One and a bit

Monkey girl, I forgot to mention these two rather gorgeous new tricks of yours in yesterday's post:

1. When I ask you "Where's your nose?" you proudly point to it and giggle, and then grab mine; and
2. You now do both the hand gestures and the clapping to that old chestnut "Open, Shut Them".

Trying hard to keep a record of all the little things for posterity...


We will resume normal programming shortly.

One

And so my darling daughter, today you are one. What a year it has been!

This morning started off a lot more comfortably than the same morning twelve months ago. For starters there were no drips, epidurals or medieval baby extracting implements in sight, rather a happy well rounded girl who was more interested in her milk than in mummy and daddy singing happy birthday. You also had much more fun pretending to read your birthday card upside down than in listening to what we wrote on said card. We will be keep that one for a future occasion when our words will mean so much more.

You are crawling like a demon, and are working so hard on pulling up. I just wish that you would pick more stable places to attempt your daring feats of bipedal glory than the bath or the back of the rocking horse. There is nothing funnier than the glint you get in your eye as you pick up the crawling pace to get to something you shouldn't be getting into. Luckily your Mummy has put your bangle back on your wrist so that she can hear where you are going, and shake her head in disbelief at the speed at which you get there.

You love to mimic speech like a little instant playback machine...which means that your silly mother keeps saying mum mum mum just to hear that delicious word uttered from your sweet little mouth. Got to compete with Daddy for your verbal affection!

Your vocabulary is expanding every day, although your favourite word is still Daddy, followed by no, up and book. We've taught you to say uh-oh, which is just so cute, especially when you say it after doing a poo. Bet you'll love reading that last comment when you are 21...

Soft and fluffy textures are your current favourites, your affection directed mostly at your lambskin rug and your big 'growly' bear, both of which are the recipients of frequent cuddles. When you are tired, it is just so endearing to see you crawl over to your lambskin and flop down for a hug. Better still is when you give a cuddle when mummy asks for one. For this reason alone the journey to have you was so worth it.

You still love your food, as your gorgeous little chubby body attests, and recently you have mastered the art of putting a spoon in your mouth by yourself. We hand you a spoon of food, and in it goes! So very clever, it can't be long until you want to use a fork. You are enjoying cows milk now, albeit still in a bottle and warm. There is plenty of time to move to a cup, which you use so well when full of water.

Two teeth have made their appearance now, giving you a most cheeky and delicious grin. You love having them brushed...so far!

You have become a real water baby, wanting to play for ages in the bath and really enjoying your swimming lessons. This morning, at our first lesson for the year, you were such a little showoff, constantly waving to your Daddy who is lucky enough to have the time off work for your special day.

You are sleeping peacefully now after a cafe lunch...can't wait to see what you think of the cupcake we have to go with your dinner. Your birthday party is this Sunday, and if our mother's group combined party is anything to go by you should have a ball.

Words cannot describe how much I love you, my precious little one. Thank you so much for the last twelve months....the good , the bad and the crazy, for together we have both grown so much. Inscribed on your jewellery box are the words "I was never so blessed as the day you were born". These words have never been more relevant than they are right now. May the blessings that your very existence brings continue into the next year and beyond.

Happy birthday Abi.

Losing it...

...my anonymity that is.

Someone that I know IRL* has come across my blog.

I'm not sure how I feel about this. No one else knows about the existence of my little angsty corner of cyberspace except for my husband, who does not want to know what I write out of respect for me and my personal space. (How lovely is that? Incidentally he also does not care if I write about him, but I choose in the most part not to do so simply because I don't know how I would feel if our situations were reversed).

Anyway I must say my initial reaction was one of pissed off, foaming at the mouth crankiness minor annoyance. My blog does contain some rather personal information about my bub and the effort that went in to making her, information that I don't exactly shout from the rooftops. Especially to people who simply have to have sex to have a baby, damn all you lucky, lucky bastards to hell fertiles . No offense meant, and all that.

Yes I know how that sounds, given that I am writing in a space that is free for anyone with an internet connection to access. Plus it is not exactly hard for people I know to put two and two together to link me to this blog. I could password protect my site, but what's the point in that? One of the best things about blogging are those serendipitous moments where you stumble across a likeminded soul, someone who seems to be able to put into words your thoughts and feelings on an issue or experience, be it infertility, motherhood, politics, the meaning of the universe...

Stuff it, I am not censoring what I write.

It is, however the last time I ever mention to anyone in passing that I blog. Some people choose to be out, I'd rather stay in the closet thankyou very much.

*You know, that place away from the computer where real human interaction occurs and stuff.

[Footnote: The poo monkey is also losing it. Her morning nap that is. I've surrendered the fantasy and we've moved to one big sleep after lunch. So far, so good...except for her birthday party arrangements. More on that another time.]

Get 'em young

So the poo monkey has had a bit of a growth spurt and is now just shy of twelve kilos. Her lovely rounded chubby baby features are a delight to behold...however her inability to fit into her clothes is not.

Last Friday afternoon involved a panic shop whilst my girl was having a nap. Silly me, I thought that it would be a simple matter of purchasing some basic t-shirts and pants for little miss to comfortably crawl around in.

I was very, very wrong.

Upon entering the Department Store That Shall Not be Named I was confronted by rack upon rack of the very latest in toddler wear. Bootleg cut denim jeans with waists. Glittery, stretchy fitted tops bearing slogans such as "Princess". Tiny little skirts that would barely cover a bottom.

In other words, the type of tarty crap that teenage girls like to wear.

Bewildered by this display of mini me adult clothing, I browsed through the racks of clothes designated for baby. They all looked so comfortable, soft roomy tops and pants, cute pastel colours and innocent fluffy bunny type motifs. In other words, clothes suitable for a little person not quite twelve months old.

However, two things became abundantly clear:

1. 'Baby' clothes are only available in sizes suitable up to about nine months of age, and
2. There was no way I was going to be able to find pants to accommodate a perfectly normal on-the-verge-of-toddlerhood tummy.

To me there is something a little bit sad, sick and twisted about trying to dress our young 'uns in adult clothes, especially since the clothes available seem to be shaped to only fit those children with slim legs and arms, and no tummy. In other words, the adult ideal body. How long until we see a two or three year old girl with an eating disorder?

Maybe I am simply clinging to my daughter's last 'official' days of infancy (probably a byproduct of the reasonably challenging journey to have her. I digress). But what's the rush?

I guess in time it will be the poo monkey herself who, upon casting a critical eye over her baby photos, is the judge.

For now I will cling to whatever cute, comfortable and just plain babyish clothes I can find for my girl, fashion be damned. Sadly we'll have to deal with that crap soon enough as it is.

oh! the irony...

Doctor's surgery, Friday afternoon

Me: I'd like a prescription for the Pill

Doctor: So you are planning on spacing your family a bit?

Me: (taking deep breath) Actually this is in preparation for another round of IVF in a couple of months' time.

Doctor: Are you sure? After all, you never know...


And I'm off to my happy place. You know, the one where misguided fools well intentioned people don't infer that a monotubular myrtle and her sperm antibodied to the hilt husband can somehow make good of their approximately ONE PERCENT chance of natural conception when they are good and ready. Hang on a minute, that one percent roughly corresponds to the failure rate of the BCP doesn't it? With that depressing thought I come back to earth

Me: (sighing as I take another approach) Look at my skin. Isn't it simply wonderful to see the wondrous return of mild acne after a magnificent pregnancy and breastfeeding related reprieve? I am just so thrilled to face the prospect of buying both zit and wrinkle creams as my thirtieth birthday approaches....

Doctor: (laughing) : OK, here's your script.

i heart my mother's group

Just had mother's group here at our humble house. Lots of fun for the bubs, and much discussion and laughter for the mums. We're an interesting mix of personalities, and I can unreservedly say that I get along well with most, if not all of these other women who happened to be screaming for an epidural around the same time I did last year.

Anyway...a strange thought occurred to me as I was tidying away the detritus left in the wake of seven crawling and/or walking almost one year olds:

I really enjoyed this gig (double you tee eff ?!)

Perhaps that might seem trivial to you, dear reader, but to me it reflects just how far I've come in the last little while. Not that long ago this kind of gathering would never have occurred at our house, simply because I would have been unable to overcome my anxiety at the thought of it all. What do they think of my house...what kind of mother do I appear to be...do I even like these women?

Ridiculous really, but there you go.

[On another topic: had the poo monkey weighed this week. ELEVEN point SEVEN kilograms. Suffice to say it's very good thing she's finally crawling. Still gorgeous and divine, her tooth and a bit grin is so endearing as is her capacity to understand and use the English language. Who else has an eleven and a half month old who gleefully says poo when you change a loaded nappy? Surely a sign of true genius]

Well...what do you know...

...AF arrived in all her crampy, flood like glory approximately one nanosecond after my last post.

I can't get out of my own way today, must get into shower and then plan something interesting for the poo monkey and I to do now that her Daddy is back at work and/or cook some nutritious and interesting new meals and/or plan a first birthday spectacular and/or start decluttering the house. You know, do the virtuous good mummy thing. Or something.

Think I am starting to get a bit bored with this full time SAHM gig. AF seems to have brought on an attack of the other A, as in anxiety. Now there's a topic for my next post.

Meh.

Uhuh. Yeah. Whatever.

So I am currently on CD 36 or 37 or thereabouts, and AF still hasn't properly arrived.

I know I am not pregnant as I have had some spotting and cramps off and on for a few days, my boobs aren't sore etc bloody etc.

Which leads me to one conclusion: I am now officially back to the occasional stupid long spotty bleurgh cycle, just like in the good old days pre monkey girl, pre IVF and very much post ectopic angel.

What a mind fuck.

And another thing...

How cute are you, our little monkey girl, when you treat our bed as one big jumping castle, a place to bounce up and down on your behind with the aim of getting sufficient momentum with which to launch yourself at either daddy or I?

I'm also loving how fascinated you are with cause and effect. For now. Last night you had your Nana in hysterics as you kept dropping your toys when you were sitting in your highchair...but only when her hand wasn't there to catch said object. And if the object of desire isn't returned post haste you are only too happy to point at it and then gesture as if to say hurry up and fetch, dammit!

Your newly emerging tooth is razor sharp, your fascination with learning to crawl in bed and pull to stand in the bath rather than oh, I don't know, the floor and around normal furniture, is both intriguing and amusing.

Happy New Year darling girl.

[Last night was lovely albeit boiling hot, it was hard to stay awake to watch the fireworks from my sister's balcony but well worth it. So wonderful to have the family together and everyone happy after such a big year. Here's hoping 2006 brings more joy....DH voluntarily suggested that we TTC#2 in the second half of the year. Watch this space....]