Pregnant Pause

Yes. It's true. I'm pregnant. Again.

Yes. 'Another' Halvarsson is on its way.

Sigh.

Haven't announced to the majority of the world and to be honest, I'd like to wait. Maybe until I'm really fat. Or the baby is born. Or has turned a year old.

Number six just 'isn't' that exciting according to a bunch of friends who've seen me do this before. They don't want to know the ups and downs of this pregnancy. (Does anyone, really?) I have a Subchorionic Hematoma present, but according to one friend, I should just STFU and not worry about it. Because bleeding is NORMAL during pregnancy. (I must have missed that memo).

UGH.

I'm glad actually that there are only a handful of people that know. Even the big guys don't know yet, although I suspect that Freja has her suspicions.

Morning sickness is in full swing. I am nauseous ALL OF THE TIME. I want to vomit when I knit. It's depressing.

Anyway.. there you have it. For now.

Friends are the families we choose for ourselves

I'm really blessed with the friends in my life. What I probably should do is pick up the phone and thank them personally for all their imput into our lives, but I'm too busy (lazy) to do that. This post will have to suffice. I have a definition of family in my mind. However, after my mother's death, my immediate family (and by that I'm talking about my brother) has fallen apart. I remember how after her funeral, he got into his car and drove off and I literally didn't see him for weeks. Then he pulled himself together and got back into the routine of coming over for dinner and movie nights again. Then he met his girlfriend and suffice it to say, that was the end of dinner at our place with him. I grieved his absence more than I did the loss of my mother. Because at least with her, I KNEW she wasn't coming back. It's been a painful process, this dealing with the loss of my brother. This is where friends come in. I'm a firm believer that people come in to your lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. I have a lot of people I classify as friends, but only a handful of them have made it into the inner sanctum. Some of these people I have known for a lifetime indeed. Others I have met while travelling through life. Then others have popped up in an absolute astounding way and stuck around when I was sure they wouldn't. Let me tell you about the latest addition to my inner sanctum. They are a wonderful group of women who I met through a knitting and crochet website. Of all the places. The first day I met them, I would never have laid money on them becoming people I would call my family. Yet, this common thread of craftiness has woven its threads through our lives and I would absolutely call them my family now. Indeed. They are. Our move to Kyneton has meant that I have taken myself away from where the majority of these women live. Sometimes I feel very far away from what's going on with them. Sometimes I feel not part of them at all. But that is only me being silly and insecure, because I know this is not the case. I know that these women are the most reliable people in the world, who ARE there for me whenever I need them. Amazing. I may have lost a brother over the last two years, but I have gained many sisters in his stead. And let me tell you, a girl will never let you down...

Requiem

Finally, after a second visit to Saigon in the last four years, I got to visit the War Remnants Museum. I've always been intrigued/fascinated by the Vietnam War era, have studied the history of it in school and university, read biographies, autobiographies, talked to returned Veterans about their experiences and still nothing prepared me for this confronting experience when I finally got there.

I went alone, which is a good thing. It was the kind of thing you either have to do by yourself, or with the right person. The photographs, the images, the displays...they are etched into my mind and soul and will never be eradicated. I would walk through the different areas, looking and reading, with tears streaming down my face and would have to sit in the foyer to compose myself before going in to the next exhibit.

Some people took photos of everything. I found that once inside, I did not take a single picture. I couldn't. Some things just are better off in your mind's eye and not something you need to bring home to show your family. Not the sort of pictures for family slide night, for sure.

The things that were seen cannot be unseen and although knowledge is power, one cannot help but be affected by the stories in this museum. The human side of the war, from all perspectives. I'll give them that, the Vietnamese did a good job of exhibiting not just their own casualties of war, but made sure there was coverage of all parties. Ultimately, what they provide is a place of reflection that makes certain you understand that there are no winners in wartime. Everyone pays a price. Most often, a price that is still being paid, long after the declarations of peace have been made.

Family Ties

I was never close to my brother growing up. I mainly saw him as an annoyance, a nuisance, a pain in the ass who always got his own way. It was only when we hit our late teens that we really started to appreciate each other, and that feeling was further cemented when we travelled to Sweden together for Jessica's wedding. Then of course, nothing binds you like going through the process of dying with someone. I can't imagine not having my brother there by my side as we watched our mother wither away.

He was a fantastic uncle. Freja and Gabriel absolutely adored him. Loved the shit out of him. He was always fun to be around, fun to do stuff with and he just spoke to them on their level and they loved him for that. He'd pop in and spend time with them and you just can't place a value on that kind of stuff.

It's been two years since we've really had much contact, and Freja and Gabes have only just stopped asking after him. Sigrid and Jonah don't really know who he is, and as for Tove, well.. he never even bothered to come see her when she was born, so really, there is nothing there.

I always thought I'd know my future neices and nephews, and it's only just now I'm realising I may not. It's beyond sad.

I thought we were better than the rest of the family. That we'd avoided all of the petty arguments that so many of our other cousin sibling sets had succumbed to. However, it seems we are no better than them. And that too is beyond sad.

How am I to set the example to my own children about the importance of family, when it seems I cannot even practice what I preach with my own sibling?

The ties that bind are often the ones that hurt the most.

The Vomitorium

To those of you outside my inner circle, it must seem that we get Gastro an awful lot in our household. It pretty much averages on twice a year, once every six months or so, which I don't think is too bad to be honest. I have a cousin whos family get it every month. But then, I've seen their kids walk straight out of the shitter and into the kitchen without washing their hands, so no surprise there, eh?

So maybe every six months IS a lot in your eyes. Maybe your family never gets it. Kudos to you. When we only had two children, we never got it either. Well, very rarely anyhow. However, in the last three years, with the addition of three more children, it's become more prevalent. Let me show you how.

Example A. Gabriel is at school and the kid next to him vomits on the table. Even though Gabes wasn't hit with the barf, some of the microscopic particles hit him and he ingests them... resulting in him bringing Gastro home. Now, we keep Gabriel isolated, away from the other children.. but unfortunately, you can't explain to a 2 year old why he shouldn't drink out of his big brother's water bottle when you aren't looking. And down goes Jonah.

Now Jonah and Sigrid are as thick as theives and it's impossible to stop Sigrid from being near her brother. Even though I didn't see it, I'm pretty sure Sigrid drank from Jonah's water bottle in an unguarded moment too. And down goes Sigrid.

After a week of cleaning up vomit and shitty nappies, I'm feeling lucky that I haven't got it yet. Whoops. Spoke to soon. Down I go.

Or take Example B.

Our guests arrive for a day visit to our new place, not telling us that they and their three kids have been sick all week with gastro. The last victim still has loose stools, so technically, they're still contagious. They stay at our place for 12 hours and I'm pretty sure were in all of our rooms.

Two days later both Sigrid and I wake up vomiting. Could be we both ate strawberries that were contiminated by the youngest victim..who knows? Or maybe I really am just a slovenly housekeeper.

Now, try as I might, in the next few days, I witness Jonah picking up Sigrid's water bottle, Gabriel's water bottle, Freja's water bottle.. he really doesn't give a shit who's bottle it is, just as long as he's not thirsty anymore. Sigrid feeds Tove her meal because she doesn't feel like it when I have my back turned...Can you see how easy it is for the youngest three to pass it back and forth??

I really hate Gastro. I really do. But I know that once my youngest three are bigger we won't have the same issues we do now. I feel like I do nothing but clean and it still doesn't stop the spread. You can't reason with a 2 or 3 year old. They don't get it.

So your family doesn't get gastro. That's great! I look forward to that day too. But please, engage your brain before you open your mouth. I don't need your advice when I'm in the thick of things as to how I can possibly stop the spread in my family. It comes across as condescending and judgemental and to be totally blunt, fucking tactless. Maybe next time, I'll invite you over and see if you handle it better. If you manage to contain the outbreak to just the one kid, I'd like to see it. And if that's the case, I'll eat my words and kiss your ass too!

I'll let you know in six months, eh?

Rage, Rage against the dying of the light

So, I got an email reminder last week, from a site I had joined years ago, called ' Birthday Calendar'. You probably know which one I'm talking about. You probably got an email from them asking to fill in your details to add to my calendar. I used to be so organised, and I relied on that bloody thing to send me reminders so I'd remember everyone's birthdays. Used to, being the operative word.

The reminder was to motivate me to send a card to my mum for her birthday tomorrow. She would have been 62. But I forgot to tell 'Birthday Calendar' that my mum had died, and that is why I still get the reminders. I don't have the heart to take her name off my list of birthdays.

Now, I don't go around in a permanent fog of grief for my mum. I did most of my grieving before she actually died. But I have to say, that since that reminder, she's been on my mind a lot. Yesterday, I was watching 'Peggy Sue got married', because it was the kind of day to sit and watch trashy flicks...and when the scene came on, where Peggy Sue goes back in time and sees her mum again, it really fucked me up. I could picture being transported back to various points in my life, where my mum was around and imagine what I would say. What I would love to say, if ever given the chance for a do over.

I'm sorry I was such an arsehole as a teen.
I'm so glad you were my mother, because the way you lived your life is such an inspiration to me now.
I wish I had have said thank you more often for everything you did for us. It's only as an adult I'm appreciating what you gave up.
Thank you for sending me Sigrid, Jonah and Tove. Sigrid looked like you at birth, Jonah has your face and Tove has your eyes and hands.
Thank you for showing Freja and Gabriel what a real grandparent is about. Even for a short time. They have never forgotten it and miss you always.
I love you and Thank you are the big ones. Can't say it enough.

Happy 62nd Birthday mum. We're all going to eat cake for you tomorrow...

Death of a Magnolia

It may seem insignificant to you, but I am grieving the loss of a Magnolia tree. My mother planted this Magnolia in memory of her stillborn son, who was born at 37 weeks gestation. She planted that tree in her little rock garden, so she had good a view from her kitchen window. And some times as she stood and did the dishes and looked out the window, she would be crying as she looked at that Magnolia.

My mother was a Type 1 diabetic from childhood until her death from Breast Cancer. She had many complications during her pregnancies because of it, but never let it deter her from acheiving her goal of being a mother. I was her first born and that pregnancy was pretty much complication free. She fell pregnant a year later and unfortunately didn't have the same smooth sailing. She was admitted to the RWH during her third trimester as her diabetes became harder to manage. She had hypos often, and her BSL readings were all over the place, so they decided to admit her until she'd had her baby.

At 37 weeks, they decided to do an amnio to check the baby's lung maturity. I'm supposing nowadays, they wouldn't have even bothered with that, but back then, amnio was a new technology. They didn't have ultrasounds to guide them though, instead relying on dopplers and feeling the baby's position by hand. This probably wouldn't have been a problem if it was an experienced obstetrician doing it. Unfortunately, they gave my mother a student doctor.

The first needle went in and my mother felt her baby jump up in to her rib cage. She told the doctor, but he told her not to be silly. He took the needle out and it was filled with a bloody fluid. He tried again and once more, my mother felt her unborn move abruptly. The second needle was just as fruitless. The third try, the doctor hit paydirt and sent the fluid off for testing. Pathology would later reveal that it was my mother's urine he had sent away.

Hours after my mother felt how her unborn child distressed. She told the doctors and nurses, but no one listened to her. Then after a few more hours, she felt how the child within her womb grew still. And moved no more. Then they listened. And then they confirmed her fears.

She was induced by herself and birthed her son by herself. He was quickly whisked away without having been held by his mother. She never got to see him, hold him or love on him. She was unconsolable.

Twenty five years later we obtained the autopsy report. My brother had been stabbed in the head, the lungs, the umbilical cord and the abdomen. He had most likely suffered horrendously as he slowly bled to death.
He was buried in a mass grave in Springvale. I have yet to locate it. But one day I will. For my mother.

A year after his birth, my father gave her a magnolia tree to put in the garden. She tended to it and it thrived in that rock garden. She would water it every evening. She could see it from her kitchen window. It was the only truly beautiful thing to come out of a shitty brick home in a shitty little outer eastern suburb. A thing of substance where everything else was lacking.

And now it is gone. Just like my stillborn brother. Just like my mother.