I Jog, Therefore I Blog.

Monday morning.

2012-01-30T03:40:00.000-08:00

It's been really hard adjusting to life in a village.

We've been here almost 8 months now. I am used to half familiar faces knowing my name, my baby's name, my life history. I'm no longer surprised when i see a sheep standing in the middle of the road. Talk of hunting, shooting, hounds, cows and tractors fail to go over my head anymore. And I've given up expecting to be able to pop out to the shops for swimming nappies, OK magazine or a decent coffee. There is very little indulgence here. The winter is cold and harsh and people chop their own wood before night sets in at 5pm. There's no fancy restaurants to distract you from the daily grind, and even if there were, you couldn't afford to eat there because the economy is completely f**ked (or so the tv keeps telling me...)

But this morning, as I drove through the snow capped mountains and watched flakes fall to the ground I though of how lucky I am to be living here. We went to mothers group in a church and a little old lady held Little Cwtch while another one sang bible songs on a guitar. It was all very peaceful until a toddler absconded with the John the Baptist doll and another tripped over her own feet and upset a table full of candles. It's a simple life here of cups of tea and women who have 5 kids and who say "it's all I've ever wanted!" as their youngest pulls their hair and their eldest sneaks off to impregnate someone. Most people have heard of Melbourne. Some people have never travelled to the town 30 miles away though. Why? Never had the need. It's a simple life.

While little Cwtch sleeps, I can hear the village children and their dogs playing in the street. It's a snow day, which means no school. There's no sounds of traffic in the morning, just roosters and the river beside our house. Sometimes a tractor will chug past and little Cwtch will stir for a moment before the world becomes silent again.

My midwife recommends drinking a pint of Guiness before bed, to get the extra calories I need for breast feeding. My health visitor tells me to have little Cwtch in bed with me. My husband dips her dummy in his beer when it falls on the ground at the pub. No one raises an eye brow...except for me. It's just so different here. I've thrown away my Gina Forde book and started reading Becoming a Calm Mom instead. I still wonder when I can paint Little Cwtch's nails....

In Melbourne, the sun is shining, people are spending their days at the beach. If we were there, Little Cwtch would probably have licked an icy pole by now, instead of a beer soaked dummy. She would sleep with her arms flung above her head instead of all swaddled up in a fleecy blanket. Her Australian Grandmother would show her the garden instead of her Welsh Grandmother singing quietly to her in a language i cannot understand. And her Australian cousins would laugh and play and squeal with delight in her company. Here, her cousins here take turns passing her between them, three quiet little girls, a fireplace and a system for getting equal time holding the baby.

I've always wanted to suck the juice out of every experience. I have been addicted to new things, the thrill of change, the oddness of a strange situation. And this is no different. The snow falls and dogs bark in the street. Little Cwtch sleeps upstairs and my midwives tell me some women take to motherhood like a duck to water. These last 9 weeks have felt more like I am a cat being thrown in a bath, but we are getting there. The fire burns. The river runs. The snow falls. This is my experience of being a mother. So different to anything I ever imagined. Overwhelming, strange, beautiful.

dear little cwtch.

2012-01-29T00:43:00.000-08:00

It's been nine weeks since we met, where has the time gone? It's disappeared in a blur of feeding, burping, playing, patting, "is she asleep?" "I think she's awake..." and of course, crying.

Your hair is getting so long now. After your bath it fluffs up like a baby duckling. It's so impossibly soft that i cant resist rubbing my cheek against your crown as you snooze on my chest.

You are starting to discover your world. You suck your hand all night and keep me awake! I think its almost time for you to have your own room....You smile at everyone, other babies, yourself in the mirror but especially me and daddy. You love looking at the pictures when i read to you now, and you grab everything in sight.

You sleep a bit more at night now and sometimes in the morning, I feel you wake up half an hour before you make a noise. If i glance into your basket, there you are, sucking your hand, kicking your legs and staring into space. If you catch sight of me, the jig is up and it's time for us all to get out of bed.

Your favourite thing is bath time and a massage. You are starting to scream when you go in the baby bjorn because you cannot see anything. You still hate getting in the car seat but you are happy once we get going. You have a preference for being sung to as you fall asleep rather than "sh-sh-sh." You won't let daddy rock you in the rocking chair, he has to walk around with you if you are grissly. I am allowed to rock you though. What is up with that?

You are so perfect little cwtch. I can't believe we made you. I can't believe how brutal sleep deprivation is and I can't believe how much better I feel when you let me sleep for 5 hours. I love you darling.

You can't go over it.....You can't go under it....You have to go through it.

2012-01-07T08:02:00.001-08:00

We used to sing "Going on a Bear Hunt" when I worked at a childcare centre in my youth.
In the last six weeks, I have thought of those lyrics often. Motherhood and coping with the chaos of the first few weeks is just something that everyone has to go through. There's no secret or formula or anything that anyone can do or say to make it all make sense and run smoothly. Except maybe "you are doing a great job, everything that is happening is what is supposed to be happening."
You'd think that having worked in a childcare centre and having nannied for a few years, that I would have some clue as to what I am doing. That is incorrect. I always worked with 2 year olds and over. Babies scared me. Babies continue to scare me.

I think I am just getting my head around the fact that I have the skills to keep this person alive. Ideas of routine and what to do with her now that we are getting used to each other are starting to enter my head and my inner control freak desperately wants to start a routine o we all know what to expect. I have never been good at taking things one day at a time. I am impatient. This is the greatest lesson in balance (between retaining a normal life and respecting the baby's needs) and letting go of expectations. Gosh it's hard though when you are focused on this one little person 24 hours a day. Everyday. every. day.

Stolen minutes.

2011-12-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

It's amazing what one can achieve in such a short period of time when one is competing for some semblance of order and control with a newborn baby.

Our Little Cwtch (pronounced "Kootch" meaning cuddle in Welsh. Actually, the literal translation is closer to "safe place" but a cwtch is a cwtch in my opinion) has been in our world for 5 week now. Time has literally flown. Babies make the tough minutes go on forever but make overall time speed up. Sometimes when I am feeding her and looking at her little face, time seems to stand still. I think babies may be secret time keepers.

The last five weeks have by far been the hardest, sweetest, most challenging yet enjoyable weeks of my life. In some ways, this job is far harder than i imagined. It's the responsibility that is the most difficult thing for me to get my head around. It's not a job you can quit, or have a day off from, or get someone else to do. I have never got to the point where I think "I cannot do this..." but I have panicked about getting to that point in the future, enough to put systems in place so I don't get there...afternoon naps, implementing some sort of a "routine" and letting Welshy take charge often and without comment, are all sanity savers.
It's also far easier than i imagined. I am not saying this to do a disservice to women and pretend like it's simple. It's not simple, it's tiring and when she cries it's like my heart is being ripped out. But I love her and I would do anything for her. The lack of sleep is okay because I love her more than sleep. The frustration when she is awake for her 7th hour in a row is manageable because I want her to be happy. It evens out the balance. Her happiness is now my happiness.

There have been so many surprises along the way so far.
I never knew four hours of uninterrupted sleep could feel so good. I never thought I could be basically half naked in a Mcdonalds and not care because feeding Little Cwtch is more important than caring that I am flashing the drive through. I also never expected that loving a baby would multiply my love for Welsh as i watch him grow in to fatherhood.

She is just so cute. She smiles at everything. Walls, the couch, when i say "good morning pretty lady" in a silly voice. She loves the car and her pram but screams bloody murder if we dare stop moving for 5 seconds. She doesn't really see the appeal of toys just yet. Her favourite games are pulling my hair and decided she needs to be picked up RIGHT NOW whenever we sit down for dinner.

This post has taken me three attempts to write as I steal minutes between feeding, patting, and cuddling her. They are minutes I need to keep my balance and minutes she gives me because even though she is only five weeks old, when she looks at me, I am sure she has known me my whole life.

2 weeks old.

2011-12-10T09:36:00.000-08:00

This parenting gig is a tricky business isn't it?

Our little bubba has a thing called tongue tie. I hate this because a) it makes feeding excruciating for me and b) I hate the idea of it being called tongue tie. She is not tongue tied, she is very expressive thanks very much.
So after two weeks of really painful feeding, including blood and cracks and both of us crying at the same time, we have resorted to using a bottle with expressed milk. Welcome to the family, mother guilt. I don't even know why i feel guilty about it. I guess it's because I wish I could just give my baby what she needs without any problems or bottles.
Anyway, we are having an appointment with a consultant on Tuesday to see if we can just get it fixed up and go back to breast feeding. This expressing malakay is exhausting as I feed her, then express, then have about an hour or so before she is hungry again and around we go again. Thank God for Welsh, thank God the baby sleeps for 4 or 5 hours at night, thank God our friend gave us a bottle steriliser "just in case" even though i was hell bent on breast feeding. And Thank God for Skype and the fact that my sister has had three kids and laughs in the face of nipple confusion.

Fingers crossed.

Things I have learnt since becoming a mama.

2011-12-06T05:06:00.000-08:00

So I have been a mum for almost two weeks now. It is the most overwhelming, weird, amazing and disorienting thing i have ever done in my life! Here's what I have learnt so far:

Babies cannot read clocks. This is annoying at 4am when they think it's playtime.
Breast pads make good coasters.
Breastfeeding is fricking hard to learn.
The use of the word "breast" increases ten fold, once you have a baby.
Your baby is cute, even when it has sticky eyes and milk and snot coming out its nose.
You never really "catch up" on sleep, but you do somehow function.
Your brain actually comes back a little bit after the fog of pregnancy. I FINALLY know my own phone number off by heart.
Everyone loves a baby. We took the Small One out for lunch and being new parents, didn't think abut the logistics of holding a baby whilst eating (we may not be prepared but check out her cute hat!) Luckily, all the ladies in the cafe passed her around until we had finished. And yes, we did consider leaving her there and ducking home for a sleep.
They wee so much more than i thought possible. All day long. All night long. And especially when they have no nappy on.
Sometimes I have no idea what i am doing. Other times, I am on top of it. Nothing is permanent though and just when you have worked out what the hungry face looks like, it turns out it is remarkably similar to the "i am actually just tired and you have fallen in to my trap of feeding me to sleep. Ha-ha-ha, now you will have to do that for the next year" face.
Midwives are amazing. But some are annoying and i hate them.
Babies are not stupid. The Small One instantly stops crying when she hears the creaky floorboard next to Welsh's side of the bed. Often, just hearing it is enough to send her to sleep, usually though, it just stops her crying because she knows help is on the way.
I would rather look at her face than watch TV.

xxxxx

You

2011-11-28T07:20:00.000-08:00

Your story began on a Thursday afternoon, in a delivery room at a hospital in West Wales. One minute, it was just your mum and dad and a room full of doctors and in the next, your tiny little cat-like cry broke the tension and suddenly, you were part of the world. Outside, it was freezing cold and unseasonably sunny for a November day.

But thats not quite right. Your story really begain in a bathroom at your mothers apartment, somewhere in a a beachside suburb of Melbourne. She looked in to your fathers startled face and blurted "I think i am actually pregnant." While your dad read the instructions on the box, your mum stood in the hallway blinking. Then they lay in bed and she asked if he was going to leave her to be a single mum and he replied "why would i leave you when you are about to give me everthing I ever wanted?"
Maybe that's where your story began. The next day they went to your great grandmothers funeral and decided that if you were a girl, they would give you her name.

But again, That's not really where your story started. Your story started at a bar on the night that your dad came back from a holiday in Thailand. He was meant to go from Melbourne to Thailand and back to Wales but got sidetracked somewhere and ended up on a plane back to Melbourne to propose to your mother with her favourite mascara and a promise to make is all work.

It started when they met on the beach and she screamed at him for no reason and he asked her if she'd ever live in another country.
It started when he left his wife and she left her husband and they decided to try for a better life, in the years before they found one another.
It started when she was told by a psychic that she'd never have children and she thought she knew better.
It started on his 28th birthday when he thought "mmmm, i wouldn't mind having kids."

Your story, our story, the story of how the two of us met in that hospital room in West Wales on a chilly November afternoon started 30 years ago. Your great grandmother, the one whose name you now share was giving your grandfather a telling off in the kitchen.
"If she wants another baby, you give her another baby." And your Grandfather, my father took her advice and had his third daughter, me.
That's where your story really began.

bye bye baby (bump)

2011-11-22T03:34:00.000-08:00

It's a cruel design flaw that the more pregnant a person gets, the less she is able to sleep. Just when she probably needs it the most, when opportunities for sleep ins are fading fast, when thoughts of screaming babies are still a theory, Mr Sandmand goes MIA. Thanks God, maybe you shouldn't have had Sunday off.

Things I am most looking forward to about not being pregnant anymore:
Meeting the baby (obviously)
Not craving ice and soap anymore
Being able to roll over in one fluid movement and not 17 micro movements.
Beer, wine, Pimms, Vodka (although breastfeeding is going to eff with that one for a little while.)
Running
Walking
Swimming laps.
Knowing my dress size again.
Buying dresses.
Having a conversation that doesn't involve pregnancy.
Oh! The pain in my ribs going away!!
No more midwives!
No more peeing in a bottle once a week!
Rolling down a hill!
Sleeping on my stomach!
Running up the stairs!
Falling down the stairs if I want!
Zipping up my jacket.
Driving without grunting as I try and twist to reverse.
Normal, un-choreographed sex.
Sleep.
Being able to paint my toe nails.
Being able to see the tops of my thigh
Sleeping on my back.
Getting up from the couch really quickly.
Running across the road.
ohhh so many things.

Two more days.....

Small town.

2011-11-15T02:45:00.000-08:00

Let's face it, there are many strange things about going from living in the big smoke to living in the relatively tiny smoke. For example, there is a lot more smoke here because people have open fires. And the farmers usually have a pipe hanging out of their mouths. he he ha ha.

Something that struck me immediately and continues to knit my eye brows with the oddness of it, is the absence of choice. If you feel like going out for dinner, you can go to the Chinese or the Indian. If you want to talk about books you join the book club. The village has the pub and the school. It seems "a" has been deleted from the vocabulary of these country folk.

This also means that there is one supermarket. One village hairdresser (that also doubles as the village healer-seven pounds got me a hair cut and some relief from my rib pain) one doctor, one car park, one main road and about ten million sheep. There's no need for google or recommendations from friends, no websites or word of mouth, it's not about finding a reliable solicitor. You just go to the solicitor. And if you don't, then you do whatever needs to be done, yourself.

So, by this logic, I am the pregnant Australian lady that came to Wales to marry the youngest son of the family. People greet me by name even though i don't know who they are. There is no anonymity here. I found this out when i went to the supermarket in pyjama pants at 8pm on a Monday night to buy chocolate. I saw the hairdresser, the man with the fractured neck and a distant relative of Welsh's whom was interviewed in the local paper recently after being banned from all 14 pubs in the district. For life. He's the trouble maker. (I actually think he is quite endearing.) You can't really get away with anything here.

This lack of choice certainly simplifies things. But also drives me crazy. I like the distraction of research. I like shopping for the sake of discovering something new and unusual. I enjoy weighing up the pros and cons of bakeries. I like making choices. I like sitting in a cafe and going through a list of ten types of bread. Here, it's white or brown. I don't think i have said the words "brown bread" since I was a child. Oh what i wouldn't do for some avocado on rye.

I better go. I need to call the Australia embassy so I can get the hell out of here.

18 days.

2011-11-06T04:31:00.000-08:00

I am having a baby is 18 days.

Sometimes i watch this program called "I didn't know I was pregnant" because you know, at least I am one step ahead of those people. Also, how do you not know that there is a squirming little baby in your abdomen? Bizarre. And how do you give birth in a toilet without called triple zero? Surely you can identify that this is not a normal amount of pain.

So we went to the hospital on Thursday for our final appointment, which in itself, is mega exciting. I have spent more time in that hospital waiting room than anywhere else in Wales. The doc jabbed me a bit, measured my guts and then gave me an ultrasound. She was just laying down in there like she had nowhere to be. She gave us a bit of a wriggle so we could go "awwww...so cute" and then just went back to resting.

So 18 days to go, unless she comes before. Welsh is on a two beer limit and stares at me every time I make a noise, incase he misses the signs that I'm in labour. I've been asking every woman I know what a contraction really feels like. We woke up this morning and I counted how many jump suit things we have and Welsh climbed up a ladder to paint a window for some strange reason. We are so ready to have this baby and I fear that if she wasn't coming in a couple of weeks, we would probably lose our minds.

Last night was Guy Fawkes night and we went to a neighbouring town to watch the fireworks and bon fire. It was fr-fr-fr-freezing cold but lots of fun. That was our attempt to enjoy life before we are parents....we stayed up late and finished sentences and stuff like that.

That's all for now.

More about exercise.

2011-11-02T02:07:00.000-07:00

It's a strange thing when I feel impulses to go for a run but my body is just not willing.

At 20 weeks pregnant I walked 12k's and had a bit of a sore lower back but otherwise was okay. These days, at 36ish weeks, I can walk 3k's but it takes AGES and my fat little feet are all squishy in my runners.
I've also all but given up on yoga as my balance is a bit weird and I do about 7 minutes before having to take a break. I'm thirsty ALL the time and i need to wee ALL the time so that makes exercise difficult too.

If i can only handle 7 minutes of yoga, how am I going to not fall asleep during labour?

A good year.

2011-10-31T04:58:00.000-07:00

Hi bloggers and blog appreciators!

Well today marks one year exactly since Welsh and I crashed in to each other and began this journey together.

Here's a photo of us from our first date. We went ice skating for some strange reason but it turned out to be the most fun ever. Especially because the usually coordinated Welsh was TERRIBLE at it and my dress was wayyyy too short to be doing things like falling over in. Welsh wrote a poem about it the next day but i can't remember how it went. It got lost in those giddy first few months of falling in love.

Since then, we have been doing things like getting married:

And these days, my stomach looks more like this:

What a year it has been. No wonder i am so tired.

2011-10-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

My brave and wonderful friend Kate has posted a piece about the loss of her mother on mamamia.com.au this weekend.

I say "brave" because to talk honestly about loss and grief takes courage. To open up your soul and show the world you private pain takes strength. To speak up about suicide to people who may not understand, to people you don't know the context, is indeed very, very brave.

I've written on here before about how much Kate helped me through my own grief-following the suicide of my mother in law and subsequent demise of my marriage. She has inspired me again to speak truthfully with myself and with others, about grief, about suicide, about loss and mental health, my own and others.
Grief can make people close up because everything hurts so much, it's easier sometimes to just put it in a box and bury it. Yet Kate always, always, always made time to sit with me, hear me, see all the uglyness of loss echoed on my face. She was not scared of the crying, never rolled her eyes at the here-we-go-again moments of fear and confusion and what ifs and year long shock.

She was, and is, amazing.

Here's to Kate. i never knew her mum, but I would bet my bottom dollar she would be incredibly proud of her daughter.

2011-10-20T01:13:00.000-07:00

This time of year in Wales is seriously beautiful. I say that as though I have experienced the turn of many seasons here, over many years, which i have not, but I still feel as though i can say with authority that this time of year in Wales, is beautiful.
It's the light you see. It's different here than to Australia. It's softer and more gentle and it changes the hills from green to green. Strawberries are having a second season, thanks to the sun and last night, the rain was supposed to freeze in the moonless sky, but the warmth of the day turned it into tiny pin pricks of chill as we stood faces towards the sky. In the village, there are no street lights. Once you get used to a neighbours dog licking your hand in the pitch black and the wobbling torch beams as people search the hillsides for mushrooms, the nights are spectacular. More stars than you could count in a million light years.
As I drove through the forest yesterday, the naked trees reached towards each other like arteries, each branch twisting towards another. The sunlight broke through the trunks in perfect pulses like well timed silence between one note and the next.
The snow is coming. The grass is frosty in the mornings now and I hear Welshy's car struggle to start as I curl down further into my bed. The baby kicks and I can't wait to meet her. I want to show her the country that produced her father. A man who stops his car by the side of the road just to watch the patchwork across the fields change colours at dusk.
I want to give her everything, but I will start with the sunlight.

2011-10-17T01:35:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!

I have six official weeks left of carrying this person inside of my skin. Probably more like 5 weeks though as she has gone breech again in what I can only conclude is an attempt to try and kill me.
I was in agony for three days because her head was wedged under my rib cage (I'm sure it wasn't a barrel of laughs for her either) so now with bruises on one side of me and the whole "don't sleep on your back or you will die" issue AND this rather large lump preventing me from sleeping on my stomach, I have ONE position to sleep in. And this position means facing Welsh on the bed and having him breath on me/snore 5 cm from my face or generally just EXIST which is enough to make me want to scream ROLL THE EFF OVER which I do often and at varying volume levels.
I think I am just over it. Is it too soon to be over it? I can't sit on the couch, I can't sit in the rocking chair, I am writing this standing up because it is the only thing that stops a baseball sized head from being naughty. It hurtssss and I want a massage and some new clothes and some sort of baby coach to tell me if i need more than two pairs of tiny socks and also do I need bottles? And if so, how does that even work with the milk and my boob and everything?

As a balance to the agony and whinge festival that has been taking place this weekend, I have also spent time with my eldest niece. She is a wonderful reminder that they do grow up and become actual people, with actual opinions. And they also say things like "do you need help hanging out the washing?" and can makes cups of tea on their own.
It's pretty awesome.

2011-10-12T10:06:00.000-07:00

I was watching The Real Housewives of New York the other day (okay, every day) and the ladies were talking about how biologically, we are attracted to certain people to breed with. Yes, yes, yes, I know it's hardly Descartes but it really resonated with me. That we meet and love the people we meet and love so that certain people can be born.
Our baby has not been born yet, but I know we are going to be great parents.
We have not even met her, yet we both love her.
I've never seen Welsh be a dad, but i know in my heart that he is going to make an amazing dad.
This is how I know:
He never misses an appointment. He asks the consultant questions about scans and dates and stuck our first ultrasound photo on the dashboard of his work van, even though at eight weeks, she looked like a bean.
He speaks to her through my stomach and has conversations that I am not supposed to be a part of. If I pipe up with something he glares at me like "excuse me, private conversation here." Usually I just watch TV while he chats and sometimes I zone back in while he is saying things like "and you just come out whenever you are ready" and I have to have a private conversation with her of my own about staying in there for a few more weeks at least.
When i complain about being kicked 24/7 he defends her and says she is just a baby and that she is not doing it on purpose. When i ask him whose side he is on, he says "duh...the baby's."
And i've seen him with his nieces and how he makes up stories about what we are naming the baby. And how he cuddles them and how they tease him and he pretends to take the bait and sends them screaming down the hallway. I've also seen him when enough is enough and he tells them to go to bed NOW GIRLS but once they've settled, he goes in to kiss them goodnight.
I've also seen him practice doing up a nappy and hand stitching a bit of the pram that i tore within 5 minutes of owning it. I've seen him go gah-gah over a tiny pair of shoes and bring home a baby bath and a change mat and a million things I had not thought of.

Mostly though, I know he will be a good dad because there's something about his broad hands and capable mind, his sense of humor and sense of fun, his big heart and short temper that reminds me of the best dad I know. My own.

xxxx

Wedded bliss.

2011-10-09T12:27:00.001-07:00

Good Lord.

Can someone remind me NOT to plan a wedding EVER again? I am so pregnant right now I just want to sleep and complain about my sore ribs and most definitely not traipse around wedding venues and ring shops and listen to seven hundred different opinions. I mean, we are having 20 guests.

I just want to focus on doing yoga and preparing my mind and body for this little girl. Just be calm and not all shouty in the car because WEDDINGS STRESS ME OUT.

The worm has turned.

2011-10-04T02:55:00.000-07:00

So guess what? You know how i have a heart shaped uterus and i'm 32 weeks pregnant? Well the stats on her turning from her weirdo sitting upright position was something like 15%. I had accepted that i was going to have a c-section. I was thinking in terms of having her in 6 weeks and not having to wait until my actual due date or beyond.
And then the other night, I felt my stomach shifting like the tide. This swelling and falling and lurching around. I had a suspicion that she was doing something dramatic in there.
Then yesterday, i went to the midwife and she had a bit of a palpitate as they like to do. She took my hands and shoved them, quite deeply, low down on my belly.
"What is that?" I asked
"That's her head!" she exclaimed.

The little wriggled worm has gone head down. I have to wait until next thursday to confirm it by scan and she might still go breech again, but it's a really good sign that she is acting like a regular baby. This is good because if i go in to preterm labour and she comes really quickly, it is much better than coming early and being backwards (which was my biggest fear.) And it just gives us that added option.

We were a bit elated yesterday after that appointment. i said she was the smartest baby ever. Welsh said she's not necessarily smart but she is special. We did agree that she is really cute. And that we can't wait to meet her. Then Welsh said "I think you are going to have her tomorrow." And I said "based on what?" and he said "I am just in the mood to have a baby."
We'd been babysitting in the afternoon and the novelty of having a really cute little boy digging in the backyard with him had sent him in to fantasy land where our baby will come out being able to walk and operate gardening tools. And then be picked up by someone so we can watch Big Brother in peace.

I don't think she is going to come early. I've had no contractions or anything like that. I've stopped running. The midwife said that 37 weeks is considered full term. I think that's what she said anyway. Maybe she said anything less than 37 weeks is prem. I don't know but either way, that is only 5 weeks away which is hardly anything.

I just think she's so cute.

Jane Eyre, pregnancy hormones and long, lost trauma.

2011-10-02T03:47:00.000-07:00

I saw Jane Eyre last night. God, it was so beautiful. It was like reading the book, only less effort and more malteasers. Is that how malteasers is really spelt? Malt. Teasers. What a clever name. Well I'll be.
I bawled at the end of the movie and was about to blame my reckless hormones when i realised my two companions were also bawling. What is it with love that makes us cry? They didn't even seem that particularly happy in the end. i don't even know if they are REALLY a good couple. But I cried anyway.

Then i had dinner with a few friends and we sat outside because it is boiling hot at the moment even though it is Wales, and we talked about our first marriages. God. Talk about depressing. I didn't really talk much about my first marriage. I don't know how to describe it to strangers. I don't hate him, we didn't divorce because of mental abuse, there was no cheating, no putting work before me, no stress because of the kids. I can't really explain who we were as a couple. Who I was back then. And i certainly can't talk about his mum dying. I can to friends. Not to people I have only known for a few months though. I get all breathless if I am put on the spot. I claim the baby is sitting on my lungs. But she's not. I just can't share something like that with people who might be careless with it.
It was her birthday last week. I didn't tell anyone. Not even Welsh. This is not moving on. It is burying. But it feels wrong to move grief into this house with us. I am not even sure that it is still grief i am feeling. It's just planning this wedding and having phone calls from my mother in law to be and watching Jane Eyre and becoming a mother myself in 6-8 weeks.

Because she died on our wedding anniversary, everything to do with our marriage became tainted. I don't know if she meant it or not. i don't know if she knew the impact it would have on our lives. I don't know if she secretly resented all the time i stole away from her with my husband. i don't know if he secretly resented me for marrying him and giving her a date on which to do it. I don't know if we'd still be married had she not died. I don't know if she'd be my ex mother in law rather than my mother in law. Who is dead. Who is about to be replaced with another women who can still call me early on a Sunday morning and chat about flower girl dresses. I don't know if there is a heaven or hell or if she can see us both now and what on Earth she would make of the lives me now lead. I have this feeling that she would be horrified. She would say "Oh my goodness, did you really think I killed myself to hurt you? Of course you must know I love you both, of course I would never deliberately break your hearts. I died because i was depressed and I thought you two would look after one another."

All this guessing. All these questions. They amount to nothing really. You make your peace or you go crazy.
Or you run halfway across the world and try to start again.

2011-09-30T03:32:00.000-07:00

So I bought a wedding dress.
It's very strange buying a dress a size too big just knowing that I am going to get even bigger before the day. I thought brides were supposed to lose weight with nerves and do some sort of lemon juice diet in the weeks leading up to their wedding. It all feels slightly backwards.

Do you know what happened the other day in an entirely unrelated story? Well, I was helping Welsh do a letterbox drop of flyers for his building business. Because I don't work, I get quite excited by these outings. I print up the flyers, trim them, put them in a special little bag. I keep track of how many I have printed and the locations that we are dropping them in as though i am going to commit the information to a pie chart or something for the next board meeting. I obsess over the graphics, the wording, the font, and if Welshy dares question why I have failed to include half the information he wanted on them, then god damned it, he gets a lecture on aesthetics and a pretty balance of letters being of paramount importance.
One of the many strange things about this country is that people don't have letter boxes. How weird is that? Everyone has little slots in their front doors that you push the letters through. And also, in our village, if we are not home to get a package, then the postman just takes it to Welsh's parents farm. Remind me not to do any online shopping at Ann Summers.
So, the other day we were posting some flyers. Some people have like this weird brush stuff inside the slots to stop the wind coming in. Or something like that. So you really have to push your hand through to get the paper through the gap. We delivered about a hundred and were doing the area that Welsh's grandma used to live in. The sun was shining, he was telling me a story about how he stayed with his nana as a teenager and snuck out the window one night. The neighbours called the police and he got in big trouble. I was laughing.
Then i stuck my hand in a letterbox slot and a fucking dog bit my finger.
I went in to shock.
I am secretly half scared of dogs. I've been bitten so many times. They seem to like me. The worst time was when my aunty's dog bit me on the face.
Bite mark bruises started appearing on my finger. I tried not to cry.
"Let's do this street, then a few around the corner." says Welsh.
Are you fucking serious? A DOG just BIT me. I am never putting my hand in a letter box again. Apparently they don't have rabies in this country but Welshy may have just been saying that to make me feel better.

Then last night the phone rang. A woman left a message enquiring about getting some garden fence put in. Garden fence to stop her dog getting out. Her vicious dog. I checked the address. Correct, it was the same house, same letter box slot, same dog. So Welsh will find out once and for all if I am just a massive wimp or if he is an under reactor. I tell you what though, that dog had better be something bigger than a Shih tzu or I may never live it down.

Merry-go-round

2011-09-28T02:38:00.001-07:00

Hi blogland!

Please excuse my absence from your wonderful world these last few weeks. I have no excuse except that my brain/creativity seems to have been snatched by the small person living inside my uterus.

So here are some updates:
Wedding plans are going smoothly. When i say smoothly, what i actually mean is that we have done very little towards organising it. We have a vague to do list stuck on the kitchen wall with things such as "Buy Welsh a ring" and "Research if pregnant people should wear high heels. If so, buy some, if not, cancel wedding."
It's the execution that seems to be the problem at the moment. I keep getting stuck somewhere between getting in the car and driving an hour to the jewellers and glancing out at the backyard and the sunshine and deciding to have a cup of tea instead. I'm quite half arsed about the whole thing actually which is not indicative of my enthusiasm to marry Welsh but probably a little telling about my enthusiasm to do it here, with no one I know and my family a million miles away. If Welshy had not hired a photographer, I would probably not even brush my hair on the day.

The baby is being a good girl and staying put. She kicks me constantly and I can already see the arguments I am in for, for the rest of my life. My dad thinks it's hilarious that someone more demanding than me is about to be born and Welshy keeps saying "what are you going to do when you have two babies?" the other baby being him. He doesn't realise that I am actually a child too and in 8 weeks, there will be three whinging infants in this little house. Someone is going to have to step up and I don't think it can be the actual baby. Chances are, Welsh and I are going to have to get it together sooner or later. I am not even talking about the big issues such as "how do we foster her self esteem?" more like basic survival stuff such as "Can i get drunk whilst breastfeeding?"

I've also been keeping busy doing Welsh's visa application. Why am I doing it when I am already an Australian citizen? You may well ask. Well a) I am a control freak. b) I am better and quicker at forms c) Welsh has a full time job and d) I get less overwhelmed by it all because i am used to working under pressure. I have turned the dining room in to an office and created to do lists for Welsh, to do lists for myself, lists of documents to be certified, lists of questions we need to ask other people, a file with evidence demonstrating our continuing commitment to one another and simple questions we need to discuss before i can put them on to paper (like "when did we start a relationship? Dating doesn't count.") I am actually thinking that my stat dec regarding the nature of our relationship could double as my wedding speech. We can lodge it just as soon as we get an extract of our wedding certificate and then send in an amendment once the baby is born. Hooray. Then we get to pay thousands of dollars to get plane tickets and then pack up this whole house, move back to Aus, try and find jobs/childcare and live with my parents! Awesome!! Then house hunt, unpack all our crap, throw a first birthday party for the small one and have an Australian wedding. See! This is why I need a good cuppa in the sunshine.

So that's life for me right now. xxxx

Maternal nuptials.

2011-09-15T13:53:00.000-07:00

Maternity clothes are not cute.

Well actually, sometimes they are...until a pregnant lady puts them on. A pregnant lady who is not a model that is. Then they become less cute and more like a big shapeless bag that makes you look....well....pregnant.
Don't get me wrong, being pregnant is a beautiful thing. You look all ripe and gorgeous even whilst having murderous thoughts about your midwife. But there is really only the one look you can go with. The pregnant look. It's not very versatile. Some days i feel like wearing high heels...but then i do and I look like a cow in boots. Other times I find a really nicely cut tshirt but it will have something like "Does my bump look big in this?" printed on the front and I have to go outside to throw up a little bit.

Maternity wedding dresses are a league all of their own though. I mean for starters, white is not a fabulous colour to make you feel svelt, at the best of times. Unfortunately, Welsh has banned me from wearing a black dress to our wedding and for some silly reason, I am listening to him on this one. What about a colour? I hear you implore. Nope, the man is a traditionalist and has ordered a colour scheme of white to beige.

Here are a couple of dresses that don't make me want to punch a kitten in the face:

This one is from Tiffany Rose and is acceptable.

And this one from ASOS would also do the job.

Thoughts?

The good things about a weird situation

2011-09-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

My sister always has cool dreams. She dreamt once that Lady Gaga had her over for a party and gave her really cool gifts. She seems to have a talent for dreaming about fantasies and fun things. I dream mostly about really boring stuff. It's like my brain needs a break from the excitement of my day to day life. (This is a joke. The most exciting thing that happened yesterday was that my ex husband sent me a recipe for this delicious beetroot and beef casserole he used to make. Seriously, someone lend me a meditation CD because I am WAY too over stimulated right now.)
I actually have found that i dream way less than i did a few years ago. Trauma related? I might google it tomorrow if i have time between cooking a casserole and waiting for the Bachelor to start. Anyway, I had this anxiety dream last night that my rent was due, I was living in my old apartment, and I was trying to work out dates for when I'd be getting paid and for how I would manage to pay rent (budgeting has never been my forte.) I woke up all worried before realising that I was in Wales, 6 months pregnant and have not worried about rent for the last little while. It was a relief (until I put two and two together and saw the link between rent being due and a baby being due.)

So my point, and I do have one is this: I am so lucky to be living here and having this experience in Wales. It was not our first choice of residence but it means that Welshy can come to every single appointment with me and do cute things like hold up a little pair of baby slippers and say "awwww look!!" in a really uncharacteristically soppy, yet genuine, way. Because he has his own business here, there is no boss to call or ask for time off from. Thank god for this because i have an appointment every second week and they are BORING when you don't have a little friend to have a coffee with between pathology and radiology. It also means that the usual worries about money for rent are minimised so I don't have to work. I have not had an episode of bleeding since week 14 and I stopped work at 16 weeks, when i got here, and i think those two things are related.
Also, we get to live in a really close knit community where moses baskets and cots are passed from house to house every couple of years. Birth stories are told in the pub (sometimes alarming) and people share homegrown cooking apples (Welshy's mum) broad beans (me) and advice about prams (apparently the drink holders on Mothercare's range is the perfect size for a pint glass. Handy.)
And for crying out loud, there is a river next to our house that Welsh is currently fishing in and it doesn't get more peaceful than that. For the both of us. Ahem.
I am so lucky. I know not everyone has such a supportive partner, I know not everyone has financial security and I know not everyone has lots of people around them who are almost just as excited to have a new member of the village, as I am. (I'm not referring to the "it takes a village to raise a child" philosophy by the way, I mean the actual village that we live in.)
I guess having nannied in the past and worked closely with teenage parents just makes me so grateful. Grateful that we are doing this, that we are doing this here and that i am doing it with Welsh. It overrides all the scary statistic fears (60%-70% c-section, scary percent pre term labour) the painful steroid injections in my thigh and the bizarro jibber jabber that is the welsh language, medical speak and a pregnant mind, combined.

Yeah, I guess i just wanted to write about feeling grateful for a change.

I hope that there is lots to be grateful for in your life today too.

x

The Journey

2011-08-28T13:13:00.000-07:00

I've just been reading my beautiful friends post over at www.zactom.blogspot.com

It got me thinking a lot about the subtle choices that curve our paths and shape our lives. And also about the bumps and dips that we don't see coming that can throw us into a tail spin or send us sky high. As Welshy likes to say "Life is not a straight line."

My mother in law was a card giver. A letter writer, the gifter of books and at every opportunity, the sender of a greeting card. I have kept most of the cards she gave me. Everything from "I won't say congratulations because L is the one who should be congratulated on being engaged to you, but I will say best wishes" to birthday cards written in her broad and curly writing-always in black, felt tip pen.
In February 2009, I went to Europe for a month. I needed a break between full time work and embarking on full time study. As per usual, I got a card in the mail a few days before I left. "Bon Voyage!" It declared in black felt tip. "All the best on your holiday and when you come home, you will start a brand new journey and you have my love and best wishes for that too." She was, of course, referring to me returning to study. I think.
So i went to Europe, traipsed about, had a fantastic time if truth be told. I got back to Melbourne and had 6 days of jet lag and classes. On Sunday night, the phone rang, my mother in law was dead. She'd suicided. And a new journey had indeed started. But a completely different one to the one i had envisioned.

Fast forward to my last class of that course. Having painted my way through grief and sketched a new life outside of my marriage, I was single, at the end of a journey And SO ready for a new adventure. I assumed that I'd get a fabulous job, save the world, bite off more than I could chew. The next day I put on a pretty dress and went to a friends party. I told everyone how i had finished school, how crazy the last two years had been. I shared a beer with my ex husband and danced to this stupid song that seems to follow me around like a puppy. And then I met this gorgeous Welsh guy with bad manners and unusual eyes. I gave him my phone number and woke up the following day wondering if my qualification would be recognised in the UK. 6 months later I sat in his parents farm house in the middle of rural Wales and ate cake. Pregnant with their grandchild. Talking about sheep.

Once again, the adventure I was gearing up to, morphed into a surprise, life changing, beautiful, scary journey of epic proportions.

We have this one tiny life. A limited amount of forks to confuse us. A line of a certain length to lead us through the thick and the thin of it. We might not be able to choose our own adventures, but I am so glad that mine chose me.

zzzzzzzzzzz

2011-08-25T00:58:00.000-07:00

So...I thought the not sleeping part came after the part we will not mention. (You know the one..."what's that puddle...give me drugs...this is barbaric.....wah, wah, wah...let's never do this again.")

But I am still 13 weeks from my due date and I am having such trouble sleeping. Welsh and I have been together less than a year. Is that too soon to sleep in separate beds? Before little mini me was in town, we could have slept in a single bed that Welsh picked up from the side of the road. In fact, we did sleep in a single bed that Welsh picked up from the side of the road. And it had a great big lump in the middle of it. Oh the joys of falling in love with a back packer.
We'd just cosy up and cuddle all night and wake up after a few hours sleep refreshed and ready for the day.

These days, the only way Welsh can spoon me is if he also spoons my human sized sausage pillow as well. And if i spoon him, he complains that my stomach is too hot. Then there is the getting up at least twice a night to visit the bathroom. Then being kicked constantly and gasping loud enough to stir Welsh who then strokes the pillow to calm it down. More than once I have given up and gotten up, only to return a few hours later to find Welsh cuddled up to the pillow with no knowledge that I have left the bed. Our legs always seem to get tangled, my hair gets in his mouth and when his alarm goes off I thank goodness that the night is over.

We plan on having the baby sleep in our bedroom for the first six months. I mean why not?

The idea of family.

2011-08-18T07:16:00.000-07:00

Before i start this post, let me just put in a disclaimer that i am 6 months pregnant and for an already emotionally motivated woman, that equals close to cuckoo. These hormones have me screaming at the TV (footage abut the recent UK riots and the absolute lack of empathy shown by both the perpetrators and the public makes me want to hide in a cave) crying at the drop of the hat and lauging so much that my already stressed out stomach muscles threaten to pack it in. The other thing is that I feel love INTENSELY. C to the Rrazy.

Anyway.

Ohhh i feel like the energy it took to put together that first paragraph has worn me out. Do all pregnant people feel like this? How do people work? I struggle to finish a sentence most of the time. I really do. i sometimes have to tell Welshy to shut up so I can close my eyes and think of the word I am trying to find. Sometimes I just give up and say things like "What doing after?" so I don't have to put together "What are we doing tonight?"

Basically what i wanted to write in this post is that I really love and miss my family. And i wanted to say that i have another family now which is Welshys family and there are some moments that I have with his nieces that make me want to wrap them up and put them in my pocket. And the last thing I wanted to say was that there will be a new family soon with this little person on the way.

So that's the general vibe and i guess it would have sounded lots better if I had full use of my mind.

The end.

2011-08-16T05:27:00.000-07:00

Gawd, I really have no news.

Oh i went to stonehenge for a few minutes. That was pretty cool.

Winding dowwwwnnnn.

2011-08-08T01:50:00.000-07:00

Good morning blogland!

Well i finally feel, after two months of a strange square peg, round hole sensation, that i have settled in to my new abode. The surrounding hills seem familiar, I have worked out our hot water system, I can even tell you which village child belongs to which set of parents.....
I call them village children because for two months, I have seen them move about the village en masse. There are 24 of them in total. They all look vaguely similar to each other in an un-brushed-hair and sneaker wearing kind of a way and further more, they are always on their own, without a parent or guardian in sight.
When I've questioned Welsh about their origin, he usually gives me some convoluted answer such as "Well you know Emma Golly Gosh that is always in the pub? Well she was married to Gog for a spell and they had the blond one then he had an affair with Mr Marples daughter and they had the other blond one. Then She married Bill, the Scottish guy and had the twins. One of the twins has the same name as Mr Marples youngest too!" And who is Mr Marple? "You know, the guy that lives in The Old Smithy." Who or what is a Smithy one may ask.
It's a confusing place where sibling groups span two generations and everyone seems to have been married at least 13 times before they are 21. I heard a four year old explaining her family to my neighbour in the pub the other day. It is disturbing to hear such a small child say "they got divorced because it just didn't work out. But mummy met her new boyfriend at the karate club and he has muscles out to here!!" whilst she gestures 30cms from her spindly little forearms "I really like your dog" she continued on as she patted a humongous Afgan Hound, the wrong way up its back.

They travel in gangs on their bikes, usually with three or four dogs trailing them. They shout out "I heard you're having a girl! congratulations!" from across the street, even though at that time, we had told noone that information. They use words that should be beyond their vocabulary and state things with such authority, I think they must be true. They've shown me their secret club house beside the river and infiltrated my facebook page, despite my privacy settings being set to maximum. And when I told Welsh that one of the small boys looked at me in a way that made me uncomfortable, he glanced back to him, only to see him wink and give Welsh the thumbs up. (I'm actually a bit scared of that kid.)

These kids seem wild, yet have incredible manners. They seem to understand boundaries without having to be told. They stay awake until midnight and drink shandies like little old ladies. There is no such thing as school holiday program or nannys or even parental supervision really. Sometimes there will be 6 of them playing in my backyard for hours on end until Welsh gets home from work and shoos them on to the next house. Noone is allergic to anything, and if i give them all dinner, they eat everything on their plate then ask what i put in the cheese sauce. There's no room for tantrums in this village, no space for "but daddy, I want an Oompa Loopa NOW!" There is just jumping in the river and being home in time for tea and asking the alarmed look Australian women when her baby is due so they'll have a new friend.

There is something in this way of being bought up. I am not sure what it is yet, but there is something.

I stopped watching TV and started writing again. I also got divorced once and for all on Sunday.

2011-08-02T06:46:00.000-07:00

Letting you go began in that moment when i realised that you were not the lighthouse, you were the rocks I was about to wreck myself against.

I’d resisted walking away. Resisted even admitting to myself that it was a vague possibility. I sat in a bar with one of the strongest, smartest women I have known in my lifetime and shook my head though my tears when she suggested that I start looking after me.
Not only could I not fathom that I couldn’t drag you kicking and screaming through the rip tide of grief, I could not see that I was actually drowning myself in the process.

I guess that’s when I knew. I guess that’s when the stone of fear and regret and loss and panic, that had been sitting in my throat for a year, shaped itself into words and left my mouth, skimming truths, leaving ripples along my carefully constructed surface.
“But if I start moving in that direction, it will spell the end for our marriage.” Feelings are not facts but I was reading from a script that we had been writing since I signed our marriage certificate.

I knew I was about to leave you behind. I couldn’t stay though. Our love had evaporated and left a salty trail or everything that could have been, if things had been different. If you had been stronger, if we’d both been more patient, and the inescapable, insurmountable, excruciating reality, that if she had not had died that night, we would have been different people. In a perfect world, grief ends and people are made more resilient. In a perfect world it takes nothing more than love to make something work. In a perfect world we’d never have known the horrors of divorce.  
Then once I started looking at me, I knew that I could survive this. I knew that I would come out the other end, mostly intact. I also knew that you would not. And I couldn’t stand it. Being pushed away. The silence. The averted eyes. Being held hostage by guilt, in our dark flat with a cat that would not sit on my lap and a husband who ignored me. How could I live like that? How could anyone? And for how long? A month? A year of sorrow? A lifetime of unhappiness?

I guess that’s when in started. In that bar, in the Summer time. And I have been walking away from you ever since. It’s Summer time again where I am and I am still leaving you.
I skim real stone these days, in the stream beside my house. The silence is often broken by the sounds of tractors or sheep or cows or my own voice, singing loud and clear across the field of my belly, finding her tiny ears, filling her tiny heart, a love song that could not exist without that conversation, in a bar, a thousand years ago, a million miles away. I stopped drowning that night and started swimming.
I built my own lighthouse.

The Real Housewife of whatever county this is.

2011-07-31T08:37:00.000-07:00

I have to stop watching so much TV.
I do.

Before i moved to sunny Wales (see! even my sense of humor is suffering) I rarely watched TV. My consumption was the sum total of The Bachelor with Special Beef Yakuniku Don on a Tuesday night, after seeing my personal trainer with my sister and random episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker, some show about emotionally unstable women living in a house with a guy who was most definitely not a psychologist or vintage Hills-all these at the end of a girls night or during the girls night really if truth be told.

These days, with the luxury of unemployment and SKY TV, I have access to an incredible about of trash, day in and day out. Miami Ink? Sure! Teen Mom 2? Why not? I Used to be Fat? Don't mind if i do! It's ridiculous! And don't even get me started on Jeremy Kyle, Jerry Springer or Maury. Or Jersey Shore, Geordie Shore or the Real Housewives of Orange Country for crying out loud. I just cannot take any more.

I've always been a believer that the input impacts the output so no more rubbish. I am going to fill my days with reading books, writing haikus and tankas, taking photographs, sitting by the stream and learning some Welsh so I have half a hope of knowing what they are saying when this baby and Welshy gang up on me in years to come.

I'm not even going to watch the final episode of Audrina. This is detox people and I am going cold turkey (damn it, that reminds me of Master Chef.)

Swim is the new run.

2011-07-26T14:29:00.000-07:00

I've been at a bit of a loss lately, as to what exercise a big fat preggers woman such as myself can do. From very early on, the doctors put a running and gym ban on me after I had some bleeding immediately after jogging and using a rowing machine. "But that's my favourite exercise" did not evoke any goodwill amongst hospital staff unfortunately and so, I was stranded on planet walk-a-thon.
Problem: Using an ipod on country roads is massively dangerous.
Another problem: When you walk in a field, horseflies bite you. Through your pants. Ouch.

I've researched prenatal yoga (ha!) general yoga (not a chance) walking groups (not likely) within my local area. I was beginning to think i was destined to a yoga DVD and an enormous bouncy ball when i remembered that there is a pool down the street!
The good thing about living in the country is that hardly any people use the local pool. The bad thing is that the people who are in there, are most likely perverts. Just kidding (sort of.)

So the breakthrough is that swimming is like running. The breathing, the endorphins, the achey legs. And then i discovered that running in the pool is almost like running in real life except it doesn't make you feel like your stomach is about to fall off. I'm sure the perverts thought it looked weird but you know, they are welsh for gods sake so go take a look in the mirror like. (I'm half welsh now, so i can say stuff like that.)

Hooray.

Thought of the day.

2011-07-24T08:17:00.000-07:00

I've just been reading about Norway. More specifically about the recent mass murder. The murderer tweeted about it all and also wrote something on his blog. They always seem to have blogs, don't they? Hmmmm.

2011-07-22T08:52:00.000-07:00

Hullo!

It's fricking raining as per usual. Wales seems to have a reluctance to admitting to itself that it is Summer. It's obviously in a deep denial and using clouds to cover up. Bloody clouds.

So....car insurance is totally expensive when you are an Australian living in Wales. It's like a thousand pounds which is a thousand pounds more than i have earned this month. Luckily i have my sugar daddy, i mean baby's daddy, I mean boyfriend who is good at managing things like Being A Grown Up. I am more in charge of the saying illogical things and banging in to door ways side of the deal at the moment. Don't worry, it will all even out when we move back to Australia and he becomes the house husband. I told him we needed an ebay account and the next thing I knew, he had given me his credit card to register. Is the man crazy? I mean, he has had a wife before so surely he understands that ebay plus a credit card plus me being unemployed and home all day plus feeling like i need new clothes daily because my stomach keeps growing, is a recipe for trouble.

Talking about husbands, my divorce is dragging itself out like nobody's business. Is it just me, or does this ordeal feel like it has been going on for at least 16 months? No, it is not just me. That is how long it's been going on. We appear to be on the home stretch after months of being disorganised and signing the wrong bits and getting the wrong people to witness and scribbling out addresses etc. Apparently something was read out in court and I think that means we are divorced officially, officially in a week or so.
I actually feel very married right now. In that having to be patient and being bound to someone weather you like it or not kind of a way. It's rather annoying despite the fact that i don't actually have any contact with him. I am just impatient. I want it over.

Mostly so I don't have to tick "married" on my insurance applications anymore. I will officially be "single" and "pregnant" and possibly in trouble for buying too much crap on Ebay.

Say it aint so

2011-07-17T02:53:00.000-07:00

http://www.theweezercruise.com

I actually cry a little inside for my lost youth whenever i watch this promo. It's probably not okay to take a newborn to something like this is it?

Sugar and spice and everything nice.

2011-07-16T02:35:00.000-07:00

We had our 20 week scan yesterday. It's a little girl.

Happiness writes a blank page.

2011-07-13T01:28:00.000-07:00

I have been very quiet in my little corner of the world lately.

This blog has mostly been used as therapy for me as I grieved, got divorced and ran a little bit in between. Now I have put in the hard yards and landed on planet Content and i find my mind empty of blogging content. When i do go jogging, I usually stop to pick flowers like these to put around the house.

I guess i am also somewhat distracted by the small being growing in my heart shaped uterus. There is not much to say about this except for the fact that I am gaga over this child already and watching Welsh whisper to my belly late at night makes me feel things i have never felt before.

This is boring for other people to read because the joy that exists within our bubble is cringe worthy to the general public. This photo was taken at a music festival by the way. The baby preferred the Welsh and irish music which is both alarming and charming. Or else it was squirming around to try and jam its tiny fingers in its tiny ears.

Yesterday, i visited Dylan Thomas's boathouse where he did the majority of his writing during the last years of his life.

It was stunning visually and lent itself seamlessly to his prose about the landscape and surrounding area. The thing is, he was a chronic alcoholic and died at 39 from alcohol related issues. It reminds me of when i saw Bret Easton Ellis speak about having to have fucked up shit happen to you in order to be a powerful writer. (By the way Easton is on our boys name list. See! Welsh is the most amazing man EVER that he would let me name our first born after the man I wish I was married to.)

So what does that leave me with readers?

I suppose we shall float around in no mans land until the new blogging direction reveals itself. In the meantime, let's just have a look at the sight that greeted me outside my door yesterday afternoon

You say tomato

2011-07-10T03:10:00.000-07:00

I cannot stop eating tomatoes. I have hated them my whole life.

And chicken is revolting.

I still want to drink beer and coffee on a daily basis though.

When I run, I seriously feel like I am going to wee.

When i sit in the rocking chair, the baby moves around. When i listen to welsh music, the baby moves around. When Welshy pokes my stomach to make the baby move around, the baby does not move around.

Sometimes when we are sleeping, Welsh uses the bump as an arm rest.

The day I got divorced.

2011-06-30T05:00:00.000-07:00

The day i got divorced, i woke up at 3am and said "I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you" before looking at the clock and realising that half a world away, my divorce hearing was happening at that very moment. Then i went back to sleep.
The day i got divorced, I saw Prince Charles and Camilla in the flesh, watching some little kids do some Welsh dancing. I saw the Prince of Wales, in Wales, watching Welsh dancing in the train station car park. There was no stage, about 6 policemen and then i went and bought milk and bread.
For some reason it didn't seem so strange.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary.

2011-06-28T07:21:00.000-07:00

Now that I am a housewife, i do fun things like weeding the garden of an afternoon. Gardens interest me in the same way that houses do. Residents come and go over the years and landscapes and details change and evolve. I don't know who lived here just before us, but it was someone who liked birds enough to put a bird feeder in one of the trees. Years and years ago, Welshy's grandmother lived here and as i was weeding today i wondered which trees she planted, if she guided the ivy up and over the garden wall, if she made the little path from the driveway to the lawn.
We are putting our own little mark on this property. Have a look at some of my favourite parts.

The garden shed. There is something magical (and cob webby) about this place.

Just over the garden wall is a gorgeous stream. You can fish here all year long, especially after it has been raining. I dreamt of this stream and of Welshy and a little boy with brown hair, long before i got pregnant, decided to move to Wales, or even knew this place existed.True story. They were in a truck.

Through the triangle window.

My pretty boyfriend planted a pretty rose.

I don't know what this is but it is growing in the vegetable garden and it is red.

I love this stone wall. It's so perrrrty.

And that's what I did today. x

Sunshine

2011-06-27T05:44:00.000-07:00

Good day everybody!

We have had a glorious day and half of sunshine, but alas, the inevitable Welsh clouds have rolled in for an afternoon of showers and respite from the heat wave. I mean, it got to 20 degrees for God's sake. People were dusting off their fans and panicking about putting their children in the car. I wore a cardigan. No, i actually put on a bikini yesterday and sun baked in the garden until Welshy started mowing the lawn without a shirt on and I had to relocate to the conservatory. People go a bit bonkers in this place. I saw a nurse at the hospital spinning around, arms outstretched, face to the sunshine this morning. In the parking lot. I mean really, you don't have to purposely freak me out about having a baby here.

So I visited the midwives this morning to have all my bloods redone! How awesome! If there is one thing i love, it is spending hundreds of dollars in Melbourne getting blood tests and scans only do do them all over again in another country (luckily for free this time.) Welsh was impressed with how far i have come with getting blood taken. All the way from fainting and crying, general panic attacks and sleeplessness for a week before the test, to being able to actually have a conversation whilst i have a needle in my arm. Go me.
So she measured my stomach which is 19 weeks big with an 18 week old baby in it. Welsh loved that it's a week bigger as he has taken to calling me Tons of Fun since I almost had a heart attack when I discovered that I had put on a kilo and a half since i got pregnant. I just call him Shut the Eff Up and ask him when his twins, Fosters and VB are due. Then we eat crisps and watch the British version of the Biggest Loser.

Yesterday was my nieces birthday and I had that first pang of feeling REALLY far away from my family. I did get to hear her little 3 year old voice over the phone but God i miss just hanging out and talking Barbies and milkshakes. Thank goodness my parents will be here by the end of this week and if there are two people who love talking about my niece and nephew even more than i do, it is my folks.

I have been here for two weeks. Another 50 to go.
x

Exercise. Country style.

2011-06-23T06:13:00.000-07:00

Hylo!

Last night I ventured out of my warm little stone cottage and back into the magical land of exercise.

Exercising in the countryside presents a completely different set of challenges than in the city. In Melbourne, If i was to go for a run at 10.30pm, I would be worried about getting attacked. I'd be conscious of cars and well lit streets and rounding corners slowly so I didn't bash into someone.
Last night after checking murder stats in the village for the last 100 years with Welshy (zero murders, rapes, aggravated assaults or armed robberies by the way) I set out for a close-to-midnight run.
I strolled up and out of the village into the countryside. I stopped worrying about being hit by a car because not one car drove past me. I also stopped worrying about strangers kidnapping me because there were no people. I did see a strange little animal at one point-in the dusk light, it could have been a squirrel, could have been a rat. I'm going to go with squirrel this time because the thought of a squirrel sized rat makes me ill. I waved to a few sheep and giggled at the quaintness of farm gates and wild buttercups.
With nothing for company except Damien Rices first album and a deep sense of external safety, i started feeling...well kinda bored. I can't even run properly because there is a fishbowl in my stomach. It's all swooshy and not tight.

Anyway, I went home and then Welsh and I went for a midnight tour of the grave yard and scared the shite out of ourselves (me mostly) by walking into the pitch black (unlocked) church. Then we spied on the people in the pub through the rear window and chased each other, laughing, all the way home.

The second run was definitely more fun.

Walk is the new run.

2011-06-21T01:02:00.000-07:00

I've just been reading my wonderful friends post over at www.writehub.blogspot.com . Kate has been on a journey of investigation into her migraines and has come to the conclusion that some bodies are not designed to be pushed at every opportunity.
I wonder where this idea comes from? The notion that we should exhaust ourselves and sit on the edge of our limit as much as possible? Humans are a machine and machines get worn out with use. Professional sports people have to retire with bunged up knees, bad ankles and plastic hips about 25 years before other people quit their profession.
Back in Melbourne, I had a couple of episodes of bleeding during this pregnancy which freaked me the eff out. The general vibe after ultrasounds and blood tests and hissy fits at incompetent hospital staff, was that i was over doing it. I couldn't go running and work full time and have late nights without consequence. Suddenly my body no longer obeyed me. What tha?
Now living in the countryside, where half an hour of pre natal yoga or a 3km stroll through the forest is as exciting as it gets, my body is much happier. Strangely, I actually feel stronger. I feel more secure in this pregnancy. Less dependent on coffee and chocolate and more hydrated for some reason.
I guess when it comes to health, we all have a moment that is a wake up call. A funny turn, odd results from the doctor, a little click that sends us to bed for a week. So here's to respecting our limits. At the end of the day health is the most important thing right?

17 weeks.

2011-06-20T04:01:00.000-07:00

We are officially sticking with the 28th of November as the due date for this little baby. Because I've had scans and tests in multiple countries, we have been given two due dates. Don't ask me how this actually works. But anyway, we are sticking with the 28th because it seems like a nice day to be born. And that means I am 17 weeks pregnant today.
I celebrated by sticking my hand in some stinging nettle whilst trying to pick wild strawberries then watching Americas next Top Model. I also missed my blood test appointment because zany Zeny forgot to tell me about it. Or i forgot. Details. It's all fairly casual so maybe someone mentioned it in passing and i was supposed to know that meant i had an appointment. I do like the way things just develop organically in the place but it does make for a confused Australian woman. Oh well. I keep saying things like "just to clarify" and "sorry, can i just double check that I am actually booked in to a hospital?" and i still don't get an actual clear answer. There is a national reluctance to making plans or uttering the words "yes" or "no."
The funniest thing is that my occupation on my medical records is "Housewife." It's so funny. I feel like i am in the 1950's. Especially because my mobile is getting cut off in a couple of weeks so i have used Welshy's number in my contact details. So everyone needs to call him and ask to speak to his housewife if they want to talk to me. It's extra funny because we are not even married (except for those pesky legal documents stating that I have a husband and he has a wife.) These are the things that entertain my idle mind.
Oh well, time for Teen Mom and a cup of tea then.

When it comes to me, you can jog on like.

2011-06-19T03:27:00.001-07:00

It's okay everyone, the puppies are fine. We experienced a short glimpse into life with a baby actually whilst they recovered in the lounge room. I named one of them Mona due to it's constant whimpering and the other one didn't get a name. It was shivering with shock and barking like a demented sea lion. Welsh is definitely the more laid back parent, giving them a quick blast with my hair dryer then relaxing in the rocking chair. I am a bit more anxious. I held them, kissed them and gave Welsh a running commentary on everything they were doing. ("It's shivering again, why is it doing that? It's trying to head butt the other one. Do you think they miss their mother? How long were they in the drain for? Mona seems like she is settling down now.") Anyway, Welshy took them back to the farm and apparently they are fine. i wish we were staying longer so we could have a pet. There is a puppy at the other farm called Meggie that i really like too. I know, I know, I need to get a job.

Having a (welsh) baby.

2011-06-17T10:13:00.000-07:00

I know I've only been here a week, but I am constantly astounded by how different everything is.
Firstly there is the way everyone speaks: "Alright? Alright. A cup of tea is it then? In a minute now, like." I am pretty sure the language barrier extends to them being confused when i mutter "WTF." And the accent. I cannot tell if Welsh is talking about his ankle or his uncle most of the time.
The absence of take away coffee from the closest cafe (3 miles from my house) also leaves me baffled. And the fact that lunch is called dinner and dinner called lunch. Again, WTF. And yesterday, I saw a badger. Yes. A Badger. I thought they were an imaginary mix of skunk and hedgehog. They are massive by the way. Like small dogs.
There's nude women in newspapers and it's raining in the summer time. A pot of beer is called a half or a girly beer and the streets don't have names but each house has a different postcode. Home births are encouraged and going to the doctor or dentist is 100% free.

But by far, the weirdest thing, was the appointment i had with my midwife today. Her name is Zeny but i call her Zany because it seems funner that way. She called me and then came over an hour later to talk babies. At least, I think that's what she was talking about. Let me tell you, doing a urine test for...something...in your own lounge room feels slightly awkward. And then I lay on the couch while she let us listen to the baby with a doppler! In my lounge room! A doppler! I loved hearing the little whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh again and it was the first time Welsh had heard it. Zeny thought it was hilarious when he asked if it was running around in there (because the heatbeat is so fast.) People in this country seem to think everything anyone says is the funniest thing anyone has ever said. She also had a giggle when Welsh asked if it was normal that i was so mental. I said it is perfectly reasonable to shout occasionally when you are pregnant, have moved countries and your boyfriend is a fecking idiot. Zeny neither agreed nor disagreed. Then the home phone rang and it was a call for Zany from the antenatal clinic about referring me to a consultant because of my romantic uterus. So I'll have shared care which means Zany plus a doctor.

I have more to write but Welsh just walked in with two puppies. Apparently they fell in a drain so he is upstairs giving them a bath and i have been instructed to light the fire to warm them up. I can hear him talking to them. I promise I am not making this up. So it is very different but as long as there are puppies, I think i will cope.

xxxx

Wales: Week One.

2011-06-15T23:44:00.000-07:00

It's early in the morning here in Wales. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, the tea is perfect and I can see sheep in a field from my lounge room window.

My flight was only mildly torturous. I had a stop in Bangkok that was long enough to drink lemonade at a bar and have a foot massage, before another 12 hour flight straight into London. And who was waiting at the airport as the doors opened in front of me? Welsh of course. The very reason I am here.

Of course, i caught a cold somewhere along the line and discovered the joyous fact that pregnant people cannot get drugged up on cold and flu tablets. When the pharmacist suggested I "wait it out" I actually walked back to the car and cried. I was jet lagged with a head cold so ferocious that my teeth ached. I've really only left the house a few times since then to try and get fresh air. I also have a pollen allergy so that's awesome.

In happier news:
i went to the local Doctor yesterday to get a referral to a hospital. Navigating a really unfamiliar healthcare system is quite confusing. From what i could gather, he passes on my information to....someone....then i get a community midwife who visits me in a couple of weeks to talk about birth plans and sex (according to Welsh's brother.) So she will come to my house. I wonder if i should make cake or something. Then she links me in to a hospital that best suits my plan (my plan by the way is to have multiple people in white coats standing by with many drugs and baby equipment) and then i have scans etc there. She will visit me a few more times and also be there when the baby is born. It all seems rather simple really. Surely we are missing something.

Oh, I also wanted to write about how much i love my new house. My favourite things are the stream that runs on the other side of our garden wall, the fireplace, my reading nook that looks over the back garden, pay tv, and the bed linen that Welsh chose before i arrived, which has butterflies on it. I know. Totally cute.

I went to the pub once. It weirded me out. I can't understand Welsh or the Welsh accent very well. And the jokes don't seem that funny to me. Probably because i cannot drink. Everyone kept saying "Well done!" about getting pregnant and asking me how i felt. I'm not sure how i was supposed to answer that question. Are you talking about the flight? The pregnancy? Being in a different country with people i cannot understand?? Telling them "fine thanks" seemed to satisfy their eager faces. I didn't stay very long.

My neighbour gave me a welcome card. She also gave Welsh a card to wish him well on his journey to London to collect me. She is big on cards.

I need to get a job before I lose my mind.

xxxx

15 weeks.

2011-06-06T16:56:00.000-07:00

So by my vague calculations, i am around 15 or 16 weeks pregnant and suddenly, I can feel it. My stomach is an unusual shape that i have never seen before (on myself.) Different to I-just-ate-a-loaf-of-bread bloating and sort of neater than god-i-need-to-go-to-the-gym. It looks like...well, it looks like i am pregnant.

Welsh keeps reminding me of the incredible thing my body is doing. Just when I feel fat and gross his wise voice travels across the world (via Skype) into my lounge room. "You are amazing! You are creating life in there!" and i feel kinda bad that I am still so attached to a body without stretch marks or cellulite. Let's just celebrate that fact while we still can. I somehow got to 30 without these things AND I have never had a filling. I guess all good things come to an end.

To do lists.

2011-06-05T18:51:00.000-07:00

Phone contract, suspended.
Car insurance, cancelled.
Travel insurance, purchased.

I am really going. Really, really, really, really going. On THURSDAY. Which is a mere 3 days away. What to pack? Nail polish? Books? My most favourite painting in the world? Or sensible things like maternity clothes and How to Make the Baby Stop Crying So You Don't Go Insane for Dummies? A mixture of the two.

I have no idea what I am going to do once i get there. I mean, I know the first week will be sleeping, re acquainting myself with the landscape and calling out "hello there!!" to all the locals across the fields. And then fast forward 5 months and it will be all breast feeding and watching reality TV at 3am. But the in between bit is kind of a blur between strolling through the garden like something out of the Darling Buds of May and joining the Country Women's Association simply because THERE IS NOTHING ELSE TO DO.
I can see a few home hair cuts and some extremely abstract art taking place during this period. Perhaps i shall learn to bake and knit and harvest the crops. Or maybe i will just work on my Welsh accent so i can say these thing convincingly. OR I could finally write a book despite the fact my brain has turned into a field of forget me nots which i keep, inevitably, forgetting.

Goodbyes.

2011-06-05T03:48:00.000-07:00

Goodbye to my favourite barista who gives me free coffee and tells me about his evenings at the Greyhound.
Goodbye to my work friends and all the outfit descriptions (shoes, Sportsgirl. Scarf, models own.)
Goodbye to my little niece who thinks seagulls are called sea girls and loves nothing more than barbie and stickers.
Goodbye my car that stinks of flood water and general grossness.
Goodbye my sisters, i carry your hearts in my heart.
Goodbye to my nephew and all our gun battles and lolly sharing.
Goodbye to the beach
Goodbye to the Australian accent
Goodbye to my parents (for the next three weeks.)

Goodbye to my empty bed.
Goodbye to skyping at 7am every morning and goodbye to running late to work every day.

Here's a painting of my village:

It's so much more beautiful in real life (the village, not the painting.)

5 more days!!

Alone

2011-05-29T15:35:00.001-07:00

As the youngest of three very strong, opinionated, passionate and somewhat enthusiastic in the participatory sense (ie, we interfere in each others lives) sisters, i have never really had the occasion to feel alone. I break my arm at four, my sister carries me to the house, first day of school, there they both are in matching uniforms to mine. We've seen each other through countless breakups, nights out, tears and teasings for 30 long years.
Sure, we've all travelled....and then we travelled right back to our family home to share bedrooms and secrets and secret eye rolling towards our parents. We've grown in different directions. Paths shaped by family, careers, passions and partners. But our paths always loop back to each other and the safety of looking two other people in the eye and knowing they (usually) get it and even if they don't, they have your back anyway. Unless you are currently in an argument in which case they are on the phone to the other one stabbing you in it until you see each other 24 hours later and wonder what all the fuss was about.

And now suddenly, i am to be without them? Excuse me?
Next week, I'm getting on a plane. Alone. To travel to a foreign country. Alone. To have a BABY. ALONE.

I never imagined I would be having a baby without my two sisters right beside me. Literally, beside me. The face of the father was always a little blurry in these imagining (handsome, capable, luscious) but the faces of the women who would hold that little baby and introduce it to its cousins? Those faces have been clear as day since my dad bundled me into the waiting room and told them they had a baby sister.

My sisters are my family.

And now, I have a new family. A tiny family of me, Welsh, and lifetime of promise in my belly. He sent me a text message the other day; "I just bought you some vegemite!!" He's over in Wales, painting our house, buying furniture and sourcing cots and god knows what else and he goes to the supermarket to buy me vegemite, so that when i open the cupboard on my first morning there, it will feel like home. I think of Welsh and vegemite toast and the baby in my tummy and suddenly, I no longer feel alone.

Fate, Destiny and Safeway.

2011-05-26T23:34:00.001-07:00

I just ran into an ex work colleague's wife in the supermarket. When i mentioned i am moving to Wales, she told me she had lived there for three years and loved it. Apart from the weather. The last time I saw her was the night I met Welsh and a few months later her husband offered me an incredible job, just when I had decided to go to Wales. Oh and she had a baby in a foreign country with none of her family around her. I feel like she is quite central to my story, without even knowing it. You see, I used to nanny for her sister in law when we struck up a friendship of sorts. Then I met her husband and we started working together on a photography project with young mums. I ended up working with him fulltime for a couple of years. Then the organisation we were working for was taken over by a new boss. I gotmarriedquitmyjobseperatedfrommyhusband and then that boss had a birthday party which is where i met Welshy.

Oh and I am having dinner with her and my ex work colleague on Tuesday night. They have just moved house. She wrote her address down on a piece of paper and as I walked to my car, I glanced at it. I shouldn't be surprised, but i was; Wales St.

I forgot to tell you something

2011-05-24T02:15:00.000-07:00

My divorce hearing has been scheduled for the 30th of June. I, of course, will be getting fat in Wales by then but will celebrate the day with some sort of mocktail and a folate pill.
So by my maths, I will be divorced by August one. Fancy that.

Knock knock. Who's there? Boo. Boo who? No need to cry, it's only a joke.

2011-05-21T23:39:00.000-07:00

What the effing crap is up with these fricking baby hormones? I get it okay? I get that i need them to do....well, stuff i guess. Actually, on second thoughts, what is their real purpose? Apart from making me break down every time i accidently watch SBS, i mean. I saw the last five minutes of Australian Story this afternoon. BIG mistake.

I cry at the news, I cry at masterchef and yes my friends, I even cry at Dancing with the Stars. I bawled at Britains Got Talent whilst in Wales and continued to blub when i saw the Australian version. The people were trying so hard and some of them were so talented and it was touching and moving and profoundly inspiring! Not inspiring to me, you understand. I am too exhausted and baby brained to even consider doing....that thing...you know, that thing with the movement and the smiling...oh you know what i mean...dancing! Yes, I have always liked dancing. What were we talking about again?

I've turned into my mum. I have turned. into. my. mum.

I just booked a flight.

2011-05-19T04:10:00.000-07:00

And now i am getting scared. The "what ifs" and the middle of the night dread is starting to creep its' way into my optimism. I have had too much time to think about this. To consider the impact it will have on my life. To enjoy all the things i am leaving behind.....

However. It is time to move forward. It is time to be brave and remember that this is an adventure. This little life of mine has always been interesting and i suppose this is the next chapter. The one called The Year I Moved to Wales and Had a Small Baby. But it's scary right? Leaving everything i know and love behind and shacking up with a Welshman. Jebus Jebus. Luckily this particular welshman is sweet and kind and has spent the last week buying furniture for our home and digging out a vegetable garden. Bless. I really like vegetables and i read somewhere that you should sometimes feed them to your kid too. You know, just for a change from ice cream.

I'm looking forward to the fresh air. To the quiet. To the slower pace and the easy smiles. Wales to me is Welsh sipping tea in the mornings. His nieces' tiny hand curling into mine as we wander down a lane. Kicking water at each other in a stream until we are all wet and laughing like something out of an OMO ad. The wild violets and the tame lambs. Oh, it's so beautiful there. So, so beautiful. You should see the sky at night. Unbelievable.

So on the 9th of June I will go to Bangkok (possibly have a massage) and then arrive in London at 7.15am (my Visa starts that very day and i don't want to miss Welsh for even a day longer than i have to.)

It's crazy really, isn't it? It's crazy.

Boom Boom Boom

2011-05-16T22:16:00.001-07:00

Well, what an eventful day it has been so far.

This morning i got to have an ultrasound. I have had three so far which seems excessive really but without going into too much detail, i have had some....issues......with this pregnancy which may have been because of my heart shaped uterus, could have been caused by excessive exercise (who, me? what?) but is most likely Just One Of Those Things. I had four blood tests in a week which was wonderful as you can imagine. Especially the one performed by a trainee nurse with a lip ring. I mean, I am all for the learning process but if i wanted to be stabbed repeatedly with a needle by some emo kid, i would never have resigned from the crisis centre.

Ultrasounds are amazing! As my friend said "you get to meet your baby before they drive you insane." My baby is "very active" which dad says is pay back (yep, he was in the room as a woman inserted an internal ultrasound thingy. Difficult to maintain sensible conversation whilst that is happening.) and everything looked fine. By "fine" I'm sure she meant that the baby looked like the cutest, smartest, funniest, kindest thing she had ever seen.

Grown up

2011-05-14T01:03:00.001-07:00

I feel so old lately. This is why:

1. I'm having a baby. Wow.

2. I don't get Justin Bieber. AT ALL.

3. Instead of thinking Lara Bingle is a silly little girl, i am actually really concerned about her. I really hope she has good friends and someone, be it a manager or parent, who is actually looking out for her. Give the kid a break.

That is all.

The blog post i almost didn't hit "publish" on.

2011-05-09T23:04:00.000-07:00

Blogging is weird right?
Of course it is. It's like an open diary just waiting to be read. Blogs are sometimes really boring. Sometimes they are entertaining. Sometimes touching and sometimes, well sometimes they belong to your ex boyfriend and can be both fascinating and nauseating.

I suppose the question of who i write for has been raised a few times since i started this blog. The conundrum about anonymity. I kinda always figured that i would be 100% honest but then never say who i really am. But then of course, i have friends who read this blog, I know my mum checks it and I follow my sisters blog which is sometimes linked to her facebook account. So i suppose, people who i know, or even just kinda know, may know me a whole lot better than i realise. Friends of friends, workmates, even my ex in laws are all potential readers. So how honest should i be? How much truth should really find its way onto this blog? How open should my book be?

These are all questions i have been grappling with lately because of something i wrote last week but didn't publish. The problem is, i cannot keep blogging until i blog about this because this particular piece of truth is impacting on everything i think, feel, notice or create lately. God, I've made it sound bad haven't I? Just keep reading :)

So without further ado, i give you The Unpublished Post:

When she died, i never thought i would feel happiness again.
Time literally ground to a halt and i was so present, so aware of the situation i had found myself in, that I could not see the forest for the trees. Fuck, i didn't even know i was in a forest. It hurt so much and i was so blind sided that i didn't know how i would recover.
I was young. Too young to be married and too young to be touching that sort of grief. Of course people go through worse everyday, every second. Just watch the news or Oprah or actually listen to peoples stories and you'd know that trauma bites into people's lives all the time.
But this was my nightmare. My little piece of personal hell. Our wedding anniversary, a suicide note, a husband who would never recover from the shock. This was my story and for a little while there, i wondered how i could come out of it intact.

Well, now i know.

You just keep going. It's as simple as that. I never could envision that my future would look like this. I could not ever imagine that I would fall in love again. I remember crying to my sister on the phone saying that i was broken, that i was changed, that my heart was no longer capable of love. She told me i was wrong. Promised me, in fact that I was mistaken. Of course she was right. But at the time? God. At the time I was a fucking wreck. I always thought that you were my lighthouse but now i see that you are the rocks i wreck myself against.

And then i met Welsh and the whole world changed again. Where there was grief, there was joy. Where there was darkness, suddenly, there was light. My silver lining. My second chance. Loving him didn't save me. Being able to love him showed me that i had already saved myself. After a year and a half of feeling numb at best, suddenly I was alive again. We fell in love. And i was so surprised, so astounded that I had met him that i forgot to keep looking backwards. Forgot to be careful. Forgot that i was someones ex wife and started being someones girlfriend instead. Girlfriend! Even now, that word seems so girlish. So innocent and sweet. Instead of feeling like a constellation prize after a failed married, I had the feeling that i had dodged a very dangerous bullet. That i had almost missed the chance of meeting the love of my life.

And i get it now. I understand what it was all for. Life really does go on. Time really does heal. Life really is what you make it. You want to know how i know all this stuff? It dawned on me on my third day in Wales:

We are seated in a darkened room. Well, Welsh is seated, i am half reclining on a bench like apparatus. We are clasping hands. It's no understatement to say that i am absolutely shitting myself. We are staring at a screen and i am questioning my relationship with God. If i don't believe in him, why do i keep saying his name in my head? Soft, warping circles move across the TV, like a lava lamp, and all at once i see a tiny little vibration of static. "See that there?" the sonographer asks in her thick, curly, sing-song accent "that there is the heart beat."

And just like that, it is all worth it. The grief, the pain, the loss, the fear. The sleepless nights, the agony, the tears and the terror. Because this is all that matters. This is all that has ever mattered, i just didn't know it. I would walk through a thousand lifetimes of the last few years, just to find myself standing in this exact spot. I look at Welsh and he looks at me and suddenly, we are three.

Welsh is grinning and I am bawling and they hand us a little print out which we clip to the dashboard of the car. The sun is out as we leave the hospital parking lot. It's unseasonable warm for this time of year in Wales. Maybe we will call the baby Sunny or Summer. Maybe we will choose a family name like Nelly or Gwen. Maybe it will be every name of every person who ever led me to Welsh in the first place.

Or maybe, we will just call her Hope.

And what the hell, while we are at it, I may as well completely blow my cover. Here's a photo taken a few days after we found out i was pregnant.

11.

2011-05-09T03:39:00.000-07:00

11 has always been my lucky number. Well not always, but for a couple of years.
Before that, it was 5. When i was a kid, my lucky number would change with my age and when i turned 5, my sisters informed me that i couldn't just change it because i had, had a birthday. Showing the already determined (stubborn, defiant, annoying) streak in my personality, I claimed that being five had nothing to do with my lucky number of choice and boy oh boy did i show them the day i turned six. I stuck to my guns until my 25th birthday when finally I realised that 11 actually was my lucky number. And that you cannot just choose a number, it chooses you. And also that claiming my favourite colour was peach just to be different from the pink my sister clearly had a preference for, fooled noone. (My other sister was even more of a rebel, painting her bedroom BLUE! The scandal!)

Anyway, I digress. Since i started noticing that 11 followed me around, it has always served me well. And guess what? The year is 2011. Which mean that this year (and i say this every year) is going to be the Best Year Ever.

The real price of moving to another country:

2011-05-06T00:27:00.001-07:00

Visa application: $315
Taking a morning off to lodge it: $100
Sending the stupid thing registered, express post: $26
Train ticket to the city: $3.70

Being one step close to being in the same village as my boyfriend: Pretty effing good.

The Ultimate, Final, To Do List (for the next month.)

2011-05-02T21:48:00.001-07:00

hi y'all.

I feel like i have so much to do before i can leave for Wales. So many expensive, complicated things.

Get a visa
Get a divorce (this i my fault, i have all the forms but not the $550)
Put the rest of my stuff in storage
See everyone
Work fulltime
Walk the dog every day (this is free.)
Buy a plane ticket.

and a million other things.
Do some washing.
Buy some gumboots.

good? good.

Jetlag

2011-04-27T10:52:00.000-07:00

It's 4am and i have been fighting sleeplessness since midnight. Time to give up the battle and blog!

Gosh, It's been a long time friends hasn't it? I've been away, eating croissants, shoving more art into my head than i could handle and spending a giddy week with Welsh in his mother land.

Paris was amazing. I am sure i am the first person to ever think that. Between the Louvre and designer second hand stores, the beautiful people and the city scape at night, macaroons and Mon Cherie, i well and truly fell in love with France.
It is just so visually stunning. I cannot work out if the people are so beautiful because they are around beautiful things all their lives, or if they surrounded themselves in beauty to reflect themselves. What came first? The Chic or the Eiffel? Either way, the man made magnificence of the place is truly one of a kind. Get thee to France!!
I met Mona and Venus, saw a handful of Matisses and Picassos, drank champagne with breakfast in the countryside and coveted every single outfit worn by every single french woman i saw.

Wales is the opposite. It is dominated by broad brush stokes of natural beauty. The landscape is so rugged, so obvious, so 360 degrees of impossible greens. In the distance you watch rolling hills and light dancing on the water then you look down at wild violets and baby lambs by your feet.
And of course, Wales in where Welsh comes from. It was mind blowing to see him there and this synergy, this snowball of falling in love with Wales and falling more in love with Welsh, and loving Wales because of Welsh and Welsh because of Wales, swept me though a week of sleeping in, country walks, endless cups of tea and meeting the entire population of his village. His family is gorgeous. His friends generous and kind. Our house is millions of years old with creaky floorboards and a stream on just the other side of the fence.
I have two homes now and i am itching to get back there and take my finger off the pause button of our lives together.

Melbourne is also great and I am happy to have six weeks of coffee with my friends, hugs with my niece and nephew, goodbye dinners with my family and hundreds of conversations and moments that I will file away in my heart for the year to come.

goodnight. xxx

Leaping.

2011-04-04T22:19:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone!

How is everyone? It's a beautiful day isn't it? It really is.

So last night Welsh got on (another) plane and went away (again.) This time it's a more permanent move based on the fact that he cannot work in Australia and just hanging about on a tourist visa for the last month, was doing both of our heads in. Unemployed boyfriend=me never wanting to go to work and him wanting to annoy me for attention when i didn't.

It's been a chaotic relationship. Sometimes one foot in and one foot out as we tried to wrangle the immigration department, housemates, jobs as well as the whole getting to know each other thing and doing fun stuff like ice skating and going on a boat. It's been six months of wondering if we are really doing this, sizing each other up out of the corner of our eyes and considering if this is it. You know, it, it. Two funerals, a trip to thailand, a couple of resignations and a divorce party later, we have uncovered our answer.

And it is YES. Is he the person I want to be with right now? Yes. 5 years from now? Yep. 20 years from now? Well...probably. I don't even know if i want to be with myself in 20 years.
The point is, the answer is yes. This is it. The big love.

I am moving to Wales in June. I'm going to live in a village with the love of my life and write a book. I'm going to wear gum boots and whinge about the weather. I'm going to eat dinner at the local pub and chase sheep around the paddocks.

So here's to faith and crossing the ocean to give love my best shot.
Here's to leaping.

Incidental exercise.

2011-03-26T21:50:00.000-07:00

It seems i have stopped running. It may seem this way because that is the actual truth.
I did do some sprinting and some strange toe-running with my trainer on Tuesday. But of course, i had to ham it up and start from the ground to try and make him laugh (that's what exercise is all about isn't it?) and i tore something in my groin. It hurt ALOT and i had to limp around with my hand between my legs for the rest of the session. Attractive.

So i guess i have to rely on incidental exercise to keep fit. Like walking to the fridge to get the chocolate coated scotch finger biscuits for example.

Let's make a list of things again. I like that game.

1. I love my boyfriend.
2. I love biscuits.
3. When i was married, a psychic told me that I had not met the love of my life yet. (i didn't ask him anything about love or my husband or anything FYI)
4. I wonder what the psychic would say now.
5. I love snorkling and scuba diving. It's so fun!
6. i have the next two days off. Yay!

divorce.

2011-03-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

So i finally have my divorce papers in order.

It seems odd to send them off into the post with just a regular stamp. I feel like i should sprinkle them with magic dust or do some sort of severing ceremony as i drop them in the box.
Getting married is so much more....celebratory. You get garter belts and funny traditions like sleeping separately the night before. You get to wear something blue and borrowed, you get a certificate. With this, you just fill a form and chuck it in a regular post box. Where is the undoing of all those other things? Can i throw a bunch of flowers forward over my head and see who will be next to get divorced? Or perhaps walk backwards down the isle and donate all the wedding gifts to charity? It's an odd thing.

I went to get the papers from..him....the other day. I woke him from an afternoon nap and we drank tea and talked about the cat. He handed me the papers, and a paperback novel. He told me to read the inscription. It's a book about a social worker who became a writer. He'd had the author sign it for me; "To Katie, for inspiration."
Sometimes I remember why i married him.

Then we hugged awkwardly as usual and i dropped him down the street to buy mince. All so normal. All so civil.

And now i am moving forward. I have this life with Welsh and gorgeous plans for togetherness and our future. I'm moving out of my apartment, going to Paris to turn 30, then moving to Wales for a spell to live in a village with farmers and nothing but houses and a local pub. (and some sheep, the farms, perhaps a tractor or two.) And I am happy.

In essence, this is why we are getting divorced. Because we both knew a greater happiness existed out there for us. His is living a solitary life with no links or responsibilities and i respect that. And mine is with a man who loves me more than life itself and a future filled with affection, support and love. We could never have given each other these things.

I love the book by the way. It's about a woman who leaves an unhappy marriage. As much as i remember why i married him, i also remember exactly why it didn't work out.

Happy Thursday blogland.

xxxx

Getting ideas.

2011-03-17T15:23:00.000-07:00

I've been awake since 3 this morning writing the first chapter of a book.

I've always been more of a short story kind of a girl but this book is writing itself. What i mean to say is, this story has existed for a long time but has been laying trapped in my head. It was always going to be written eventually.
It's my story. The story of love, the story of loss. The story of standing in an airport and wondering what i will tell my husband. It will not be a typical novel. The chapters will sometimes be one sentence long. It may jump here and there and tie itself in to knots. But that is how it is with life and loss-it's messy and raw and poetic and irrational.
It is chick lit i think. In an Elizabeth Gilbert pair of shoes. But it will not always be easy to read. However, i feel that it will be easy to understand. Relatable.

I am going to write a chapter in Paris next month. It seems appropriate.

Sunny days.

2011-03-12T13:36:00.000-08:00

I love Sundays. Especially when it's a sunday of the public holiday kind, which means no work, no wandering to said work and no coping with strange people at said work.
This is all very lucky really considering the size of my hangover.

You know what else i am doing today? Seeing my smallest, most favourite friends in the world; AKA as my niece and nephew. And i am going to take Welsh along-how could i not after my niece squealed "I love Welsh!" down the phone to me yesterday? (her memories of him consist of him burying her in the sand, shoulder rides, milkshakes, stickers and being pushed in a shopping trolly up a bumpy lane way. What's not to love?) I like watching Welsh with them. Just saying.

Also, I have decided to go to Wales in June for a four month visit after visiting Welsh's village via google street view. Holy crap, i have never seen anything so beautiful. There's a stream that runs right next to his house. You can fish in it! But before that, i am going to do some art therapy based project work which seems exciting, as things do when you have not started them yet. And i am going to make more of an effort with writing (ie publish something somewhere) and just write more in general. I get bored of myself with my writing at times though. i always just want to write abut my divorce. Its so complex though! so thick with emotion. So many angles. So much to say.

So it's work for 4 weeks, go to Paris (omg omg omg) then come home and work for 5 weeks, then go to Wales! This plan sits better with me than anything has for the last 2 years. Excited.

Needless to say, i have not jogged for 2 weeks.

What I'd give for a quiet week.

2011-03-07T15:10:00.000-08:00

Ahhhhh hello my friends.

It's exciting when "stuff" happens, isn't it? Drama invigorates us, stress motivates us, change helps us to grow and challenges make us stronger. Well thank you universe, but i have had enough of that for right now. It's been a topsy turvy last few weeks filled with Welsh leaving, my divorce party, starting a new job, going to Queensland for my cousins funeral, Welsh returning, planning for my trip in 5ish weeks and wondering if i should move to Wales in April for 6 months. And wondering when i am actually going to get divorced. (may have jumped the gun with the party....He says he will "let me know" when he has signed the papers. meh.)

I'd really like a week where nothing happens. Where I wake up, go to work, no one threatens to kill me, then i walk home, cook dinner, maybe watch some tv, then fall asleep. ahhhhh.

I also need to tell my housemate that i am moving out. I hate awkward conversations. I wish i could do it by email....

Perspective Sandwich.

2011-03-03T02:06:00.001-08:00

Hullo!

God, am I tired? Yes I am. See! I'm so tired that I have started talking to myself. Why thank you, I think your hair looks lovely today too.

So. This week i started my New Job. My New Job and my Old Job could not be more different (okay, okay i suppose if i was a stripper and nun then those roles could be more different but just run with the exaggeration or else my post will become all realistic and boring.) So, i was saying, these roles could not be more different. One day someone is threatening to shoot me (eff you too buddy) and the next, I am considering shooting the next person who asks me about lego. The death threat has been the low point of the week but the high points are numerous and varied! The staff there are awesome people who do amazing work. I love meeting inspiring people and i have just been reminded of why i am so passionate about my social responsibility etc etc.

The funny thing is, i resisted going back into this sector for such a long time. I thought i would not have the energy, that someone would threaten to shoot me and i would freak out. But this work does not drain me, it actually energizes me. Working in a great, professional environment with highly skilled colleagues is incredibly uplifting. I feel changed already. I don't feel all vulnerable and sensitive. i feel strong and smart and creative.

And on my third wedding anniversary, the 2nd anniversary of my mother in laws suicide, one year since i said to my husband "I think we need to talk" I went to work and met 10 people who had seen 10 times more chaos, grief, pain and misfortune than me. Then i got to hang out with my sister whilst watching the Bachelor, talk to my gorgeous boyfriend on the phone the whole way home, then go to sleep in my beautiful house.

My life is fucking excellent.

A good year.

2011-02-27T23:57:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning with my sister staring intently into my eyes. She was laying on a bed about a meter from my own. We'd been forced back into our childhood sleeping arrangement, our parents snoring in the next room, by an unexpected interstate trip.
She whispered my name and maintained eye contact."It's not alive, but there is something next to your face" she said, always good in a crisis, always slipping into damage control mode.

Ew. Mush and a little wing. Vague, half asleep recollections of something crawling on my arm came back to me. The rest of him was not found until later that morning when my sister spotted his mangled body just outside the bathroom.

And today is two years since you wrote that final note. And as much as I tried to enter that space, you know the one, the space where I recognise I have grieved you but I am still mourning you, the one where I miss my husband and feel angry at the world, that special little place in my mind where i miss you and hate you all in the one impulse, I found that I could not.

Because I got to wake up this morning. You didn't, the cockroach certainly didn't, but I did.

see ya.

2011-02-21T17:27:00.000-08:00

I just dropped Welsh off at the tram stop. I know, I know, I am a bad girlfriend for not driving out to the airport. But i wanted to avoid the whole crying at the terminal, clasping on to his leg at the gate scene. So i parked in a no standing zone next to Luna Park and watched him walk away in my rear vision mirror.
Big backpack, brown arms, sun bleached hair. I hope today is the start of a new adventure for him. He left his jacket at my house so i assume he will be back at some stage.

Then I went shopping for some new clothes for my new job! The aim is to look slightly less homeless than the homeless people. Did I just say that? Really? It's been two years since i worked in a profession where flip flops and a sun dress are probably not appropriate. I bought new jeans. If there is one thing i cannot compromise on, it is jeans. But i also bought black, neat casual tops. When i tried everything on, i looked like my old self again. Not the art making, home hair cutting, op shop clothes wearing woman i have been for the last two years. I will keep her hidden away for the weekends. I'm excited though, to rediscover this part of myself. I want to see how i have changed as a worker, where my boundaries around stress have shifted to, how my role in the world will merge with my role in the workplace. So much has changed in the last two years. So, so , so much. The biggest shift i am feeling right now is that i am not nervous about my first day. In fact, I know that they know that they are lucky to have me. That's different.

Updates

2011-02-19T23:52:00.000-08:00

Hello blogworld!!

Here is an update:

Running i have done recently: none.
Been going to the gym? yes, once this week.
What did my personal trainer say? He said: "What is that?"
Where did he point when he said that? At my stomach.
Am I 5 months pregnant? No
Then why do I look like i am? Because i eat dip for dinner.

Welsh is getting on a plane on Tuesday. I am going to use this quiet time to GET MY SHIT TOGETHER. And by "quiet time" I am of course referring to the fact that my boyfriend is getting booted out of Australia. Whatever immigration, you can take my boyfriend but you cannot take my dip!!! No! I am not eating dip for dinner anymore. That is just crazyness! And lazyness!

I am going to run 3 times this coming week. I am going to drink lots of water and I am going to eat vegetables every single day. And i am not going to make a huge scene at the airport and i am going to write a beautiful speech for my cousin and I am also going to buy a wedding dress from an op shop for my divorce party. And I am going to iron my clothes for my new job. And get early nights and charge my ipod and and and and and i am going to stop drinking wine during the week! And what else? I am going to stay so busy doing stuff and not doing stuff that i will not even notice that my boyfriend has left the country. Yep, that's the plan.

lost.

2011-02-17T23:33:00.000-08:00

I've been asked to speak at my cousins funeral next week.
And i am staring at the blank screen as a thousand memories compete for space on the page. And i wonder if i should go for light hearted, sentimental, short and sweet or something else entirely. And I have ideas about writing about how mental illness can effect people, and about how i once nannied two cousins, a boy and a girl and about how i dreamed of them on the night he died. My sentences keep starting with "I only knew a few months of life without him and now even a week seems too much to be without him again" or "we were thick as thieves up until his life took a turn in an entirely different direction to mine and now we will never be on the same road again" or "Why on earth did i press reject on the last phone call he will ever make to me? I was busy filling in divorce papers with a man that he never thought was good enough for me."

None of this is what i want to say about him. About his life. About the little blonde kid who taught me the world "slut" and stole my dads rum with me one year in Byron Bay. About the teenager who dressed in drag and let me take photos of him around the family pool. About the adult who shared a cigarette and rum with me behind a water tank, because even at 29, we didn't want to smoke in front of our dads. The thing is, i don't know what i want to say. What is the thread? The rum? Times he grinned in my direction? Things that went wrong in his life that never went wrong in mine?

For the first time ever, i am lost for words.

Something I wrote after reading this thing on this thing.

2011-02-09T22:35:00.002-08:00

Check out this cool thing:

http://thereddressclub.blogspot.com/

They set writing challenges and other cool stuff. So i wrote this thing.

I've lost my vocab after a job interview today.

It's called This Time Two Years ago and the challenge was the write a 600 word piece that started with "I could never have imagined" and finished with "And then the whole world shifted."

Here goes.....

I could never have imagined that 25 hours in transit would feel so long. But checking my watch again, I see that I am still an hour from Europe. Sixty minutes from Di Vinci airport, Rome, to be exact. I sit back in my seat and focus on the tiny airplane as it makes its way across the screen. Converting miles travelled, into kilometers I had now put between myself and Melbourne, I close my eyes and wonder again why I am doing this.
I’ve left behind my job, my husband, everything familiar for a month long trip abroad. Alone. I need space, room to breath, time to think. I needed to let my hair down, shake off the stress. I need to get away.

I open my eyes and check my watch again. The women beside me stirs and shifts in her seat. I glance at the man across the aisle. Cute, mid thirties, generous hands. I look down at my own hands, to the place where my engagement ring usually sits. For safe keeping i had told my husband as i slipped it into my bed side drawer, i don’t want to accidently leave it in some hotel room. I ball my fingers into a fist and dig my nails into my palm. I let out a sigh.
I wish he had come with me; that our marriage was exciting and impulsive and not a carefully measured sum of me doing what i want and him doing what he wants and counting on the illusion that someday, somehow, those things might be the same.
I dig around in my bag until i find my creased itinerary. February 14th: Venice. Valentines day alone in Venice. How romantic.
I fold it carefully back into a side pocket and watch the night sky out of my window. Mostly all i can see is the woman staring back at me. I study her face. Dark brown hair-a legacy of 3 months in Asia and hair dye from the 7 /11. Blue eyes. Broad nose. Perfect bow for a mouth. No wrinkles. Yet. Not a grey hair in sight. I am 27 years old.
I recross my legs and take a swig from my water bottle. It tastes of copper and my ears pop as we begin our decent.

Despite the late hour, I can see plenty of lights around Rome. It looks so different! So European. So beautiful!
I practically sprint towards the luggage collection area and within minutes, I have grabbed my backpack and landed in customs. The officials speak to me in Italian and I giggle as they use the word Bella on me.
“Ciao” I practice as they hand me back my stamped passport.
I head for the exit sign.

I don’t know right now, that in a few days, I will come across the Colosseum by chance and drink coffee with new friends in the old city. Nor that within 6 days of my return to Melbourne, my life will implode. No idea that my marriage is about to fall apart. Or that two years later I will be booking a flight back to Paris, to celebrate my thirtieth birthday, and divorce, with my sister, brother in law, an ex boyfriend and my new boyfriend.

I do however, have an inkling that I am on the brink of a big adventure. So with hope in my heart and a smile on my face, I take one big step forward and then the whole world shifts.

Starry starry night.

2011-02-08T22:23:00.000-08:00

I've got this boyfriend right. He's Welsh and unusual and i may have mentioned him a couple of times. Anyway, on Sunday night, i had a small melt down about this whole, well there's no way to sugar coat it, fucking divorce. And i cried until i got a headache and basically did that really attractive thing that we sometimes do when we are in a new relationship-babble for hours about our ex partners. I mean, that's really hot right? Puffy eyes, irrational claims, wet pillows and unfounded suspicions that your new partner will turn out just like the old. The man has seen me throw up, with hang overs, mid argument with said ex partner and at 5am with hair that got wet in the rain the night before, then dried stuck to my head while i slept. ("You are so beautiful in the morning") and he is still around. He is clearly insane.

So come monday morning, i was like a zombie at work. 95% over it and one irritating conversation away from going home early to sulk in my bedroom and listening to Craig David or Macy Grey or something equally whingy.

But then my phone beeped with a message from Welshy.

"Your stars for the day: You deserve to be happy. You haven't done anything bad or wrong. Or even if you have, has it really been that bad? And that wrong? If you have been justly sentenced to a life of misery, surely you'd remember the hearing and the verdict. If you received the punishment in a previous life, how come you don't remember? That's totally unfair. So i repeat. You deserve to be happy. And events this week will bring you happiness."

i don't even know if it's a real horoscope or if he made it up, but I'll tell you what, either way, I'll take it.

What are friends for?

2011-02-06T13:03:00.000-08:00

Hello blogland.

It's quite early in the world of jogging and blogging but i had a spare few minutes so it the spirit of seizing the day, i thought i would start it but sharing some thoughts with you all. Because really, is there anything more fascinating than my thoughts on a Monday morning? Surely not.

A couple of years ago, a few to be exact, i was wandering around South East Asia for no particular reason. It was kind of like an extended holiday, a chance to reflect on my life, an opportunity to spend time with my new husband sans housemates, work, family pressure (his, not mine) and really, an excuse to quit my very stressful job.
Whilst away i did manage to reflect on many aspects of my life-I decided to go back to study for example, one afternoon when smoking a Burmese cigar and watching the river, simply because I could and I felt a great sense of social responsibility towards contributing to this beautiful world in any way that i could. Luck affords us the luxury of choice.

I also thought lots about family. We decided to move in with my mother in law when we got back to Melbourne. She'd been depressed and was struggling a little bit. I envisioned afternoon cups of tea and long talks about my husband as a child. I imagined we'd cheer her up just by our very presence. That we'd envelope her in our newly wed love and she'd suddenly bound out of bed and be ready to live her life. Nope.
Another thing i thought about was my friends. I missed them all SO much while i was away in the way that one does when one is stuck in a country with little more than a bad photocopied version of American Psycho and ones quiet husband. I remember thinking to myself that i have a friend to cover all bases. Someone to tell me the truth no matter what, someone to tell me what i want to hear no matter what. Someone who has seen all the bad bits and still loves my guts and friends who are new enough that I want to do my hair before meeting up. Friends that i can call when i want to get drunk. Friends i can call when I want to whinge about the fact i am so hung over.

I had no idea at that time that my friends would become so important to me. Even more important. I didn't know that those afternoon cups of tea would turn into meeting up with my friend Kate in cafes so i could cry endlessly about the mess i had found myself in. No clue then that the long talks about my husband would take place not with my mother in law, but with my sisters. Didn't know then that our newly wed love would hit an enormous speed hump and that by our third wedding anniversary, i'd be attending my own divorce party with my incredible friends.

What would i do without them? Really? What on Earth would I do?

And now i have friends that my ex husband does not even know about. Links and connections that are so strong that our own shrink in comparison. There is Welsh, of course. So funny and strange and beautiful. Then there's a new work friend, also funny, inspiring and insightful. My new house mate. Friends of friends.
The circle keeps widening and i knock on wood and thank my lucky stars that I have them. What are friends for? They are saving my life a thousand times over and for making my life one worth saving.

Wait a second.

2011-02-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

I've just been reading a post by Chantelle over at fatmumslim

She poses an interesting question; What are you waiting for?

It got me thinking about the stalls and procrastinations that are circling my happiness like sharks. Welsh still has no definite answer about his visa. We live in limbo-somewhere in between euphoria at having met and a low grade, simmering panic that this has made life very complicated.
There are options, of course. There always are. He can work illegally and risk being deported. I can pack up my life and move across the world. We can kiss goodbye at Melbourne airport and thank our lucky stars that we had 4 beautiful months together. But those options seem so SUCKY. I want my boyfriend to stay in the country. I want to not be so stressed about it, that the very reason he wants to stay becomes blurry.

This frustration comes from a couple of places. One, i like control. I like being the master of my destiny. Even making no choice is still making a choice. I am just about ready to march down to immigration and demand some sort of explanation as to why something as simple as being with the man i love, is being made so stressful. And two, i am really impatient.

While studying, i came to the realisation that often, the problem is not the problem. The problem is your reaction to it. For example, say your washing machine leaks all over the floor. It's only annoying because you have to mop up. But so what? The actual problem is that you don't like wasting time and you don't like making a mistake, But let's look at these a little more closely. Are you under that much pressure that 20 minutes spent mopping is really a waste of time? Let go of your expectations of how your afternoon should look and enjoy the experience. And as far as making a mistake, sheesh, go easy on yourself for once. Once the irritation is neturalised, you can actually look on the bright side-clean floor, toned arms, funny story!
Obviously, sometimes the problem is the actual problem but more often than not, letting go of expectations is the answer. For me anyway. Of course i want to to spend the next 20 minutes wasting time on the internet but wasting it mopping is also okay.

So i am not waiting for his visa to get approved anymore. I quit waiting. Whatever will be will be and i will be okay with it. I will be great with it in fact, because with or without Welsh, in Melbourne or Wales, I will be okay and I will still be happy.

Gold.

2011-01-31T13:21:00.000-08:00

It's complex isn't it? This life.

The more time i spend with Welsh, the more i feel our colours are mixing. I'm yellow and he's red and we seem to be creating a particular shade of gold that i have never seen before. It's like the colour of the sunset we watched last night mixed in with the quarter of his iris that is flecked with orange, mixed in with endless pints of lager, mixed in with the fire in my stomach when I see him after a long absence.
It's the space we are creating between us. Our own special dynamic. Our private jokes and all the ways we recognise each other. It's sunshine and passion and a broken wine glass so-lets-just-share-this-one. It's the beginning of a road we were both walking anyway.

He is impossibly sweet. Sentimental. Creative. He has hidden depths that house a solemness. A playful seriousness and possibly the tendency to over analyse any given situation. Caught between reaction and reflection, he moves gently, thoughtfully, carefully. Except for the way he actually moves. Then he is like a bull in a china shop. He surprises me everyday with his insight, his patience, his quick wit and slow smile. Just when i think i have him pegged, a new dimension emerges and i remember he is 30 years in the making and i have know him for a tiny 3 months.

He was born in a village with snow and sheep and castles. He had 20 kids at his school. He fell in love with a girl who had blonde hair and my name. Then he grew up and got on a plane and found me. I was not exactly waiting for him. I was busy leaving a marriage and vowing to never fall in love again because it hurt too too too much to be worth it.

You know what else is gold? Goldfish.

The labour of love.

2011-01-29T19:18:00.000-08:00

What's up with this heat Melbourne? I have a marathon to train for dontcha know? Selfish, Melbourne. Really bloody selfish. Go pick on someone your own size, like Sydney for example.

So there has been very little jogging happening this last week. There has been some going into the city for dinner, hanging with my nephew, driving to Rye for a swim and spending Australia day conducting an impromptu pub crawl around Richmond, but not much jogging unfortunately.

I had a cafe latte with my beautiful and sensitive Kate and we were talking about life (I kid you not!) and grief and ex husbands (mine, not hers) and i came to a conclusion as one does when one is in a cafe with ones excellently insightful friend.

I want to be friends with my ex husband. It is hard, yes. But it is harder not to be friends. The hurt has all but evaporated, the anger dissolved and sitting there at the bottom of the sieve is a little nugget of truth that has been like a stone in my shoe ever since; I still like the guy. And that stone has a piece of sand next to it; Maybe we were supposed to just stay friends in the first place. Not immediately after we separated, but the first FIRST place. The place when we were actually friends and he lent me books and i gave him CDS and he rescued me from terrible clients and I, well I paid for his beer after a particularly horrific day at work.

Oh and guess what? It looks like my boyfriend will be staying in Melbourne. I know! How excellent.

Threadbare.

2011-01-24T14:40:00.000-08:00

I saw his car last night.
The number plate looked familiar. Community Services Parking Permit? check. Crap all over the back seat? check.

I have not seen him in almost three months. Three months! Maybe he has cut all his hair off. Lost weight. Got a tattoo in a really obvious place. You see, i wouldn't know any of these things. He is my husband but i wouldn't know any of these things. My husband.
I know that he sleeps on his back and gets a sore neck in the mornings. I know that he thinks it's kinda funny when people accidently trip over. I know that he once tripped over on purpose in the middle of a busy city street, just to make me laugh.
But what i don't know.....Does he still cry sometimes about his mum? Does he visit the tree where we threw her ashes that day? Does he wonder where it all went wrong? Does he miss me? Does he even remember me? Is he counting down the days until our marriage is simply a mistake from the past? Until he can sign his name and wash his hands?
With each month that passes, the tiny threads are unravelling and fracturing. He dates another woman. Twang. I get a new boyfriend. Snap. I see his car in the parking lot and feel dread rather than excitement. Crack. Sometimes i cut the threads on purpose; Like when i heard that he never speaks at work anymore. It's not your job to make sure he is okay. You cannot keep doing this to yourself. Snip. And what about that first week in March this year? It is going to be hell on Earth for him. Our 3rd wedding anniversary, the second anniversary of his mums suicide, our divorce. Jesus, I cannot face his pain when my own is so overwhelming. The pull is too great. Those threads don't stand a chance.

I wonder if we'll notice when the last one breaks. Or if I will simply wake one morning, and find him, like all those wishes we threw up to the stars, gone.

50 things i love...

2011-01-20T15:51:00.000-08:00

About being an Aunty.

All this talk about finger babies and pregnancy dreams and Miranda Kerrs breast, has got me all gooey about babies in general. And if there are two babies that i love most in the world, they are my extraordinarily gorgeous niece and nephew. Here is a short lost of some of the things that i love about them.

1. Their faces.
2. The fact they look like most people in my family.
3. When Miss P calls me and yells "Hiiiiiiii" down my ear hole.
4. The bizarre boy related games that Mr C makes me play. (i.e submarine machine guns.)
5. When they look at my paintings and ask "but what IS it?"
6. The hugs.
7. The kisses.
8. The thumping on the floor boards as they rush to the front door when i arrive.
9. When P lets me do her hair and then she looks at mine and says "same"
10. The first time i held them-such different experiences but equally beautiful.
11. Coopers cheekiness.
12. His gentle nature.
13. The quiet way he sometimes observes his world.
14. When he is not participating in the conversation but i can tell he is listening to all that is being said.
15. His love of lollies.
16. His kind heart.
17. Miss P's energy
18. When she pulls a "just let me do what i want and have what i want" face and i think to myself "don't even try it P, i invented that look."
19. When she calls my dad by his first name.
20. When she calls my sister "mummy" and i think "my god, she is her mum."
21. Her thousand different facial expressions.
22. Their relationship with one another.
23. Their pudgy little baby fingers.
24. Every time Cooper gets a hair cut and he become more like a boy. (and less like a baby)
25. Coopers intuition and something he said to me in Vietnam that i cannot think about without crying.
26. The time i slept with them both in a double bed and i realised the kind of parent i am going to be. (one that lets her kids sleep in bed with her because for gods sake it is 3am and it's kinda cosy this way anyway)
27. One day, they will be my childs cousins.
28. "bruvda" (brother) "starple" (purple star) "ladyboy" (best way to get a reaction from their mother.)
29. The way my heart feels when i see them. Hands down, the best feeling ever.
30. They are the glue in our family.
31. I once broke up with a man because my sister said "you deserve to be loved by a boyfriend as much as Cooper loves you." and she was absolutely right.
32. Having children has shown me an entirely different dimension to my sister.
33. I never knew how strong she could be.
34. Lots of people say Cooper is their hero but my sister is mine.
35. Playing pedicures
36. Playing Dora the explorer with special effect voices.
37. I owe all my knowledge about Ben 10 to Cooper.
38. The first time i saw a photo of Miss P, I booked a flight back to Melbourne within 5 minutes.
39. The giddy phone call with my sister when she found out she was having a little girl.
40. The giddy phonecall with my sister when she had, had that little girl.
41. The giddy phone call with that little girl yesterday morning about a princess dress and a family friend that was coming to visit.
42. The moment when Cooper is laughing so much and trying to get the word "more" out.
43. How they get so excited to show me something, be it the new chickens or an empty cupboard.
44. Their defiance and independence which acts as a constant reminder that although they are part of our tight knit family, they are also their own people.
45. Dinners at their house.
46. Knowing that somewhere down the line, in amongst the paint covered bodies and hours in the back yard, my sister got it very, very right.
47. Cooper taught me to slow down and sit still.
48. Pepper helped me find my laugh again.
49. Having my heart triple in size when they came into the world.
50. Everything

I'm sure that it is the same for everyone. That love that exists beyond any word in the English language.

The funny thing is, when i was going through grief (what a terrifically simple way to encompass those horrible two years) I wondered how people coped with life. i figured that at some stage, everyone goes through a really shit thing happening. How are we all still walking around and functioning? How are we all not complete wrecks, crying in the corner? And it's a cliche but the answer really is love. We all carry around grief and pain and loss on our shoulders, but if we also carry love in our heart, it's not nearly as heavy.

The wonderful place i lived when i was 30 years old.

2011-01-19T18:12:00.000-08:00

The boring bits:
I ran 2.25km on a treadmill and did some creative things with weights.
Running laps around the same oval is getting old.
I called a guy today about a job.

The less boring bits;
I had a dream this morning that my sister called me fat and that she had another baby after we had spoken on the phone about a dream she had had about our other sister having a baby. It was like life imitating art imitating a dream.

Welsh and i had a big talk last night about the F word. (Future that is.) We skirted and toe dipped and finally acknowledged that we would both like to give each other a chance to be an important part of each others lives. This means finding a way to be together, despite being geographically challenged. Which leaves us with exciting choices like 6 months in Wales/Italy/New Zealand or somewhere we have not even thought of yet. Preference one of course is him getting a sponsorship to stay in the country for the next few years. But it's good to have loose plans in case that doesn't happen.

My plan is to make my way to wherever we decide to be, after visiting Paris in April. Then of course get home in October in time to run 21km. So thoughts anyone? Nice places to visit for 6 months and work and live and fall more in love and read and write and spend the year that i am 30 years old?

Follow Me.

2011-01-17T21:52:00.000-08:00

If i was into drawing graphs, the correlation between my lack of job satisfaction and time spent blogging would be remarkable. It would come out as one giant X as motivation fell and blogging soared.

Honestly, i need to get a job. Yes, yes, we all know I have a job but i mean a REAL job. One that requires me to use, oh, I don't know, more than say 2% of of my brain and doesn't make me want to kill every single person who speaks to me.
The issue is that my qualifications and experience are a bit scattered to say the least. I mean, children's services, youth work, art therapy, working in a toy shop and no real desire to do anything other than blog? Hmmm...I think even my year 10 career counsellor would struggle with that one. Oh, and once I actually get my act together and register with a union, i will be qualified to work as a counsellor. Maybe i can career counsel myself! Or maybe i should just GET A JOB.

Anyway, while i job hunt, I will also blog but i need some positive reinforcement people. Click that "follow" button and make me feel like i am not wasting my life. Much appreciated.

A run through.

2011-01-16T23:55:00.000-08:00

Get it? RUN through. How hilarious.

Guess what i just did? Got a job? Nope. Got divorced? No. Serviced my car? Boring.

No, those are all the bleh things on my very long to do list. What i actually did, was run 2km today. AND i walked 2km. And i also walked an incidental 1.9km today too, just for good measure (and coffee.)

I’m doing laps around the local oval you see. Today the first lap was hard, the second lap was less hard but still boring. The third was as easy as the fourth and by the fifth I was just keen to get finished so it was quite easy. From house to back to the house again was a total of 35 minutes. I was really red when i got home. It is not attractive.

Oh i just remembered i did more walking today. I walked around the gardens near my old house. It is impossibly beautiful there. All ponds and greenhouses and over sized chess boards. It is also the place i got married almost three years ago. I have walked through that garden about 100 times. Run through it. Ridden my bike through it. Had picnics there, written letters, drunk beer and laughed at cockatoos. Today i discovered a secret path that i had never come across before. How is that even possible? I could not believe that I, biggest romantic i know, lover of all things whimsical, subscriber to the notice the little, strange and subtle things philosophy had been completely blind to a secret path for all these years. It is a planned path, not something created by people wanting to get drunk in the bushes.
So obviously i walked the secret path as it wound it’s way through crooked trees and beds of violets. I thought about how my imaginary friend as a child was called Violet. And how she hated going to kinder and the woman down the road. I wondered how Violet is doing now.
When i emerged at the other end of the path i kind of half stumbled back onto the main track again, into the sunlight, right in front of a gate. I walked through it, backwards. Well, not backwards, i mean i walked forwards but going in the other direction as before. And by before, i mean the day i got married.

Things to remember;
When i don’t feel like running, just run anyway.
Even though I think you know everything, I can still be surprised.
The day I got married, I didn’t know about the secret path, but it had existed all along. It offers a different path which is beautiful in its own right and even more beautiful because it is different.

How to break into a car.

2011-01-14T21:44:00.000-08:00

There we were, standing in the middle of Coles carpark. My mouth was open but no words would come out. Welsh was looking from my car window to my face then back to the car window again. Well not the window exactly, to the inside of my car. My ignition to be precise. And to the thing that was stuck in my ignition.
Finally, words came. They were not nice words. I kicked a tyre and tried not to cry. Stupid car and stupid keys and stupid me for locking them in there.
"Where's your spare key?" Welsh asked
"In my bag."
"Where's your bag?" he asked.
"In my car."

At that moment a big old four wheel drive pulled in across the road. Welsh, who practices this sort of child of the universe friendliness, skipped over and stuck his head through the drivers window. I couldn't hear what was being said but in no time, he had recruited a little helper for us.

"Dontcha have a spare key?" He asked
"Sure she does" Welsh replied "in the car there."
"hmmmm" said 4WD "What you need is a slim Jim."
"ohhh....a slim jim!" I said "Couldn't we just use packaging tape?"
Welsh raised an eye brow at me and i decided to keep my petty criminal past to myself at that moment.

"Whatcha doing?"
We turned around to see a guy in a bandana and a cap strolling towards us.
"Keys locked in car" I said to him.
"No spare?"
I pointed a hitch hikers thumb towards my bag on the passenger seat.
"Hmmm" said Chinese Mafia "What you need is a slim Jim...or some packaging tape."

Meanwhile 4WD was making phone calls to rearrange coaching sessions. He's in the Australian Open you see. He'd hurt his wrist the day before though. I almost made a joke about this being so much more fun than winning a grand slam but decided that i am not that funny actually. I found all this out while Chinese Mafia and Welsh shoved various loops of coat hangers between the window and the door.

After awhile, i got bored. I went to the video store. Called my dad. Considered going to get a beer or something.

As i was walking back to the car, a small man with glasses approached me. He was carrying a black case.
"Did you lock your keys in the car?" He asked.
"Yes i surely did and there are steaks in there. My dinner you see. And i am bored and hungry and annoyed because some smarty pants thief broke into my car about 6 months ago and stole my Ipod, but between an Australian Open Tennis player, a member of the Chinese Mafia, a Welsh Engineer and well, me, we cannot seem to get in and what is in that case?"
"It's a tool kit, i just happened to be walking past with it" replied Rabbits Foot.
"okayyyyyyyy" said I.

So Rabbits foot spent some time shoving a screwdriver in the already broken lock from the Era of The Stolen Ipod.

Two Irish lads who were playing soccer, shirtless in the street, also came over to have a look.
"Where do you live?" they asked, very concerned
"Just down the road, but my house keys are also on that key chain."
"ohhhhh...." they paced around alot and peered through windows and tried the boot a few times.
After while they got as bored as me and returned to their game.

Two drunken men who i has walked past earlier and given a wide birth finally strolled over. Snatching the coat hanger off Welsh, one of them screamed instructions to him. Chinese Mafia had gone back to his official role of trolly boy. Rabbits foot was busy srcatching up the paint work around my lock. 4WD had suddenly turned his back towards to the street.
"Whats up?" I asked him
"Oh...that guy over there, he once asked me out for coffee."
"Did you go?"
"Of course not" he fake laughed.
I wondered why it was so important to him, for me to know that he was not gay. i also wondered if the the coffee date guy knew how to break into a car.

Mr Shouty was really getting into his groove by this point
"Hold this!"
"Pull"
"Aghhhhh...Bloody hell"
All in thick slurry of a Serbian accent.
Meanwhile, Mr Shoutys friend was muttering discouragement from the side lines. They accused each other of being drunk a few times. I was hoping for a fist fight but alas, no punching.

"You know what we should do?" said 4WD (by this point, we had established ourselves firmly as spectators because the testosterone around that car door was fairly intense. "We should get some super glue and shove the coat hanger inside the window, until it touches the lock, then let it dry, then pull the lock up."

I volunteered to go into Coles and buy the super glue. Everyone else ignored me and kept swearing at the door.

By the time i got back, there was a new cast member. A lady had volunteered to call the RACV. They had coluded and come up with a weirdo story about her being in my car and locking the keys in the boot and some other such nonsense, so that i wouldn't have to actually join the RACV myself.

"HOOOORRRAAAY" yelled Mr Shouty (who else.)

The door swung open, The Lady hung up her phone. Mr Shouty's friend ate some humble pie. 4WD got back in his car. Rabbits Foot stood there grinning. I hugged Welsh and we all laughed, euphoric, feeling like we had won The Amazing Race or Beat The Star. I mean, if we can break into a Barina, what can't we do? (and yes, i acknowledge i did very little.)
Mr Shouty made a speech about always trying to help people and we all shook hands and Welsh told me to hug Shouty. I declined on the grounds that I was grateful but not that grateful and hugging a drunk stranger in a car park is not that cool.

This is the best day of my life i thought to myself as we left the steaks, forgotten, to rot in the hot car. We walked towards a bar and Welsh put my spare key in his back pocket for next time. And i thought to myself, isn't it funny how sometimes you can see the key you want so very much, but you just have to be patient and enlist the help of strangers to help you get it. And why not keep a spare one, with someone you love?
And it was not exactly a metaphor for life, but in that moment, it felt kinda close.

It's just not cricket.

2011-01-14T21:32:00.000-08:00

I ran a little bit yesterday. Well....a really little bit. Like 800m little. The thing is, there were men on my running oval. Lots of cricket ball throwing-leering at the running girl peering-this is a cricket pitch, not a running track suggesting-men. My head was just not in the game so i came home and had a nap instead.

I walked 3.5km today though. And ate pancakes. AND i sent something to a magazine for submission.
Oh, oh, oh and i applied for a job yesterday. And made gingerbread men with my nephew. And told Welsh i would move to Canada with him if needs be. (Although i would prefer Italy.)
And also, i went to work today and ate grapes and played word games.

Mine.

2011-01-12T17:17:00.001-08:00

Hey guess what? I just ran 1.2 km in the rain without stopping and i am not even puffed. I was also carrying a book, my phone, my keys and my IPOD. AND I walked an extra 1.4 km so retrieve my car. This was not even part of the program but more a spontaneous moment in exercise.

I was having coffee with my friend yesterday. We work together and drink coffee together quite a bit. Anyway, we were talking about crossroads (the metaphor, not the Britney Spears film) and about how to choose a direction. Her advice was to work backwards from where you want to be in a few years time. This makes sense to me and for some reason, is the first time i have considered this. I am more of a "It seems like a good thing to do right now and let's see where it leads me" kind of a girl.

So this is what i know: In three years, I would love to be living in a nice place. Not that i don't like where i live now, i am just OVER it. And to be honest, i would like to be living sans housemate. I'm imagining something cosy with lamps and beautiful prints and a big couch and teacups in every room. SO i guess the things i need for that are a job and a regular income that is high enough to support that kind of renting situation.
I would also like to be working somewhere in the field of writing. For this i feel that i need some sort of qualification. Soooo...i am thinking of studying Professional Writing and Editing. It's a two year Diploma, three days a week, around the corner from my house. I actually started this course module by module about 10 years ago. Then i fell off the wagon with an episode of depression and general fucking aboutness in my life. By the time i gathered my thoughts again, i was living in San Francisco, 22 years old and I had decided to study Children Services and save the world. This of course led to a few years in the community sector, meeting my ex husband, studying art therapy and BANG! Here we are again. I love writing. It is when i am my happiest. It happens naturally for me and is seriously the only reason i have been so successful in my studies. I sometimes have no idea what i am going on about but my brain can automatically sort it into sections and sell it.
I am good at being a student. I eat a lot of rice and forbid my friends from putting anything into brotherhood bins. I really want to do this. For now and for the future. MY future. Not the one that included L and maybe having a baby and moving to the Dandynongs and having a great big studio and running careless workshops. It is time to get serious.
And it's as simple and as complicated as that.

2011-01-11T17:48:00.000-08:00

27 minutes.

That's how long i ran and walked for today. I'm not judging it. Just documenting.

It included-walking to the beach, running 1.6km, walking 1.6km and walking home again. And checking the mail.

I got my results in said mail. Out of nine subjects i got 3 D's and 6 HD's. Not bad for a year filled with marriage separation, moving house, an overseas trip, work of course and volunteering at a local homelessness service. And meeting three celebrities of course. And growing my fringe out. And getting drunk with my friends quite often. And going to the gm with my sister once a week. Oh and buying a new car. And painting some weird shit, yelling at the dog next door, Internet dating, getting 4 parking fines, writing lots, considering reconciling with my ex husband, screaming at ex husband, crying about ex husband, getting ex husband OUT OF MY LIFE. That sort of stuff.

Guess what? In 52 days, i can apply for a divorce. Is it weird that i am excited about that? I just want it all to be over. I was looking at photos from my wedding the other day on Facebook and they no longer make me feel sad. They actually don't make me feel anything. Mostly bored really. Like when you look at photos of yourself from high school and you look kinda ugly. That kind of feeling. That it was a long time ago and that you are not really the same you as in those pictures.

Does that seem bitter? I am not bitter. I am 29. I got married once. It didn't work out for a variety of reasons. I guess the hurt has faded and the guilt and blame has all but dried up. What replaces those feelings in situations like this? Maybe just a deep sense of nothingness.

Remind me about this when i sit down with him to sign the papers.

Fifty things.

2011-01-10T16:07:00.000-08:00

I keep stumbling across lists that people make on their blogs. Like 50 random facts or 10 things they did in the last year. I like the idea. It seems self indulgent to me, but seriously, i write a blog about myself just so strangers can read it-I am perhaps okay with a little self indulgence.

Fifty things:

Things i want to do in my lifetime:
Live in another country
Have a child. Or maybe two.
Publish something of the written kind.

Things I have done already:
Lived in another country. (I want to do that again.)
Squeezed my niece and nephew
Quit jobs.
Laughed in my sleep.
Fought in public
Kissed in public
Visited 20 different cities. Probably more actually.

Things i need to buy:
A house
A shower caddy thing
Printer cartridges
New shoes
New jeans
A ticket to Wales.
Coffee.

Things i am slowing letting go of.
My marriage
My obsession with my weight.
My obsession with my hair
The fact that she died.
The fact that i cannot let it go. (yeah! you can let go of trying to let something go.)

Things i want to write books about:
Love
Grief
When two people meet on a train
A train station with no exit.
How sometimes my heart feels like it is yawning and makes me wonder why falling in love makes it feel like it is opening and why that makes me think of a yawn.
physical afflictions that effect people and why they effect people like restless leg syndrome where you cannot keep your leg still while you sleep and what is it that you are running away from??
A watch that breaks at a certain time and a baby that is born at that time and what these two things mean for the baby and the watch wearer.
A painting with secrets to tell.
A birthmark in the shape of a wild flower.
All in one book!!

People that other people say i look like:
Whitney Port
Joss Stone
Delta Goodrum.
Pink.

People i wish i looked like
Jonothan Safran Foers wife.

The best books in the world:
Everything is Illuminated
The Secret Garden
Love in the Time of Cholera
Scission
The Picture of Dorian Grey.

My favourite world in Welsh:
Cariad.

Choose one thing:
oysters
writing
black
mascara
a photo of my parents
summer
cinnamon
regret
his laugh

So I think that is around 50 things.

Wales.

2011-01-10T00:08:00.000-08:00

Hello friends.

I have had an idea growing in my heart these last two months. I have watered it with imaginings and sunned it with 2am conversations with Welsh and now i want to acknowledge it in the wonderfulness of my blog. (P.s I find having a blog really weird sometimes.)

I want to go to Wales!!! I want to go to Wales and see where Welsh grew up. I want to meet his family and look at his baby photos. I want to sit in his local pub and listen to the curly words swim around me. I want to walk across impossibly green fields and complain about the weather.

I hope, HOPE, that he sticks around in melbourne for as long as he wishes. But i am equally excited by the idea of traipsing off to Wales with him later in the year. There are castles there! Castles!!

Obviously i will not go there forever and ever and ever. I know myself well enough to know that i would miss my family too much. And of course my friends would get really sick of visiting me every weekend. But just for a spell. A little spell in Wales.

Write. right? write.

2011-01-08T00:51:00.000-08:00

I have the grossest peeling from sunburn right now. I am so preoccupied with it that i am finding it hard to focus on anything else. Seriously, is there anything more gross than brown, dry skin flaking off your body? I've even watched an episode of Embarrassing Bodies and I still find my back more unappealing.
Ew.
Meanwhile, i need to keep writing. I am going to write something every day. A short story, a little passage, an essence statement. My lovely writer friend kate and i had a writers group today AKA a 45 minute drive to a baby shower. The key messages that came out of it for me were around my resistance to commit to one style. And resistance to put energy behind my writing. And resistance to compromising the mood of my writing by going to a real writers group.
Basically there is a lot of resistance to setting boundaries around the way i write.
So i am just going to write.
The end.

Plan A

2011-01-05T15:51:00.000-08:00

So It's 2011 and time to start working on some of these resolutions. I feel like if i start with a plan then you know, I might have a shot at actually getting up and going for a run and yada yada yada. You know what i am saying.

So. Plan A is this. (I like to give myself the option of creating a plan B, C and D later down the line if needs be. Commitment issues much?)

-Run/walk three times a week. Increasing distance by 800m, 400m of walking and 400 of running, each time.
-Eventually, when the time is right, decrease walking portions by half.
-Stretch before running.

Also, drink more water, stop drinking alcohol during the week and eat a vegetable once in awhile.

AND plug ipod in the charge every night. It's getting on my nerves the way you always let the battery run down and then use that as an excuse not to run. Look, I don't mean to be hard on you but this is for your own good okay? Don't look at me like that.....oh...I'm sorry....you can do whatever you want with your ipod. It's your life after all. Let's never fight again.

One more thing on the 2011 to do list; Get divorced.

And a happy new year.

2010-12-30T00:11:00.000-08:00

Some stuff happened in 2010:

The Good:
I finished school.
I hung out with my personal trainer 49 times. Sometimes I even exercised.
Stayed in the same job.
Tried internet dating.
Tried publishing a short story.
Tried black pudding.
Went to Malaysia.
Moved house.

The Bad:
I left my husband.
Well he left me.
We left each other.
We said goodbye to a beautiful, caring, amazing woman-my brother in laws mum. May the memory of her sun shiny smile always remind us to look for hope and happiness in this life.
I got sun burnt (okay, okay, that was just something that happened today.)

2011 is so curvy with possibilities. Like a heavily pregnant woman.
Next year, I would like to:
Publish something.
Visit a hairdresser.
Get the battery on my computer fixed.
Get a job that pays me enough to stop worrying about money all the time.
OR stop spending money on stupid stuff when the rent is due.
Visit Paris.
Maybe go to Wales?
Run a half marathon!
Drink more water.
Spend more time with different people.
maybe go to wales?
Go to Wales.
Walk or run every day.
Be a better housemate.
Cook more.
Eat more.
Watch less crappy films.
Learn some french.
and probably go to Wales.

Scars.

2010-12-27T16:48:00.000-08:00

We have matching scars above our eyebrows. Mine is from a cat scratch, I don't know what his is from.
He also has a deep scar on his bottom lip that traces the curve of his pout.
It is so beautiful that i think that the car accident that put it there was almost worth it. I don't think he would agree. But of course, that all happened long before I knew him. His car skidded across some black ice or the snow fell too heavily on his windscreen or a lorry lost control in the sleet. i don’t know the details. When he talks about it, i am too distracted by the scar and how much i want to run my tongue along its jagged edge.

At the same time that the steering wheel was pushing itself through his lip, I was probably sun baking on the other side of the planet. I guess in that way, we are worlds apart.
I have never seen the place he grew up. Never patted his cat or smiled at his niece. I have never witnessed how he talks to his brothers or if he looks his mother in the face when he says goodbye. I don’t know what he looked like as a child or the colour of his school uniform. I don’t even know if he had a school uniform.
He has no context except for right here and right now. The joy I see in his eyes when the sun comes out. His heavy breathing when he talks about his wife. His grin when he teases me. And the way that, that scar curves along his mouth when he frowns. These are the blocks that i build my love on.

I know nothing about him, except for who he is today. His past is hidden behind a plane trip, a decision to leave, a kiss goodbye, jet lag and a failed marriage that sticks to him like tar. All the things that led him to be laying, barely awake, curled around my body this morning, like a crooked question mark.
I have seen his scars and i love him anyway, in spite of them.
No, I have seen his scars and i love him because of them. I guess they match mine.

Yey.

2010-12-27T01:03:00.001-08:00

I just bought new runners.

More jogging, more blogging.

New years resolution is to run the half marathon in October. For real this time.

I have worked something out for myself this year: When I decide to do something, it takes approximately 1.5 years to come to fruition. So, on that note, I am going to publish something or the written form in the next ear and a half.

The end.

Bret Easton Ellis

2010-12-21T01:54:00.000-08:00

So i want to tell you all a little story that I've never shared on here. It's about the time i met Bret Easton Ellis. It is also about love. The main thing it is about though is how life twists and turns and navigates it's way through the terrain of relationships.

It was a Friday. Interesting things always happen to me on a Friday. Life has had a full week to ripen up to bursting point and by the time i pluck it, it usually splatters laughter and a dose of the surreal all over my weekend.
When i got home, there was a hand delivered note sitting on my doorstep. I recognised his hand writing immediately. Of course i did. I'd seen it a thousand times curling it's way around shopping lists and love letters and notes on my pillow. It was from him.

We'd seen each other earlier in the week. I had been honest for the first time in months, with him. I was over it, bored of the grief, restless in the separation. I wanted to blame him, make him feel my pain, feel my hurt, feel something for fucks sake. We'd had coffee and i had sliced through our pseudo friendship with carefully chosen words about how he had changed me. I actually saw him take a gulp. He looked paler than before. I had hit the mark, finally he had heard me.

"I don't think we should hang out like this if I make you upset." He had said as i focused on a street sign behind him.
Stop, it said. Stop. Stop . Stop. Stop. Stop.
"Oh!" I half laughed and half spat "I never want to see you again after today."
And it had felt immediately fantastic and i had almost immediately regretted it.
I was bitchy enough to ask him for a lift home.

What happened next is a tidal wave and a rainbow. We are standing in the drive way. We hug. Somehow, suddenly, we are crying. The sun is in my eyes and there is mascara on his shirt. I cannot let go. I never want to let him go. His snot is in my hair. It's so gross but i don't care. I love this man. This man. The one who lets me in and doesn't shoot me as i try to scale the walls.

"I have to show you something." I tell him.

And so we go inside my apartment and i pass him my computer. He needs to see this. He needs to understand what the last six months have been for me. So he reads my story. The one that is all about him and I. The one that details all the gore but recalls all the happiness. It's a story about a girl and a boy.

"It's true." He looks confused. "It's all true."

Because it is and he had forgotten.

He leaves, of course, because this is real life and not a story. If it was story, we would have kissed and fallen giggling into each others arms. He would have looked me in the eye and apologised and i would have shushed him with nothing more than a squeeze of his hand. The pain would have melted away and all our friends would have said they were not surprised.
He leaves, of course.

So on that Friday i return home from work and find his letter. I am scared to read it. This is real life and not a story. I wait until my sister arrives because i need back up on this one. A voice of reason. Some perspective. A parallel to my life that only my sister can provide.
We sit in her car.
The letter is four pages long. I am crying by the second page. This is real life and not a story. There cannot be a happy ending to this one because she will always be dead, even if i write it a thousand different ways.
What i read is that his grief enveloped him. That he couldn't see the forest for the trees. That he couldn't have love and happiness without guilt and regret. I read his words and I understand. I finally understand why he disappeared. It had nothing to do with me. It was not my fault. There is nothing i could have done.
He asks for my forgiveness. By page four, he already has it.

i wipe my eyes and pull myself together. I sit in the audience while Bret Easton Ellis talk about life being his inspiration. That you have to have fucked up shit happen to you, to be a writer. I realise i am a writer.

I meet Bret afterwards. I have bought a new copy of American Psycho for him to sign. The one i own is a photocopied version i found in Thailand. We had both read it. He never finished it though. The print was too faint and he gave up. He gave up long before i gave up.
Suddenly i am standing before one of the greatest writers of my lifetime (big call.) He is shorter and more human looking than i had expected. I kneel next to his table for some reason, and hand him my book. What's your name? He asks. I tell him but ask him not to dedicate the book to me. I tell him my husbands name and then blurt out something about a letter, about love about a story i wrote. Bret stares through his black rimmed glasses at the crazy lady kneeling before him. He says it seems sweet. Then changes his mind and asks me if it is sweet or if it's? If it's? My sister assures him that it's sweet and helps me off the floor.

I drop the book to him a few days later. He is smiling. He finally gets to finish it. But what he really needs to read is on the title page. I watch him as he turns the pages. Notice his eyes change as he registers the words. He touches the black ink.

"To L,

She says she forgives you.

Bret Easton Ellis. "

And just like that, i really, really do.

We will never be together again, you understand. It's not about forgiving him so we can traipse off together into happily ever after. It's forgiving him so we can traipse separately. It's letting him go. And helping him let me go.

"Dear Bret,
Thank you for changing my life,
I jog therefore i blog."

The end.

An open letter.

2010-12-20T00:50:00.000-08:00

And so this is Christmas.

In all the present buying, 50 hour working week, wine drinking on monday night madness, i have crash banged right up against my unfinished business.
Why does Christmas do this to us? The thought of the year ending automatically brings up a "yessssnooooooooo" feeling for me. On the one hand, i cannot wait for it to be over, but then on the other? That will mean it is over. I wonder why we find it so hard to let go of the things that hurt us?

At this point, the ex husband and i are no longer speaking. It's horrible and it's hard, but it is what has to happen if we have any hope of moving forward without each other. So in place of all the things i would like to tell him this Christmas, I thought an open letter was in order. I mean, it has to go somewhere doesn't it?

Dear L,

I've been thinking about you these last few days, quite a lot actually.
I keep thinking about last Christmas and that treasure hunt and of course my pink bike. I've been thinking also about the Christmas before which is almost too painful to look at. When i glance into that corner of my brain, i see you again. The you that I adored so very, very much. We are sitting at your brothers, and pulling bon-bons and your mum is there. She's dressed all in white and has a goofy paper hat on and a baby in her arms. She looks so happy. She really seems so happy.
I cannot bear to think about what came before or after that minute in time. It hurts too much to remember who we were then.

The other thing i've been thinking about is our first Christmas together. About how you played santa and put out stockings for us in the middle of the night. When i saw them in the morning, for a split second i was 5 years old again. I gasped because for a second, santa was real! You had bought magic into my life.

I think i have been scared to remember the good times. It's easier to believe that the whole thing was a lie. That it was just a matter of making a mistake, of marrying the wrong person. Feeling like I married the right person but then lost you is just too devastating. It makes me miss you too much.

I am sorry that this Christmas, we are not speaking. I am so sorry that the things i do hurt you. I wish things had been different, that we had been different, that i could tug on those hands of time and rewrite this whole story. Mostly i am just sorry that we turned out to be like every other couple who breaks up in the world. I'm sorry. When we broke up, i was relieved that I wouldn't have to deal with the grief anymore, that your fucked up family was no longer mine. I am so sorry for feeling that way. I miss them, warts and all, more than i can explain.

It is not your fault. It never was. It's not your mums fault either. No one is to blame. I cannot remember much from what your mum wrote in that last note, but i do remember her asking for forgiveness. So i want you to know that I forgive you for everything and I am working on forgiving myself.

I know you, and i know this Christmas will be a hard one for you. But you have faced worse things in your life and things can really, only get better. And they will. That's my wish for you L, today and always, that the happiness we felt with each other reappears someday. It won't be this Christmas, but maybe by the next?

I trust you. I trust that you are living the kind of life that you want to live. Beyond that, there is nothing else i can do.

Merry Christmas L, and a happy new year.

The trade off.

2010-12-15T14:32:00.000-08:00

Last night i met my wonderful bookclub friends to discuss my boyfriends novel Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. (Johnathan Safran Foer is not really my boyfriend. Well he is in my head, but not in real life.)

Of course we talked about 9/11, we talked about parenting and metaphors and human relationships. And we talked about grief. At one point, my sister mentioned that her grief counsellor had said something poignant on the subject recently. I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it here. The essence of the statement was that grief does not go away. You never "Get over it." It changes and it changes you. It makes you numb and makes you feel. It doesn't go away though. The main thing about grief is that it serves as a reminder that you once loved someone very much, and then they died.

The dying part is not the important part of that statement. The loving part is. It is not as simple as I loved her for two years=i cried everyday for five. Or she told me she loved me on my wedding day=I will never marry anyone again to honor that. The ways in which you grieve are not a reflection on how much you loved. The fact that you grief is. Or the fact that you cannot grieve is. Either way, you loved.

And isn't that what this tiny and huge life is all about? That capacity to find pockets within our souls to keep those precious parts in? The people, the smiles, the mishmash of memories? When i finally die, be in tomorrow or in 75 years, i hope my heart looks like an advent calendar with endless windows. And behind each one would be things like "The time i held my niece for the very first time" and "the way "I love you" sounds in Welsh." Somewhere in amongst it all will be "I once loved a man so deeply and passionately that when his heart broke, i gave him half of mine" and "I finally forgive you."
And each little window will close one by one and noone will ever be able to take those things away or change them. They will exist forever. They already exist forever.

Inspiration station or creativity on tap.

2010-12-14T16:39:00.001-08:00

My creative well seems rather dry of late. What is going on?

It could be many things:

1. I usually write when i am feeling extreme emotions. I am pretty content right now which is great for life *applause* not great for writing *booooo*
2. I have finished school. No more being forced into painting 3 times a week. God, i miss it. I am going to enforce a once a week crafternoon once point three is over.
Point three: i am working 6 days a week and it is impacting upon my sensitive disposition. I don't hate people but I sure as hell have murderous thoughts about 90% of the people i come into contact with at work. My inner dialogue is like a scene out of kick ass where the little kid chops of legs 'n' shit. Sickkk......See? I have gone all bad ass.

Welsh recommended meditation last night which has been on my to do list between "yoga" and "stop drinking coffee" for as long as i can remember. Perhaps a new years resolution list is in order.

In the mean time, i am just going to take Nikes advice and do it. Paint that is. And write. Not run for crying out loud. It is far too hot for nonsense like that.

You know what's weird?

2010-12-11T22:23:00.000-08:00

That yesterday i found myself at a gm christmas bbq. Who would have thought that such a thing existed? Not me, that is for sure.
But it does and I was invited. This means two things:
1. I am now someone who goes to the gym regularly.
2. I am no longer someone who does not go to the gym.

So thats been a massive change for me this year. The whole looking after my body and getting stronger and fit. I am excited to get to January and have it be a whole year since i started running. Even though i barely run at the moment, it's been an evolution from nothingness into somethingness.

The end.

(i am exhausted.)

Hearts memory.

2010-12-06T03:46:00.000-08:00

ahhhhh! guess what? I am totally better!

I had a parasite. The only good thing about having a parasite is that it gave one of my sisters an opportunity to say "night, night parasite" which i find hilarious for some weird reason.

I also had a chance to take time off work and chill out emotionally. I think finishing school and going away and coming back to work was all a bit intense. I feel like my mind is much quieter now. i don't feel as impatient. I cried last night for the first time in a few weeks. (I know that does not seem like a long time, but it is in my world. i laugh alot, i cry alot. That's just the way it is for me.) It was good to get it out and i guess i kinda know why i have been sensitive lately.

This whole love, divorce, loving again thing is difficult to swallow. It's so scary and weird at times. I have this sense that the closer i get to Welsh, the more i am remembering how much i have lost. It's as though i forgot how deep my capacity for connection is, because my marriage was well and truly off the rails. Now just being with someone in that way-the hand holding, the dancing on the beach for no reason, the laughing, makes me recall that I had that once with someone else. I had the butterflies and the I love you toos and the inside jokes and the i get yous. And he was my best friend and the most amazing man that, that 25 year old girl had ever met. Then it all turned to shit, basically.

But it was not always like that. Oh no, it was not always like that at all. And now i remember and i finally understand why I jumped both feet in and gasped "YES!" when, after 8 weeks, he proposed. I get it. I was not silly or crazy or irrational. i was in love.