So Close

Apparently I am not Super Woman

Hmm, apparently I am not Super Woman and I can't simply go from zero to hero in 2,5 seconds.  My physical and hormonal recovery is taking a little longer than I would have liked (i.e. longer than 5 minutes).  Have hit a few 'wobblies' the past few days.  This morning I cried for 30 minutes because Marko forgot to take the dustbins out for dustbin collection morning.  I woke up from a deep sleep (dreaming that one of my favourite ED recipients did a DE IVF cycle using a bird (??) as a surrogate.  She got a positive beta with the bird, but then Marko accidentally killed the effing bird, leaving me absolutely devastated. I sobbed and sobbed about the surro bird).  Anyway, woke up out of a deep sleep to hear the dustbin men coming down the road.  Ran outside and tried to lug two super heavy wheely bins to the road, nearly rupturing my C section scar.  Then cried my eyes out about it.  Sigh.  These hormones are a bitch.  Plus as my dear mother reminded me yesterday, 'you've just had a major operation Tertia, and you are not 16 anymore'.  Thanks mom ;-)

I am trying to take it easy, but it is not easy dealing with the hormone withdrawal, the c section recovery, the twins AND a new baby.  Plus I tend to suffer from pre, mid and post natal anxiety.  Which makes it impossible for me to chill.  I get hyper and the more hyper I get, the more anxious I get.  I knew I had to have a sleep yesterday, but I lay there as stiff as a board, mind racing until I have up and took a sedative thingy.  Any other anxiety sufferers got any tips for me? I am on Cipramil, which obviously helps, and I am not keen to take other meds as I have SUCH an addictive personality that I will probably get addicted to them, but I also don't want to burn out and telling me to 'just relax' is about as constructive and useful as telling as a dying man to 'just pull yourself together'.  Don't you think we would do it if we could! 

Anywayyyyyyyyy, besides the now-dead surro bird, the weeping over the dustbins and the diminished sleep, we are all still doing well.  Max is a sweetheart, the kids are so sweet with him.  Especially Adam.  Adam has such a soft heart.  He keeps whispering to me "Mom, I really like your baby".  I want to melt. I keep reminding him that Max is *our* baby, not mine.  Kate took a photo of Max to school today so show her friends.  Sweetness.

So, I want to tell you about the C section, plus share some amazing photos the Paed took during the Section - you want to see? Or is that gross?  It's quite graphic, so not sure you want to see?  Let me know if you want to see / hear and I will do a post on it.  I will put a warning up so that if you dont want to read / see, you can click away.

I am off to take some Rescue Remedy. 

Hostage to the Hormones

Apart from that whole infertility / crappy eggs / miscarriage thing, the good thing about having PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome) is that I seldom get my periods.  Only a few times a year.  Which means that I very rarely suffer from PMS. I get perhaps an afternoon of either wanting to kill my husband, or wanting to weep at anything / everything.  Which could, or could not be related to the PMS, but I hardly 'suffer' from PMS at all. However, I have seen it affect people close to me, and it sucks.

My best friend (Friend Mel) and my sister (Sister Mel) both suffer terribly from PMS, as in very, very bad.  I can see they are not making this stuff up as they go from normal, skippy, happy to almost suicidal.  I feel really sorry for both of them, it must be terrible to suffer like that.

Apart from the lack of PMS, I was also really fortunate not to suffer from the affects of the fertility hormones.  I never went completely crazy on them, no Wicked Witch behaviour from me.  And in my six previous pregnancies, I was lucky enough to escape the Hormone Monster as well.

Well, have things changed this time around. This time around, I get a taste of what it must be like for those who suffer from PMS / hormone thingies.  And honestly? I feel incredibly sorry for you, because this sucks donkey's balls.

I am both amazed and horrified at how hormonal I am, seriously.  Today I wept and wept because Marko hadn't fixed Max's room yet, and clearly no one cared about me or Max and for all they cared, I could go into labour this very minute and have NOTHING ready*.  I felt desperately sorry for myself and had to go lie down on my bed for a bit as I was so upset.  PATHETIC!  I dont recognize myself. In fact, as I am having my meltdown / temper tantrum, I have an almost 'out of body' experience.  I can see and hear how absolutley over the top I am being, but I have no way of stopping myself. It's actually really scary.  I honestly don't recognize myself.

I am shitting myself for when Max arrives (I haven't forgotten how scary newborns are), but honestly, I am not sure I can live with myself much longer.  Deeply asshole'ish behaviour in the extreme.

* Everyone keeps asking me if my bag is packed and ready to go to the hospital, which is freaking me out because the answer is a definite no!  Firstly, I dont have a bag. Secondly, I am currently using / wearning all the things (PJs etc) I need for hospital and lastly, Max's things (nappies, bottles etc) are all still in boxes. I am starting to panic. In fact, I will get this sorted out tomorrow. Fuck. Back sore! This is how labour started last time. I CAN'T GO INTO LABOUR NOW, I DON'T HAVE MY BAG PACKED! 

It's hard work being this high maintenance. 

The Tertia Version of Alone Time

Got to the guest house at 12:30.  Worked solidly for 8.5 hours (butt was v sore from sitting), stopping only to pee (10 times), have a few of my snacks* at the desk and have a little sip or two of the wine).  Wash, go to bed.  Get up three times to pee.  Wake up at 5:50, make coffee, sit down at laptop and continue working.

I've had a good time in that I got lots of work done, but the scary thing is, I am not even close to being done.  All I have done is caught up, I have done any of my strategic planning stuff.  Oh well, at least I made a big dent into the backlog. I should actually make this a regular thing. Lessons the anxiety tremendously.

I had a pathetic little moment before bed time where I was all 'boo hoo, I miss my family', but I had a stern talking to myself and said "TERTIA!  Don't be ridiculous, you saw them this morning, you will see them tomorrow morning, get a grip, you fartbag".  I felt a bit better after that.

*My eyes were obviously much bigger than my stomach (which, bearing in mind the size of my belly, is a BIG thing) and I couldn't manage half the stash of snacks.  Never mind, they wont go to waste, I will eat them at home.  Except the wine, of course. And the sushi. That I managed to force down. 

Alone time off to a slightly rocky start

So, the day of the Great Alone Time getaway dawned bright and early this morning. All started off well, kids off to school with minimal fuss, a quick shop for supplies for family and back home to back my bag.  Then I got a phone that threw me into a total spin.  Work crisis stuff.  Had to take two rescue remedy pills to try get heart back from throat into chest.

Nipped off for quick pedi and wax.  Wont do that again as uterus does not like the half reclining position for too long, complained like hell.  From now on, only 30 min appointments.

Popped into Woollies to get snacks for Alone Time.  Spend equivalent of 50% of rate I paid for accommodation on snacks and yummy things. What can I say, I like to snack well.

Got to guest house.  Not exactly what I would have wanted.  A bit small and um, not luxurious, but for 450 ront, what do you expect. 

So, here I am, in the small room with freezing feet and already missing the kids, but I am determined to enjoy my time alone!  I have chocolate cookies, chips and dip and a smidgen of wine (conveniently decanted into one of my children's spill proof containers, what a good mother I am). I even bought a magazine in case I magically manage to get through all my emails / work within the next 24 hours.

I *will* have fun, even if it kills me!

PS Pregnancy police, look away or else you will see that there is SUSHI!! and WINE!!! in my snack pack!

Me Time

Why do I find it SO hard to leave my children??? I have been threatening to go away for a night of 'me time' for ages now, but I keep putting it off. What if they miss me?  All they want is for their mom to be close by, how can I deny them that, even if it is just for one night?  

Yes, I am PATHETIC!  (I hate leaving my children)

But I must get away, firstly because I have so much work I would like to catch up on, and secondly because once old Maxi Boy comes, there ain't gonna be any 'me time' for a loooooong time.

So, any one know of a good guest house or B&B in the Cape Town area. I am looking for some place QUIET - very, very quiet. I do not want to see anyone, hear one, speak to anyone.  I don't need super luxury, but I do want sparkling clean and fresh.  Oh, and it can't cost a lot because leaving my kids AND spending a lot of money would be more than I could handle.

Any suggestions? 

(Marko says "but why must you go stay in a guest house? why don't you go stay with your parents for the night?"  You don't understand my darling, when I say I don't want to see, hear or speak to anyone, I mean exactly that - NO ONE. I vont to be alone!)

Have you heard the one about…………

As I am sure most people are, I am v v v busy.  I receive at least 200 emails a day, that’s a lot of emails.  And unfortunately I can’t just ‘delete all’ as about 99% of them are important emails – important in the sense that I need to read them for business or because someone is reaching out to me. 

But the 1% which start with “Have you heard the one about………” or “A MUST READ! WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!” get deleted straight away.  There is nothing that funny, or that motivational that I can afford to waste some of my precious time, so I delete them.  (Those powerpoint ones with all the cute pictures and naff words are my absolute WORST as they are not only a waste of my time, but they are a waste of my bandwidth!!!! Yes, I know, I am a cynical, miserable old hag)

There are a very small handful of people whose jokes and emails I always read because over time I have come to learn that they have exactly the same sense of humour as me.  Not that that is a compliment!!  My brother in law (Sister Mel’s husband) is one. I always read his emails.  And friend Sue H is another.  And I know if Sister Mel bothers to send me something, it is usually good because she also doesn’t do joking emails.  Marko wouldn’t send me any non-urgent stuff because WORK TIME IS FOR WORKING AND SENDING PERSONAL EMAILS IS AGAINST COMPANY POLICY.  (Marko has a real protestant work ethic – he is every bosses dream.  He works harder than anyone I know. He once uninstalled solitaire on all his staff’s PC’s because work time is for working!  I could NEVER work with him! I would either resign or kill him by the end of the first day)

But for the rest – if I have someone who continually sends me non-important (jokes / motivational stuff), then I very politely ask them to stop. But I hate doing that, because I am paranoid I will hurt the person’s feelings.  But it is waste of their time and mine to send me stuff I won’t ever read.

But sometimes I just click on delete and move on to the next email, thankful that person who sent it to me can’t see that I am not reading their stuff.  Except that I sometimes get caught out!

Last night my father asked me whether I got his email the previous day, and as he asked I realized I had, but had deleted it without reading it. I could see by the first line it was a non-serious one and although I usually do read his emails as he is my favourite father, but I am so snowed under at the moment, that I just did not have the time to read it. 

As he looked at me expectantly for my answer, I could feel time slow down to super slow mo, and my brain scrambled for an answer “should I lie and say I read it! Should I lie and say I never received it!” but I am a useless liar, so I stuck to the truth “yes, I did, but I didn’t read it, I deleted it”.  He looked horrified.  “I am sorry dad!”, I stammered, “but I am just so busy!”  He said it is the last time he is sending me anything personal like that.  Thank goodness I am his favourite child, so I know that he still loves me the most (Love you dad, mean it! And Melanie also deletes joking emails without reading them!!)

I just really, really don’t have time to read the non-urgent stuff.  I feel terrible about it, but it is the truth.  My poor sister gets all the Lordy motivational emails – “if you love the Lord, you will forward this email to 17,000 of your best friends”.  (Her response – the Lord knows I love him, he doesn’t need me to spam everyone in my address box to prove it)  Lucky no one even attempts that shit with me. 

How do you handle it?  What do you do if someone keeps sending you jokes / non urgent emails?  Do you ask them to please refrain from doing so? Do you read the emails?  Or do you just delete and hope they won’t ever find out? Or are you one of the culprits who forwards all those joking / motivation / lord loving emails!! Confession time ;-)

Super Sensitive Anxiety Antennae

Everyone gets a little anxious now and then, even the most laid back of folk (oh, how I envy those types), but for some of us, our anxiety antennae is always turned on to Super Sensitive – Highly Receptive.

How to describe it to those who don’t suffer from anxiety….

Ok, you know that feeling you get when you go over a dip in the road?  Or when you are on a roller coaster and it dips suddenly?  Your tummy does a flip flop and drops to the bottom of your body and your heart starts racing. Adrenalin rushes through your body, much like the ‘fight / flight’ response that all humans are programmed to have. 

For most people, once this physical chain of events / feelings happen, it quickly passes by and you return to a state of equilibrium – normal, aware, but without the heightened state.  Which is just as well because staying in that heightened state is exhausting!  Imagine having your tummy in your shoes, your heart racing and adrenalin rushing through your body all the time!

Well, that is what it feels like for anxious types. And yes, it is exhausting. 

I don’t suffer from panic attacks, thank goodness. And my anxiety is not debilitating, but it is exhausting at times.  Most of the time, I like being slightly on edge, I like the buzz – I get a huge amount of stuff done. It is how I manage to do two jobs, write, kids, etc etc.  I like living on the adrenalin, but if I don’t be careful, it gets too much for me. And then my anxiety antennae gets stuck on Super Sensitive.

I’ll give you an example. I listen to the radio, and I hear the presenters talking about the soccer world cup, the 2010 event that South Africa is hosting.  There seems to be a general fear among some in SA that we won’t be ready in time.  Now, some people might listen to this and think ‘who cares’, others might listen to it and think ‘oh shit, that wont be good’.  Still others might stress a little about it, you know, get that little adrenalin surge for a few seconds.  Like me. Except that my surge doesn’t subside.  I start feeling a little anxious. I don’t fret about the stupid World Cup, but the physical side effects of the surge don’t abate.  The anxiety meter rises.  Over the bloody soccer world cup!!!  I don’t even like soccer! 

Then, a car might cut in front of me, nothing serious, but I get another little surge.

Then I look at my inbox and see I have 40 unread emails, and I get more surge.

Then I think about all the people who have emailed me and are waiting for a reply and now must think I don’t like them, and imagine how hurt they must be feeling, they reached out to me and I didn’t even bother responding, and I get more surge.

The news comes on the radio about a child who was abused, I try frantically to switch the radio off because kid stories make my anxiety meter explode, but I am too late, the image is burnt into my conscious.  HUGE SURGE.

And on and on it goes.  It is exhausting! And of course, the more anxious I get, the more my sensory stuff goes ape shit.  I become even more sensitive to noises, heat, textures. By the end of the day my nerves are frazzled. 

Some days are better than others. Actually, most days are good. 90% of the time, I am on the right side of the edge – buzzing, but not strung out.  I am on an excellent AD that helps with anxiety, I am quite revolting when I am not on them. But still, there are some days I am baaaad.  A bit like today.

I wish I could switch it off. Try yoga you say. Try meditation you suggest.  All that relaxing makes me extremely anxious!  THERE IS SO MUCH TO DO!!! THERE IS NO TIME TO BE SITTING AROUND GOING UHHMMMMM. 

Work doesn’t help of course, that adds HUGELY to my anxiety, but at the same time, I love it so much, I don’t think I could ever give it up.  It feeds both parts of me – the good and the bad.

I can feel when it gets too much though.  And then I force myself to step away from what ever I am doing.  And even though my kids can drive me CRAZY sometimes, they are also such a good tonic for me.  I shut my laptop and we all get in the car and go to the park. Or the library. Or anywhere actually.  They force me to stop the world around me and focus just on their simple joy.

Please don’t tell me to ‘just relax’ or to stop being so anxious because it is bad for me / the baby / my kids / my health etc. I know all of that and it just makes me more anxious.  Being anxious is not like smoking, or thinking negative thoughts or picking at a scab. It isn’t something I choose to do, and it isn’t something I can just talk myself out of. I wish I could!  It is something that is chemical, it is something in my make up.  Sure, there is a large mental component, which is why I also go see my absolutely gorgeous and divine shrink, who is the cleverest person alive.  But some people are just wired differently, and I am one of those people.

There are good sides to having a Super Sensitive Anxiety Antennae – I am a lot more sensitive to other people’s feelings, I care deeply (too deeply) about other people, and as I said, most of the time I like it. I like the buzz, the edge.  I like operating at a hundred miles an hour. I detest sitting around doing nothing.  In fact, I suck at sitting around doing nothing, which is why my laptop / cell phone / blackberry are always with me. 

But there are times when even I have to admit that I need to stop, take a deep breath, compose myself and then only carry on.  I can only do so much, I can only care so much about other people / things / emails / jobs / soccer events.  Sometimes I need to just stop the world and get off for a little bit.  And yes, when I do decide to get off, I am not allowed to take my laptop / my cell phone / my Blackberry etc with me. Damn!

Anyway, no real point to this post. Just wanted to share.  (getting bored with this topic now, need to do something else ;-))

Edited to add:  After waking up feeling particularly edgy today, I decided to pop two Rescue Remedy pills and went for a massage. WELLLLLL, I think I have found my cure!  I even fell asleep towards the end!  De-effing-licious. Am thinking about leaving husband for massage therapist. 

(Was tempted to take my laptop with me to massage appointment, thinking ‘can’t waste an hour’ but thought it might be counter productive to have laptop open while getting massaged.  Glad I didn’t.  I do however, take my laptop with me when getting hair done, having a pedi etc. Love that laptop. If I don't marry massage therapist, might marry laptop. Will be tough call between the two. Marko who?)

PS Dad, if you read this, I am fine, promise! (my dad has just started reading my blog, five years after I started writing.  The poor man is not used to reading about my slightly insane side ;-))

Learning to step away

Why is it that we only realize we have completely over-extended ourselves when we crash and burn?  I am starting to learn that I am not superwoman and it’s a tough, painful lesson to learn. 

I thought I was doing so well, I had said no to a few offers and obligations that were taking more than they were giving, and I thought I had pared down my work load to a point where it was manageable. But what I hadn’t factored in was that my obligations are more than points on a To Do list, and even if they were, it is the extenuating circumstances that change them from doable to certifiable. 

Take a full time job, a fast growing business, a recently published book, a blog, an email inbox filled with heartbreaking stories and people needing to reach out, a business trip, two children, a husband, a household to run, a house move to arrange, a mother who is dealing with chemo; and add into the mix the emotions of dealing with infertility (my recipient’s negatives hit me hard this time), the lack of sleep, the hormones and the pregnancy induced physical exhaustion and what you get is crash and burn.  

Today I crashed and burned.  I am tired.  And although I know I need to take a break from everything on my plate, I don’t know how to. Mostly because if I don’t do it, who is going to??  And anyway, the longer I stay away, the more I have to come back to.

I feel almost ashamed to admit that I never take it easy, I never rest. I should be, I am pregnant, I am supposed to be looking after myself, but I work from the time I open my eyes at 6:30am until I can’t keep them open anymore at 11pm. 

I have been saying for over a month that I need to plan a night away by myself. To catch up on everything I have to do, and maybe even to rest.  But I am too busy and tired to plan even a simple night away.

Why is it so difficult for me to just step away?  To close my laptop and say THAT’s IT. 

I think it is because I am used to operating like this – a million things at once, always on the go, but I have underestimated the toll the pregnancy is taking on me. From a physical point of view, and from an emotional / hormonal point of view. Suddenly the negatives and other people’s pain become so much harder to handle. 

But, I’ve just taken a deep breath, two Rescue Remedies and a slice of carrot cake, and I am already feeling a bit better. I think tonight I am going to force myself to close the laptop early, have a lovely bath and go to bed early. 

I am quite sure everything will look much better in the morning.

Privacy, anonymity and your sphincter

This is something I have wanted to talk about for a long time, but haven’t had the time to write up something intelligent.  Unfortunately, it is late and I am tired, so the chances of this being a coherent post are slim, but you will get the gist of it.

The issue I wanted to talk about is privacy on the net.  Well, not privacy as in: here is my bank account number, my ID number and my secret PIN, please help yourself to all my money.  Not that kind of privacy.  Perhaps I am talking more about anonymity.  A bit of a mixture of both.

Oh bloody hell, I should actually wait until I am not tired to write this up, but that might only happen in 3-4 years time.

Let’s start again.

Let’s first talk about anonymity on the net. Like for example, on the bulletin boards.  People have various non-identifying pseudonyms, like TryingForMore, or NYCchick etc. Me? My user name has always been Tertia.  I am about as anonymous as a self-addressed envelope, and I really am totally ok with that. What I have to say anonymously is the same as what I would say openly.  I am who I am, and I feel no need to hide behind anonymity. Not that there is anything wrong with it, if that is what you choose, but I guess I just don’t understand the reason for it? 

I don’t get the whole sphincter-clenching paranoia of revealing info about yourself online.  (Clearly not – see semi-nekkid pic below!)  Let’s take the Facebook example.  I friend everyone who wants to be Facebook friends with me, unless you are clearly a pervert or an asshole.  But otherwise, if our only connection is that you read my blog, then why the hell not be FB friends. You can only read what I choose to put on there and quite honestly if the fact that I had a burger for lunch is going to turn you on / excite you / ignite you or anything else, then good for you.  Yes, you might get to see what my favourite movies are, or what I did last night, but WHO CARES?  Not me. 

Yesterday I posted a Google Map of my house on the Net.  Five years ago, when I just started blogging, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.  But clearly some of your paranoia has rubbed off on me, and two seconds after I posted it, I went back and edited the images to take the coordinates off. 

(As I am busy writing this, a dear blog reader has managed to find the coordinates of my house within 10 minutes. Oh dear.)

Not 24 hours after putting up the post, the comments started from concerned blog readers (actually really sweet of you to be concerned for me! You’re not a bad lot) who were worried about me putting up those pics.

And then I started to worry that maybe I should be worried!  Maybe I should be worried about…………WHAT!  I don’t know!  What will someone do with the information if they know where I live?  Stalk me?  Break into my house?  I don’t know?

Because I blog so openly – you all know my full name, place of work and bra size, if you really wanted to stalk me, you could find me pretty quickly.

So maybe I should worry about that??? But again, what should I be worried about? What is someone going to do with this information? 

Yes, I know, someone impersonated me on the internet recently. Made up an entire life for themselves, based on my story, my photos of my kids etc. But that didn’t freak me out, I actually felt sorry for her. What harm did she do to me directly? None. 

Look, I know I can be pretty naïve.  I will be the first to admit that. My husband wants to KILL me sometimes for how naïve and trusting I am, but quite honestly, I do not see the danger in these issues.

I am far far FAR more concerned about someone breaking into my house, about rape and murder than I am about any internet stalker. Maybe it is because I live in South Africa, a country that has one of the highest crime rates in the world. Maybe because we live behind locked doors and windows, in security estates, with 24 guards patrolling the estate.  Maybe because we have electric fences and guard dogs, laser beams and alarms.

Maybe it is because we live with real danger every day, that we, or at least I, don’t see the threatened danger in this? I don’t know.

I am not sure if the anonymity thing has anything to do with the privacy thing, whether either have any thing to do with posting google maps pics of your house on the Internet.  I am not sure.  These are just thoughts swirling around in my head. 

But I am interested to hear what you think.  Why do you choose to post / blog / comment anonymously?  Why do the google maps of my house make you feel uncomfortable inside?  Why does your sphincter clench when it comes to privacy / anonymity on the Net?  What are you paranoid about? What do you think might happen?

Now:  A little lesson in how to answer the questions above:

The wrong way:

“I think you are very irresponsible to …………”

“well, I would never do XYZ because it is wrong!”

“it is foolish and stupid to put pictures of your house on the internet”

“My way is the only right way, therefore you are wrong and an irresponsible stupid person.”

The right way:

“What would worry me is ………….”

“I choose to do XYZ because I feel ……………”

“These are my fears….”

“you are a magnificent specimen, please let me adorn you with jewels and riches”

Ok, I almost lost this entire post because my computer clearly hates me and everything about me and just crashed. An HOUR after starting it!  Thank fuck it managed to save some of it.  But it really is time for bed, I can’t even see straight anymore. Too tired to spell check, grammar check, offensive check (check to see whether, god forbid, I have unintentionally offended anyone in this post). If I have offended anyone, please accept my apology in advance and unequivocally. Grammar police, take a deep breath and look the other way.

I am going to bed, be gentle. 

Google knows where I live

I don't have pics of the new house (might be a bit odd if I pitched up with a camera while they are still living there), but I did find my house on google.  Here are some pics from above (click on the pics to enlarge them):

My house:
 

My house in relation to my parent's house:

The gorgeous place in which I live - Durbanville.  Beautiful weather, beautiful surroundings and we even have our own wine route!!!  I *heart* living here.  Wonderful place to bring up kids (and not just because of the wine-on-tap)