Wednesday, 25 June 2008

Laughter is the Best Medicine

Tiger, Mr TC and I were watching a documentary on lions. They started to mate, I sat there and started to laugh, because I'm soooo mature. Tiger was like "What! What are they doing? Mum ... what are they doing?" The couch started shaking, I was laughing so much. Exasperated, Tiger gave up on me and asked Mr TC. "Dad. What are the lions actually doing?"

Mr TC didn't miss a beat. "Wrestling."

I. Lost. It. Almost fell of the couch with laughter. Tiger was pissed off. "WHAT? What's so FUNNY?"

Telling that story to my sister Tee recently, I got reminded (yet again) that we are so very related.

Tee: "Oh mate ... I hear you. Walking around Seaworld a few months ago, we came to the meercat enclosure. They were all f*cking, so I started laughing and told ...."

Me: "Wait - what? They were all f*cking? What, like an orgy?"

Tee: "Yeah, ha - so I told everyone to have a look ..."

Me: "No seriously ... was it really a meercat swingers party? Was there any girl on girl action too? Some funky seventies music?"

Tee: Laughing "Actually, I believe I saw .... I saw .... HAHAHAHAHAH"

Me: "What!? What did you see?"

Tee: Whispering "I saw a tiny bowl on the table, with all of their tiny meercat-swinging keys in it!"

Much, much laughter. I couldn't believe the conversation we were having. It got better.

Tee: "So I told everyone to look at them all, and Tomcat (Tees 6-year old son) saw them and said mum, mum, what are they doing?"

Me: "Ok I'm loving how you felt the need to point out to everyone - including the children - the meercat s.ex show ... what did you tell Tomcat?"

Tee: Starting to laugh again .."Actually, he thought he worked it out himself. He said "Ohhhh, I know mum - they're huddling up together, they must be cold.""

Silence on the phone. Except it wasn't really silence, it was our laughter going into overdrive, like a dog whistle.

Tuesday, 24 June 2008

How to Make Your Husband Cry

Just a quick post, to say that I don't feel like posting. It's hard here, most days. Everything has been such a whirlwind. Mr TC shaved his hair off, which was hard for him, he is the proudest man I know and he just really doesn't want to look sick. And he doesn't really, not yet anyway. He FEELS sick - but his second bout of chemo went pretty well. I didn't have to take him to hospital in the middle of the night, which was a bonus. He has lost nearly ten kilos. And me -except for my flabby tummy paunch, I now weigh less than I did before I got pregnant. I rang Tee the other week, singing "I'm a size 10 again." She said "Of course you are, you bitch." I replied "Yes, it's the new post-partum husband-gets-cancer stress diet! Works a treat ... I should write the book and make a fortune!"

We're trying to maintain some normalcy, but watching him walk around, sick and bald, just breaks my heart all over again and I think How the FUCK did we end up here!??!

He has been cracking jokes and laughing to other people about his cancer, probably been in some denial. He doesn't want to know much about what he has, doesn't want to ask any questions about it. He just wants to get rid of it. I spoke to his oncologist the other day, asked about Mr TCs prognosis, will he need a bone marrow transplant, what are the chances it will come back, etc. The answers are all just speculative, we won't know until we get there. Back at home I mentioned to Mr TC that I spoke to his doc. I ended up telling him everything I know about it, the five-year survival rates, the chance that it may come back so he will have to remain ever vigilant, a bone marrow transplant is an option .... I watched his face change, and change, and thought "Oh shit I've spun him out."

Mr TC started to cry (He never, ever EVER crys) .... I apologised over and over, said I'm sorry hon, I won't tell you this anymore, I'm so sorry. He said it's probably better to know.

Unasked, I thrust the truth and reality of his disease in his face, and MADE him realise how serious it is. I kind of think he needed to hear it, but I definitely won't be telling him anything for a while, I will probably just talk to his doctor on my own.

Stopping breastfeeding was the best decision I could have made. I needed my body back, other people can feed Monkey now, my hormones seem to be settling down, not to mention poor Monkey was STARVING, which was why he kept screaming every night. Babies cry when they are hungry. WHO KNEW.

He still gets unsettled. It took ages for me to get him to sleep last night. Finally he slept, I finished folding the mountain of washing, went to bed ... and was promptly woken by Tiger, who came in and woke me up because he had a nightmare. Mr TC sleeps in the spare room upstairs these days, so he can rest properly. I settled Tiger in bed next to me, then Monkey woke up for a feed, it took me ages to settle him back down .... suddenly it was morning and I felt like the Undead. I love sleep - I could sleep my life away, if left undisturbed. Of course I know being sleep deprived is part and parcel of having a baby, but fuck it's hard when other things are added in to the equation, especially having to do, well - everything for the kids on my own.

I believe this whole cancer + newborn fiasco has pulled the plug on any future cluckiness I am likely to encounter. That, and the fact that yesterday I banged Monkeys head on the car door.

Mother of the fucking year, I tell you.

Friday, 20 June 2008

Strength in Numbers

I love you. You. Right there, sitting, looking at your computer.

I'm so very, very grateful that I have such amazing love and support from this blogging community. I nearly stopped my blog a few times in the past year .... 'only' secondary fertility so I wasn't a 'real' infertile, guilt over a BFP after my first try .... but I kept writing. Looking back at the early stilted posts, I've grown more honest and open here than I would ever have thought when I first started.

I am so, so glad that I kept writing. You all are seriously helping me through possibly the hardest time of my life. I read a lot of the posts I wrote in the lead-up to D.aves (Mr TCs) diagnosis, it was bittersweet to read my excitement and joy, when all I have felt lately is pure horror at what has happened. Thank you for your love, assvice, generosity, and thoughts. I don't tell people that much about me IRL .... here I have just been blasting and venting, major meltdowns and tantrums, and you have still held me up and carried my faith for me when I think I have none. You have helped me not to hate ALL people. I received a beautiful hand-crocheted wrap in the post, all the way from America. From r.a.w. (pwp) .... she has yet to have a baby of her own, but she started crocheting when I was still pregnant. To give Monkey a gift. Her generosity of spirit is amazing. Thank you, r.a.w. I showed Mr TC and he couldn't believe that a total stranger would do that ... except, it doesn't feel like any of you are total strangers.

Him getting diagnosed with cancer, five days before I give birth? It reminds me of infertility. Why? Because it is just random. There is no sense to be made. There is no grudge against me, by the Ruler of the Universe. Shit just happens. I definitely believe in a Higher Power, but not a Higher Power who would do something so mean and awful. Shit just happens.

Ok, so how is Chez Fucked Up TC tonight? Marginally better. I said to someone today - "Hardly any crying today!" He says who, the baby? "No - me!" My boobs have finally deflated thank GOD, Mr TC has had his second bout of chemo today (no wonder they call it a bout, he is in the fight of his life) ... he looks so pale and sick. He has just gone to bed with his spewbags. Today I bought him a really cool hat with this furry flap thing that you pull down at the back, to protect his ears and neck. He looks dreadful. I LOVE HIM. Standing in the Hattery, choosing the right one, blurting out the reason to the shopkeeper, she tells me she GETS HER CHEMO FROM THE SAME PLACE. (Breast cancer). How fucking rampant is cancer in the world! I had never taken much notice before. To be honest, cancer has always bored me. Cancer schmancer. How THAT has changed.

I've had to cook for five people instead of three. I have been compassionate, because her son is sick .... but go away now. If you're not here to help, I can't have you here. Simple. (I really hope they go tomorrow). Tiger is playing his new Mario game, he looks tired, and I haven't spent much time with him. Last night we were giggling in bed together, I was telling him that some adults swear, but kids don't swear. He says he knows the c-word. I thought, oh my goodness, am I really that bad! I said "What's that, sweetie?" He looks at me, deciding whether to tell me. In a hushed whisper he blurts out "Kill."

Monkey is crying (again) .... frankly, this crying every night for hours is wearing thin. Sometimes it's hard just to get through the freakin day, and then when he does this, it nearly sends me over the edge. I would have had SO much more patience, had Mr TC not gotten sick.

I'm hoping Monkey grows out of it. I wonder, he must have been picking up on all of the energy around him, when he was born til now. (And beyond!) I hope he is ok, I hope he still feels loved and secure, even though we are all so preoccupied.

I talk to him in funny voices ....

Scarlett O'Haras maid from Gone with the Wind tells him "I's your mama!!"
Al Pacino from Scarface lifts his whole body right up and says "Say hello to my leetle friend!"
As he finishes his bottle, milk dripping down his lips, a waiter in a fancy restaurant dabs the corners of his mouth .."Would sir care to see the dessert menu?"

My apologies for last posts Black Blackness from Blackland. I did get a chuckle out of the title, however, and found myself singing it to my four week-old baby, in a very lullabye way, of course.

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard
and they're like, it's better than yours,
damn right, it's better than yours
I could teach you, but I have to charge
La la la la la
Warm it up
La la la la la
The boys are waiting ....."

Monkey loved it and fell sound asleep.

Here are some pics I took earlier ....

Peace! -

His hair is getting redder! -

At that moment, I realised he was pissing all over me -

"Soz about the wee wee." -

Monkey sleeps (ha!) in a bassinette next to my bed -

Oh, I almost forgot. HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAM!!!!!
I'm off to bed now. Please, dear sweet baby Jesus let Monkey sleep more than 2-hour intervals.

Wednesday, 18 June 2008

My Milkshake Brings All the Boys to the Yard

The bleeding stops but the pain remains. Hello, and welcome to another episode of My Fucked Up Life.

Are. You. SERIOUS. It's like, the biggest, muthafucking bullshit down here. I cannot believe that things could get WORSE, but this week has really SUCKED ARSEHOLES. For starters, I'm sick. Which hasn't helped at all. I cried all weekend, all day Monday, and most of yesterday. I started to get really worried, looked up post-natal depression and apparently a 'serious event ... like a death or illness' can trigger it. Great. Long story short, I have stopped crying. I had to apologise to my poor little Tiger, I said "Sweetheart, mummy is finally back from Cryingland! I'm so sorry, are you ok?" He is ok - really. We have a great bond and he tells me everything, so I would know if he wasn't.

Mr TC and I went out for brunch to this secluded cafe ... because my eyes were so very puffilicious I didn't want to bump into anyone I knew. We were the only ones there, it's part of an art gallery, so we went there afterwards and bought 2 wooden fruit bowls and a cool chair with a bright red cushion on it. We debated buying some paintings, but didn't. It's amazing what strong coffee, a lovely husband, and some art can do to your soul. I felt like I had (in Ace Venturas words..) "Exooorrcccciiiisedddddd the deeemon. This house is clear now."

Ok so what else ..... ummmm ....... THE CRYING BABY!!!!!! HELP! Every night for about 3, sometimes 5 hours, Monkey is unsettled. Babies have different cries .... I'm realising how spoilt I was with Tiger. He was the best baby. Ever. I remember feeling really shocked when I heard him cry full steam - at a few months old, during a vaccination. I remember also, hearing some other babies cry, and thinking, sheesh, so glad my baby doesn't sound like THAT. Well, apparently .... Monkey is one of those babies. His cry - man, it's just full on, and hard for me to hear for great stretches of time. He kept drinking my boobs dry every night, so I would cave and give him a formula bottle. Which made him get heaps of air swilling around, so he'd be in pain. So we switched formula. Then my milk seemed to be not enough for him in the days, either. I really, really wanted to breastfeed, and have the pump and fancy maternity bras to prove it.

My doctor gave me a prescription for Maxolon, told me it would increase my milk supply. I walked out of there fuming, and crying. On the phone to Mr TC "Prick! He wouldn't give me a prescription for panedeine because he reckons I'm a DIRTY FUCKING JUNKIE." Mr TC laughed. It was funny - he said gently "Hon - you might end up hooking right in and taking heaps."

Ok what else - (this is such poor writing, by the way) - oh yeah, I took the Maxolon. Went to bed, got hot, and fidgety - and soon it felt like I was on acid. I swear I thought there were spiders in my hair. I had insomnia, couldn't sleep, got up and googled Maxolon, and read the side effects for ten percent of people were 'psychosis, insomnia, and depression.'At that moment, two things were crystal clear.

1. Pissed at that doctor - you don't give me painkillers, but give me THIS!
2. Bye bye boobie milk.

The milk lady has packed up her jugs and gone home. Actually, the milk lady has packed her bra with freezing cold lettuce, because her tits are red hot. And massive. Fuck they hurt. I'm propped up in bed right now, and my bazoongas are KILLING ME. FULL of milk - NOW you decide to engorge, you pricks. Too late.

I'm too stressed to feel sad about my breastfeeding failure. I was bottlefed - and I turned out fine. HAHAHAHAHAH.

Oh, Mr TC has decided he wants his mum here. Such a long story - but fuck, man. His mum is coming tomorrow.

This post was going to be filled with amazing pics of Monkey smiling .... until after dinner tonight, my camera wiped my memory card. All the photos I have taken for 2 weeks - gone. I just put my head in my hands at the kitchen table, and sobbed. Tiger didn't bat an eye, Mr TC (nicely) said "What is it now, hon?"

Wailing ... "The world .... the world HATES ME."

And I hate it right back. Loathe the muthafucker.

So, in conclusion, I sit here with sore massive tits, a crying baby, a scared husband who has started losing his hair in clumps, an MIL visit, deleted baby photos, a filthy house, sleep deprivation, and the sorest caesar scar in town.

Why is my scar so sore? Because I leant over the bin closely, peeling garlic to roast. And got the biggest whiff of the stinkiest shitty nappy you will ever smell. Recoiling quickly in horror, gasping for air, I slid on some newspaper and seemingly tore open my scar. It. Hurts. Like. A bastard.

But hey, it could be worse, right? Like, my husband could have canc .... oh,wait.
Never mind.

Sunday, 15 June 2008

Blogging as Therapy

I keep crying .. a lot. I noticed today in my rear view mirror that I look really quite pretty when I do the big ugly cry. It's like a big ugly pretty cry. I was driving home from taking Monkey on a little trip to the orchard to buy a box of apples. Except, I had no cash on me so I had to stop at an ATM, and I couldn't find one. So I started crying, but - you know how, when your husband has cancer, that you don't really cry over stupid little things, you're actually REALLY crying over the fact that your husband has cancer, and that the delayed reaction to it all has set in, and you realise that you really, really thought that he was going to die? And scared that he still might - there, I said it. And how awful it was, and how fucked you feel all the time, how the joy has kind of been sucked out of everything. And everyone tells you that you're doing so well, but you know deep down that you're actually not doing very well at all. That you HATE ALL PEOPLE with a passion. That it's been so very hard to function this weekend and you keep finding yourself staring off into space, zoning out.

And then you realise you're writing a post in the 2nd narrative because you don't want to say "I", you want to say "you" because it's easier that way. And how, you know you don't have post-natal depression because you love your new baby incredibly, but some other serious shit is going down in your head. And heart. And it really hurts a lot.

I'm going to book an appointment with a spiritual healer; possibly also a therapist. Because, I don't want to live here anymore, I don't want to do anything, see anybody, cook dinner, feed the dog. I don't want to watch my husband go through his second round of chemo on Friday, I don't want to pick Tiger up from school ever again ... EVERYONE stares at me there, it's like I'm some kind of celebrity, but for a really bad reason.

I have turned inward, holding all of my pain so close to my chest that it appears to be slowly cutting off my circulation. I feel totally betrayed by the world, like I'm the butt of some kind of terrible joke. Did Mr TC and I get too cocky with our life? Was it other peoples bad thoughts towards us?

I had to do a nappy run to the grocery store tonight, cried all the way there and back, stuffing chocolates in my mouth. Trying to eat and cry.

Anyway, so, that's my news. Same shit different day. I guess the biggest telltale sign of my depression is that I couldn't even be bothered to watch Greys Anatomy tonight. I have never, ever missed an episode.

Now THAT is worrying.

Wednesday, 11 June 2008

The Getting of Cancer.

About three months ago, I turned to Mr TC in bed and said "I have this feeling that something really bad is going to happen." He told me to stop it, I always think that, blah blah ... and shrugged it off. But I still had this distinct feeling of impending doom ...

About two months ago, I looked at Mr TC and suddenly realised I had more strength than him. I didn't say anything, I thought it was because my body was preparing for birth so women must automatically get really strong. (Emotionally and spiritually strong too, not just physically) ...

Not long after that, one morning Mr TC was clutching his tummy. "Hon, what side is your appendix on?" I told him not that side, the other one. "Oh, cool. Maybe I just over-ate. I feel really bloated. " Cue weeks of his tummy pains getting worse. I started to worry - and worry. I knew it was bad. I was freaking out, Mr TC just thought it was a hernia. He got an ultrasound - they found nothing. He got an x-ray, full body check-up ... nothing.

On Mothers Day, I woke up to him limping around the table, setting it for the pancakes he was going to make, then he was going to go to the ER at hospital. I told him to just go there straight away, don't worry about the pancakes. He was gone a few hours. For MONTHS I had been looking forwad to that Mothers Day, because I knew I was going to be so pregnant. He came home, had antiobiotics for the bowel infection they thought he had.

The pain got worse and worse - he couldn't eat or sleep. I was beside myself with worry. I also remember saying to him, half-joking "Come on hon! I'm about to have a baby! I need you to be strong!" He finally got cranky at his doctor, said "I'm not making this pain up, you know!" So she sent him along to get a CT scan in his intestines, he had to drink some weird stuff first. He called me before he went in, I said "Well, I hope they don't find a black mass!!" He laughed - "Oh, hon. Of course you would think there is a black mass in there. It wouldn't be a gold coin, now would it!" (We are opposites - I am the glass half empty, while his always overfloweth).

By this stage, I had both of my sisters concerned too. Exactly one month ago today, I was on the phone to my sister Rex. I saw Mr TCs ute drive up "Oh, he's home!" She told me to ring her back later. I went downstairs, he's standing in the kitchen with a look on his face that I had never seen.

"So, they found something."

I knew it I knew it I knew it oh my God oh my God oh my God - I realised I must have the best poker face, because I was so calm, I didn't want him to see me upset. I braced myself.

My big tough tattooed husband sat down at the kitchen table and started to cry. "I've got an appointment at the cancer clinic."

At that point, a new, different version of myself took over my body. "Ok. Shit. So I'll come with you, I'll get Tiger picked up from school. What time is your appointment? Don't worry mate, we'll deal with this together. At least they finally found the fucking problem."

I rang Rex and told her it was bad news, we'd know more that afternoon. Tee rang me 2 seconds after."Good news travels fast!" She seemed a tad confused at my cheery demeanor. The REAL Topcat was in a tailspin so tight she couldn't breathe. The fake, composed Topcat made phonecalls, comforted hubbie, organised things, started making lists.

It's funny how slowly it dawned on us. I looked at the referral we were taking down. "Lymphoma!? Isn't that cancer?"

"Nah, hon. Lymphoma just means all your lymph nodes, doesn't it?"


We were surprised as the boom gate magically opened up at the cancer clinic. Mr TC suddenly lit up. "Free parking!!"

He was excited, I was horrified. I almost corrected him. "Free SYMPATHY parking. For the CANCER patients." But I didn't.

Sitting next to Mr TC as the doctor spoke of hospital and chemotherapy, I dug my fingernails so deeply into my leg, to stop myself from crying. It didn't work, the tears flowed and rolled freely down my cheeks. The doctor handed me the tissue box. "OF COURSE you have a box of tissues in here," I thought hatefully. "Because this is the room where you tell people THEY HAVE CANCER." Cheerily, I wiped away my tears. "Sorry! Just a little bit pregnant, I guess!"

The doctor said they had found a 6.7cm 'mass' at the front of Mr TCs stomach, which had been causing all of his pain. There was likely to be more in there. I asked him if it was malignant. He turned to me, and slowly spoke. "What do you mean by "malignant?"

It was then that I realised, that it was all malignant. I couldn't believe I had been right - they had, indeed, found a black mass. I apologised to Mr TC days later, for being right. He laughed, said what - did I put it in there? (Did I? Did my negative thoughts create this?)

Strangely, the first thing I did when we walked out of the doctors surgery, was to step up on some scales that were there, to weigh myself. Then Mr TC did, too. The doctor came out and saw us, mucking around, joking and laughing. Mr TC apologised, said we just wanted to know how much we weighed. The doctor looked at us with compassion, nodded, then walked off. We felt like a couple of bumbling teenage idiots.

Then we drove home in the darkness. I wondered, if I was given the choice - to either give my baby up or have a healthy husband .... what would I choose? I couldn't decide.

I don't know how this is going to play out. We are all hoping, wishing, and praying for a happy ending. I know when I think things like "You fucking idiot! How could you be growing tumours in your stomach, the same time I was growing a baby! That's just ridiculous! Who does that?!" ..... I know when I think things like that, I don't actually MEAN them. I love my husband more than any man I have ever, ever met. The only man I have never cheated on, the only man who made a home for himself in my heart. We are so good together. I simply adore the motherfucker. I have told him my worst, darkest secrets. (They are pretty bad). He just shrugs "Is that all you got?"

The timing of it all is just so incredible. I am still so, so cranky at God, Universe, whoever the fuck is in charge. I feel ripped off, it's not fair, poor me - and then realise that worse things could have happened. Mr TC didn't die in a car crash. We have a chance that he can get rid of this. (Don't we?) I worry about my dreams, they are out of control.

Trying so hard to enjoy the baby. I'm frantically looking for signs in everything. Then realise .... maybe Monkey is the biggest sign of all. To just hang on and have faith, that all will be well.


Monday, 9 June 2008


Well, things are a bit more manageable here. Some days are definitely much more difficult than others. Mr TC and Tiger are finally back home again ... last night was the first time in three long weeks that we have spent a night here just to ourselves. We ate dinner, lounged on the couch, and watched Greys Anatomy. Just like a normal family on a normal Sunday night. It felt so bloody nice.

For a while there, we thought that Mr TC might have to spend 6 months in hospital doing his chemo (that's what we were told). He doesn't, he can do his chemo once every three weeks as an outpatient. His next dose is in 2 weeks time, I will get a friend to come and stay with us that night in case a trip to the hospital is in order. Mr TC definitely isn't himself, he looks pale and kind of shuffles around now instead of striding around like the proud lion he usually is. He is so, so positive that he will get through this, more than anything he is pissed off that he is going to get sick from the chemo. In a few weeks time, he will have been clean for nine years.

Monkey and I have started venturing out more, it's so strange to see people I know in the street, they go all ga-ga over the baby, ask how everything is going. Then I tell them, and they are just so shocked that they don't know what to say, some have even started crying. It makes me realise how 'big' it is. Such a huge thing to process, our brains are getting used to it slowly, this is our reality, so just deal.

All is not lost .... Mr TC is in with a fighting chance, we have just had a beautiful baby together. Life is much easier to live when I walk it with a spirit of gratitude and love, and find joy in everyday things. Because today really IS all we have!!

Thanks so very, very much for the love and support, especially on that last awful post. (My sister reckons I should ban myself from blogging after 8pm, especially if the baby has been crying!) I have been popping in and out of a few peoples blogs, but not much. So I really do hope to catch up properly soon, thankfully the dust is beginning to settle here and I can think a bit more clearly.

Right now, Mr TC is cooking eggs, Tiger is playing his new Mario DS game (I can't wait to have a go), and Monkey is sleeping peacefully in his basinette. Life is good. Well, maybe not good, but it's definitely much, much better.


Monday, 2 June 2008

Heaven .... (and hell)

At the hospital ... finally! We were running a bit late. I had to take off all of my jewelry, here I am talking to the midwife. Off to meet Monkey very soon! ..... (my head was spinning, my husband had cancer in his tummy! we thought it was just a twisted stomach muscle from the gym! I was talking like everything was normal, but my head was screaming. Before we walked in to the hospital, I dropped my sister Rexs Angel cards all over the pavement. I swore, and had to bend over to pick them all up. Mr TC just stood next to me, watching, clutching his tummy. I realised he was in so much pain he couldn't help me pick them up, I started silently crying and he didn't notice) -

Mr TCs favourite trick with the camera. I told him he looked hotter than any doctor on Greys Anatomy! ... (I did a peace sign and pretended I was happy but I just wanted to curl up in the corner) -

I LOVE this photo! Actually, I had asked Mr TC to try and get a photo of my belly cut open with my guts hanging out, because I'm strange like that. Here you can see blood and cord and primal life. The operation itself was totally freaky, it dawned on me - just as they were doing the spinal anasthetic, that I was actually about to meet my baby. Laying there as they cut and tugged and pulled was pretty yucky, had to will myself to not spin out. At one point, something felt so, so weird. Mr TC was right there holding my hand, I turned to him and said "Seriously, there's nothing much left to go wrong, is there!" We both laughed - maniacally, until the doctor asked us if we were ok back there. ... (Mr TC was so weak. So. Fucking. Weak) -

Monkey was here!! At 1.38pm!! What a beautiful cry!! -

I got to have the longest hold of him! I couldn't believe how much I secretly wanted a boy, and didn't even realise it! I can't imagine having a girl, now. ... (I looked at Mr TC taking photos and just loved him so much. He was the most important person in the room, in that moment) -

His special camera trick again, only this time Monkey is on the outside! -

My beloved Tiger. I am relieved to find I love him just the same, if not more. He has been through so much. I keep kissing him as much as I ever did, whispering "You were my FIRST!" Of course Crash Bandicoot makes it in the photo! ... (my darkest thoughts have whispered to me .... are we going to end up just a family of three?) -


I love seeing my big tough tattooed guyo delicately holding his little tiny baby ... (this pic was taken at Mr TCs hospital, right after me and Monkey got discharged from ours) -

My sister Tee took this photo, in the filthy hospital kiosk. We were all laughing at me eating hot chips and calamari and a burger ... (matching hospital bracelets. Wrong, wrong, wrong) -

There's so, so much more to say. Like my third night in hospital when Death himself came to visit me in the middle of the night. Monkey was getting minded by a midwife, so I was alone. I could feel icy fingers around my throat, choking and choking. Or the hilarious night I was tapping out "Wonderful news! Husband has cancer!" in morse code with my breast pump to my sister Tee. (If you don't laugh, you cry, right!?)

The best, most secret amazing thing .... is shown in this last pic. He is my well of strength, and I find myself drawing upon him more and more every day.


Welcome to the world, my little R.occo. We really, really needed you. xoxoxox