Pregnant How it all Started.

Clearly my last attempt at blogging was a total flop and rather negative and perhaps too suburban.. do we really want to know about Dave the Concretor ? ..Incidentally i saw Dave the Concretor the other day, arms full of small man clothes and loving books for my girls, i still wanted to physically attack him. 'Gigantic pregnant woman attacks decrepid old crook in the back streets of Brookvale...classy.'

So i've managed to get myself pregnant again.. according to those online calculators we conceived our son around Christmas Eve...there was a fair amount of drinking going on being the festive season but sadly i can't blame his conception on the Jacob's Creek..it's more my blase attitude towards birth control. My body reacts to the pill as if i am pregnant, which i don't enjoy even when I am and it physically rejected the IUD. Despite conceiving my first child by 'joyful serendipity' ( politically correct way of saying accident) and my second by deciding to try on the Friday, and getting knocked up on the Saturday... a third- who is now in heaven... by having silly make up sex and throwing caution to the wind... i haved fooled myself into thinking if I maintain the attitude of not wanting another child then clearly my body will comply with that...Condoms be damned, the power of the mind is surely enough to repell the little swimmers.
I might add my husband is one of 5 all 'Serendipitously Conceived' and I am the product of a 42 year old mother who got lucky first try with both my brother and I. Given our family history , you'd think I'd just run away from the machine sperminator at every turn.. but alas here I sit, in purple size 18 tracksuit pants and an XL mans' jacket.. with a small person just practicing his scrum technique in my pelvis.

It's taken a while to come around to my little man coming...Castration had been booked for the Man of the Century and we were on our way.. 2011 was the year of no nappies, holidays were bearable, children could communicate their basic needs and desires and cried only for very valid reasons, such as a pinch from a sister or a hideous mother making them 'GET IN THE BATH' and they were in PRE- SCHOOL. I had one day... 6 hours to myself where if i so chose i could lunch with friends and eat my whole sandwich...or clean out the 345 water glasses from the girls bedroom and find floor under the ballet dress infestation that results from two small females sharing a space.
My neice had come to stay over Christmas, she is devine, one of the rare babes that doesn't cry all the time and just seems to sit and smile, but my ovaries were not stirred, there was not a cluck to be heard. I loved her but she was still far far too much work, she had to be fed, or she would cry... quite unable to open the drawer and grab a packet of popcorn this was understandable but.. still. You had to hold her in the bath... we are at that nice age where I can yell their names and they answer and I know nobody has drowned. I marvelled at her relaxed nature and shuddered at the memory of my two now very civilised toddlers who were anything but relaxed small babies.
Our Neice went home on Boxing Day and we firmly decided that NO more small babies would grace the threshold of 67 ever again..
Besides..I was quite thin...
I had spent 2010 reinventing myself, cut the hair, lost 9 kilos, bought black high topped gymboots with studs on them and wore red lipstick EVERY DAY. I went to the gym and sort of enjoyed it and very much enjoyed not being a depressed blob in old KMart Maternity tops which had lost their elasticity in the last days of Pollyanna's gestation but i still wore because well..who could be bothered. I had even re- entered the paid workforce.. for about 10 casual days a pathetically small sum of money would be deposited into our account and I HAD CONTRIBUTED and therefore could entirely justify new black high top studded gymboots. I was 30 and fabulous..i had gotten over my hideous shock of being a mother at 26 which i regarded a moderate step up from teenage pregnancy and adored our princess filled days with two brilliant offspring, who despite their penchant for rising at 5am were actually very nice human beings and enjoyable company most of the time.

Imagine the shock then a fortnight after precious neice had left our shores, and we had moved upstairs to our 'parent's retreat' that i had a wonderful mental conversation with myself, 'my boobs are sore' my boobs are only ever sore when i am pregnant... but i can't be pregnant because i don't want to be and we are careful... well sort of .. could i be ? Well no because I don't want to be and I am thin and we are upstairs in our lovely parents retreat and I DON'T WANT TO BE...but my boobs are VERY SORE.....a rummage through the medicine drawer and a quick wee later and .. and ..and... well that's the September Gold Coast Holiday canned for 2011.
Nervous giggles, oh ..oh bugger. oh well it's okay. oh it's quite nice isn't it ? Another little one.. Oh .shit i can't stand newborn land.... and then mindless mental rambling for several hours until husband of the century comes home and upon sighting the Wee stick of truth is far more interested in when we would reschedule the Goldy Holiday than the fact that WE WERE HAVING A CHILD which would have to come on the Gold Coast Holiday for ever.


But that was 30 odd weeks ago...we're fine now........