So Close

T-25 to 36C

Just to let you know there is GREAT excitement in the Tertia household – we have 25 more sleeps until Rose has her breast reduction. She is so sweet, she went out and bought two new sexy bra’s yesterday in size 36C, which is the size we’ve decided she should be. Not too small because big’ish boobs very much part of her culture, but small enough to suit her small frame. She tried on a few of my bra’s (I am either a 34C or a 36C) and the size seems to fit her pretty well.

Once again, thank you so much to everyone who helped Rose achieve her dream. A big thanks to Boulder for collecting the funds and to my brother who arranged the transfer of funds from the USA to the UK through to SA, and for adding in even more money than he already had donated to make up some of what we lost due to levies and fees. Thanks to you all we managed to collect around $2600! (after deductions etc) Isn’t that fantastic.

I’ll remind you just before she goes in for her operation and if you’d like, you can send her a good luck message and I will print it out for her.

I think the babies are going to miss her breasts, they love resting their heads against them or patting them. They pat things they like. They pat her breasts a lot.

Faking it

I don’t know if you ever have this feeling, maybe you don’t, but sometimes I get this flash of insecurity about myself, a moment of self-doubt that says “maybe I’m not really this competent, maybe I am actually not that clever / good at my job / good at this mothering thing. Maybe I am just faking it and sometime soon someone is going to find me out and expose my lack of competence”. 

It happens far less than it used to, when I was younger I had many more of those moments. As I get older I realize that I am actually quite damn good at what I do, and that part of growing is stretching yourself to do new things, things that you might not be that competent in initially. This applies especially in the workplace where it is so much easier to stay in your comfort zone, where changing jobs, or taking promotions means you have to keep learning and exposing yourself to new challenges.

In as far as being mother to twins goes, I’ve had quite a few of these moments of self-doubt, especially in the beginning. At times I’ve felt like a real fake. Compared to many mothers (and especially mothers of twins), I have it easy, I have Rose. I have to do far less than so many others do, and when people remark to me that it must be hard mothering two babies, I feel like a liar and fake because in reality my life is actually so fantastically wonderful. I almost wait for the tap on the shoulder to say ‘hey, we all know you aren’t really that good at mothering twins, you have help’.

And then I have moments like this morning, when both Marko and Rose are out for most of the day, and it’s just me and the babes. And I did wonderfully well in my role as mother to twin babies. The downside of having someone as wonderful and switched on as Rose is that I am seldom alone with the babies, and I miss that. I want to feel what it is like to be just me and them. Rose is completely unobtrusive, before I met Rose I was worried that having someone in my house all the time would be uncomfortable, but Rose fits in like family. She is totally comfortable here and we are totally comfortable having her here. But it is nice to be alone with the babies, to have a chance to play real mom and to have to do it all by myself. 

Don’t be mistaken, I am not saying I don’t think I am a good mom, I know I am. Or that I am saying I don’t want Rose around or that I don’t appreciate having help – Rose is my sanity saver and my hero, it was just nice to have that moment this morning when I realized that no matter what, no matter how much help I have, I am their mother, and I am actually damn good at it.

 

Factory Closure

A dear friend of mine, the wonderful Janine, sister to my partner in crime Belinda, wife to the incredibly talented Scott, tentatively announced her pregnancy this week (tentatively because she skates very closely to the infertile line and has lost four babies already). Instead of the normal pang I get when I hear a pg announced (MUCH less of a pang when it is your (infertile) friend obviously), I feel decidedly nauseous. In fact, abject fear might have been closer to the truth.

I am not sure whether the first few weeks / months of motherhood scarred me permanently (I found it really tough), or whether I am just totally ‘done’, but I know now that I most definitely do NOT want another baby.

Its funny, because I always thought I would have as many kids as I could have (fertility allowing), instead I live in fear of accidentally falling pg. I know, I know – chances are miniscule of that happening (when you ovulate ONCE a year, chances are pretty slim that you will have sex on that day AND that you will get pg) but you never know.

And so I’ve decided to close down the factory, at least temporarily. I am having the Mirena fitted in a week’s time. I am actually so relieved to have made the decision. I really do not want another baby, not now, probably not ever.

Do you think I will feel like this forever? Those of you who went on to have more kids, did you feel like I do now, when the baby was 9 months and then change your mind? I keep wondering whether I will change my mind and want another, but the way I feel now, I really don’t think I will. I also want to know whether I should get rid of my baby stuff or keep it.

I’ve heard v good things about the Mirena. I hope it wont turn me into a (even bigger) bitch like the pill does.

Anyway, factory closed for now, perhaps forever, but definitely for now.

Feels weird, but it also feels right.

Poll Explanation

Miss me, assholes?

I need to explain the poll question in a bit more detail.

What I want to know is, if by accident your partner dialled your number from his cell phone, and he/she didn’t know – i.e. you could hear their conversation and they didn’t realize – would you listen in on that conversation? Or would you hang up?

Just to make it interesting, lets say that when this happened your partner was out for a few drinks with his/her friends.

I’d hang up. I don’t want to hear things that I can’t ever unhear. I am a bit ‘head in the sand’ but I really don’t want to know / hear every thing. Marko would definitely listen in for a bit. I asked him what he would do.

What would you do?

Project X

This is going to sound completely fucked up. I realized the other day that there is something I miss about the whole IVF run-around I went through. And before you cart me off to the loony bin or accuse me of being secretly in love with my Dr (which is actually no secret at all ;-) ), let me explain.

Most of infertility is completely fucking terrible. Horrible beyond compare. But there was a part of it that perfectly suited an odd little quirk of mine, and that is that it became a project, an obsession, a calling if you will. I did infertility with passion, with commitment, with addiction. It was my life, my focus, it defined my friends and my (cyber) social life. It became my area of study, my field of expertise. And I was damn good at it. It was horrible, it was terrible, but it was my project.

And now that project is finished, and I find myself at a bit of a loss for my next project.

I realized that I love having projects – I need projects. I need to obsess about something, to focus on something, to study it, became good at it. I am ever so slightly obsessive compulsive, just ever so slightly.

I’ve had projects around gym’ing and dieting – and I’ll end up looking like Anorexic Barbie because I go completely overboard.

The problem is that my projects are not always wholesome. I’ve had some bad (but omg, what a lot of fun) projects.

I need a new project. And yes, the babes are my priority, of course they are, but they aren’t a project as such, they are a lifetime thing. A forever thing. They don’t meet the requirements of being a project (a total immersion to the point of obsession on something for a fixed period of time).

No, I need a project. And I need one quickly. Or else I will end up with a project that might not be v good. And when I am bad, I am v bad.

(Luckily for me, I might just have a project coming up that could be v v v good. I am meeting someone on the 4^th Nov to discuss it. I’ll fill you in then. V exciting stuff! Watch this space.)

BRB

Away on business, back tom (Fri)

xx

Happy Birthday Dylan!!

Wednesday is cousin Dylan's birthday.  He is a very fast runner and a very good climber.  He is also very strong.  He lives all the way in Tanzania with his sister Amber and his mommy and daddy.  His cousins miss him very much.

Happy birthday big boy, Adam and Kate send their love.

Big kiss from
Tertia and Marko, Adam and Kate
xxx

Queen for a day

Belinda – she of the (still) no car fame – and I were chatting on the way home from work, as we do, and we decided that we would do a much better job of running this country, nay, the whole world, than the incumbent rulers do.

We started off fairly sedately in our revolution of the rule – things like a four-day working week, flexitime for those who choose it, increased pay, more holidays etc, but we decided why stop there.

In our future view of the country, all wine farms would be state owned and it would be essential to spend at least half your day sipping Chardonnay / Sauvignon Blanc in summer and perhaps a nice Pinot Noir in winter. No one would have to cook, ever. Unless of course you wanted to. In which case of course you could do that. (Belinda likes to cook, I hate it)

We, Belinda and I, wouldn’t work. We’d be paid lots for holding this very responsible position, but we wouldn’t actually do any real work. Unless drinking wine is work, we’d be doing a lot of that. Which is actually work if you own a wine farm (which we would) – because you couldn’t be shipping out any old crappy wine, you’d need to taste it to make sure it was ok before you sent it out.

We’d also ban thin, pretty people. They’d have to wear headscarves and eat donuts all the time. In fact fat would be the new thin. 

No one would be allowed to drive slowly in our lane. We’d have our own lane. And we’d drive as fast as we wanted. 

We’d ban big stupid slow trucks from the road. They’re just irritating and they make stinky smoke. Trucks would only be allowed to be on the road when we weren’t using it.

Unless they were wine trucks. In which case they would be allowed to use the road any time they wanted to. 

We’d also form alliances with obscure countries who have lovely beaches. We’d ask them to build a nice beach house for us and we would do president swaps – we’d go stay on their island and they could come stay in our country for a bit. We’d ask that there are no thin pretty people on the beach when we go there. And that there be cocktails. Served by handsome chaps with no shirts on. No wine. When in Rome you need to drink cocktails, or so the saying goes.

We’d have long lunches every day and invite all our girlfriends over. We’d drink wine and have fun. 

Afternoon naps would be compulsory. Any one who made a noise during afternoon naptime would be locked in jail and made to press grapes. 

We’d be happy, fun rulers.  We would insist on having happy, fun people in our country. If people weren’t happy and fun we’d ban them from coming out their houses. We don’t want no sad sack people spoiling our day.

But mostly we’d just sit on the veranda of our wine farm, admiring the view, sipping our wine while we sign important documents and talk on the cell phone to other rulers. We’d send them boxes of wine as gifts and schedule time in each other’s beach houses. They’d love us and want to be our BFF. 

Really, I think the world would be a much better place if we ran it. 

Want to hear about my children’s pooping habits?

Phew, been a hectic last 24 hours, wept yesterday when I wrote the post about Ben, wept when I received a beautiful email from husband about it this morning (so beautiful), and wept again when I read your comments. So no more weeping for today. Eyes burny and sore. On to some light stuff.

I really feel for people who choose to live childfree (and even more so for those poor souls who have no choice) and who have to socialize with people with kids and be subjected to stories about what Johnny did all the time. I mean lets face it; your kids are a LOT cuter and more adorable to you than to other people.

My poor darling friend M came to visit yesterday. M and her husband T have decided not to have kids (so far, it is not written in stone). M is the only one of us G&D group of friends that I have written about that does not have kids. 

Whereas in the past we could sit and bond quietly over a glass of wine, we now have to juggle two very noisy babies, peering at each other over a bouncing head, picking up dropped sippy cups, wiping up puke etc. (We still had that glass of wine though, one must maintain certain levels of decorum.)

I suppose being a former infertile, I am very aware of what it must be like for people with no kids, so I am v conscious about not going on and on about my kids (which is damn hard cos you know, my kids are so flipping cute and adorable.  And clever.)

Anyway, so I really did try and not spend hours telling them about the latest cutest trick the babies could do (although I will confess to making Adam clap handies and Kate doing the babababa thing), but then I absolutely cracked up when I heard Marko talking to them.

(am laughing my ass off just thinking about it)

I went to do something and as I came back I heard Marko telling my friend’s husband T something about the kids’ pooping habits and that Adam was constipated. Hysterical! The poor bugger. He (T) politely asked ‘but how do you know if he is constipated’ – and then (oh the shame) I proceeded to tell him how one would know (hard stool, lots of pressing, not regular – just in case you wanted to know). I then sheepishly said “ha ha – pooping is a big thing when you have babies, it becomes a bit of a health check”. (And it’s true! The first thing I ask Rose when I come home is ‘how was your day’, then ‘how long did they sleep and did they make a poo’)

It was actually so cute, a real nice moment for me to hear Marko talk about Adam poo’ing – we’ve come a long way, Marko and I. From years of infertility and here we are, telling our friends all about our kid’s pooping habits. What a special moment – hahahaha!

So dear M and T – sorry about that! Didn’t mean to regale you with stories about poop. And T – sorry about the puke on your pants, hope it comes out ok. 

LOL. Funny.

Supporting others, supporting myself

When Ben was born, in the few days he was with us, I searched the Net frantically for any stories of hope. I read up frantically on brain bleeds, on CP, on apnoea and bradycardia, on PDA’s, on his chance of survival, on his chance for any type of normal life. It was a frantic, desperate search for any help or support I could get.

Along the way I came across SA Preemies, a support group for parents of preemies in South Africa. I joined them and they gave me wonderful support. Then Ben died. And I had nowhere to go. It was then that I met Sheena, a fellow preemie mom whose beautiful preemie daughter had died.  The two of us became the core of a support system for people who had lost their preemie babies. It was a small group, as South Africa is not a big Internet community. 

It helped me tremendously to give support to other people. It helped in my healing. 

However, it is becoming increasing hard for me to be that support person, or even to receive the news of other preemies lost. I know people think it would be easier for me to deal with the loss of Ben now that I have Adam and Kate, but instead it’s harder. Seeing how much they love and laugh, how they grow and develop every day, loving them so much, it makes me ache for the child of mine who will never get to experience that. It is physically painful for me to think that Ben will never laugh from his belly when I swing him around, or get excited when he sees his daddy. All these little things that Adam and Kate do every day make me realize how much little Ben has lost, and how much I have lost through his passing. 

I can’t go there any more, I can’t see and hear other stories of preemies without a physical ache in my soul. 

I want to withdraw myself as the support person, but more than that, I want to be taken off the email list. I feel terrible about this, but I can’t handle hearing the sad news of preemies lost, and to be honest, I find it hard to read the wonderful stories of preemies who have made it. 

However, I am very torn. A part of me says that I am being unfaithful to Ben’s memory by removing myself from the group. Logically I know that is not true, but I am scared that people will interpret it as such. The only way he lives on is in my memory, and his father’s and family. And your memories as well. I don’t want him forgotten about, or not spoken about.

I don’t want to “move on” – please don’t say it, don’t even think it. You will never “move on” from the death of your child. Ever. Just as that child is from your flesh, just as that child owns a piece of your heart, their loss will always leave a hole that no other child can fill. Children are not replaceable or interchangeable. So it’s not about moving on. But it’s also not about wanting to live in that sad place forever, no, it’s not that. 

I think it’s about not having to brave about the raw spot. I don’t want to be brave about it, I want to be focus my energies on just me and my family. I feel as if the energy it took for me to be brave has worn out, I need to not have to be strong for others. Maybe not forever, but for now. 

So, I am going to ask them to withdraw me as the support person, and to be taken off the email list. It makes me sad though. It seems to be so symbolic in a way that makes me sad. 

It’s very hard. I miss him so very very much. My first-born. My special son. Wish you were here with me, my boy. Love you deeply. With all my heart. Mommy’s little boy.