Forsaken

I got so sick that at one point, I nearly went to hospital. My centre of gravity went spinning out of control, and it felt like I was getting sucked down a plughole. I even said to Mr TC .. "I think I'm going to DIE."

I was freezing, no matter how many layers I put on. I would shiver and shake in my lonely bed, with no energy to even turn over. Then I would sweat so much that rivulets would form and criss-cross all over my body. My bed now smells like my uncles sheep farm. My sister came to help out, but unfortunately, the day she left I took a turn for the worse. So Mr TC had to mind the baby - all day, and all night. The day after his chemo ... he was sick. But I was more sick. We were hobbling around each other. All Hail the Broken People.

Sick sick sick. I had numerous crying sessions, especially when there was nobody to stroke my neck or bring me a cup of tea. I cried at the injustice of everything we have been facing, how my husbands face scared the shit out of me again, how poor Monkey and Tiger get their basic needs met but that's pretty much it. Monkey has had a Baptism of Fire in the way of television. He quite enjoys it, actually. (Baby Einstein, over and over and over again).

I kept having false starts of feeling better, but then the Bug of Doom would once again overtake my body and drag me down. I think I picked up a bug in the spa last week. My sister Tee reckons public spas are fine, as long as you wear one of those bucket head things that dogs wear to not bite their stitches. I will NEVER go into that spa again.

Tiger started crying that "I loved Monkey more than him". I told him that Mummies simply cannot love one child more than the other ... it's not allowed.

"And," I whispered, "Haven't you noticed that babies are a little bit annoying??"

He perked up immediately. "YES!" Then looks at his brother with pity. "Ohh, poor Monkey."

So now, finally, I am better. I am taking antibiotics, and I'm coming out of the fog.

Today, I managed to go grocery shopping. With a baby and a wonky shopping trolley. If one, ONE more person comes up to me and asks "Oh my God!!! How's Mr TC?" With that stupid, dumb, slapped arse look of terror and curiosity on their face ... well, I don't know exactly what I will say in that moment, but it will be a doozy. And probably offensive. I promise.

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It will take me a while to catch up with everyone. My hair has two dreadlocks, there are clothes strewn across the whole house, and dust tumbleweeds sweeping across my wooden floorboards. Welcome the fuck back.

Somebody Call the Wah-mbulance

I am down for the count. Can barely type. I am SO ach-ey, even my eyeballs hurt ... my bones are sore. (Great. I have cancer too.)

It's not cancer ... just the flu. I haven't felt this sick since the '98 Oscars, when I was even too ill to laugh at Gwynth Paltrows weepy acceptance speech.

And, I have been alone with the boys all weekend, Mr TC is down in Sydney. And, Mr TC is due for a round of chemo-fucking-therapy tomorrow. GREAT. Someone needs to take us out the back of the barn and put us out of our miseries. I can literally hardly get off the couch to feed Monkey, and Tiger is actually crying from boredom. I simply cannot feel like this. It's out of the question. I would usually ride it out, but I'm going to ask to go on antibiotics, because if Mr TC catches it while he's on chemo, it's really dangerous. Lucky I'm too crook to drive to the freaking doctor.

*sigh*

So, I will be away from my computer for a while. Thanks, thanks THANKS SO MUCH, for the utterly amazing comments I have recieved lately. I haven't even checked anyone's blog, I feel so bloody guilty ... but when I am better I will belatedly do the IComLeavWe, and also check in on my extraordinary peeps.

Thank FUCK I was just getting sick last week, and it wasn't depression.

Wah.

XOXOXOXXOXOXOX

Meh. With Pictures.

It's the 21st of August in Australia, so where I live, IComLeavWe has officially kicked off.

Lucky I feel so shithouse and have nothing noteworthy to say.

I just feel blah. Maybe my adrenaline is finally wearing off. (Come back! You're all I got!!) Maybe everything is catching up with me.

I have some MASSIVE posts brewing, with tasty subjects including "Is there a self-help book on how to parent a newborn and take care of your husband on chemo ..... without getting to as many recovery meetings as usual, because you are so fucking busy????" But ... now I'm doing IComLeavWe, and random people will come here, and be all like, this chicks fucked up!!!

Alas, this is no earthshattering post. Truth is, I'm sitting here at 10.31am, in my pj's. I smell, have greasy hair, and can think of nothing to do today. (I have SO MANY things to do. Meh). My heart feels heavy. Mr TC has been doing a course down in Sydney, for over a week now. He drives down, every day, and gets back very late at night. I'm officially a single parent. I don't feel depressed - I think I just feel lonely. Not lonely for a friend ... but for my husband. I miss him. I miss his strength, and his hair. I miss doing normal stuff with him. He hasn't told ANYONE who he is doing this course with that he is undergoing chemo for cancer. He must be so sick of it. He has so much to prove, to the world and himself. Just counting down the days til his last chemo day.

Then, we can put this nightmare behind us, he will be cancer-free for the rest of his life, and it will just be a big bullet we all dodged. Right?

I have wanted another child, for so, so many years. And I finally have my other child. I just didn't expect to feel so deflated. Having to fight so hard to get here .... then right when he was born, to find myself in a new, terrible fight of a different kind.

LALALALALALALALALALAALALALALLALALALA Shake it up, Topcat!!! Fucks sake!!!!

Well, that's my cry done for the day. Here are some photos of Monkey in his big boy jeans, seeings how I still cannot post video. (Oh Blogger, how I hate thee!!)

xoxox


Big. Boy. Jeans ...




I don't think I will EVER stop being amazed at how truly enormous my nostrils are. (I seriously used to scare my stepson when he was younger, by flaring them at him) ....


I LOVE LOVE LOVE my guyos. LOOK AT MY BEAMING TIGER!!!!!


Can. Not. Kiss. Babys cheeks. Enough ....


**** Edited to add ... Monkey just woke up from his sleep. It sounded suspiciously like he just said 'fuck'. His first word! I'm so proud!!
xox

Mammy

Yesterday, I was running around the house looking for my lip balm. Checked my bed .. nothing but a rotten apple core in there. (True). So, I did what any harried mother would do, and hastily applied some nappy rash cream to my parched lips. Walked out to the kitchen, Mr TC was there, having a cup of tea with his friend. He took one look at me, stood up, and burst into a rousing rendition of "Mammy, how I love ya how I love ya ...."

Complete with hand waving actions.

Apparently, my new 'lip balm' had coated my lips in a fetching colour of white, and I was giving a great Al Jolsen impression. SO embarrassed, they both laughed at me. Wankers.

I then took Tiger to swimming lessons. Usually I take Monkey too, but it's a bit tricky. Especially when you forget the bottle of formula. (Fun times.) I ended up soaking in the spa bath at the pool, first time I've done that in, oh, more than a year.

Mr TC asked how it was when I got back. I told him great, until a BIG FAT HAIRY GUY hopped in next to me, and all I could think was I was having a hot bath in his ball sweat.

Mr TCs shoulders slumped a little, reminded yet again by what a foul-mouthed creature he had married. Who's laughing now, eh?
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Took some video today, and will try to post it. It's Monkey, looking VERY grown up in his big boy jeans. He wants me to just get the camera out of his face, I'm sure. He is so big now! Hoorah! Three months old ... they say that the first three months of a newborns life is the fourth trimester. Babies are literally born waterlogged.


**** Ok. Can't post video. Been trying for 2 hours now, eyes hanging out of head. I admit defeat, Until tomorrow, Mighty Blogger.

Living Your Dreams

Before I start my post for Mels Show and Tell Weekly Thread, I need to say that last night, I had a dream that me and Brad Pitt were staring into each others eyes, we had totally fallen in love. So much so, that Angelina came RUNNING up to me (one twin on her hip), BEGGING me to please stay away from Brad. I agreed, because I felt so sorry for her.

I'm many things in life ... but I have never been and will never be a home wrecker.

AHEM. Anyway, this is about a dream of a different kind.

Despite the fact that the following pictures are completely narcassistic and showy-offy .... I will post them anyway, mainly to show how amazingly talented my husband is.

He is a builder, has his own business. We bought 4 and 1/2 acres of land back in 2001, he cleared it and began building. His dreamhouse. I was pregnant with Tiger at the time, and to be honest, wasn't very interested in the building process at all. He LOVES how I just stood back, and let him design and pick everything. My one request was the toilet to be separate from the bathroom .... I don't like lying in the bath with my head next to a toilet. And I picked the colour schemes for the house.

In April of this year, we got asked to appear in a lifestyle magazine, showcasing Mr TCs buildsmanship. (That is SO not a word.) We got photographed and interviewed, I thought it was HILARIOUS that people were going to look at us in this showy magazine, and think we are totally up ourselves. I knew the woman doing the interview, I actually got her the job as the editor there. It was offered to me but I didn't want it because I had too much work already.

Anyway, all of that pesky "husband gets cancer" fiasco happened .... and we forgot about the magazine.

Until, someone told me they had seen us in it. I raced out and bought a copy, Mr TC was still in hospital by that stage, so I let it be a surprise for him when he came out.





.... The magazine was more than a surprise, it was a complete fucking Godsend. After being so sick, traumatised, pricked with needles in his skin and bones, started his first dose of chemo ..... he hobbled in the door like a freakin old man about to die. I remember his exact words, the day I drove down to hospital to pick him up (clutching my sore caesar scar the whole way) .... he looked at me, and said

"I'm defeated, hon."

Scared the SHIT out of me.

Later, flicking through the glossy mag, his proud Leo heart almost bursting out of his chest. He was reminded of what he had done .... where he has come in his life, his strength, his talent, his sheer AUDACITY for daring to build a house so big, and show-offy. "I done good."
Yes my sweetheart, you done real good. WE done good.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Sometimes, the Sun Even Shines in Winter.

I haven't bonded with Monkey, the same way I bonded with Tiger. I fully expected I would, but I didn't. There. I have said it. I don't think Monkey will be fucked up about it because I have his whole childhood to make up for it. I have felt guilt around it, especially when I would look into his screaming, wailing, face, at 3am, and think UNBLOGGABLE thoughts, along the lines of, "What did I do this for? Oh my goodness." I would (and still do) read wonderful, happy blogs of women and their new babies, and the joy and the love, and I feel twinges (ok, maybe more than twinges) of jealousy. I wished my biggest concern was the baby cried once for 10 minutes. Such a shame that my biggest concern was wondering if my husband was going to die.

I have spoken in detail, before, about how Tigers entry into my world heralded a redemption that I never thought possible. I still, cannot work out why Monkeys birth was in such dramatic, intense circumstances. Anyone? Bueller? I wondered, how would I have handled all this, if I wasn't pregnant and didn't have a baby? Why did it happen the way it did? In some strange way, it all lined up just so. I try and explain it to myself but cannot, and don't think I will ever be able to.

My baby is growing up. Thank fuck. Yesterday, he was in the sling when I was at the shops with Tiger. We stayed longer than I originally planned, my shoulders slumping and slumping, I kept having to lean on things. My back killed. I quickly grabbed one of those trolleys where you can lay a baby down in them. As I was taking him out of his sling, I though "That's it. We are officially done with the sling now .... way too heavy."

It didn't stop there, we were on a roll. I thought, may as well buy a baby monitor. So I did. Got home, and thought "Ahh well, may as well put this monitor together and put him to bed in his cot tonight then, in his own room." So I did!

It was luxurious, having my bedroom to myself. Mr TC and I have a king size bed, with a latex mattress. We spent a FORTUNE on it last year, the first time either of us had ever bought a new bed for ourselves, ever. I had a bit of a freak-out, being the first night Monkey and I had slept apart. I worried about cot death .... then I thought, you know what? His dad has cancer. Life wouldn't be that cruel. Would it. Would it? I decided it wouldn't, and promptly fell asleep. Monkey woke up twice, once at 2am then at 5.30am, and went straight back to sleep after his bottle, both times!!

At one point, I was changing his nappy and he started to do a poo. So I found myself sitting there, holding up his legs, baby wipes at the ready, staring at my sons arsehole, waiting for the shit to come out. The glory of motherhood. I remarked to Mr TC this morning that Monkeys shit smells like really bad foot odour.

"Well, what the fuck are ya feeding him, socks?"

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Mr TC is sleeping upstairs, in his "chemo wing", as I call it. He has his own ensuite up there, if he needs to vomit. Plus, he has to be careful with all of his bodily fluids while on chemo, double flushing the dunny, etc.

_______

Anyway, getting back to Monkey .. he is over three months old. He is officially sleeping in his own bedroom. It's a whole fucking new world, I tell you. A one-word description of the past 3 months, parenting a screaming newborn with feeding issues, as well as having a very sick husband? BRUTAL.

I don't expect I will ever, ever be clucky again. Today is the youngest that Monkey will ever be again, and instead of feeling sad, or, oh my God the bay-bee is growing up too quickly, I just want to bring it on, mofo. I welcome it, with open arms. Here's your size 0's big guy, congratulations. I want to shake the nightmare off, and start living again. I love seeing how chubby Monkeys little hands are, how lazy he is when he's lying on the rug and couldn't be bothered to move. (Tiger was the same .... SO take after their mother). I'm starting to love Monkey, more and more, as I get to know him. It wasn't instant, like it was with Tiger. But very, very, soon, it will be just as fierce, and overpowering, and strong. Not wrong, or bad ... just different.

Mr TC will get his last chemo in October. Talk about the agony of waiting .... we have waited three months .... two more, and we will see the scan that shows how much his tumours have shrunk. We are hoping for the best ... that they are gone entirely. We're all used to him being sick, I can't wait to find out how he is going to feel after the chemo.

I know he will need regular scans, for a long time. Cancer casts a long shadow, even in remission. But, the cancer never made its way into his internal organs, which is great. His is a very treatable cancer. His was aggressive, which is why he was in so much pain, because it was growing so rapidly. Imagine if we didn't know. Imagine if it was all still growing in there, running rampant.

When my neighbour came over to visit a then two-week old Monkey, she used the word "miracle" to describe the doctors finding Mr TCs tumours when they did. I wanted to say: "Miracle! Lady, aint nuthin' miraculous about this fucking bullshit."

I still don't think it's a miracle ..... but fuck it could be so much worse.

******Edited to add .... of course, Monkey just woke up after I wrote that post, and he is cooing and babbling and loving on me so much. I love him so achingly much that my heart hurts: I adore him, would kill for him, walk over hot coals, etc. Truly.

I Hate Sandcastles

Blogging, I can't quit you.


*sigh*


I am, most definitely, NOT a very nice person lately. At all. Woe betide anyone who dares to ask me 'how I am'. They get the biggest fuck-off vibes in town ..... most of them are genuinely concerned, I'm sure. I just can't help it. I'm angry, bitter, suspicious and jaded. My life feels like a big fat joke. Paranoia is starting to mount .... even here. I have wondered what people really think when they read this blog .... I am very open, I know. Probably too much. I should tone it down a little ... maybe be a bit more light-hearted.


So, in a break from the heavy spin-out posts, here is my day in a pictorial display. In a very light-hearted way.


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I was still utterly furious at Mr TC today. I managed to avoid him all day yesterday, lucky for him. I don't believe I have ever, ever in my life been so angry at someone. (And believe me, I've been angry!!) And yes, relationship issues, new baby, cancer, hard to deal with, etc .... But, the other night was the final straw for me. Today while Tiger was at school, I put Monkey down for a nap ... and upstairs I trudged to his office to have it out with Mr TC.


This is who I looked like, while "resolving relationship issues" this morning .....


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Mr TC, on the other hand, while feebly defending himself, KNEW he was in the wrong and had really, badly fucked up. So he was more like this ......


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It didn't cut the mustard, I'm afraid. (Where on EARTH did that phrase originate from?)
No, siree. He was getting a MASSIVE telling-down by yours truly.


So, he gradually got more pissed, until we were both like this ....


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Except we weren't grabbing each other by the lapels, because, well, we didn't have business suits on. Otherwise we may have. Round and round and round the same old issues we went. 

Until, eventually, we reached an impasse .....

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I believe I had the last words, (of course). Something about leaving.

Now, I'm not going anywhere. Can you imagine if I left, what a cold hearted bitch? "Oh, that poor Mr TC. He got cancer and his WIFE LEFT HIM!!!" The only thing that matters, is Tiger and Monkey being in a secure environment. And they are. What we have all been through sux the biggest dogs balls ... (tempted to post a pic, but will spare you).

Tonight, after Monkey did that awful, terrible, no good screaming for, oh, a mere hour and a half. (I took a phone recording of it and texted it to my 2 sisters, under the heading - Clucky?) ..... I took my first bath in 3 months. (I have been taking showers, though. I promise.) And I shaved my legs, and coiffed my nethers. Actually, I coiffed my nethers with Mr TCs hair clippers. Vengeful, much? It felt so much better. If my vagina was a garden, it would be this one .....

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Finely manicured, indeed.

I sat in the bath, and randomly realised that Mr TC didn't come to visit me in hospital, when I had Monkey. Of couse he didn't ... he was getting exploratory surgery, fucks sake. How terribly strange, that right in the middle of the despicable ten-day period when we didn't know how bad his tumours were ..... I gave birth. I couldn't BELIEVE the unfairness of it, and cried. Then I stopped crying, because, well, you just HAVE to .... and I put my iPod on. In the bath .... I know, very ambitious, but it ROCKED. I listened to Indigo Girls "Closer to Fine" over and over and over again. I first discovered that song ten years ago when I moved up here, I know every note and inflection in their voices. Mr TC wasn't here, Monkey was asleep (Praise Jesus), and Tiger was playing his DS with earphones in, on the couch. I sang every word.

"I went to the doctor,
I went to the mountain.
I looked to the children
And I drank from the fountain.

There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line.
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
Closer I am to fine."

_____


And they lived happily ever after.



Oh - the title of this post? From this picture. Exactly how I feel on a daily basis.

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Life. It's Nothing Like the Brochure. *

It snowed! Tiger ran around and around the driveway with his tongue hanging out, catching tiny flakes in his mouth saying "I caught some, mum! I caught some!!"

It didn't settle, so no snowmen. But, it did make the freezing cold weather a little bit more bearable. I DETEST living in such a cold environment, and shamelessly complain every winter. All through my pregnancy, I couldn't wait for this winter to come, thinking it would be the best I have ever had up here. Now I can't wait for it to be over.

Monkey is utterly breathtaking in his beauty. All I ever seem to say about him is how much he cries, but really, he is awesome and I know how lucky we are to have been blessed with a beautiful, healthy little baby. He is 12 weeks old today ..... thank goodness! Newbornland is hard work, and now he is putting on weight, growing out of his clothes and becoming more robust, which is a relief. He slept for 8 hours straight last night, oh how I should have gone to bed when he did!!! Tiger is besotted, but always thinks he stinks. "Mum, I can smell that he did a wee. Mum, his burps stink. Mum he's done a POO YUCK IT'S DISGUSTING."

When Monkey cries, Tiger used to get worried, but not anymore. We make jokes of it, saying to each other "Uh-oh. Wah! Wah! Wah! Somebody call the wah-mbulance!!!" Sorry Monkey, but it is very funny. Tiger is so astute when it comes to what Monkey is like, too. "He always likes travelling, doesn't he mum?"And he does ..... he will grow up to travel the world, I'm sure. If you walk around with him, or go for a drive, he's just so content, because he is moving. He ADORES me!! He wants to tell me so many things, kicking his little legs and flapping his arms around in excitement. He freakin' HATES tummy time, smiles at his toy monkey, and is very close to laughing. He follows Tiger around the room with his eyes, said "Mama' yesterday (well, more like m-a) .... and has more hair than his dad. (HA.)

Tiger asked me the best question anyone has ever asked me. After much thoughtful silence ... "Mum - can thousands and thousands and thousands of ants hold up one elephant?"

I puffy heart Tiger and Monkey 4 EVA.

_____

Nancy has nominated me for the Pink Rose Award! She is one cool chick - NEVER afraid to say what she really thinks, which is so refreshing. She is preggo, after going through so much to get there. I KNEW she was having a boy. I saved her a pair of Monkeys zebra-print newborn pants that I will post to her, because any son of Nancys will be all about the punk-rock. I'm honoured she thought of me. Thank you, Nancy, straight back atcha.

I have decided to nominate one person. I first started reading Vee at The Sweet Life in early last year, just as she found out that her pregnancy ended in a blighted ovum. She carried on, through treatments, always blogging and holding hope. She got pregnant again, but that cruelly ended in more heartbreak for her and her husband Max. I couldn't believe it. I didn't comment on her blog for a while, I guess because I was pregnant and didn't want her to feel obliged to return the comments, knowing how hard it can be to follow a preggo blog. Then, at the beginning of this year, Vees hubbie Max got diagnosed with cancer. I remember reading that post, so shocked and in tears and wishing I could do something to help. I thought, "My goodness, that's terrible! I can't imagine!"

Then, we all know what happened with Mr TC not long after ..... Vee has emailed me so many times, giving me such great advice, from anti-nausea medication, to how totally shit-scary it all is. We are kindreds. Thank you, Vee. Actually, maybe you could stop by her blog? They just got news that Maxs tumours have remained unchanged. I'm sure she would love a virtual hug, even if you've never met her. (Vee - the rules for nominating people are here.)

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And as for my current marital status? Well, who knows. Frankly, I am EMBARRASSED about how bad it is. I have prayed for strength and calmness. For Tigers sake, mostly. Using all I have learnt in my almost eight-year recovery, to just breathe, let it go, get out of my own way. Hand it over, get out of the drivers seat, stop treating Spirit like my apprentice. Go to a meeting, talk to people, and remember the HALTS. (Don't get too Hungry, Angry (ha), Lonely, Tired, Serious).

Thank you, lovely internets, for your love. I wish you could all come over for dinner. We could eat, you could drink wine while I eat chocolate, then I could set up the karaoke machine. (I don't have one, but I would buy one in your honour). You could meet my two sons who give my heart a daily reprieve from all the sadness.

* The title of this post was written on a coffee mug of my therapist in rehab, 10 years ago. I still love it.

XOXOXOXO

Remembering

A few pics of me and Mr TC. I can't WAIT until he returns from Chemoland, I miss him so!!


A Man and His House ....



Shadowkissing .....



Drumming in his African drumming band. (He's had to give that up this year, and really misses it. Calls it his meditation ...)



On a sunny winters day last year ...





Standing in line, waiting to go into Billy Kwongs. One of the BEST restaurants in Sydney. He took me for my birthday last year ....



Tiger took this pic. I love it, even though the top of my head is cut off ....






A pic from our wedding night. He never wanted to get married and didn't understand the fuss .... until we did it. He LOVES being married now ...



This pic was taken less than two weeks before Monkey was born. We had no idea yet how dreadfully ill Mr TC was; our world was about to go careening off its axis .....


Ok, yeah, so great. I am now BLUBBERING! Although, it was very good to look at all of these happy pix. I'm going to print some off and put them in a frame, and give it to Mr TC so he doesn't forget who he is ... who WE are.
xoxoxoxoxox

A Typical Day

Disclaimer: I love Mr TC incredibly. So very much. It's just hard, like I almost forget who he really is.

Today was good. I had finally submitted my article, hired out Juno (which I have been HANGING to see) and rented some movies for Tiger. Got takeaway so I didn't have to cook. Monkey was down for the count. I had a luxurious shower. I felt a strange yet vaguely familiar emotion ..... HAPPY!! I FELT HAPPY!!


Had a block of Cadburys AND a big bag of peanut M&Ms. Things were looking up!

Then Mr TC came downstairs. Soon, he will look like something we have both tried so desperately hard to avoid .... a cancer patient. The man has no light left in him.

His mood was catching .... of course, I soak up all his bad energy like a sponge and think "Oh, that's right. How could I forget ..... life is terrible."

Except, sometimes, occasionally ... it's not, for me. Life goes on. I feel ok - adrenalined up to the eyeballs, totally sleep deprived but hey. I'll take my mood-altering feelings anywhere, I'm not fussy.

It is very hard watching Mr TC go through this. Tonight I just wanted to SHAKE him and tell him to snap the fuck out of it. I keep feeling angry at him, which is so not fair. It's just so impacting and frustrating.

So, I consoled myself with my chocolate and put the movie on. Mr TC fell asleep straight away.

I'm lonely. My hubbie is gone, replaced by this empty broken shell of a man.

So I'm in Juno heaven (loved it) ... Tiger comes screaming out of his bedroom, there was a scary skeleton on his movie. (Home Alone 2 ..... rated G for fucks sake, you'd think they'd not put such scary shit in there). He was inconsolable .... runs over to me. Then supersonic ears Monkey wakes up, crying because his bum is red raw, skin is BLEEDING from diarrhhea, the poor guy. I paused my movie (at a pivotal scene) sighed, cursed, and thought .... I am never having any more kids EVER I am DONE.

So, I'm on the couch with both poor sweet boys .... Mr TC wakes up and is just staring at me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to say "Fuck thisssssssss."

I'm trying to mask the bottomless pit of pain I feel about watching the man I love the most in the whole world be so defeated.


I told him to go to bed.
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In other unrelated, yet equally compelling news ... I have decided to boycott the Olympics. I think it's an outrage they are being held in Beijing. Suck a fart about the smog ..... suck a big fat smoggy Beijing Chinese Olympic fart.

Poor Monkey ..... Dad Has Cancer, Now the Birds Hate Him.

My poor little baby. *sigh*

This morning I had a shower, put the slow-cooker on with a fresh veal casserole, and braved the .. shudder.. mums club at Tigers school. (First time I have been to an assembly since I was preggers.) This was all before 9am. I thought ... why stop there?! And went to a nearby village to meander, browse, and generally salivate over my favourite stationery shop.

Grabbed a large double-shot soy latte, felt pretty fucking pleased with myself. Monkey was asleep in his sling. My sister Rex rang, I was walking up and down the street, chatting .... then, all of a sudden I noticed something fly into the sling, between me and Monkey. I thought it was a praying mantis, or beetle, or some hideous creature (I HATE BUGS. THEY ALWAYS SURPRISE ME AND FREAK ME OUT AND I HATE THEM) .....

I stop talking and look down.

I could not. Believe. My Eyes.

There, splayed across my eleven-week old-desperately-wanted-yet-often-ignored* baby ..... was a big fat birdshit.

A BIRD SHAT ON MY BABY SON TODAY. ALL OVER HIS CHEEK.

I was still on the phone. "Oh my God. Oh my God. I can't believe it. Rex, you won't believe what just happened."

She's like What! What happened!!

"A bird just shit all over Monkeys face. A bird just shit all over Monkeys face!!!!"

Of course, we both laughed, she told me to call her back. It was so disgusting, man. I'm like, fuuuuuuccckkkk. That fucking bird - no doubt in my mind it AIMED right at him. Cocksucking arsehole bird.

So, of course I rush to my car to wipe it off with 10 million baby wipes YUCK. Before I do that, of course I take a photo. (I keep getting this mental image of a wild-eyed crazy woman taking a pic of birdshit on her babys face, in the middle of a busy street. Mother of the Year)

I was going to post it on here, but it's just too slack. I can't do that to him. If I was a baby and a bird shat on MY face, and my mum blogged, I wouldn't want her to post it, either.

Can you believe it! I rang Rex back, she said how lucky it was, and to buy a lottery ticket. (Which we did).

I ended up going in to the stationery shop, suddenly SPLURT, again and again, Monkey did the filthiest poos in his nappy. Poor little man. The sound of it made ME want to poo, too. The lady came over to ask if we needed help, and I wanted to scream "Don't come any closer! Poo cloud!" But it was too late, so I got the pleasure of watching her face recoil in disgust, at the stench. (I didn't poo, only Monkey did. A lot).

So, I cut my losses and came home. Showed Mr TC the photo of his baby smothered in white and brown bird crap ...... he thought it was hysterical.

He NEVER laughs, anymore. So at least some good came out of it.

My poor baby!!! Why does this stuff happen to us??

___

*I've really started playing with him, now. I absolutely adore the fuck out of him, really.

Back in the Game

Mr TCs stubble on his chin is so sparse, it's pathetic. And he knows it. "Fucks sake hon, I look like a hundred year old Chinaman."

Me - "Well, yes, it is - but I'm sure it will grow back properly. I still love you. I still love you through ALL of this shit. Even when you look at me like you hate my guts .... it's just the chemo talking. Even when you're acting like such a fucking angry prick ..... I still love you."

Mr TC, after thinking for a minute ..... "Hey, I thought we were talking about my chin hair!"

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Heh. We haven't had sexual relations in A VERY VERY LONG TIME. I may have to start humping something .... the couch, a lampost. I'm like one of those renewed virgins. Lucky I'm loyal. I don't cheat. Never ever.

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Controversially, I have decided to re-join the bloggy world in full, and take my blog off private. I have spent a lot of my life hiding .... why should I start hiding again now? My blog stats lifted substantially in May .... as they would when a TTC blog suddenly becomes a cancer blog, five days out from the birth of the baby. (SURPRIIIIISSSSEE) In television land, I believe it's what's known as a "ratings bonanza". I have spent some time going over some old posts, and deleting some personal stuff I had written about about Mr TC. Personal stuff about me? Kept it all in. Fuck it. It's like that scene in 8 Mile and Eminem stands there rapping, and uses all of the bad stuff about himself in his rap, and dares his detractors to mock him.

No-one can mock me if I accept myself, warts and all. I love my blog .... I welcome anyone to read it, except maybe the person who landed here from googling "finger lickin' sisters pics".

It was strange, reading my journey. I couldn't read past February this year ... because I knew what was coming, and my heart started to thump and I felt sick.

Seriously ..... how could it have happened this way? I wondered what month his tumours started to grow. How utterly terrifying it was, to be in hospital thinking that my husband was going to die. I thought they would open him up, the cancer would be riddled throughout his whole body, and he would be given a few weeks to live. I pray that Mr TC gets some amazing years, from now on. Cancer-free, and enjoying his life. He says he wants to go to Greece. We might move towns. Who knows.

I am much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. That feels good. I have a baby I dreamt and willed into existence. I haven't really spent that much time enjoying him, which kind of sux. It's all so dreadfully different to what I expected to happen.

I emailed my auntie in Scotland ... I met her once, when I was 19 months old. She is my real dads sister ... the real dad who I never knew, but look exactly like. Monkey has my red hair more and more .... he seems to look like my real dad! I hadn't contacted her in a few years - she didn't even know I was pregnant, so I laid it on her - bang, here's your new nephew, oh and my husband is "a little bit crook." She replied back straight away, so lovely. She told me that my dad always hated his hair being called red, and used to call it auburn.

I didn't know that. It made my heart sore, to be 36 years old and so excited at finding out a new piece of info about my father - a morsel, a scrap from the puzzle of him.

Today I emailed her back, with these pics that I labelled "The Wee Bonny Lad" ....

Today, I told her, I know that my dad was disappointed I wasn't a boy .... but check out his new grandson. I told her I wished things were different.

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Right now, Mr TC is on the couch, making Tiger laugh hysterically. It's making me so sad! Why are all the happy things making me sad? Maybe because I didn't think we would get to be here. I will try not to take life for granted from now on, but I know I will. It's human nature.