Pre-Conception Appointment #1

After months (and months, and months!) of waiting I finally managed to get a pre-conception appointment at King Edward Memorial Hospital three months earlier than my scheduled appointment in April!!! (Many, MANY thanks to the woman who got pregnant and didn’t need her own pre-conception appointment!)

I’d been stressing about it all week and half-expected King Edward to cancel again but they didn’t. So on Thursday morning, Husband and I went along and sat in some very uncomfortable chairs in a very boring waiting room. The obstetrician was only an hour and a half late for my appointment – surely that’s some kind of record within the public health system?

The OB was nice and we went through 3 million questions about my dodgy uterus, my previous miscarriages, my family health history (quite colourful), Husband’s family health history (quite bland in comparison) and a few other things I never thought would even be relevant.

Then it came down to “Can we start trying for a baby?”

The answer was, emphatically, no.

First, I had to have an internal exam. Right then and there. Which was fun. There were two hands up me (thankfully not at the same time) which was rather unpleasant, not to mention quite painful. I think it was a bit of a shock to Husband who didn’t realize how brutal doctors can sometimes be with “having a feel” of things down that way.

Then the OB said that an internal ultrasound would be needed. Great. Although apparently it’s more comfortable than holding 3 litres of water in my bladder and having an external ultrasound so that’s fine by me.

That test is scheduled for mid-March. The day happens to coincide with my period. Wonderful. Hopefully that’s not a problem for them and will only be a little bit mortifying for me. We won’t be able to start trying for a baby before I get the results of that, plus the OB insisted that I must be taking pregnancy vitamins/horse capsules and abstaining from alcohol for at least 3 months before we throw away the box of condoms.

Before we left the hospital, I had to get what felt like a litre of blood drained from me (it took them three attempts to hit a vein – excellent) and I was very proud that Husband didn’t pass out (he’s frightened of needles) because I needed him to keep me sitting upright after I nearly passed out (I hadn’t eaten much breakfast that day because of the nerves – stupid me).

So I’m still clueless as to whether or not having babies is in my future. I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t get an immediate answer, although I was prepared for a few tests before knowing one way or the other.

But I must admit, there had been this teeny tiny part of me that was hoping we’d walk in there and the OB would say, “Go forth and procreate. Everything will be rosy.”


Secret Shame

We all carry some secret shame around with us. Whether it’s a celebrity you find gross when everyone else drools over him or a popular food you hate – we all have at least ONE THING that we won’t admit to anyone.

These are mine:

–          I hate blueberries. With a passion. Those little bastards destroy everything from fruit salad, to cereal, to tarts, cakes and muffins. I hate them. They belong in hell with swedes (the vegetable, not the people from Sweden).

–          I don’t understand why everyone adores Betty White. I just don’t get it….

–          When people talk about Japanese food, I don’t understand most of the words.  (Don’t get me wrong, I like to eat Japanese food, I just don’t have a clue what’s IN it.)

–          I don’t like Ryan Gosling. What’s so special about him?

–          I listen to Delta Goodrem. A lot. I have a teeny tiny girl-crush on her.

–          My favourite vegetables are Brussels sprouts.

–          I used to write fan fiction (in my teenage days) which was published online. And I was quite good at it too.

–          I don’t know why people like those La-Z-Boy chairs. They’re ugly and destroy the aesthetics of perfectly lovely living rooms.

–          The inclusion of mayonnaise in a toasted sandwich (or anywhere it gets warm/hot) is enough to give me palpitations. It freaks me out and I can’t explain why. (Just another “rule” in my complicated and boring set of food rules.)

–          I’m a hippy when it comes to body hair maintenance. The pain of ingrown hairs is just not worth it. (The only spot I regularly shave (with no problems at all) is under my arms.)

–          I didn’t realize dominoes was a game until I was 22. I just thought they were blocks you lined up and knocked over.

What’s your secret shame? Did you not know Harry Potter was a book before it was a film? Are you a One Direction fan? Do you secretly adore tartan underwear? Share in the comments (anonymously if you’d prefer). This is a safe place – nasty or mocking comments will be deleted, not approved.

You Asked….

Awhile ago, while in a little blogging rut, I told you all that you could ask me anything. Most questions were interesting, some were just people fishing for my bank account details. I have included them all (except the bank account ones, obviously…) here:

How many kids do you want, and is everything going well?

In my imagination, five kids sounds awesome. The reality of no sleep, a million nappies and countless tantrums per child will most likely bring that number down. Depending on how I go with pregnancy and conceiving, 2-3 kids will probably end up being our limit. However, I’m still awaiting my pre-conception obstetrician appointment but I’ll keep everyone posted.

Can we see a photo of the Swiss Wedding Extravaganza?

No. I desperately want to show you the most awkward wedding photo (there is a shot with them posing in the snow with the mountains in the background – it would be lovely but Sis-in-law has a look on her face that I think was supposed to be smouldering and sexy, but just makes her look constipated. Bro-in-law looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Poor bugger.)

What’s your real name?

Take a guess.

Why did you start blogging?

I needed a safe place to vent where I can be my usual direct, abrupt, opinionated self and not get told that I’m a hateful, horrible person. Or get interrupted. I hate getting interrupted.

What’s your favourite sexual position?

Whoever you are, please don’t come back to my blog.

What’s the best surprise you’ve ever gotten?

My favourite book is by a little-known American author. I’d been borrowing a copy from the library every time I wanted to read it because I’d not been able to track down a copy in any bookstore. One Christmas (I think it was 2006) Husband gave me my own copy – it had taken him 6 months of searching, but he finally managed to order it directly from the publisher. It’s one of my most beloved possessions.

Does pineapple belong on a pizza?

Hell no! Pizza is a savoury food – there is no place for sweet stuff on pizza. Don’t even get me started on dessert pizza! *vomits a little bit*By the way, I have a complicated set of food rules – one day I shall bore you with them.

Have you already got names picked out for your kids?

Sort of. Husband and I know what we’d name a boy but no idea when it comes to naming a girl. Needless to say, they will be normal names. None of this Abcde or Na-a or Jissycka. Normal names and normal spelling.

What’s your favourite chocolate?

Cadbury Dairy Milk.

Have you always lived in Perth?

No. I was born here but the family moved to Brisbane for about 16 months when I was a toddler. I don’t remember it. My mother remembers how large the insects were……


If anyone has any more questions, then feel free to ask them in the comments. I shall answer them. (Unless they’re crossing the line into TMI.)

Breast Hate

Late last week when David Koch came out and said those silly remarks about women breastfeeding, I thought, “The guy is an outdated old twat,” and promptly ignored the whole thing.

The days that followed were interesting though. As more news articles, Twitter comments and FaceBook posts popped up, I couldn’t help but get sucked in and start reading. Frighteningly, the majority of people believe that women should remove themselves from the public eye to breastfeed, or at least cover themselves and the baby with a blanket to feed.

Here is a variety of reader comments from a selected news source for your reading pleasure:
“I have the right to object to a woman feeding her child next to me.” (Then they also have the right to squirt breastmilk at you.)
“Do these women get off on showing themselves in public?” (Uh, no.)
“Nudity in public is ILLEGAL! Why is breastfeeding exempt?” (Because they’re feeding a baby, not exposing themselves for your viewing pleasure.)
“Peeing is natural. Does this mean I have the right to pee in front of anyone?” (No you moron, peeing is the act of removing waste from your body. Urine contains bacteria and smells offensive. Breast milk is a nourishing substance and, as far as I’m aware, doesn’t smell or contain harmful bacteria.)
“How do we explain it to young children or teenagers in our care?” (“When a grown-up woman has a baby, her breasts fill with milk so she can feed the baby. Babies only like to drink milk, they can’t eat proper food.” Terribly difficult, isn’t it?)
“Having seen the photo of these women with babies and toddlers attached to their breasts was just foul.” (Your attitude is foul but we have to put up with it. Tit for tat…)
“Personally, I cannot help the fact it turns my stomach to see a child breastfeeding.” (Awww, diddums.)

Yep, this is what I’ve got to look forward to one day. Because one day I hope to have a baby, and I desperately hope that I can breastfeed that baby. These comments have made me really quite worried about having to breastfeed though. Am I really going to be subjected to that much hate? I don’t even have a baby and I’m already feeling ashamed at the thought of having to feed my child.

Anyway, after reading all of those gems and having the fear put into me, the questions began ticking over in my brain.

What happens if the baby and I are out and about and there are no parents rooms in sight? Do I have to cover with a blanket? What if it’s summer and it’s stiflingly hot? What happens if the baby doesn’t like being under a blanket? Do I just put up with a screaming baby or do I remove the blanket and risk offending everyone around me?

Then there’s the whole express-milk-into-a-bottle thing. Bottle-feeding breast milk would be a great alternative to the sort-of-but-not-really-exposed-boob problems, but I’m sure that I’ll then have a similar problem to a friend who bottle-fed her baby after her breast-milk dried up – she was told she was killing her baby by giving him formula. (People are great, aren’t they?) And then there’s the whole hygiene thing – does breast-milk go off? Does it keep well once out of its temperature controlled storage unit? Does it need to be refrigerated? Does it need to be heated up before feeding the baby? (I’ve got a shitload of stuff to learn before I have a baby, don’t I?)

So this is what I’ve learnt this weekend thanks to the twat, his big mouth and his legion of supporters: Unless I’m sunbathing topless on a beach, I should keep myself covered at all times. If there are no parents rooms at the shopping centre or zoo or park, then I should cover myself and the baby with a blanket. If I don’t want to do that, then I should stay at home where no one can see me and I can’t offend anyone. (And note to self: learn lots of stuff about motherhood.)

Baby Love….Or Not

I ran into my elderly neighbours this morning. They are an absolutely adorable couple. Mr M pops over whenever he needs help to send a text message and Mrs M always brings me over fruit that she’s grown.

This morning, they had their impossibly cute and squishy six-week-old granddaughter with them as they pottered about their front garden. I of course am addicted to babies so I went over for a chat (and to sniff the baby – which does make me sound a tad bit creepy. Sorry about that.) It turns out that their son and his wife have gone SKIING! FOR TWO WEEKS! IN SWITZERLAND! (What is it with that place anyway?)

Yes – you read correctly. The baby is six weeks old (nearly seven) and the parents have gone skiing. Now, I’ve never had a baby before (obviously) but I thought it took six weeks just to let wounds heal? But aren’t there muscles and stuff that take longer to heal? Would it actually physically be possible to ski six weeks after a c-section? (Yes, I do want to know – I’m dying of curiosity!) (And yes, I know for certain she had a c-sec.)

After talking with Mr and Mrs M for awhile (and I got to cuddle the baby – I think I ovulated twice in that time) it sounds like their daughter-in-law is the least maternal person around. Which made me a bit sad. I had suspected though – I mean what new mother would WANT to leave their baby for two weeks? And apparently she’s already thinking about booking a six week trip to Japan later this year.

Sans baby.

While her attitude bothers me (even though it shouldn’t – it’s nothing to do with me!) the thing that has made me a bit angry is the fact that Mr and Mrs M are well into their sixties. And Mrs M works 12 hours a day. And Mr M is recovering from a heart attack. And they have to look after a teeny, tiny, needy, crying newborn for two weeks.

Why would anyone think that it’s okay to leave a six-week-old baby with my neighbours?

Ask Me Anything

I’ve been struggling a bit with motivation this year. To be honest, I’ve been so flat-out busy that blogging has taken a back-seat to real-life stuff. Now that the “stuff” is beginning to die down, I’m finding my brain is being uncooperative. It doesn’t want to think about blogging.

So, I’m turning things over to my lovely readers.

You can ask me anything, (put your question in the comments, email it to me, or ask on Twitter) and I’ll turn it all into a little blog post (which will probably end up high-lighting all my bad points, but oh well – shit happens.)

OR, if there’s a blog post you’re itching to write and get some comments/feedback on but you’re too scared to put it on your own blog, then feel free to send it my way (perthwife[at] and I’ll publish it anonymously.

So, over to you…..

Wedding Over

It’s over. The wedding of the century has been and gone. Boxing Day was D-Day. Unfortunately, the event was Skyped and I missed out on time with my family to watch Sister-in-law float down the aisle like a marshmallow. (For those interested, the dress didn’t suit her – she’s got a banging body but looked swamped in acres of fabric. However the church was lovely and it was snowing outside.)

As expected, Husband and I are out-of-pocket $4000. Not because one of us went to the wedding, but because my parents-in-law ended up having to take out a loan so they could lend Bro-in-law money to pay for the extravaganza.

My parents-in-law do it tough, financially speaking. The bigger banks refused to lend them the money so they went with a smaller lender who was charging an extortionate interest rate. As soon as Husband and I found out about the loan, we wrote them a cheque so they could pay it out. The in-laws were going to spend nearly double the amount in interest – they just can’t afford it and we weren’t going to stand by and watch them live on noodles and vegemite sandwiches for the next three years. (At this point, I’d like to point out that Bro-in-law was going to pay them back the $4000, but not the interest.)

I don’t expect to see that money ever again. Yes, I know – we could’ve just left it up to the parents-in-law and Bro-in-law to figure out, but if you knew how tightly my parents-in-law have to budget just to get by, then I think you’d understand. We did it for them, not Bro- and Sis-in-law.

The worst thing is that apparently Sis-in-law has a lot of spare time on her hands now that she’s on honeymoon on a beach somewhere expensive and tropical. She’s spent a lot of time on FaceBook talking about how her and Bro-in-law now need to upgrade their house to a four-bedroom, two-bathroom place and also upgrade their car to a family-sized SUV.

Yep – family. I honestly don’t know if she’s pregnant again or just hoping to be. The amount of times she’s said the word “family” followed by a winky face over the past few days is making me think about turning off all forms of technology and becoming a hermit.

The only good thing about the money situation is that I married a tight-arse – Husband will be nagging them to start paying back the money they owe us as soon as they get back to Australia. I know Bro-in-law will want to pay it back. Whether Sis-in-law will let him is another matter entirely. I’m going to enjoy watching her squirm uncomfortably each time Husband mentions it though.