I tend to be a worrier

so much so that in the early years of our relationship (ie pre-children and poverty) my husband would say, “what are you thinking about?” to which I could reply with any of the following
– “how are we ever going to solve poverty in the third world”
– “I can’t believe the logging of old-growth forests continues and that the notion of jobs is the main proponent of sustaining its existence”
– “why on earth is it a battle to ensure whaling is outlawed and that the world continually gets sold, and accepts the pup, that Japan is whaling for science”
– “just how irritating it is that white collar crimes, which can dessimate the lives of far more than a robery or even a murder, but the punishments are so light in comparison”
… you get the picture. These things occupied and indeed, on occassion, could keep me awake at night.

So here we are – these issues still remain, we have a government soon to be in absolute power that consistently allies itself to countries that bully others with the mindset of ‘its my way or the highway’ and are willing to swallow any notion of humanity in the name of policy, security or just some irrational moral high-ground.

These things still keep me awake and still worry me. Now I just have concerns about the welfare of our children and our woeful seemingly never-ending financial plight too.

Ain’t life grand.

Bumpy chunky ride

Well, we’re entering into week 8. If week 7 was anything to go by its going to be a pretty bumby ride.
Chef came home early from work on Wednesday with gastro. I’d felt off all day but put it down to tiredness/morning sickness. Anyway, we got to about 6pm and bang, the spewing started.
He was in bed and had been since he got home, so Mum had been on kid duty, not even realising Chef was home in bed. I got the kids through dinner, bath and bedtime and then collapsed on the lounge in between bouts of vomiting and diarrhoea. Nice I know.
Anyway, the night before, I’d had a bright red bleed, so was pretty anxious as it was. It had turned to old blood on Wednesday, but still enough to put ‘dots’ on the pad. Then I got a temperature.
Two things you MUST avoid in first trimester – any virus and temperatures. So I was feeling pretty peachy as the baby was conceived when I was on antibiotics AND taking the pill. If this kid comes out half normal we’ll be laughing.
So – at 10 that night, I call labour floor and ask for their suggestions. They’re relpy goes along the lines of, if you’re miscarrying, which it sounds like you are, then we can’t and won’t do anything to stop it. They suggested I go to our local hospital, get a maxalon shot and try and rest. So off I go.
Sweet, sweet maxolon. oh beautiful drug to make the pain go away. Four hours and one shot in the arse later, I was on my way home. Told to REST.
I get into bed at around 1am. The next morning, CHEF DOES NOT EVEN GET UP AND HELP ME WITH THE CHILDREN. I mean, if your partner is going through a suspected miscarriage, wouldn’t you FRIGGIN’ GET OUT OF BED? No matter how sick you are? But no, not only did he stay in bed, EVEN AFTER I had let him sleep the whole afternoon and evening the night before as I was vomitting and pooing AS WELL – he couldn’t even do that.
He hasn’t apologised since, he hasn’t asked how I am, he hasn’t asked about the bleeding and HE HAS SLEPT IN EVERY SINGLE DAY since then.
I SOOOOO love it when my husband checks out of our marriage and our family.