I have been spending waaaaay too much time hunting for little  nappy icons. I can’t help myself, this is my fourth hunt and once you start it’s very easy to become hooked.

I am neglecting all of my other duties. My children are getting around unwashed and unfed (well, not quite but it’s just lucky I have Beefcake). I have sore swollen hands from click, click, clicking my mouse looking for that tiny nappy. It is not compatible with arthritis.

Speaking of arthritis, I had my Rheum appointment. As I suspected would be the case, my x-rays showed a normal pelvis. Okay, not normal exactly but there were no signs of arthritic change. You can see marked asymmetrical separation of the pelvic bones, which I suppose is a validation of sorts but it didn’t stop me from bursting into tears. If there is nothing concrete to treat then my problem remains untreatable, you see. I feel desperately low at the thought of having to go on like this indefinitely. I feel very lucky that my Rheum takes my pain very seriously.

The plan of action is as follows:

• Stay on arthritis drug that hasn’t yet worked as it still may start to have an effect.
• Have an MRI to have a better look at my pelvis.
• Have steroid injections into the joints of my pelvis – this should (in theory) really help.
• Start a new and very toxic (actually used for chemotherapy) drug to see if that also helps.

It feels good to have a plan in place but I am also a bit sad. The new drug is most definitely not compatible with breastfeeding. I have allocated two weeks to wean Grub before I start taking it. She is doing ok. She is at two feeds a day and so far I have been able to put her off when she asks for other feeds. I am trying to drop the first thing in the morning feed but I have to admit that I am struggling. I keep looking into her sweet face and thinking there are so very few feeds left. I don’t want to tell her no. I know it’s best to gradually wean over these two weeks but I actually feel like I want to fit in as many feeds as possible before it comes to an end. That must sound so silly but she is my last baby and…… I will miss it.

Well, because I am now bawling I think that’s all I have to say.

There are still nappies to find.

I’ve written a few posts this week but when it came time to take the big leap and press the publish button I just, well, couldn’t.

It feels as though I should have something monumental to say.

This was the week that saw me finally tell my mother that I would not be around for her anymore. I just reached the end of my tether.

It should have been a big drama. It should have created big emotional turmoil for me. Or something.

I do feel a quiet kind of sadness that comes from knowing what our relationship has come to but I know. I know that it is what needs to be right now. Maybe not forever but for now.

So I haven’t been able to blog anything this week. Just because.

—————-

Yesterday was blood test/x-ray day. They took two bajillion viles of blood (they were fasting bloods I might add so I was already dizzy prior to the event) and tried to peer under my skin from all sorts of angles. The x-rays were just of my hands and wrists for the moment. They hurt very badly these days – meaning I literally can’t scratch myself. My hands being as they are was the deciding factor in getting a doctor to pay attention, I think. There are days when it is extremely painful to type.

It is great knowing that we might finally get some answers to what the heck is actually going on with my stupid bod. On the other hand I am terrified that they will not find anything. If they don’t find anything I don’t know what I will do.

—————-

We were waiting in the car today, Grub, Pudding and I. Beefcake had to just whiz into the bank for a minute. Pudding spied a shaft of light  refracted through some glass. The rainbow it created on my car seat excited him, as rainbows always do.

Pudding: “It’s a rainbow Mummy, look, look!”

Me: “Ooh yes that’s lovely”

Pudding: “Muuuum, you’re not looking at it, look at it now, it’s changing, look, LOOOOOk!!!”

Me: “Yes Pudding, it’s a lovely rainbow.”

Pudding: “Mummy, is there a unicorn buried in your chair?”

Me: “????, ummmm, is there a unicorn buried in my chair?”

Pudding: “Yes, they bury gold in there, is he in there burying the gold under the rainbow in your chair?”

Beefcake now back: “You mean a leprachaun?”

Pudding: “Yeeeess (much eye rolling), a lepacon. Mummy is he IN YOUR CHAIR??!”

Me: “Ah yes, there’s a leprachaun buried in my chair, Pudding.”

——————

Both kids have had a slight temp again the last couple of days. Grub’s temp was 40 degrees when I got her out of bed after her nap.

I’m really hoping that’s all over tomorrow.

Now it’s time for a glass of wine. Oh yes indeed.

————

Ooh perhaps you can help- female 40th birthday presents. I have a friend’s party to go to on Saturday and I am a terrible gift buyer. Any suggestions?

Mastitis.

Just to really stick it to me, my right breast is red and swollen and burning hot thanks to a bite I recieved as a parting gift from Grub at bedtime last night.

Because, you know, the universe was worried it hadn’t fucked with me enough.

I feel like death but actually surprisingly cheerful for someone whose right tit looks like exploding.

It’s the sunshine. I can’t stay mad at the universe when the sun is shining.

Also, the Grub, despite feeding like a rabid piranha, is soooooooo cute at the moment.

She came out with a new word today which illustrates just beautifully that she is a [insert surname here].

“Bum”. Clear as a bell, perfectly articulated, on demand.

She’s one of us. Only just 15  months old today and she’s saying “bum”. That’s my girl.

Also, operation sleep-in-own-bed is going well, really well.

So, despite the mastitis, and the pelvis and my thumb and other assorted maladies, fuck you right back universe!

I win.

The birthday party yesterday was quite fun. I dressed Grub up like a dolly in her special new birthday skirt and her birthday shoes along with a white designer t-shirt (that was given to her recently and I put on her because I was afraid we would never have occasion to wear it otherwise – playgroup and expensive designer labels just don’t go that well together).

She looked exceptionally prettiful.

This is her in birthday outfit showing Beefcake that she had found one of Pudding’s battle chopsticks. She was pleased.

Then there is this one of her having had a little stack in the kitchen. Note pretty birthday shoes. Stylish with first class ankle support. Just what you want. As you can see, Pudding had been “helping” me with the cake decorating.

Here is the cake. A bumble bee for a busy bee of a girl. I think it turned out quite nicely, despite any assistance I may have had. Regular guests at our family birthday parties are accustomed to these creations of mine. Sometimes they are more successful than others. This is a very successful one. Make of that what you will. I will just say that Rhubarb has had both an accidental gay pride pirate ship and a wizard’s hat that made everyone have green poo so on a sliding scale the bee is an outright masterpiece. Talented, I am.

Finally, the grub:

Despite the fact that she quite liked the flouncy skirt (and kept showing it to people) she is, I fear, not the kind of girl to eschew dirty and dangerous activities in favour of sitting about and looking like a pristine china doll. She spent half of the day attempting to climb the slide and the other half banging things with a toy hammer and playing in mud. Oh well. She likes dollies too so I suppose it all balances out.

Off now to continue what has been an absolute fail day as far as healthy diet goes. The leftover brownies and cake and lollies have called to me and I have not let them go unanswered. I figure I may as well continue on this way and start afresh tomorrow. Better to get it all out of the way now. You know, so I won’t be tempted tomorrow.

I would like to be able to say that today was a brownie free day.

I would, truly I would.

I can’t lie though. Today was not entirely brownie free. I had just one brownie although I am planning that tonight will not be entirely custard free if Beefcake drags himself away from his most demanding mistress (his laptop) and gets his bum into the kitchen to make it for me.

I have reasons, I have reasons.

Poor little Grub develped a fever yesterday evening. My children are very good at spiking bizarre and unexplained temparatures that appear while you have your back turned and then disappear with as much mystery.  Unfortunately poor Grub still has a fever. She has no other obvious symptoms, she is perhaps slightly snotty, her eyes are a bit swollen but there is really nothing  obviously wrong with her apart from a fever and the fact that she will not allow me to put her down. At all. Even to go to the toilet. She has suffered a cuddle from Beefcake a couple of times throughout the day but only for a few minutes. She is not a happy little possum.

In addition to poor Grub’s clinginess and constant breastfeeding (which incidentally meant that I had an eleven month old sleeping ON me all night) Pudding made a late night visit to our bed and insisted on staying. I won’t pretend this is unusual, particularly at the moment, ever since we told him that we were moving he has been making regular trips to our bed and staying. Last night was particularly nice though because he had a little accident in our bed. He hasn’t wet the bed in some time but naturally the perfect time would be in our bed when we already have a sick baby situation.

Now, if you will, imagine that there had been a leaky nappy incident the previous night and you had been too lazy rushed off your feet to wash the resulting dirty linen and what you have is a sheet load (ba doom boom) of uriney washing. The laundry was hip deep with pissy linen and p.j’s. And the nappies were already in the washing machine. Then, for good measure, just throw in the fact that Pudding did not go back to sleep immediately after the peeing incident this morning but instead lay awake in our bed muttering and singing softly to himself while I held Grub and listened to the dulcet tones of the garbage truck trawling down our street and you will see.

You will see that I have been in a shitful mood all day and have had to plaster a grin on my face and pretend to thrill in preparing lunch and caring for the preschooler with a very grumpy and sooky baby welded to my hip because Beefcake has lots of very important and urgent work to do and cannot be interrupted.

This is the downside of having him here all of the time, I fear. I feel like he should be at my beck and call and similarly, his employers feel that he should complete some of the tasks they have allotted to him. Quite the dillemna. Given that we have just bought a new mortgage it seems that the worky things will have to win for the time being. Nevermind, he goes on leave for more than a week as of next Wednesday so I will be sure to get my money’s worth during that period.

Where was I?

Oh yes, brownies and custard. I am deserving, yes?

So, um, we agreed on a price with the vendors.

The house is ours.

This is fantastic, fantastic news except that the banks are all very brow furrowy and head shakey when it comes to considering Beefcake’s foreign income.

We are pushing ahead regardless. We have  a three week finance clause in our contract. We are convinced that if we wish hard enough our mortgage broker will be able to pull it off. The reality is that he may be able to pull it off with a few tweaks here and there that will leave us utterly poverty stricken for the next 35 years.

I’m sure it will work out, right?

Yes.

Look.

A baby.

A baby who can now walk quite well by the way. She’ll be ten months old next week and she is scarily mobile. Also falls over a lot. She got her last central incisor on Easter Sunday. She now has six toothy teeth. And a cute topknot tuft of hair at her crown. Such a big girl. Beefcake tells me several times a day that she is actually a toddler now but he is a moron. She is a baby.

At least, no matter what happens with the house, we have her*.

*And the others of course, I wasn’t meaning to discount them but you know, the photo is of her – and mmmmmm babies.

It is so hectic around here all the time these days.

On the one hand I have Rhubarb. He is the very essence of thirteen. He is moody and sensitive and temperamental. He is sweet and loving in moments but the TAAM never seems to be far below the surface. I teased him this evening that every single utterance he makes seems to be a cliché of teengageness, his response was “Whatever, Mum”. I couldn’t stop laughing. We all know all of the stereotypical teenage moody and sullen behaviours. I knew what to expect except yet I am shocked daily by the sudden, awful reality of it.

I have a distinct feeling of helplessness. I want to knock on his skull and ask if he is actually in there. There is just no logic to it, I could say something teasingly to him in the morning and incite a stream of moans and muttering and yet find the same thing would be a fun joke to share in the afternoon. I don’t know whether I am coming or going. It requires supreme patience and I can see so clearly how we could lose our grip, how he could become a complete stranger to us if we are not careful to keep some lines of communication open.  I think in this I have to have some faith that he is the boy I know, that he will remain so at his core as long as we can keep things in his life reasonably even.

I am decidedly paranoid that I will do something horrifically wrong at some crucial age and send him spiraling off into an abyss of delinquency. We will just try and do the right thing and hope that we make it out the other end of this teenage thing intact.

At the other end of the spectrum, I have a nine-month-old baby who has decided that she is ready to walk. She is most definitely not ready to walk, in my opinion. She is not psychologically ready for the reality of being that far from the ground and the physical aspect should be beyond her as well. Her balance is horrific. This does not deter her. She cruises the furniture at lightening speed now, she has taken up to two steps independently. Today she is nine months and two weeks old. This is far from reasonable. She is too short for one thing.

I have had two other children walk prior to ten months of age. It is not funny. I may have to fashion a baby helmet and padding for her because as it stands she is a danger to herself and others. The kind of danger she can get into while standing doesn’t bear thinking about. She tried to climb a large bookshelf the other day. She has also developed a passion for trying the various taste sensations that are to be found around the floor of our immaculately kept home. She seems to like things ’seasoned’ with dust and lint. She tried to take a large bite of the dog this evening, repeatedly. The dog likes to roll around in all manner of crap in the back yard. She is not a culinary delight.

Poss has been claiming illness all week. We believed her on Monday, thinking that she was coming down with our cold. This failed to happen. We sent her to school on Tuesday. Today she managed to pull out a temperature at breakfast time and Beefcake was forced to send her back to bed with her ‘tummy ache’. She has seemed fine all day. I suspect that she is fine but I have been wrong before and I do not wish to again retrieve a vomiting child from school under the accusing glare of the receptionist, who already knows we are bad parents.

Pudding is being his usual boisterous and vibrant self. This evening, whilst he demonstrated some new ‘moves’ atop Grub’s cot, we shared this:

P: “Mummy, you and Daddy are my parents”

Me: “Yes darling we are”

P: “I am very clever”

Me: “Yes you are”

P: “I am also funny”

Me: “You are funny”

P: “A poo comes out of a bum, ha!”

Me: Laughing more at his uproarious laughter than the actual ‘joke’ because really, poo has been done – “Oh you are hilarious”

Beefcake: “And you are very strong”

Pudding: “Yes, I know, and I have power.”

Things tick along with all of us. I wonder sometimes how I can do them all justice, they all pull me in such different directions. The volume and variety of children in our house leaves me a  bit torn sometimes.

In what directions are you being pulled?