All the Small Things

What happens when you push yourself, and stop listening to the subtle messages that your body sends you to "stop"?

You land up in hospital for eight days, followed by an order to take up bed-rest thereafter.

Well, maybe not for everyone, but that's what happened to me a few weeks ago. At 32 weeks pregnant, I finally crashed and burned one Sunday, and we made a hasty trip to the maternity ward to discover that I was in preterm labour. Long story short... I am now 35 weeks pregnant (phew!) and on strict orders to rest, with baby girl growing healthy and stronger every day.

Thing is, when you find yourself stuck in a place like a hospital (or a prison, I imagine) unexpectedly, with all your personal comforts suddenly taken from you, you come to appreciate all the small things (and some big things) that you didn't even think twice about beforehand. As if life somehow owes you those things upfront, like oxygen and sustenance. During my eight days incarceration, and on the day of my homecoming, I came up with a list of things that I will never again take for granted, some of which I thought to share....

Tweezers. A week in hospital without tweezers, and I closely resembled the hairy James P. Sullivan from Monsters Inc. This was my first act of homecoming - to re-shape my eyebrows and sigh in satisfaction at the mirror. Followed by a gloriously close shave with a non-disposable razor... It was heavenly.

James P. Sullivan, AKA "Sully" - Monsters Inc.

Yep that's what I looked like, don't judge me.

Music. There is no music in hospital. The nurse's badly-chosen ringtone does not count. I eventually figured out that if I kept the TV above me on, tuned to a movie channel, I could catch the ten minutes of music played during every movie credit roll. Yes, I actually did this, such was my desperation. I watched a lot of junk for those ten minutes...
On my homecoming, I put on a favourite music album... and nearly cried for the beauty of it.

The smell of home. You know what I mean - that mixture of scents and fragrances that you know as yours, almost as though you and your loved ones have unintentionally marked this territory as 'home'. On the day of my return from hospital, I came into the house via the garage. It smelled of my husband's greasy rags and the petrol lawnmower. I took a deep, desperate-for-more breath - it was the scent of "welcome home".

Waking up with someone you know and love. Poking my husband for snoring, fighting over bed space, listening to him breathing... what a joy to wake up next to him every morning.

The Silences. A familiar wind rustling familiar leaves just outside my very own window. The hum of my own ceiling fan, and the creepy house-noises I've come to recognize. Strictly speaking, these are sounds, not silences, but after eight days of trolleys, beeping machines, and clanging trays... these are the sounds of Silence.

My breakfast ritual. One WeetBix stick. A dessert spoon of whole linseeds. Two dessert spoons of All-Bran flakes. One sliced banana. Loads of milk. Yum, and a very happy tummy... I've realized that I am such a creature of habit - I missed my daily breakfast so much that I actually had it for lunch on my first day back home.

Normal chatter. However well-meaning it may be, "How are you feeling?" becomes a tiresome topic of discussion. I feel tired and sore and scared and annoyed to be in hospital. But I don't want to get you down, so I'm going to smile and and say "Oh fine, better than yesterday". Since being back home, normal small-talk has been resumed. So-and-so's dog's strange behaviour. What's-his-name's new Christmas tree. The latest specials at Pick n Pay. It's La-di-da's birthday today, did you wish him? Tell me something, anything. It all matters, no matter how mundane.

Variety. I came home, and desperately wanted to be in every room of the house, all at once. From being confined to one bed and a drip all week,  I wanted to sit and breathe in the languid stillness of the bedroom; flop onto the horribly uncomfortable lounge couch; prepare tea in the homely mess of our sprawled-out kitchen; sniff the towels in the bathroom that smell of showers and fresh soap...


In a nutshell, it is great to be home. There's no place like it. You should think about your life, your home, your loved ones, your little habits, your surroundings... and take the time to enjoy them. When I got married, my amazing, wise brother gave me the best advice about my wedding day: he said, "Stop often. Look around, listen, and just take some time to enjoy that moment of your wedding day. Otherwise, it will go so fast, you won't remember anything."

The same could be said of life in general: Stop often. Look around, listen and take some time to enjoy that moment of your life. Do it, fellow inhabitants of this planet. You will regret missing all the small things in life far more than wasting a few moments to experience it.

Pregnancy: The Answers

What's it like?
How's it been?
How do you feel?

These are some of the most common questions that I have encountered in the last several months, all in response to the sight of my enormous, and apparently adorable, belly. At 29 weeks, our baby girl is now a very obvious protrusion from my mid-section, and I often find myself short on words to describe what it's like... how it's been... and how I feel....
This may be a problem related to porridge brain, which I have already described here, but when asked about something so hugely life-changing, in such a tiny context as 'small-talk'... Well, you may as well ask scientist to briefly explain string theory in one short sentence. I wouldn't know where to start, and so I usually just end it with, "Oh, it's been fine!"

So here's the story...

We discovered I was pregnant at 5 weeks, some time in early June. I didn't have any symptoms, except a 'niggly feeling', which was confirmed by a disgustingly cheap over-the-counter pee-on-a-stick-and-wait-for-the-pink-lines test. I always imagined I'd find out I was pregnant with the use of an expensive digital test that sang "Hallelujah" when it turned positive - the cheap ones had let me down so many times before. But on that particular day, not a single digital test could be found, and the only one I could find was a midstream test that cost all of eleven South African Rands. (Americans, that's about one US dollar; Europeans, you're looking at less than one Euro) How revolting. I purchased two, to make myself feel better about accuracy.

Hubby and I had been trying to fall pregnant for around 2 years, and at the beginning of this year, I made the conscious decision to "live my life". I made peace that I did not have a baby, and so I stopped living as though I 'might' be pregnant. I started drinking full-blown coffee again, caffeine and all. I took up hiking with a local club, braving 13km hikes around the beautiful mountain ranges just outside the city.... I did not shy away from exciting activities, late nights, and bad food. I had decided that what I wanted for my birthday in August was a 6-hour caving experience in the nearby Sterkfontein Caves. I was looking at my bucket list and had decided that this year, I would start ticking off the adventures.

So much for that.

And that's why its often said that when you stop trying so very hard, and just get on with your life, that's when it happens. It's almost inconvenient in it's timing. And since that glorious Saturday in June, it has been the most wonderful and awful rollercoaster experience. The highs giving you views and thrills you could never have dreamed of, the lows bringing your stomach and heart leaping into your throat, making you want to swallow hard and smile bravely for those around you.

I felt our baby girl move for the first time at 17 weeks. This is supposedly early for a first flutter, but not entirely unlikely for someone of my size. It was magical. I was at my desk at work, facing my computer. It was a tiny poke in my lower abdomen, and then it stopped. All I could do was sit and grin and hope for more.
And more there shall be. At around 20 weeks, baby girl's movements had grown strong enough to tickle her mum, and I'd find myself jumping and giggling at random intervals... only hoping that no one notices and has me certified.
There's been plenty more since the first flutter, with our baby girl now wriggling and squirming all day long. I love watching my belly move - it really is more entertaining than anything on television, although that's not saying much, considering all the crap that's on TV these days.

Which brings me to my next thought... my recent zero-tolerance for crap. Funny, most information sources describe the first trimester as the most 'moody'. I can't even remember my first trimester, such was the exhaustion and fatigue, but I would have to say that this last month, the beginning of the third trimester, has been the most challenging, as far as hormones go.

I have learned how irritating people really are. People who drive. People who send me emails. People who ask questions. People who tell stories. People who stand too close. People who phone me. People who can't make eye contact because they're so busy staring at my belly.  People who talk loudly. People who talk.  People who eat. People who breathe.

People.

The only kind of people who have recently not irritated me are those who either stay far away from me, those who approach quietly and with a hug, or those who approach with cake.

When pregnant, one is always asked about cravings. The answer for me: Orange juice. Chocolate. Salty snacks. Bananas. Milk. And no, I have not dunked my chocolate in orange juice and put it onto a salty cracker with sliced banana. Don't be ridiculous.

There's a first time for everything they say, and I'm discovering that many of those firsts fall within your last trimester of pregnancy. I snorted myself awake for the first time last week, for example. Apart from the fact that I found it truly hilarious and could barely keep from laughing out loud and raucously, I was fairly disgusted by the whole event.

And speaking of hilarity, it is said that pregnancy, while rendering you a slave to your mood swings, also blesses you with a sense of humour so profound, it's almost dangerous. Yesterday I was driving on one of our main roads, Hendrik Potgieter, and passed a most bizarre accident on the other side of the island: a very large tipping truck had miscalculated his height, had gotten himself wedged underneath a municipality sign post that extended right across the road. The tipping portion of the truck, which was mercifully empty at the time of the incident, was elevated at full tilt into the air, propped up firmly by the very-much-abused sign post.
Noting that there appeared to be no tragedies or injuries.... I found it absolutely ludicrous. I laughed until I cried. And then I got my breathe back and laughed some more. How very inappropriate of me.

Not to worry, I am paying for my sins in other ways...

My feet have started swelling up. People say, "Drink more water, and go to the loo more often." Short of drowning myself and taking up permanent residence on the porcelain throne, laptop and all... I do not foresee much change in this area.

I have started to sleep badly, the major problems being heartburn and a giant belly that feels like it goes "THUNK" whenever rolling over to the other side. No amount of pillow support seems to make a difference, and I imagine the only solution would be to find a way to fall asleep safely in a swimming pool. Baby-girl also has quite an opinion about my moving around at night, and makes it known with her own tossing and turning... I can't blame her, especially if my changing sides has caused her to land on her face, or something equally uncomfortable.

The fatigue has returned, which I was forewarned about in the third trimester.  I was reading an interesting fact the other day: A pregnant woman expends more energy lying on the couch than the average healthy man's work-out at gym. Take that, you men who don't understand! (Begin hormonal rant) Now we're not talking physical exertion per se, but we are talking energy, the essence that you use to move around and do stuff. Growing a baby is no walk in the park dudes. It's an exhausting affair with the sofa.

Among other things, there are challenges that non-pregnant people take for granted. Shaving your legs is one. Putting on shoes that have laces or buckles. Getting out bed. (Rather, rolling out of bed) Removing and applying nail polish to ugly toes. Seeing when your toes have become ugly. (seeing anything below the belly-button, for that matter) Increasing clumsiness, both as a result of the hormone 'relaxin', which softens ligaments, and as a result of not seeing where your feet are going...

...All these bizarre changes and experiences, which add up to the most miraculous and amazing thing: our baby girl growing right inside me. We were blessed with a wonderful baby shower last week, and something about that one event makes it so much more real. We've had the cot, the furniture, the linen, some basic necessities... but having all these wonderful people caring for this little girl, and all the amazing, cute little gifts showered on her... well, this just got real. Baby-girl is going to wear this dress, and those adorable little booties. She's going to need this fluffy blanket on a cold night, and she will wear her lime-green sunhat one summer's day.

Its a lot to take in, and combined with her kicks and wriggles.... I love being pregnant, swollen ankles and all.

So in a nutshell (a very large nut, if you will), being pregnant is an ultimate contradiction: the most un-glamorous, and the most beautiful experience a woman could go through.

The Thing About Being an Aunty

So it's not really "news", especially for those that know me personally, but I am about to become an Aunt. My beloved big brother and his beautiful wife will be welcoming their firstborn into this enormous world in just two short weeks. Or sooner, if baby has anything to say about it. What a silly comment, considering that newborns (unborns, especially) don't say much in the first place. Never mind, you know what I mean. 


In any case, I am about to become a very proud, glowing Aunt of a perfect little boy. Of course, I've had a good seven-or-so months to ponder this new phase of life, and am pleased to announce that not only am I going to glow and be proud, but I am also going to be the very best Aunt that this world has to offer. 


The thing about being an Aunt is that, much like the child's grandparents, you get to indulge the child without the drag of being a disciplinarian. The difference is that while Grandparents are utterly and endlessly lovable to their grandchildren, Aunties and Uncles are ultra-cool and super-awesome... up until the child reaches about twelve years old. At which point he discovers a mind of his own, and at which point he will begin to disown his family one by one. (Except the Grandparents, of course) 


And so, I've been working on my game plan, on how I'm going to be the best Aunt on the planet, and hopefully prolong my state of awesomeness by a few years perhaps. 


For example, Grandparents give their grandchildren cake and marshmallows and Smarties, which is all very well as far as good old-fashioned sugar highs go. However, I plan on giving him Dracula-teeth-sweets and sour worms. Not only that, but I will ensure that I, too, have some vampire-teeth of my very own, and together we will wreak havoc and terror on the world with our terrifying terribleness. 

I am also not only going to give him his favourite cookies, but we will actually make his favourite cookies, in my very own kitchen. I will ensure that by the end of the exercise, he is covered head to toe with flour and sugar, and giggling like a girl at the silliness of it all. 


I then plan on carrying this giggling sack of potatoes over my shoulder and tossing him into a warm bath filled with bubbles, rubber ducks, and action men, and letting him play until his hands and feet are pruned beyond recognition. We will make soap-bubbles the way my Nana used to make for me. Bath times will be... Epic. 


Judging by the sweets and cookies, you may think I'm going to fatten this child up good and proper, right? No, no, of course not. I'm also going to set him free in our garden. I'll be the Aunt that kicks off my shoes and runs with him. We won't run anywhere in particular, we'll just run and run, until the great, big imagination in that adorable little head of his comes up with some kind of game to be incorporated into our run. And we'll dig up worms, lots of them, into wriggling piles of fun and awfulness. 

And so it goes on... All I want to do is give this little boy as many reasons as possible to love living in this great big world. In light of all that parents do to nurture, protect and love their children, it's the very least that any Aunt can do. 


So, yes. It is possible that I will indeed be the best Aunt ever. Or come darn close in trying. 

Why Babies are Awesome

The other night I was searching for pictures for my latest blog, and after stumbling across some legendary images on google, I have concluded that babies are awesome. Simple. Non-negotiable fact.


Just for a bit of fun :-)

Pull a face at someone, play with your food, live without abandon, and have a great day!