While you wipe away your tears and clear that lump in your throat

from my AWEsome multimedia skillz.

Do you know how freakin’ long that took me? The anniversary was yesterday and I had grand visions of pulling something together and posting it all quiet and dignified like.

Granted, the idea of doing it was kicking around my skull for a few weeks.

So naturally I started it at about 10.30pm the night before. Trawling through all our photos (including the wedding ones, so lovingly preserved in a plastic bag on top of the gorgeous handmade album we received as a wedding gift) pre-digital, which was like, SEVEN of the ten years. Wha?

Then the scanning program ate all the images I’d scanned for the hour. This happened three more times but I’d learnt quickly so it’d only eat maybe four, or six. Instead of an hour’s work.

Then there was the whole music palaver. I’m not sure how many music downloading laws I’ve contravened but seeing as I needed Chef’s help for this bit and he saved the songs into a folder he called “Kim’s illegal activities” I’m guessing the list is quite impressive.

I’m nothing if not a renegade.

International copyright laws? hahahaha how I taunt you will my deliciously sophisticated schemes.

So ten years peeps.
We had been together for about six years when we decided to have kids. It took a couple of months solely because in my good Christian girl upbringing I had never learnt about the notion of ‘peak fertility’. When someone at work who was on their fifth round of IVF made mention of this and we worked ours out we were pregnant with Oscar that month.
He was the only one of our children who had any nominal planning.
We told Chef’s parents when we were away with them for the weekend.
We weren’t going to tell them because it was before the 12 week landmark, and we all know what that landmark is with the firstborn.
But we were so paranoid about blurting it out and my abstinence from drinking so obvious we lasted about an hour.
We were staying at the property owned by some family friends on the edge of the Hunter Valley in a little hamlet called Wollombi.
It’s an old dairy farm nestled in a quiet valley with wombats, goannas and a resident mob of kangaroos.
When we’d told Chef’s parents, his mum said something about wishing we were married but how it didn’t matter.
The next morning, as the morning mist cleared and we all had our first mug of tea or coffee sitting on the front verandah, Chef’s Dad said, “you know, you could get married here. We could have drinks under the oak tree, set up a marquee just over there and have a great old time”.
We talked about it in my little old fish-oiled-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life Subaru wagon on the way home. And there, somewhere between Mt White and the main road, Chef and I decided to get married at the farm in 10 weeks time.
Our wedding was so.much.fun. Fifty people, a blazingly hot day, goannas too hot to be bothered wandering among us as we had drinks under the oak tree and lunch in a marquee just over there.
Our parents had to make us leave.
I was about 18 weeks pregnant with Oscar when we got married.
Little did we know that three weeks later I’d be in hospital with a threatened miscarriage and a very good go at a high risk pregnancy from thereon in.
So while our marriage is its own journey, it seems inexplicably more intricately linked to us becoming parents as well.
These past 10 years have given us four children.
There have been some very very hard times which I didn’t think our marriage would survive.
All of them connected to the worst episodes of depression I’ve experienced.
But there have been some awesomely good times too.
And as Chef and I went out to dinner last night (I know! On our own!) and talked about our plans for the next five years and beyond I took a moment to soak it in.
That this really is for keeps.
So if any of you actually get to the end of my very lame, very amateur video homage to the last decade (also known as the pictorial graph of Kim’s various weight gains, losses and moments of very.short.hairdos) and thought, ‘well that’s just photos of them and their kids’, indeed it is.

Finally all is right in matrimonial land. Chef came home last night, gave me a hug, cried and apologised. He simply freaked out. Not only was he coming to terms with us being pregnant, he was now adjusting to the chance we could loose it.

Anyway, had a dating scan today. We are having a jelly bean with a heartbeat.

Still no talking on the spouse front. Why why WHY do men just shut down rather than simply saying, ‘sorry’. That’s all I want.



Why men, when they know they’ve made you mad, don’t say sorry, just skulk around and MAKE YOU EVEN MADDER.

Why chocolate has to be so high in fat.

Things I HATE
People on the bus who
– listen to music so loudly through their headphones they might as well be carrying a portable stereo system and running a disco
– the same people as all they listen to is dance CRAP
– men who fail to see the merits of deodorant. WHY???

Uterine update
Bleeding has finally stopped. Dating scan booked for today week. If the cell-multiplier is still doing so, that is when we’ll know.
The growth of my girth has been so substantial over the last four days I will be shocked rather than upset if it hasn’t decided to hang on for the ride. Although, the significant comfort eating that has ensued since domestic dispute on Thursday night and inexplicable ‘spotting’ may have contributed to that somewhat.

Felix had school photos today – hair was washed AND brushed. Miracle.

Oscar had the best attempt at saying umbrella tonight – v.v. exciting. Also managed Mumbo – as I am being a bad parent reading them stories I loved as a child – eg, The Little Black Sambo.

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.