No, I haven’t switched to partial feeds and no, I didn’t just republish the headlines from my last 10 posts on purpose.
I promise, I won’t do the partial feed thing. Ever.
Proper post to come. If I can find the energy.
Blog
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Showcase Tasmania: Bonorong Park
As part of my Showcase Tasmania series, I was lucky enough to head out to Bonorong Wildlife Sanctuary last week with the kidlets in tow. Bonorong is a local wildlife park/animal rescue, with various native wildlife, kangaroos to feed and things to look at.
Oh, and if you’re Amy, there are ICECREAMS, nothing but ICECREAMS, oh god, why won’t mummy and daddy hurry up with the sight seeing because YOU GUYS, ICECREAMS.
We should have bought an icecream at the beginning is what I’m saying, rather than waiting until the end.
We saw lots of different animals and I am pretty certain that Isaac would have been happy to wander around in circles looking at everything again, but Amy was being herself and well, you know how that goes.
It was a gorgeous day.
Isaac loved the rainbow lorikeets. Loved them.
Whereas Amy loved the Koalas, despite the sleepy nature of them.
We played spot the spotted quoll. Shortly after I took this photo, the quoll was kind enough to run past the front fence and show herself (himself?) off to the kids, but I didn’t photograph that bit.
Three Tawny Frogmouths, all in a row.
I would happily have watched the Tasmanian Devil and joeys for a lot longer than my children cared to. Baby devils are amazingly cute.
The wombat got himself tangled in his bedding and dragged it around for a while before working out where the exit was.
A pink galah. Isaac was also a fan here.
And the peacock adamantly refused to shake his tail feathers for us. Total shame.
The rest of us had a lot of fun. However, because we were there at 11am in the morning, the wallabies were more busy sleeping and didn’t want to be fed – which is probably okay, as Isaac didn’t seem terribly keen to get up close to them.
I’ve been to Bonorong quite a few times now, trips as a kid and back again as an adult and I do highly recommend it. That said, I’ve only ever been during the day and nowadays they offer a Night Tour, which I would LOVE to do, as a lot of the animals are nocturnal and asleep during the day.
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Showcase Tasmania is me showing off some of the places in Tasmania to visit with children, or Tasmanian produce. I was given a free pass into Bonorong in return for this post and I approached them as a business I wanted to work with, not the other way around.
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Sunday Selections
So, the lovely Frogpondsrock asked me to host Sunday Selections today.
These next two are from our trip to Bonorong Park, which I’ll talk about properly soonish.
Three Tawny Frogmouths, all in a row.
Tasmanian Devil and her joeys.
Sunday Selections: The Blurb from Frogpondsrock.
The Blurb
I take a lot of photos and most of them are just sitting around in folders on my desktop not doing anything. I thought that a dedicated post once a week would be a good way to share some of these photos that otherwise wouldn’t be seen by anyone other than me.
I am also remarkably absent minded and I put photos into folders and think that I will publish them later on and then then I never do.
So I have started a photo meme that anyone can join in and play as well. The rules are so simple as to be virtually non existent.
Just add your name and URL to the Mr Linky.
Publish your photos on your blog using the “Sunday Selections” title.
Link back here to me.
Easy Peasy.
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Let’s talk about my broken reproductive system
It’s no secret that I want a third baby, that I’ve wanted a third baby since Isaac was a baby still. It’s also no secret that in that time, I’ve not been pregnant, despite no birth control.
My children are flukes. Conceived within a month of coming off the pill, both of them (with Amy because I was sick of being unwell, so stopped the pill, with Isaac because I’d bled for 6 weeks and they popped me on the pill to stop the bleeding) and we managed to time everything perfectly. Long time readers know this already.
Of course, it wasn’t until earlier this year that we discovered I have PCOS, which is why the pill actually helped with the conception (go figure, also, fuck you to the Gyn who suggested there was nothing wrong with me, it was all in my head* and there was NOTHING SUSPICIOUS about my conception history), but never mind that. Also suspected: Endometriosis, but we haven’t done a laproscopy to confirm, because of the Ehlers Danlos and unecessary operations thing. Go home and suck it up, buttercup.
I’m not sure what my chances of conceiving naturally are. I’m not sure I want to ask anyone, because numbers obsess me and the last thing my brain needs right now are more obsessions. I know that conceiving Isaac took 16 months of TTC and tears. I used to have a TTC category even, but it got amalgamated in a blog redesign.
All of this is to say, I just went through my two week wait. My two week wait that actually lasted 45 days, forty five very long days, with untold negative pregnancy tests and lots of complaining. What normal person has a 60 day cycle?
I DO.
APPARENTLY.
It doesn’t change the fact that I want another baby. It just changes the fact that the chances of me conceiving one naturally are pretty slim.
This is where my gynecologist comes in.
Conceiving another baby should always come with a side of ultrasound wands and ovary stimulating hormones.
I’ve got an appointment on the 5th of October. The idea is to get a script for Clomid and then see what happens.
I ummed and ahhhed over telling you this, Internet. You see, you tend to have opinions about people having babies and when they should have them and how many they should have and how they should definitely not have any more children once they’re past the point where YOU deem that YOU would stop.
(It’s just SELFISH, is what it is, these people daring to have BABIES in a way that I don’t think is APPROPRIATE.)
(Let me stop you there, before my eyes implode and I call you names that I really shouldn’t.)
(Really, you need to stop having opinions about my life.)
But, Internet, you’re not me and I want another baby.
Having a broken reproductive system doesn’t stop the wanting.
So I’m sharing this with you, because honestly, not sharing it has probably contributed to the insanity that I have been feeling lately. It seems that not writing things out is bad for my head. Whoa, newsflash.
Hopefully this ends up being easy. Hopefully the Universe smiles down upon us and grants us an easy pregnancy, with a happy smiling baby at the end.
Sure, it would be the only time the Universe has chosen not to fuck with us, but hey, a girl can live in hope.
*I think that there is something written on my forehead in ink that only doctors can read saying: Case too complicated, obviously is making it all up, send her home with NO HELP. ABORT MISSION. NO ONE CAN SAVE YOU NOW. But maybe I’m overreacting. I’ve got a lot of issues.
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Painkillers, headspace, broken joints and assorted other things that won’t make sense
It was after I dropped Amy off at school that my hands started to hurt, badly. We were on the way to the supermarket and I’d already had to talk myself out of vomiting a few times this morning, so my head really wasn’t up to ignoring the pain in my hands.
By the time I was 3/4 of the way through the supermarketing, I was unable to push the trolley and the pain was at the front and centre of most of my thoughts. Luckily, with the help of unlimited lollipops, Isaac was being practically angelic and just following along behind us, as Nathan pushed the trolley and lifted the heavy things, like milk and rice.
(Side note: It takes three lollipops to get the supermarketing done without meltdowns or screaming. What I need now, is to find lollipops without artificial colours.)
I held on, until I got to the chemist, knowing that I had scripts for regular tramadol (that doesn’t give me insomnia) and panadol oesto for the arthritis pain. Only, when I went to fill the script, I discovered that it was out of date and I was out of luck. Fun times, you guys, fun times.
By the time we made it home, I wasn’t in the best frame of mind and Isaac deciding to have a meltdown over toothpaste wasn’t really something I wanted to deal with.
I managed to take some slow release tramadol (that does give me insomnia) and now, two hours later, it has kicked in and while I’m still in pain, I’m rather stoned and I don’t care quite so much. It was a choice between stoned, or knocked out. Sometimes there are no good choices.
This Winter has been really bad. I’m coming out of the other side of SAD, smack into depression and anxiety, but I think that if I can hold on until the weather warms up, I might be okay. My soul is screaming for long hot days spent laying in the sun, letting the warmth fix my joints for a little while.
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I was outside using the pitchfork to poke holes in the swampy patch in my back corner. I had a bag full of mint that needed to be planted and Isaac was helping me, by tipping out the roots and running away with them.
Three holes in, the pitchfork handle snapped in my face, as the bottom (metal) end threw itself up into my forehead.
“Mummy! It hit you in the head! MUMMY!”
Funnily enough, I realised that.
My forehead still hurts, but the cut is healing, at least.
I can’t say that it’s helping either my mental or physical states to be beating myself up with a pitchfork, however.
On the upside, with some help from Nathan, I got 20 currant cuttings planted out (not sure what types – Mum had forgotten) and a bag full of mint plants planted. And the raspberry canes survived being transplanted and are shooting up.
Finally.
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It’s been dark inside my head lately. I keep putting one foot in front of the other and trusting to the fact that eventually, this will change. It might not get better, or easier, but I can count on it getting different at some point.
Different is good.
I’m discontent with my house, with my lack of garden, with a paddock full of nothing, that screams its nothingness at me every time I see it. With the clutter and the lack and the excess and everything. I am discontent.
I need to work on getting things inside my head sorted, so that I can work on getting things outside of my head sorted.
And until then, I’m going to keep dreaming of moving house and living somewhere that isn’t falling down, that has a garden to sit in and just be, and storage space and cupboards for everything. I hear that they exist, somewhere.
Until then, I’m going to keep planting things and hoping that they grow and help sort my sanity out.
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I don’t think this post makes much sense. Sorry about that.