Sleepless Nights

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  • Sleepless Nights, now sleeker, more streamlined and squashed into a tiny little package

    I bought some shapewear. Otherwise known as spandex, tiny little figure squashing things that are infinitely tiny, or holy-mother-of-god-get-these-off-me.

    Take your pick.

    I’d thought about buying some for a while, but the whole ‘drop 2 dress sizes! look slimmer!’ thing turned me off. You see, as much as I’ve had 2 children and my tummy/hips/thighs look it – you can’t much see that under my clothes. I look okay, dressed.

    My issues is with my dislocating hips, knees and pelvis.

    So when I saw something advertised as being cellulite taming [which – aside, how do we tame cellulite? with a whip and a chair? train it to hang around on our boobs, not our tummy? I’m a little lost] I glanced at it.

    I was however more interested when I saw that this New! Revolutionary! material covered my kneecaps and entire hip region.

    Fuck it I thought and bought them.

    The first time squeezing into them, I wondered if they’d accidentally sent me an Amy sized pair instead. A quick look at the label told me I was wrong.

    I wriggled and I squeezed and I hopped around the bathroom swearing.

    All that effort, and they made it half way up my thighs.

    Amy looked at me quizzically.

    ‘Mummy. They won’t fit you.’

    ‘Yes. They will.’ [struggle struggle, hop, wiggle moan]

    Something that I’d bought to help stop my hips dislocating was rapidly in danger of dislocating the rest of me, getting it on.

    ‘They just need to‘ – pant pant, breathe, sigh –‘stretch!’

    Eventually, a few clicky finger joints later, I had them all lined up. The crotch was sitting where it’s meant to, the band at the top was cutting off my breathing and eating ability and I felt like I was being cradled in the grip of a killer bear, about to squash the life out of me.

    They were on.

    I turned around a few times and wriggled.

    Yeah. Totally sexy.

    Then, the ultimate test.

    Not like some people, I didn’t need to be able to fit into a certain dress and whilst my cellulite was definitely tamed, so was my ego – no. I needed to be able to walk without my hip clicking out of joint and subluxing about.

    And….

    Success!

    I can walk without my pelvis falling apart! Sure, breathing is a little tricky and it feels like I’m wearing a second skin that is 2 sizes smaller than my normal one – but my hips are staying in place.

    And that my friends is definitely something to celebrate.

    I just don’t know how I’m going to go taking the bastard cellulite taming things back off again.

  • I hatched a duck egg in my bra. No, really.

    My duck had her babies last week – sadly, 2 didn’t make it and died despite my best efforts.

    On Friday, she left the nest with her eight surviving ducklings in tow and I checked the eggs left behind. Only to find one just pipping, with an alive duckling still inside.

    I wasn’t impressed that she’d left it there and I’m too compassionate to let anything die if I can help it, so I brought it inside.

    After finding it rather hard to keep warm in a box with heat packs, I gave up and tucked it in my bra.

    Where the duck poked and prodded and eventually, started to emerge.

    A few hours later, the hole was even bigger.

    Well. A little bigger at least.

    The hatching was very slow going and at 6pm, I remembered that I had a broody hen, without any eggs. So I popped the duckling under her to keep warm overnight.

    However, the problem is, often chooks will peck to death anything that they hatch that isn’t a chook itself. Shame, but it’s how it works.

    So at 8am Saturday morning, I went and checked my duck.

    And it still hadn’t hatched.

    I picked it up, still in it’s shell, with a hole about an inch across and looked at it. Struggling strongly still, the shell had dried out under the hen and the duckling had no hope.

    A little bit of warm water, a few hours later and some serious help from me…

    SUCCESS!

    It did the final hatch in a box with it’s sibling. Before I went and stole the egg back from the hen, I found a duckling, supposedly dead in the shed. Cold and stiff, it’s foot twitched when I picked it up.

    I wasn’t sure it would survive, but tucked it inside my top to warm up, while I went about the morning chores.

    Coming back inside, I handed the half hatched egg to Nathan to keep warm and made up a batch of sugar water to hopefully perk up the 95% dead duckling that was unresponsive.

    20 minutes of heat late (some of it from the hair dryer), some sugar water and a warm box later, the duckling was looking like it might just live.

    They’re bloody tough.

    I left both ducklings in the care of Nathan while I went into the city for a twitter meet up and when I came home, they were doing brilliantly.

    Here they are Saturday night.

    We had some issues with the little one with the black dot on it’s head – the mother got them wet too early and I think it caught a chill. It’s needed reviving a few times, but it appears to be getting a bit better now.

    We’ll keep feeding them and babying them when they need it.

    I mean, how could I not?

    ***

    Unfortunately, we had a major problem with our ‘older’ ducklings – they managed to get into the big bathtub and couldn’t get back out again. I was appalled to find ten dead in the bath yesterday morning and angry with myself, because I’d meant to put a plank of wood in the bath and just hadn’t gotten around to it. I didn’t think they could make it into the bathtub yet.

    They managed to jump the 12 inches to get into the bath, but couldn’t manage the 3 inches to get out of it again.

    I’m so angry with myself still. The poor babies.

    Needless to say, there is now a plank in the bathtub, so any other babies finding their way in will be able to get out again. This joins the standard ‘bricks in the water’ that all the shallow and low down containers had to prevent drownings. Next time I won’t just assume that they can’t jump up to the bath yet. Because obviously they could and did and well, fuck. The guilt.

    Sigh.

  • Sharing the Love #1

    A long time ago when I first started blogging, things felt different. I found a few blogs I liked and from there, clicked through their blogrolls, subscribing to blogs along the way.

    Slowly I gathered around me a group of women who commented here, who loved on me and who were generally amazing all around. I did the same thing for them. As well as that, we shared our traffic and our readers and slowly slowly, we formed a ‘group’.

    I look back over my blog for the last 3 years and while I’ve still got a blogroll, I rarely link to other bloggers just to share the love. I don’t write a quick post to say ‘I found an amazing blog and you should read them too’ anymore. And looking around, not many people do anymore. Of course we all still link, but posts dedicated to sharing the love? I’m not seeing them as often.

    And really, I miss them. Because while I loved getting linked and an influx of different traffic, it was even nicer to click to a friends blog and find her recommending a new read and finding amazing blogs this way. I’ve also noticed a downfall in blogrolls lately, not so much on the newer blogs, but on slightly older ones – ones who have been accused of favouritism by having a blogroll. I miss blogrolls.

    I asked on twitter a few days ago for recommendations for blogs and while I got some great new blogs to add to my reader, I was also underwhelmed by the response. Surely we’ve all got an absolute favourite that we’d like to share?

    So. I thought about it and I’d like to instigate a thing, wherein I write a post once a month, telling you about a blog I’m reading and why I love them.

    Ideally, I’d love if other people would join in and write about their favourite blog too and then we’d all link up – but I’m not sure it would turn out like that.

    The idea is simply, sharing the love. Letting your readers know about someone they should be reading too, if they aren’t already. I think finding new-to-me blogs this way will be easier and more fun too.

    So, first blog for me:

    Failure to Nap.

    Statia has been blogging for a very long time, nearly 10 years and a few different domain changes type long. A looong time. There are 8 years worth of archives on Failure to Nap, so if you’re after some decent blog reading…

    I found her blog via Shannon, a little while ago (I forget how long) and subscribed immediately. She’s funny and she’s real and she says fuck a lot. What more can I want?

    Even more, now that we’re dealing with the whole aspergers thing, it’s been lovely to bug the shit out of her, asking questions about her son and how she copes with various behaviours. Statia’s run the gauntlet of infertility to fall and stay pregnant with her son, and then was surprised to find herself pregnant the natural way soon after with her daughter, who is now a full blown TODDLER.

    Plus, anyone who allows me to get a good bitch about blogging out of my system is a winner, in my opinion. She’s one of four women I can bitch to, without worrying about what they’ll think – probably because we think similar things.

    So, anyway, you should read her because she’s awesome.

    ***

    If you’re playing along with share the love, add your link in the comments and I’ll link you up here. No, we don’t have a button, but if someone is offering? I’ll be in that. The idea will be to link to a blog you love monthly and tell your readers why they should subscribe.

    Also, picture was shamlessly stolen from Statia’s header. I think she’ll forgive me. I hope so.

    ***

    Others sharing the love:
    Frogpondsrock
    …from Toushka
    Our Park Life
    Kebeni
    Drovers Run
    Picklebums
    BabbleOn
    This Mid 30’s Life
    College and a Novel
    Gluten Free Soy Free
    Drifting Through Life
    Play, Eat, Learn, Live
    In Search Of
    Ramblings of a Broken Hearted Mummy
    Mm is for me
    The Tensile Times

    Leave a link to your post detailing a blog you love in the comments and I’ll add it here for you.

  • I feel like the Pied Piper

    Inevitably, when I walk out into the big yard, the poultry notice and hoping that I’ll feed them, they follow me around.

    It doesn’t matter that I’m going to take photos, I might have FOOD!

    Food? Do you have food?

    One of the ducks even hops off her eggs to follow and see if the wheat will be forthcoming.

    As I get closer to the fenceline, the mother duck notices me and abandoning her ducklings, flies in to land at my feet.

    A trail of ducklings follows, running frantically and peeping the whole time. A few overbalance and crash, landing on their beaks and making me laugh.

    As I continue away from them, they follow, running around in circles and growling at me when I merely take photos and don’t magically produce wheat.

    They all stop to grumble at the lack of wheat and lack of movement on my part. Even the cat has followed me by this point (back left corner).

    Of course, my movements as I return to the house makes them all hopeful again as they weave around my feet, worse than a pile of puppies.

    This was during the afternoon, they’d already been fed for the day. Of course I, being the soft hearted person that I am went and got a few handfuls of wheat to scatter. And then I spent some time bothering the ducklings by handling them during feed time.

    Some mornings, my entrance to the big yard is heralded by a sea of poultry towards me, a moving seething mass, clucking and peeping, hoping that I’ve got wheat.

    It’s good fun.

  • It’s not always what you think

    This is a guest post from Tanya at Living Right Now. I offered to host because this post deals with some sensitive issues and she didn’t want it on her own site.

    ***

    I like to think of myself as ‘normal.’ I’m 5’6, brown hair, green eyes, am 23 years old and have a partner and a toddler. I’m on my second University degree, I’m going to soon be an Art Teacher. I try to be a good person, and I need to point out that I have been with N for nearly four years. I didn’t think this sort of thing would happen to me, ever.

    It started when we went to the pool. I was dry and itchy down there. I thought it was thrush but by the end of the day I was chaffing as well. It was sore and I felt dizzy, hot and generally unwell. I thought that maybe I had been sunburned and was just feeling a touch a heatstroke. I went home and sat on the couch uncomfortably.

    By the next day I was in pain. It was itchy and sore and there were lumps forming on my lady parts. When I tried to scratch the pain shot through me. The first thing I thought of was a heat rash, but the lumps seemed to indicate something else. I booked into the doctor and surprisingly got an appointment the same day with the lady doctor at the local practice.

    I had to wait for an hour in the doctor’s surgery, with itchy lady parts and the urge to stand up, drop my pants and try to scratch it. It was uncomfortable. The lady in front of me had a brand new baby, cooing over her kept me occupied for a few minutes. I then started to watch people coming in and out of the surgery. I witnessed a young lady and what I assumed was her partner appearing at the desk after being seen by a doctor. She was in tears and he was rubbing her back sympathetically but smiling at the same time. She then went next door to have bloods done. I guessed a pregnancy.

    I finally was called to the surgery and I explained my symptoms to the doctor. I sighed when she asked me to lay on the bed so she could have a look.

    ‘Uh huh, yes.’ She said thoughtfully. ‘Herpes simplex.’

    I asked her to repeat herself.

    ‘Herpes. Herpes? Do you know what herpes is?’ She asked.

    ‘I do. But. I’ve been with the same person for four years. It’s impossible.’

    ‘The virus can lay dormant for a long time…’ she started, but I wasn’t listening. I was crunching numbers in my head. I had only been with two people, ever. The first one I was his first and he was mine. There is no way I could have picked up herpes.

    ‘You don’t understand…I cannot have contracted this at all. There’s no way.’ I began. I could see that she wasn’t interested in my excuses, and told me that it was perfectly normal, and okay, and lots of people contract this virus through sexual activities.

    I gave up and sat there glumly. She explained the medication to me and gave me a prescription. I left the surgery in a daze.

    In the car something occurred to me. He must have cheated on me, I thought. I burst into tears and by the time I walked in the door at home I was sobbing loudly. N and our housemate J were both panicked and N held me tight and asked me what had happened. When I told him he shook his head in disbelief.

    ‘That’s impossible.’ He said.

    ‘I know.’ I replied, but I wasn’t believing it for a second.

    I grabbed some money and headed to the chemist to humiliate myself again. I was more than embarrassed and I felt dirty somehow. How could I have an STI? Doesn’t that only happen to people who sleep around a lot? Did he cheat? Does he have it? My mind was racing with questions. I picked up the medication and noticed the pharmacy assistant give me a quick glance up and down as she handed me the package. She was tall, blonde and gorgeous, of course. She would never get herpes.

    I spent the rest of the day half in tears and couldn’t bring myself to tell anyone. One of my best friends appeared online and I dropped the bomb on her. We hadn’t been on great terms lately but luckily she was fully sympathetic and I was thankful.

    The accusations in my head were physically displayed in my disinterest in touching, or even being next to N. For one thing I felt dirty, and I blamed him. In my head I accused him of cheating, or of at least giving me a disease. I researched the condition on the Internet and once you have contracted it, the virus never goes away. I was stuck with this for the rest of my life and it could reappear at any time. This sent me into a depression and I moped around for a few days before N approached me with a theory.

    He reminded me that he had had severe coldsores a week before my symptoms appeared. I had kissed him just as they were starting to clear up and knowing that coldsores are a form of herpes, I could have contracted them that way. I dismissed his theory and backed it up by research done on the Internet. (Good old Google!) Coldsores were the herpes simplex virus one, or HSV1. Herpes transmitted sexually were HSV2. Two completely different strains.

    I can’t even explain how upset I was. It sounds so stupid but once you’ve been there you would understand. I felt dirty as well as sick and I was in too much pain to wear underpants so I lived in my pyjamas for a week. I was so angry and wished there was a way that I could have prevented this from happening. It was disgusting. I was disgusting. I had a disease which I would pass on to anyone. I was unclean. J shared my view as he had been accused of passing on an STI and understood how dirty and wrong I felt. I wasn’t talking to N often because in the back of my head there were still accusations that wouldn’t leave my thoughts. I didn’t want him to know this because I didn’t want him to know what I had been thinking if somehow my accusations were wrong.

    The next few days passed in a blur, the sores were nearly cleared up, but others things were weighing down on top of me. I decided that the best thing to do would be to go back to the doctor and find answers. I was glad that I didn’t have to have a blood test, only a urine test to determine what was really going on down there.

    The tests backed up N’s theory, no HSV2 virus. No cheating. No shame.

    See, the things is that the HSV1 virus is in 80% of people. The majority of people only know this when they get coldsores. But what a lot of people don’t know is that the coldsores can appear on other areas of your body, even the genital area. I caught the virus off N, and with Uni assignments looming upon me I was stressed which triggered the outbreak. Instead of coldsores on my face, they appeared elsewhere. I could now have coldsores at any time, although it is ‘unlikely’ that they will appear there again, and more likely that they will appear on my face. (Yay me.)

    I think this is important for everyone to know, if you get the symptoms I did, don’t just assume the worst. It may not be what you think.