We're huntin' Jazzies

I wanted to keep the birds from our figs. No, that is not some kinky euphemism. I seriously did.

So I put a bird net over the tree. Afterwards, our neighbour told me how full of spiders they are. Okay, I gathered they might be at the time. But thanks for telling me AFTER I was in there.

Then, a few hours later, Jazz the drongo space cadet went barging out from under the bush and headed towards the centre of the backyard. Of course, she got trapped. We laughed ourselves silly at the sight. And then we went and rescued her. I helped Steve put the net back on this time. He went in and I stayed out. When he came out, he had a huntsman on him.

As calmly as I could, I told him, "Lenny, there's a spider on your left hip pocket." The thing was crawling by this stage, not helped by the fact that Steve was now spinning in circles, arms in the air and repeating, "Where? Where? WHERE???" and not listening to me, but also trying to thinly disguise his terror. He doesn't necessarily care for spiders, but he sure as hell doesn't want one ON him.

I shall pause here and say calmly to you, dear reader: DON'T click any of this post's links, by the way, if you don't want to see examples of these spiders up close n' personal *wink* I've just included them for our international readers who may not know these man-hand sized SCARY-ASS creatures of nature. There. I've composed myself now.

I repeated calmly (and loudly) "ON. YOUR. LEFT. LEG. EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" (that's when the thing dropped to the ground and ran.... oh, the huntsman, not Steve. He's more like a daddy long legs in my mind)

That was yesterday.

Tonight, we were having dinner outside. Crash. Smash. There she went again. This time, Jazz was pushing on the net for all she was worth - "I'm gonna make it outta here, I know I can do it" - and she was making little piggy ears out of those cute floppy Labrador ears of hers. It looked kinda sore.

"I HAVE to take a photo of this," I wheezed as Steve and I started running over to help her. I came inside for the SLR. I mean... come on. It's not every day your dog gets trapped in a bird net that looks like we've set the trap deliberately.

Well, okay. Maybe it's every other day. Apparently.

Ummmmm...... okay, this is a bit embarrassing.
Uh... little help please?

I'm a Labrador crossed with Kelpie crossed with a bit of Staffy.
And you want me to SIT STILL???

Oh for the love of..... I've gone blind!! But hey. I can still laugh in this thing.

Okay, this isn't funny anymore. Orright-orright-orright.
I'm sitting still. Sheesh.

I'm. Almost. Freeee. And, no? That's not a look of desperate concern in my eyes. It's... it's. I've got an eyelash in my eye, okay? An eyelash. It's making me stare.

Ah! All disentangled. Now. What else can I mangle for you?

One of the down sides to creating a love of soy milk

Idle soy gossip:
"Ooooh that's terrible!"
"Mm-hmm, and then they stood me down. Told me they didn't need me anymore. I'm out of a job!"

There is, I have discovered, a down side to attempting to switch the LGBB from cow to soy milk by way of cutesying up the longlife containers..... She formed a bond with the first little "Bonsoy milk man".

By the way, looking for THE BEST tasting soy milk? (stay with me, people) You've gotta try Bonsoy! I swear, you can hardly tell it's not dairy.

Anyway, I decided to introduce Lolly to the new container by making it talk. She has been so used to pouring from the cows milk carton but I've been lazy in getting us both back onto soy. Being the fraidy-cat I am, I didn't just give my toddler the benefit of the doubt and I created a voice and a personality for the little container.

Little did I know that the wide-eyed LGBB would form a bond so great that there were heeeuge tears the morning I broke it to her gently that a new container was coming along because the first one was finished. I wasn't allowed to throw it out. I had to even put the empty one back in the fridge door with the new one - looked at sideways by a dubious Lolly as to its character and dependability compared to her beloved Bonsoy friend - and I went to great pains to let her know that they would do a "milk transfer" and the new one would fill up the old one.

Sigh. Pant, pant. Would it work? I cut the second one and didn't even think twice, assuming I'd be able to make a simple switch. But no. You can't get anything past them can you?!? Apparently, the second one looks shifty 'cos she was not buying any of it.

I am pleased to report that I have since managed to do a shifty change several times now. The trick? Keep the "voice" the same! Silly me had used a higher-pitched hoity toity voice that first time I cracked open a new container. When will I ever learn?

Here I go again on my own

It's a normal day. The sun is shining. I have a healthy 2yo asleep in bed. I have housework to do. I have the weekend with my family to look forward to.

But it's always, always there.

I feel sad that the LGBB is the only one of my children who gets "the best" of me. And it's a questionable best because I feel like it's tainted. So often. And forever. Because of what we've been through.

Granted, this feeling of inadequacy where the LGBB is concerned isn't helped by the upbringing I had - my self confidence and belief in my self has been self-taught in my adult years, more than anything, so I am still getting there on that one. But this. This experience of loss undoes even the strongest, the happiest of people.

And just while I'm on the (loose) subject, if motherhood of a healthy, normal child can be one's undoing...... well, why isn't more done to ensure the childless mothers (and fathers) haven't fallen through the cracks??? They rushed to help me when I finally admitted outside of my four walls that I was going under (and found someone who didn't just pat me on the shoulder and say "yes, babies are hard aren't they!") when Lolly was four months old. The only contact I had from any doctor or MCHN after I had Ella was a condolence card and a sympathies phone call to my answer machine. After that.... zilch.

How is that hole there in the health care system? And why?

My tears are really close to the surface today, don't know why. These are the days where I cannot see the good I have done, the progress I have made, the friends I have. Ooops (sorry! It shall pass, it always does). This time, I want to capture it in text. To read it back later when I'm "all better" again for the time being and just see what I can see. It is a time where none of my usual supports I have meticulously put in place do me any good. And from that, I can only deduce that this is a necessary, growing, permitted experience for me to have. This is all part of me lining my tool kit. Perhaps it's the découpage day for my soul's housing? ;P

There's nothing significant about today. But that's just my point: over five years since the last time I said goodbye to my daughter's body as they wheeled her away in the opposite direction and the thing is, the normal thing is, there shouldn't HAVE to be a reason ("it's been only x months", "it's your due date anniversary"..... ETA: oh holy crap I just realised... this WAS Ella's due date!!! OMG OMG OMG, that's possibly why?! it was only 'significant' to me that first year, I didn't want yet another date to have to think past, iykwim, and commemorate every year).

There's nothing to say, nothing to be done. I don't want to call anyone because I don't want anyone to *fix* anything. I just MISS HER today

A gf called this morning about something totally different. She lost her little girl through still unknown causes after 7 days. She was born at full term the year our dd was born - 2004 - and went on to have another bub the same year as our second - 2006 - and we both go months and months without mentioning our daughters. And then today for no known reason to the two of us, she called, I don't even remember who brought it up, but we got chatting about how we must somehow be so "evil" that we just can't twitter anymore about ANYONE having a baby these days. I told her I was genuinely always pleased and relieved that bub and mum are ok..... I know too well how different it could be. But any more than that and I find it so difficult to be "happy" for them. My heart pulls too much.

I recounted to her my recent stint at a phone support grief counselling course where I befriended a lovely woman in her 60's who had just one child and that child died at full term, was delivered and she never laid eyes on her baby. She never had any other children. She was the MOST fantastic woman. She leaned over and said to me "My dear, it never goes. You never truly feel 'happy' for anyone" and I knew what she meant - she brought it up, not I, and that was even more comforting!

And then my gf and I got to talking about how utterly grateful we are for our second children, our only surviving children to date for the two of us (and our partners). She spoke of how her DH sometimes comes out with glassy eyes, simply from seeing his child, happy and resting in bed. I concurred. It's ALWAYS there. I told her how last night, I had this missing Ella feeling coming on and that I had locked eyes with my DH. He smiled, I couldn't tell him. "I miss her" was all I needed to say. But I just could not be bothered with the mental and emotional exhaustion that this sometimes brings with it. I am getting over a cold. We didn't have time, at *that* time of night - the toddler bedtime routine - for me to go under. And the moment had passed by the time it was a *good* time.

We left the call with her in tears and me close to it. But enriched and nurtured for sharing and admitting these things we hitherto thought were SO wrong of us to feel. It was a relief and a comfort to us both, as we verbally expressed, that we were not completely alone. Mercy.

So in those moments, I tell myself I miss her. I silently scream it, in fact. This is the feeling that never goes. That silent yearning scream. And it feels so lonely.

Sooner or later

It was bound to start. It always does.

I was heading out of the shower yesterday and was cornered, as I stood nude by the dresser gathering my underwear, by a twittery little toddler asking what "that" was.

"This? This is a [I'm not a prude but I shan't type the V word for obvious internettery reasons]", I said.

"A jamima?" asked an enthralled Lolly.

I thought for a moment. About how cute that name was, about whether if I corrected her, would she repeat it (I hoped so because it was so gorgeous she had named it that even though I was telling her the correct name) and if it was really okay for her to call her bits whatever the heck she pleased. I corrected her. And she repeated her misheard version. Hooray!

"A jamima! Mummy has a jamima and Lawen has a jamima because we're girls!"

For the remainder of the day, she mentioned jamimas and girls in varying contexts. Most of them incorrect and unnecessary and deliciously cute, as is the way and want of a toddler delighted by "rudy" body parts all of a sudden.

This morning, as Daddy headed out of the shower, I asked her what Daddy had. She told me he has a "mima" too (it's all nickname basis already, apparently). And when I said no, look, Daddy is different because he's a boy, she took a more careful look at an exposed and slightly coy Daddy as he got ready for work. And then she promptly fell about the bed laughing.

Daddy has "wobbly bits". Amaaaaaazing! And a trifle weird, judging by the slight furrow of her brow. Ah, she'll get it one day.

The long overdue curvy body update

I promised myself, quietly, that I would keep a running update of my body shape changing success (or otherwise) here, to keep myself motivated.

I just finished the six-week intensive challenge set down by the gym. Weekly training with a personal trainer who put me through my paces - each week, I shared my food diary with her and she tailored a program to my body type - and I had to commit to attending at least three times per week and keep my heart rate at over 75% for the entire workout.

I did all that. Except the past two weeks I could only get there twice in a week. I was really disappointed in that, because I wanted to see how much I could change (and hopefully lose, in weight) in that six weeks. I injured my calf half way through, which made anything to do with my legs impossible these last two weeks. I still cannot squat (which is hard with a toddler) as it siezes and is excruciating - all stemming from my lower back, which I am working on from a Peace Space perspective. More on that some other time - I'm sorry, I know I say that a lot!

At the end of it, it was just half a kg loss on the scales. HOWEVER.... 9cm total lost on my bicep, bust, waist, hip and thigh measurements! Not bad in six weeks. So I am guessing a fair bit of the lack in weight change is a reduction of body fat and increase in dense muscle. The proof is in the measurements and how many of my clothes now fit me nicely. I look at my upper arms and can see they are smaller. This is saying something. I am usually very derogatory, but at the moment I am really attempting the Think Positive attitude.

I am going to persevere with the new regime (exercise at least three times per week and keep that heart rate up while I'm there), along with eating more often - my biggest enemy was a sluggish metabolism due to my lack of eating for hours and hours and sometimes not for an entire day from dinner time to dinner time (yikes), coupled with a serious shortage of protein. I've upped this to the 1g per 1kg of body weight they have recommended for maintaining healthy muscle. I guess you could say I am fortunate in that I build muscle incredibly easily, however this can cause an awful, hefty and somehow masculine body shape if I don't exercise (heh!) a little restraint. At my peak, just a few years ago, I could bench press 40kg and I maxed out on the leg press at 25okg. Yes. 250. Ridiculous! Just because you can, doesn't mean you should. I had gargantuan thighs that made me look more beefy than lean. So I am also going to go light on the weights and do more repetitions to keep it a more cardio-based workout each time, with a little weight added in for resistance.

But the true test is going to be in maintaining my own drive and determination to reach my goal. I have enlisted Steve to help me here - I am going to get him to keep measuring me for incentive. I asked him to measure me on Tuesday night (I will keep it at Tuesdays like it was with my trainer) and so far, in the past week:

Another 2cm off my thigh
Another 2cm off my bust
Gained 1cm on my bicep
Gained 2cm in the waist
No change in my hips

... so that's 13cm in just seven weeks! Huzzah!!! It's working!

I can take the bust and thigh measurements as accurate because I used the same method to find the point at which my trainer's been measuring me. My biceps, hips and waist are a bit more iffy and inaccurate but now that Steve is doing it, we have a new benchmark to go off for each week from now on.

I've decided to only look at my weight every six weeks and see if there's a change. Doesn't mean I won't hop on the scales and see what I'm doing, but I am only going to mark it that far apart.

Got a long way to go to reach my goal weight, but now I'm thinking the weight isn't as important as losing the cm's. I think I have to keep this in mind as my more realistic target because I am quite obviously *aherm* a dense person. Oy! Enough with the snickering.

Surely I have to try!

The LGBB has recently discovered her love of Hello, Kitty (thanks to her Japanese cousins who drew her likeness every day they were here and now Lolly recognises little Kitty wherever we go).

I have to try and make these for her 3rd birthday! Hey, I've got a little under four months to practice...... wanna dare me to attempt them?! They're so cuuuuuute!

The recipe is here at Bakerella.

1, 2, 3, 4.... Hi-6

The LGBB was watching Hi-5 on Friday. This is what I heard at the beginning of the show, when the team were all introducing themselves....

"Hi, I'm Kelly!"
"Hi, I'm Tim!"
"Hi, I'm Kathleen!"
"Hi, I'm Nathan!"
"Hi, I'm Charlie!"
"And I'm Lowen!"

And together.... they're Hi-5. Plus one.