Not Dead

This morning, I say my husband is "in chemo". When he gets home this afternoon, I will from then on say "My husband is recovering from almost six months of chemo."

I thought I would feel so elated today. So triumphant, air-punching, yeeeeeeees. But no.

Instead, I feel utterly spent. I'm so weighed down and drowning. Had the WORST day yesterday, involving writing quotes and invoices for Mr TC from morning till 11pm. Trying to mind Monkey. Cook dinner. Mr TC tells me how to WRITE, so we have the biggest, nastiest argument. In front of the baby. Nice.

Then, I apologise. Then, he goes out last night to play footy ..... he now plays footy, soccer, and goes out to a regular Monday dinner. Which means, he is not here Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Do you think that's fair? Because I don't. Especially when I'm trying to cook dinner every night, help Tiger with his homework, and put the baby to bed. (Baby screamed for three hours last night! Right on! Mr TC walked in, sweaty from his game, just as Monkey finally fell asleep. I was a jangly mess with a nervous tic ... Mr TC goes "Hey hon! What's for dinner? Mmmmmm, schnitzel!") After refraining from shoving schnitzel up his arse, I told him in NO uncertain terms that it was not fair he goes out so much.

Blah. Mr TCs comeback was that I was the one who wanted the baby in the first place, why should it interfere with his plans.

Today I (SHOCK!) have not organised dinner yet! The kitchen sink will stay exactly how he and stepson left it this morning! I keep telling them I am not their slave ... I am NOT nanna! But the house is my job, I do all the house things, I do writing things. I do a lot.

Today I feel awash with the years heartache. It's been so terribly hard. I danced to Pink on my iPod in front of Monkey and made him smile. Tonight I will take Tiger to his school Halloween disco. I'm planning my next tattoo.

Tonight, there is also a school reunion of sorts, near where I live. It's being held at a pub.

Apparently I fucked half the bar staff and most of the clientele there, so I probably won't go.

Although, given the mood I'm in, I'm likely to go and DARE someone to say something to me.

Heh.

Gifts

Yesterday at Tigers school, I saw a man carrying his son inside, to pick up his daughter from kindy. His son is disabled. About three years old. He will never walk .... his legs stuck out from his fathers side, splayed awkwardly. They were skin and bones. Monkey has more fat on his chubby little legs. Instantly, I was dealt a huge rush of overdue humility. Everything I am handling is just that .... handle-able. This little boy will never WALK. I have two healthy, wonderful, amazing little boys. I am blessed beyond relief. (Freudian - I mean to write 'belief') If I focus - properly focus, on my two guys ... I feel calm, and re-energised, and grateful.


Then I got home and my sister sent me this link. And I cried.

________



"I may not be much, but I'm all I think about."

If I add up all the time I spend thinking about myself - at least 70% of the time I'm thinking (usually worrying) about my future, 20% of the time I'm thinking about my past (usually wishing I had made different choices), and about 10% of the time thinking about what I should do next - it's easy to see why I don't have time for others. I'm busy!

The paradox, though, is that all this self-centeredness isn't driven by a big ego or high sense of self. Rather, it's the low self-esteem of alcoholism that fuels my thoughts, and it's why most of my thinking is negative and self defeating. Self-loathing is a core characteristic of this disease and when combined with self-obsession, it becomes a depressingly deadly combination.

Thank God there is a way out. I was taught early on that self-centeredness is the root of my trouble, and that true recovery comes from thinking about and working with others. I've found that when I'm focused on you, I'm not thinking about me, and that's the only time I begin feeling better about myself.

And when I feel better about myself, it's easier to think more about others.




________




Mr TCs cancer blew everything in our lives out of the water. Everything. "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

THREE MORE DAYS TIL CHEMO. THE. LAST. CHEMO.

___


A pic of Tiger and Monkey. Tiger says to me "Ohhhhhhh, man!!!! I just have SO MUCH LOVE in my heart for Monkey, mum!!! It's like a volcano of love!!"



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*GASP* A Whine-Free Post!

(And wine-free! Get it, get it!!! Heh heh) ......

Look! Random pics instead of the usual cancer cancer cancer chemo chemo stepson stepson cancer chemo. Poor me poor me pour me another drink fucks sake GET GRATEFUL WOMAN.

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Aren't they great? Wait - I've been sitting here for an hour, trying to upload pics. But Blogger won't let me.

But, I have to post this, because the WHOLE PURPOSE OF THIS POST WAS TO GET THE PREVIOUS POST OFF THE TOP BECAUSE ALL I DO IS WHHHHHHHHIIIIIIINNNNNNNEEEEE.

I have officially lost the motherfucking plot. If it's not one thing, it's another. Just when I have everything sorted, and I'm ok ..... something else happens. When my head is a can of worms, I start thinking, what's the point of anything?? It appears recent events have brought me to my knees and I'm starting to worry about my recovery. Fucks sake.

How annoying I am being. Then, as if on cue, I hear Monkey stir, and I want to run screaming from the house with my hands waving high in the air.

But, instead of blogging all that, my plan was to just post some pretty pics, so I could prove to you that I have a grip.

But Blogger won't let me, because, you know - Blogger takes it up the arse.

Goodnight.

The Stepmother of All Posts

This post was all about my struggles when my stepson came back to live with us after a year and a half of being away. Taken down to protect him ..... but here are some cute photos:

I love my stepson so much. And I don't steplove him, I REAL love him. XO

The Highlight of my Saturday Night was Doing This Meme

Ignorance alert .... what the fuck does meme mean? Is it some kind of French word? Or is it literally a "me me", as in, all about me? I have always wanted to know but felt too dumb to ask.

Anyway, the two ladies who tagged me have big things happening in their lives.

The Bruce-the-borscht eating Annacyclopedia ..... is living in IUI land. And G ... well, just please click on and give her a virtual hug. Fucks sake.

So here's my meme taggy thing ...

1. Where is your cell phone? I have to ring it to find out
2. Where is your significant other? Chemoland.
3. Your hair color? Red
4. Your mother? Wistful.
5. Your father? Dead. All of them DEAD MWAH HAH HAH HAH
6. Your favorite thing? Raindrops on roses ..
7. Your dream last night? Went to a SaltnPepa concert with my two sisters.
8. Your dream/goal? Get published
9. The room you are in? Living Room ... or is that, the Existing Room?
10. Your hobby? Don't know!
11. Your fear? Spiders
12. Where do you want to be in six years? Anywhere but here
13. Where were you last night? At home
14. What you're not? Happy
15. One of your wish list items? Cup holder for Monkeys pram
16. Where you grew up? Too many cities and houses
17. The last thing you did? Ate chocolate and hated myself for it
18. What are you wearing? Ugg boots, tracksuit pants, T-shirt that Gemini Girl sent me
19. Your T.V.? Massive
20. Your pet? A white siberian husky who keeps running away because there are no fences here. Mr TC is an irresponsible dog owner and it shits me to tears
21. Your computer? Password-protected since stepson is back
22. Your mood? Shitty
23. Missing someone? Myself
24. Your car? European. I feel like a wanker and am going to downgrade.
25. Something you're not wearing? A bra
26. Favorite store? Any fancy stationery store
27. Your Summer? It's coming, baby. it's coming.
28. Love someone? Yes
29. Your favorite color? Teal
30. When is the last time you laughed? Putting Tiger to bed. I was giving him a piggyback and we looked in the mirror and cracked up.
31. Last time you cried? This afternoon, thinking of how emotionally apart Mr TC and I are, and I don't even care anymore. Close to giving up


Well ... that was telling! You're supposed to only write one-word answers, but I hate rules.

I tag:
Imy
Geohde
Bleu
Mrs Spock
Diana
Evil Stepmonster (to get her mind off Tuesday)
and Lori

36 Years Old and my Bedroom is a Disgrace to Humanity

Yes, this really is my bedroom. I am sooooooo together right now.

Once upon a time I wanted to get pregnant through IVF so I had this bright idea to google it, to see how the fuck it was done. Up came boring, medical, technical, shit ..... and, a blog. "A blog!" I thought. "Hmmmmm, how interesting." I clicked on, and started reading. It was M. Beautiful, wonderful M, whose story broke my heart. But I read and read and read ... for hours. Then I started clicking on other blogs, in her blogroll (which is why I think blogrolls are important) .... and then I'm like what! Omg! Sheee-iiiitttt!!!!!!! I read more and more of your stories, and like the true addict I will always be, I couldn't get enough. Television fell by the wayside. I would go to sleep at 2am.

Then, I really WAS going to do IVF, so I (so nervously) started one of my own. Then I started commenting .... and people started commenting on mine!!! Blogging is fucking outstanding ... specifically, women bloggers who are trying to build families. Or parent their children. Live good lives. In the early days of pioneering in Australia, it was very lonely for the womenfolk. It's such a harsh climate, they were very isolated, and missed their families back in England. So they would write to each other, write and write and write. Books have been published, of these womens letters, and the friendships and bonds they formed.


So, even though blogging is new, it is age-old .... this connecting.



Anyway, please bear with me, as I am belatedly entering M's Virtual World Tour. She asked if we could snap random pics of things around our house. Anything M asks, I will do. For she was my entryway into blogging, she is still trying to have a child, and I simply will not rest until she has one in her arms. Spirit owes me a few IOUs this year, and I've paid them forward onto her .... and others like her. Because infertility and loss is so not motherfucking fair, so not fair.



Tiger took this this morning, as we were about to leave on our walk. I walked him to school, which takes just under an hour each way. (It's only the second time I've ever done it. But Christ I feel better when I do!) ......





This is the view looking down our street .......









Mr TC made this rock stand upright, during landscaping. I was looking at it the other day, and said to him ... "You DO know that's your penis, right?" He had no idea what I was talking about, I thought about explaining phallic symbols, but couldn't be bothered ....









This is the bed I cried in last night, curled up. Thinking for SURE I would be off house hunting today.


This is the chair I was sitting in when Mr TC told me he had cancer. Worst conversation of my life .....





This is what happens when you make a carrot cake for your husband and stepson, and they leave it out all night so it goes rock hard, but then they throw a tea-towel on it so the icing sticks to the tea towel, and guess who is the prick that has to clean it up? ME ......


Here is my disgusting pantry. My heart feels heavy even looking at it. It's so unorganized ....

Here is a nice wedding pic. With the wedding cake topper - that's Tiger as a red-cheeked baby next to it ...

Lastly, my favourite painting. I bought it before I met Mr TC ... it's called "The Happy People." It's of a group of Hare Krishnas, dancing. The artists son died of a heroin overdose, she is aamzing ....

So. Click HERE for more participants.

___

Ok, so I just changed Monkeys nappy but I forgot to do it up properly after I changed it, so when I stood up, shit got flung everywhere. And I didn't just stand up, I sort of swung around so shit literally went flying across the room, but at least now I am laughing.

Eight years on, and there's still a whole lotta shit in my life. Heh.

XOXOXOXOX

The Cancer Brought Gifts, Too.

A severe hailstorm woke me up at 3.30am this morning. It pelted down, so suddenly and so quickly. No warning ... it just let loose. I sat straight up in bed, scared shitless. Then, as quickly as my fear ... came my anger. I loved that hailstorm. I egged it on. I wanted every fucking window of our house to be smashed in, so that we would be bloodied and gashed, clutching each other. C'mon, motherfucker!!! Is that all ya got??!! I wanted all of our cars to be smashed beyond recognition, dented and stripped and all fucked up. I wanted the wild water to come streaming into our house, pouring over the floorboards and into our rooms, frothing and foaming.

The most intense feelings of rage came over me. I WAS that fucking hailstorm.

Then, as quickly as it came, it left. Leaving a strange stillness. I ran to check on Tiger, and then Monkey. Then I wondered why I checked on Tiger first.

I went back to bed .... Mr TC is officially back in our bed. It's quite nice, actually. Just to have human contact again, after so many months in Newbornland and Cancerland, respectively.

My hailstorm is always there, just underneath the surface. I am so thoroughly tired and pissed off, at everything my family has been through this year. Beggers fucking belief. Spent. We are at the end. My sister Tee reckons we've done the marathon, now we have entered the stadium. We have one lap to go, but the finish line is in sight. Mr TC can't even think straight. I am fatigued, deep down in my bones. I have been so terribly busy lately - too busy. I'm not good at being busy, I get overwhelmed very easily, so I just overload and shut down. He recently signed up for another season of touch football. He sometimes leaves me for dust in his wake .... all fucked up, can't fight my way out of a paperbag. Sometimes I do wonder what he sees in me .... what did I bring to the table? What am I to him?

I asked him once .... I said "You've given me so much, hon. Name three things I have given you." (You know, one of those typical female questions).

He couldn't think of one thing. Not one! I was so hurt and annoyed ... until I struggled to think of something myself.

"Well.." I spluttered. "Just remember you had NO style when I met you. I made you cool! I made you! And I can break you." I was only half joking about the second part - but it's true about his un-coolness, and I have the Marvin Martian T-shirt photos to prove it.

I have thought this a lot, during our relationship. How different we are. He is SO black and white. All what I am not.

But .... I think I bring a lot more to the table than most of us are aware. I have a huge inner-life. My dreams, my whimsy, the way I look at the world. At times, I tell him what's happening in my head .... and he just shakes his head. Sometimes in disgust, often in wonder. I can be the biggest motherfucking moody, horrible bitch on the planet. It has taken me YEARS to work on handling the terrible white rages that used to come so often. (A family "heirloom", if you like).

He got the best of me, too. Winds are shifting. Change is afoot. We will never look at our lives the same way again. it's like, every day is a gift, because I honestly thought he was going to die, back in May. I was sure of it. Death Himself came to me, in hospital on the Wednesday night. Monkey was being looked after by the nurse, so I was all alone. Twice Death entered the room, I was paralysed. He choked me ... He never came when Monkey was with me, all that purely powerful newborn energy too strong for Him.

You know how there is a flock of sheep, a herd of cows, a gaggle of geese? Well, Mr TC had what I named "A nest of tumours". There was a nest of tumours in Mr TCs stomach and chest. I don't believe it is there anymore ... but the nest has taught us a lot. It brought fear, and helplessness, and darkness - yes. But I choose to look at the gifts as well. My relationship with my sisters has been cemented forever. We are real sisters ... I could buy them a soppy Hallmark "For my sister" card and it would be true.

The nest brought me such a despair, that I started writing in a way I have not written before. My writing is now stronger ... I am stronger. Lately, I have written the text for a childrens book, to hopefully be published in February. Today I got offered a job as an editor at a fancy magazine. More writing work! I can handle anything. I am prepared for anything to happen in life. My endless worrying has ceased - no point. Life's too short.

I have met you! I have opened myself up to you. Like Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar .... this blog is peppered with sprays of my truth. I can't lie, here. It's so ironic - I'm extremely private irl; the exact opposite of here.

So I choose to receive gifts from cancer, as well as the misery. Cancer is so many awful things - but it is one of the most powerful teachers on the planet. If I could live it all again, I would NOT have this happen. No way - especially not with a poor tiny newborn amidst it all. How Monkey was an afterthought to me, for many moons! Nowdays, if I don't answer his cry, he gets so angry. He demands to be my priority. As he should.

It's time for me stop dwelling on this all, soon. I know that. I'm nearly there. I have many blessings. Things could have been so much worse - but I will always have a hailstorm, underneath my skin. I like it there.

BEFORE and AFTER Hair Photos. Oh, and I lost the plot again.

And then, the baby cries all fucking day and all night, I get no work done, and have a complete meltdown by 6pm. Total meltdown. Epic.

It's like, I'm going really well and then suddenly I'm not again. My house took 5 seconds to dirty again, after I cleaned it. Mr TC is using Tigers craft scissors to try and cut his toenails, because he is too lazy to get up and get the proper clippers.

My Stepson has opened the chocolate advent calender I bought, and is happily chomping away on Freddo Frogs. It's strangely endearing.

Just another night here at Chez Topcat.

Nothing to see here ... oh, except my BEFORE and AFTER hair photos!!!! Ooooooooh, I LOVE me a good BEFORE and AFTER photo session.

Monkey is five months old. The last time I got my hair done was five months and two weeks ago. My biggest concern at that time, was how my hair would look in the hospital photos. As it turns out, my hair looked GREAT in the hospital photos ... it's just a pity my eyes were filled with TERROR.

*Ahem*

So, here is what my hair looked like on Saturday morning. Shapeless, heavy, faded.

And here, is the after. So sleek. I wish it stayed that way .... I wish I knew how to do it like this.

All purdied up and no place to go! XOX

Since I Last Posted .....

..... since I last posted, I have discovered that I can, indeed, be a stepmother again. My stepson is here, his muscles are huge and he never fails to show them off. We spoke, late at night, of how things were going to be around here. He really wants it to work as well. I told him that all he has to do is show us respect. My exact words were "Mate, just don't fuck me around. Do not take my car for a joyride, have any parties. I love you, and want the best for you." I told him that I'm so glad he is here .... his dad needs him. Of course, there has been some prickles. I keep them hidden, but it's tricky when I feel the familiar feelings of jealousy, that he is taking all of his dads attention. It's just human of me, I guess. I notice the feelings and try to set them free. Because as much as step-parenting is hard, hard work .... it is also wonderful. There are times that we are all laughing at something stupid, we are all getting along so well ... that I catch myself and think, Oh my God, I belong to a real, live, proper family. And it's fucking awesome, and I count my blessings because I am so fucking lucky.

..... since I last posted, my sister Tee got her spiritual healer to do work on me from afar. For a whole hour ... I walked Monkey to the lake in the pram, listening to Newton Faulconer on my iPod. I felt release, rocks being lifted. I felt at peace, grateful, better. The worst is over, stop worrying, eat well. Spring is in the weather and in my step.

.... since I last posted, I printed off the previous post and gave it to Mr TC to read. I left it on the kitchen table one morning, so that when he got up he could read it. He said he loved reading it, and he was surprised that I seemed to know what he was going through.

.... since I last posted, I am slowly but surely making my way around blogs, adding them to my new "Blogs I Follow" list, and my blogroll. Finally I can start giving back again, self-absorption begone!

... since I last posted, not ONE piece of chocolate has passed my lips. I know, I can't believe it either. Driving over bumps in my car, I realised that my ARMFAT was wobbling. So, I am on an exercise regime, and eating proper. Did you know exercise + good food = feeling fantastic? Who knew!?

... since I last posted, I have realised that Tigers school disco is at Halloween ..... also the date of Mr TCs last chemo. (LAST CHEMO OH MY GOD LAST CHEMO YEEESSSSSSSSSSSS). Wow.

Seasons

"There's a kite blowing out of control on the breeze,
I wonder what's gonna happen to you ..
You wonder what has happened to me..."
U2 - Kite




He is so far away.

It's spring here - the warmth, the birds, people are out and about, glad for their time in the sun.
Happy, busy making summer plans.

Yet he - he is trapped, deep in the harshest winter he has ever known. All of his branches stay bare, no bird comes to sing in his heart. How it must be so very cold, deep down in his bones. How he must just ache with the memory of who he used to be.

Everybody agrees ... "Oh, but he is such a fighter! If anyone can get through this, he can!" It is true.

He has had to be strong, his whole life. No father, sent to boys home. He left school early. He's not that great writer or reader. But I tell him he doesn't need to be, for he has me. He is an amazing builder. Some people spend their lives tearing things down ... he has spent his building things up.He showed me what it means to love someone ... no matter what. He grounded me. He gave me the world. I gave him mine back. Our worlds are very different. He built his own home, in my heart. I never thought anyone could get through - but he did.

Lately I have pulled away. I am tired. It is tiring, being married to a sick man. I have been angry, blaming, resentful. He broke my heart when he got cancer. No man has ever broken my heart before. Except my dads, I guess.



I slowed down my car to take this photo the other day, pissing off all the drivers behind me. I have been living in the same town for 10 years. It's spring here .... people come from far and wide, to see the amazing gardens on display. The colours are spectacular. I never noticed seasons until I got sober. It took a three-year old Tiger, to say to me one autumn day .... "Mum! Look at that big red colour in the trees!" ... and for the first time in my life I noticed autumn.

This year - these last five months specifically - everything has a certain clarity. I have driven past these blossom trees almost daily - bare in winter, they grow their flowers in spring. I only realised ...the other day ... that they blossom for around three weeks. Then the wind plucks the flowers from their branches and they scatter all over the roads, like natures own confetti. It's so breathtakingly beautiful. I can't believe I have never known this. Where have I been?


I can't wait for your spring, my sweetheart. I miss you.

XOX

Break it Down

Last night I dreamt that the world was running out of oxygen. I was on a train, and people started turning blue. I ran, jumped up on to a telegraph wire, as lava streamed through the city. I saw Tiger and Monkey and scooped them up. The world was about to end.

In real life, my coffee machine AND MODEM is broken. Life is not worth living without internet access. Yesterday I drove around the streets near my house, trying to hack into to someones wireless. They were all security-enabled. I mean, c'mon! Where did all the trusting people go? This morning, I drove to an internet cafe - shut. Skanky video store with computers - not working. I pushed Monkey up the street in his pram, sweating, my hair looks SHIT, fighting back my tears. I hate this town. I hate the people in this town. Alternative FREAKS. I have said to Mr TC for years that I don't want to live here anymore. He will not be the only one to re-assess everything after his chemo.

Stepson coming back is a huge shock. I'm not sure what I can do .... the only, only thing that has helped me get throught the last few months is having my own space, at home. Especially after everyone has gone to bed at night. His room is upstairs ... almost directly above me.

It's not fair to him, to feel unwelcome from me. And I'm not being unwelcoming, I just don't know if I can live with him. He started looking through every drawer and cupboard, checking everything out. His phone kept ringing. Tiger thinks the Messiah himself has arrived, so excited and overwhelmed is he that his big brother is back.

I just went to bed early, cried myself into such a state that I rang my sister Tee, who consoled me with stories like her husbands work friend who got the letter W tattooed on each bum cheek, so that when he bent over, it spelt WOW. She saw the photo to prove it.

____


My miraculous, 4-celled IVF baby has woken up. Clutching his little Beru Bear in his fist, smiling at me with his little red hoodie on. I have to stop typing now. He gets the shits when I'm on my computer - or if I'm preoccupied doing anything else but concentrating on him.

_____


So, without further ado, I announce the winner of the great Downunder Dork-Off 08 Plate. It was very, very close. I can't talk to Mr TC right now, so my sister chose the runner-up and winner. In second place, Kate at It is Tuesday, Right?. Kate posted a LOT of pics, all equally dorkified in their glory. Way to go, Kate!!



Now, the winner. Well, there could only ever be one winner. I'd like to thank all of you who entered ... I will be emailing you to ask your addresses, so I can send some Aussie chocolate your way! Maybe even an Australia tea towel if you're lucky!



The winner is ...

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Pam!

Oh, Pam. I have no words, for Worgirl. Look how beautiful you are now, though. For therein lies the big secret .... dorks grow up to be amazing, beautiful COOL creatures. You win the plate! AND some choc.


I am now leaving this internet bookstore. I don't know where to go - I don't want to go home. I am ITCHING for anyone to stop me, and grill me about Mr TC. Itching, I tell you.

Midnight is Where the Day Begins

Just quickly need to clarify something. The reason I said I didn't want uplifting comments on a recent post is because ... well, I keep getting so many uplifting comments. And it makes me embarrassed, and a bit "get over yourself, fucks sake." Because, ummm, I keep being in pain and writing it and you are all too nice, and I imagine a nasty person reading thinking oh, shut up already. You only want uplifting comments!

And it's not true - I mean, uplifting comments are very, very nice. Unreal, in fact. But, you know how, when your husband's got cancer, and you're minding 2 kids, how stressful that is. Well, I'm behind in commenting, and reading other peoples blogs, and I feel worried that all I do is take take take.

My plan is to FINALLY try get a google reader happening, get up to date with reading all the blogs I'm itching to read but too busy being all fucked up.

Because, it's nearly the end of chemo, and the end is triggering memories of the beginning of chemo, and spiral spiral spiral ........ I blog, and keep ending up with uplifting comments. And yes I'm over my childhood, but the scars that remain include a very big sense of "I'm not worthy".

You have all kept me propped up. (Props for Topcat!) And fuck me, you simply make me hate people less. Thank you for every. Single. Uplifting. Mofo. Comment.

It's midnight, I am so fucking tired. But I just love the night. I come alive, feel the safest, get my groove on.

Apparently my groove needs to go to sleep. Immediately.

XO

"You Gotta See the Bay-bee!"

Considering I have, you know, A BABY, I thought I would give an update. Because, I did actually pine for him for years before he came - and now he's here - and I'm still trying to be not so damn preoccupied with the stupid cancer Fiasco.

Sometimes, I sniff and sniff and sniff his head, and get sad that one day he will grow up and leave me, and I will never be able to sniff his head anymore. I want to travel to different countries with him ... with Tiger too. I want them to love me. I want to not fuck them up too much. Monkey smiles at everyone he meets .... even scary dudes. (Like, in the grocery store or something. I don't take him to biker hangouts or anything).

He has his mums big man hands and feet. He still doesn't roll over. I have asked my sisters ... "Hey, what do babies do?" I click on blogs - "normal" blogs, where people don't swear and rage at the moon. I click on them to see what Monkey possibly should be doing by now. (My brain just does not work these days). Then I do the same things with him, and he loves it. Thank God for the normal people, otherwise he would just play with my keys for a year.

He is on solids ... I know it's early, but trust me - the guy wanted food. I've pureed up some veggies for him, he gobbles it down in two seconds flat. Most of this week, he had store-bought food, because I couldn't get my shit together. There is a whole fresh, organic range in the fridge at the supermarket. Oh yeah!!

I finally got him weighed at the clinic - the nurse gave me grief about putting him on solids too early. Previously, the other nurse had given me grief about having him on soy milk. I will never go back there again - I have enough grief. I also have a healthy baby, so fuck off. Some people just shame other people, for no good reason.

Monkey weighs 7 kilos. In nine days he will be five months old. He smiles with his entire face, loves chewing on his hands, and ADORES his big brother Tiger.

He is sleeping pretty well, sometimes five hour stretches, occasionally the whole night.

Tiger was eating a pizza bread roll. I was out of the room, came back in, and sensed something happened. "What?" I said to Tiger.

Without missing a beat, he told me he crushed up a tiny bit of ham with lots of water and gave it to Monkey, and Monkey loved it. Pork water, ladies. My baby ate PORK WATER.

We went out for dinner for the first time the other night ... I forgot his food, bottle, bib and nappies. Seriously! Lucky it was my friends pizza restaurant. I went over and asked if he could make Monkey some pumpkin soup. He loved it.

Last year, when I started to tell people I got pregnant on IVF #1, I got mainly the same response ... "Ohhh, it worked straight away! It was meant to be!"

It irked me. What of the people who it didn't work for straight away. Was it not meant to be? Then, when Mr TC got diagnosed, people would say ... "Ohhhh, what terrible timing!"

If it was "meant to be" from the beginning, then there would have been no terrible timing at the end. I kept repeating myself to people. "Look, sometimes there's no good or bad, right or wrong. It just IS."

Of course I have wondered how differently I would be parenting a baby, had my hubbie not gotten that pesky cancer when he did. I don't know. I also wonder, how would I have coped with Mr TCs cancer if I didn't have a baby? All pointless questions, really.

He is beautiful. So handsome. I'm not biased ... he really is a fucking handsome little guy. Like his big brother. Speaking of which ... his BIGGEST brother, the sixteen year old one ... will be back here on Monday. Where IS that stepmother hat of mine? I know I left it hanging around the place somewhere ...



___


Tonight, my Beige Guy is the Beigest. Chemo day is so putrid and grey. The energy here gets all fucked up. I realise that every chemo, I always spend a bit of money. Tiger always gets Lego. I treat myself ... to some top-shelf chocolate and European mineral water. Found myself doing things today ... but always thinking of him, sitting down at the big hospital next to one of my sisters, dreading the poisoning. He cannot hardly stand another second of it. There are three weeks left. I wonder whatever will happen next? Will he go into remission, and then the cancer will never come back, so we can wipe our brows and say "Phew! Lucky we made it through that one!"

Can shit like that happen? Where IS that crystal ball of mine ... must be next to my stepmother hat somewhere.

See - see what just happened? The Fiasco hijacked the baby news again.

But, he brings us back every time. He cuts through chemo clouds with a single smile. I look at his amazingness, and I can't believe how gorgeous he is and how lucky I am.

Better

I totally feel so motherfucking much better .... the awful, relentless fear I've had since Mr TCs funny turn the other night is finally starting to lift. I was starting to get so over myself, as the only thing that has helped this week was climbing into my bed with my laptop at the end of the day and letting loose. I was starting to get so embarassed about being stuck in the mire.

Wondering incessantly all over again if Mr TC was going to die just threw me for a six, along with being quite worn down with the Fiasco.

Mr TC has chemo tomorrow, he is absolutely dreading it. He asked me to book a ticket for stepson to come back ... on Sunday. Ummmm, shit. I feel strangely ok about it, right here in this moment. My theory is, we can't handle any more clusterfucks, so perhaps stepson coming back is going to be a positive thing. I love him, very much. He lived with us for six years, that's a lot of memories, history, laughs.

__

It'll be ok. It will. 

I Need a Bullet

Here are some bullets, for no particular reason:

* Please, please stop by Only Half Nuts. She is facing some seriously scary, tumour-like shit with her husband. Please give her a hug, love, and support.

* I cannot believe how shithouse I feel. Had at least three meltdowns today, punching the floor, ugly crying, etc. If it wasn't so fucking painful it would be funny.

* Mr TC keeps shitting me so bad. We keep having stupid arguments. Fuck. But, there's this tiny little voice in the back of my brain telling me to back off, because if something bad happens to him, I will regret being such a bitch. I hate that I think that.

* The only reason I am not smoking cigarettes is because I don't want to get cancer. I don't want my kids having BOTH parents with cancer.

* Mr TCs stomach is swollen. He's worried the tumours are back. I told him not to worry ... it's probably just fat. I made light of it, but I am worried too. Especially that he feels so bad and it's chemo on Friday. I'm scared about how his body will cope.

* Sometimes I want to grab both my kids and run run run out of this house away from him and away from the sick and the tumours and not look back.

* Monkey is seven kilos. I will write a whole post about him soon. He smiles at everyone he meets - LOVES it when people talk to him. He's so beautiful. Sometimes, though, I think that babies are such hard work it's hard for the mother to simply enjoy them.

* I'm in constant emotional pain. I cannot WAIT for my sister Rex to get here tomorrow night. She told me she's bringing her 90's CD, so I will clear us a dancefloor.

* You're not allowed to leave any amazing, uplifting comments to this post.

* I keep finding people on Facebook who I really wished I'd forgotten about.

* My heart is so heavy, I may have to build it a little cart to sit in and wheel around. Cannot wait to talk about the present day in the past tense.

* Christmas decorations are up in shops. WTF!!!!!!!

* I'm starting to get really concerned about my stepson coming back here. Makes me panic. A lot.

* Today, I thought I'd better pick an Angel card. I was reaching my hand out towards it, thinking "I really need to pick the surrender card." (The card that I kept picking on the day Monkey was born).

* I picked the surrender card.

In Sickness and In Health

Ok so I need to get THAT post off the top.

And even though today still sucked some serious arse, (or ASS, as you Americanos call it) ... it was of course better than yesterday.

Mr TC really made an effort tonight .. was teaching Tiger how to make a cup of tea. They laughed and talked for about 10 minutes, how it warmed (thawed) my heart! Then, Mr TC was talking about how he sleeps upstairs. He said something about how I "don't care about the old sick man upstairs anymore." I felt so bad. I kissed him, told him I wanted to breathe his breath. (We used to say that when we first got together). I said I'm sorry, I had reached my limit with it all months ago, and I just don't know how I'm getting through these days.

___

I'm about to fall asleep on my computer. I need to shut it off ... without even reading anybody's blog. Take take take, tsk tsk. I still haven't set up a google reader account, but I will.

Not such a Motherfucking Beautiful Day

Today has been one of the worst, fucked up, rotten days in a long motherfucking time. It's now 9.45pm ... two hours and fifteen more minutes of it left. You are going DOWN, motherfucker.

Let me just backtrack .... the last few days I have been feeling really crap. I was on a high when Mr TC was away - I was free from the black, energy-sucking cancer aura. Usually I miss him when he is away, but no, not this time. I needed a break. I did so much when he was gone, just accomplished a lot of crap that has been building up for, oh, four and a half months.

Last Friday I was looking at my blog stats ... a lot of people find their way to my blog by googling bowel gas (heh), and bad nuchal, and missing ovary. (Mine went MIA for a while but was eventually found). I notice that a lot of the time, people come here, then go clicking through May's posts. May was when we found out about Mr TC, and when the baby came. So, it was a pretty fucking busy month, no?

I don't mind that people do that at all .... I decided to have a go myself. So, there I went, back into my late-pregnancy days, all bitching and moaning. And I knew what was coming. I wanted to travel through time, whisper into my own ear some gentle words of warning. "Brace yourself, sweetheart! We're in for a big one!" Then BANG, tumours. POW. Baby. BIFF. Chemo. The onslaught. Us AAs have a saying for this .... it is called "life on lifes' terms". Well don't I win the fucking prize for that one.

Of course, rehashing it all made me quite upset. And shocked. I think I'm in a bit of denial around it all, maybe. But, I re-read all the comments from that time also, and the shock from people was just so great. And the total compassionate outpouring of love from people I have never met in the flesh. And it all just kind of hit me, and I haven't felt the same since I read it all.

Then Mr TC comes back, and we are back doing time again. And we had a big argument. I'm an arsehole. He's a control freak. Usually I can laugh about it and stand up and mime out an air traffic controller trying to land a plane, to remind him that he's doing it. But it wasn't funny. I'm busting my gut here. He's been off in Queensland dealing with his other children, while our children here don't really even notice that he's away because he does nothing for them anyway.

Oh my God life is so hard these days. I did not sign up for this bullshit.

Anyway, cut a long story short (too late!) ...... my day started at 4am this morning, with Mr TC calling out to me from the upstairs toilet. He must have called my name 20 times. Suddenly I realised and sat straight up in bed, my heart sinking and the terror forming all over again. I don't think I can adequately describe the horror, of hearing your formerly tough, strong, macho, proud husband ... feebly calling your name in the middle of the night like that. It was the same as the night that we first found out about his tumours, I had to take him into the toilet and help him back to bed. I was nine fucking months pregnant - do you know how hard it is to squat on the toilet floor when your belly is so big you can hardly breathe? And your baby kicks to remind you that he's there, because you know, you forgot? And you don't really care?!

This morning, I ran upstairs to Mr TC. He was on the toilet, shaking, clammy, heavy breathing. He gets worked up into such a state, that I think just my presence calms him down. I literally had to hold his head up. He told me later that he really thought he was going to die. (Of course, no ambulance or doctor for him. Pfft. Ambulances are for pussies, apparently.) I laid down next to him in his bed, he kept apologising, I kept reassuring him it was cool, I was cool. I was feeling like such an arsehole because of the big fights we'd just had hours before.

I laid there for an hour with him, holding him, listening to him breathe. Then Monkey woke for a feed so I came downstairs.

__

If you saw Mr TC in the street, you would know he is a cancer patient. It's gotten all just really fucked up now. His body must be so, so toxic. The poor thing. I do love him . It's just so hard. Watching the decline. There are two more chemos left, the thought of which makes me sick. One is this Friday, and then the last one has been moved to the 30th of this month. I can't wait until it stops, and he can come good again. He'll come good again.

So, Mr TC walks in tonight after the meeting, and tells me the news that his son will be coming back to live with us next week. I kind of knew it would happen. It's just, I seem to have no control over my life. Everything is just happening and I can't stop it. If things turn to shit with my stepson, then I will not fight it, I really will leave. The thought of him staying up late every night makes me truly feel ill. For some reason, I need everyone in bed before I go to bed. I LOVE my stepson. So much! I'm just - stressed.

I sat there, watching the rest of Nims Island, waiting until Tiger was in bed before my mental breakdown. Whaddya know ... at the end of the film, what song gets played but a U2 song. And not just ANY U2 song ...... Beautiful Day. The tears flooded, hot with rage. No, Bono, it's not. It is very far from a fucking Beautiful Day.

Blah. Ran out of steam. End of my tether, give it all up and let it all go.

I don't understand anything.

Recent Conversations in my House

Playing DS next to Tiger, I randomly realised I could bray like a donkey. The likeness was uncanny.

Me: "Hee-haw!!"
Tiger: "Doooonn't."
Me: "But it sounds exactly like a donkey. Hee-haw!!"
Tiger: "Don't mum!"
Me: "HEE-HAW!"
Tiger: Pauses his game and looks at me sternly. "Stop it mum! You are being so annoying to me!"
I stopped, suitably chastened.

______

Monkeys cradle cap is DISGUSTING. My sister Tee tells me to put oil on it. I walk up to her with a can of spray cooking oil.
Me: Deadpan "Can you hold him, and I'll just spray this on his head."
She looked at me like WTF!!!! We pissed ourselves laughing.

______

After I SLATHER the guys head in oil, Mr TC gets him up after a nap.
Mr TC: "What the fuck have you done to him!"
I told him I put oil on his cradle cap.
Mr TC: "Oh, hon. You need to dry it out in the sunshine, not put oil on it!"
Me: "No, it's oil."
Mr TC: "Sun."
Me: "Oil!"
Mr TC: "Sun! Sun! Sun!"
Me: Grabbing Monkey, running away, desperately trying to get the last word. "Oil. Oil. Oil. La la la la la ..." Slams door.

_____

Driving in the car ...
Mr TC: "Geez, I've got a few pimples."
Me: "I know, the chemo has given them to you. Looks a bit like acne."
*Crickets*
(Mr TC is so proud about his appearance. He thinks for a moment.)
Mr TC: "Well. Look at your toe hairs!"
(It's true, for some ridiculous reason I used to shave my toe hair as a kid, and now it looks like pubes growing from my toes.)
Me: "Piss off!"
Mr TC: "Well you're telling me I'm an acne head! I'd blunt my razor on those toes of yours!"

_____

My sister said my life is a sitcom.

Mr TC is Incredulous

He read the comments. He couldn't believe it, was totally blown away. He rang me, crunching chips down the phone.

Mr TC: "Hon! I can't believe all of those comments! It's like, they know me! How do they know me? And how do they know what I look like?"

Me: "Well, I've written about you a bit, and *cough* I've put a few pics of you on there.

Mr TC: "Yeah ... I can't believe it! We've got fucking places to stay all around the world! Tell 'em I can go on for another six months with that kind of a lift. Amazing! "

Me: "Well, hopefully you won't need to. Hey - it's October! Chemo finishes in October!!"

Then we had a faux argument, he said it was September 31st. I told him there was no September 31st. He said his watch told him it was. I said who do you believe, your watch or your wife? Silence. He believes his watch!! I said fine, have another day of chemo if you really want it. Then he goes, hon did you know it really actually is Paul Newman on those spaghetti jars? I said well yeah, who did he think it was? He didn't know.

Me: "Did you know Paul Newman died last week?"
Mr TC: "You're kidding! What from?"
Me: *Cough* "Ummm, ahhhhh .... hmmmmmm. I think cancer."

Wife of the Year.

(Mr TC says to tell all of you thank you, so much. Of course, he's all puffed up at the compliments ..... "So. They like me!! Heh heh.")

xoxoxox

Three Pics of My Three Sons

I actually have three sons, you know.



Tiger, Monkey, and Crash Bandicoot.