity to financially assist with some extended family happenings. Big bummer in terms of the Foo plans, but no matter, I still have a sellable kidney available right?

Well actually, it turns out I don't. That's where things get very interesting. The last bullet point on my planning blog post was to make sure I didn't get pregnant. The last time the Foos were touring NZ the hubby and I had tickets, but they were in the General Admission area (where you would wanna be in a Foos concert) but I was too far along and we sold the tickets. So guess what happens this time around. I kid you freaking not. I am preggo. Again. So there will be no invasive surgery to get that kidney out for the black market. Gutted.

What is up with the Foos fertility fever?

Next time, if there is ever a next time, I will perhaps follow Telecom's failed Backing Blacks campaign line and abstain for the Foos. Ha! Make that a Tui ad.

*****************************************************************************

This has been sitting as a Draft since I found out I was preggo, awaiting the second I passed the 12 week mark so I could post it. Although things didn't turn out how I had hoped and expected, and I am once again un-preggo (as far as I know), I still want to post this. Hopefully, you've read down this far, so I don't get awkward congratulatory messages. I do, however, still accept support in the form of brownies and choc chip cookies :)

Also, I just noticed that had I mentioned my supplementary folic acid and iodine tablet intake, this blog could have been titled: Sex (or the lack thereof), Drugs and Rock'n'Roll. SCANDALOUS!

Ezra

My lovely friend Talia Brown gave birth on Sunday 17th July 2011. For the Manu fanatics out there, you read correctly. It was on that fateful day, when Samoans the world over feasted on wallaby meat, albeit vicariously through the Manu.

So needless to say, I attempted to influence the baby naming process, by coming up with this fobby suggestion - Samoabeatwallabies3223. She politely declined (okay, more like flat out refused).

Then yesterday, the news of the boy's name was announced - Ezra Jordan Brown. The thought of the Manu fanatic may be - Have all the stars, planets, moons, asteroids and satellites aligned or what? I'm sorry, but I do not think Ezra Taylor had anything to do with the naming of this child. I am not normally a believer of coincidences, but I think just this once I can say this is purely coincidental.

Here is a link to the source of this super adorable pic (where you can also see a photo of his mother looking mighty fine even after pushing out a 10 pounder...yes, that was jealousy you detected)

Ezra Brown


If you're thinking that this post was not at all what you thought it would be, I am laughing at you.