Moo

I have a fair bit of idle mind time at the moment, and every now and then the idea of my body producing milk strikes me as no less amazing than if I found myself crapping Freddo Frogs.

Passive-Aggressive Notes

People can be hilarious when they're angry. And I don't mean in the using-caustic-wit-to-get-your-cranky-point-across way, I mean in the uncharitable, laughing-at-the-unfortunate sense. Feel the same way? You'll enjoy Passive-Aggressive Notes in that case. Similar to Found magazine, but focusing on notes left by the irritated. Quite priceless.

Thanks to The Hegemo for bringing this site to light.

Update: Passive-Aggressive Notes has moved. I'd hate you to miss out on ready access to illiterate bile.

Fleeced

From the Sunday Snail.

Thousands of Japanese have been fleeced in a scam in which they were sold Australian and British sheep and told they were poodles.

Flocks of sheep were imported to Japan and then sold by a company called Poodles as Pets, marketed as fashionable accessories, available at $1600 each.

That is a snip compared to a real poodle which retails for twice that much in Japan.

The scam was uncovered when Japanese movie star Maiko Kawamaki went on a talk show and wondered why her new pet would not bark or eat dog food.

Then hundreds of other women got in touch with police to say they feared their new "poodle" was also a sheep.

I've since heard that this story is rubbish, based on a misquote or mistranslation. We're pretty quick to assume as true any story that shows the Japanese to be ridiculously eccentric, stupid, or stupidly and eccentrically ridiculous. But what the hell. I think it's a great story anyway. I only wish I'd thought of importing the sheep myself.

Pictures of Little People

...and one large person.

The belly at its peak. The morning of the birth, in fact.

And the results. Edie an hour old.

And Oscar.

Edie chowing down on Oscar's head.

Edie at three weeks.

Oscar, three weeks.

Motherhood

What on earth could possibly have kept me from updating for such a long time? What indeed.

Edie and Oscar arrived as planned on the 17th, and life since then has been a fog of breasts, shitty nappies and milk sick. My life is now focussed on my ability to produce a dairy product, not something I'd ever really considered before.

The little 'uns are healthy and lovely, and Dad and I are learning to be incredibly grateful for sleep in blocks of four hours or more. Edie was born with her eyes open and staring, and continues to take it all in at every opportunity. Oscar came out wailing and with his eyes clenched shut. He's a bit of a delicate flower, sensitive to loud noises and bright lights. Can't blame him, really; I wanted to scream in the surgery, too.

It's nice to (kind of) have my body back. The sheer ease of movement post-belly is a truly wonderful thing. Moving around with a wriggling baby attached to your leaking chest has its own challenges, though. Currently typing this with Oscar on my lap; also a little difficult.

One thing I was not so aware of is how novel people find twins. When we take them out in the pram, something we do every other day, it's rare that we get more than a few metres before someone stops us for interrogation. Are they twins? How old are they? Are they identical? Should you have them out at that age? Do you have twins in your family? The answer to all of these questions is Please just sod off. Please. You're the fourth person to ask me that in the past ten minutes, and you're really trying my patience. I only had three hours sleep last night. Step aside immediately or I may not be responsible for my actions. I know people are trying to be nice. Sometimes. But it's still trying.

Parenthood Eve

This time tomorrow I'll be deflated, drugged, stitched, and a Responsible Adult. Is it too late to change my mind?

Someone asked me this afternoon if I was nervous. I'm something, but I'm not sure if nervous is quite it. I've certainly had that restless pacing around that comes with waiting for anything. Over the past few weeks I've had reflux so bad (wakes me up several times a night) that any cure, even at the point of a scalpel, seems welcome. I'm kind of dazed I suppose. We grow up seeing the whole birth thing as being quite unpredictable in terms of timing, so to know that at about 11am on the 17th we'll be parents is pretty weird. I'm looking forward to meeting the little 'uns.

Lofty, however, is quite anxious at this point. I think it's that situation of seeing someone else go through something difficult and being helpless to do much other than watch. He's a bit of a doer, so knowing that his biggest contribution tomorrow is going to be holding my hand and reassuring me is frustrating for him. I understand that completely, but I think he's underestimating just how important the hand-holding is going to be.

I'm getting a bit sentimental about the belly. I've been living with it and watching it grow for such a long time now that suddenly losing it is making me a little sad, despite how damned cumbersome it is. I've enjoyed rubbing it, feeling it move around... it's got a personality of its own, you know.

I think I'm feeling too reflective to be nervous. It's a big day, this last day of childlessness. At 37, tomorrow I finally have to grow up. *sigh* And so life wanders relentlessly on.

It's a Date

We got the big news yesterday: Betty and Bob are scheduled to enter this world via caesarean at 10.30am on the 17th of April. Less than two weeks away!

And they tell me that there'll be two babies for us to take home at the end of all that. Because that's the thing: despite having months to come to grips with that idea, the layers of disbelief are still falling away, one by one. I'm guessing it won't be until they hand them over that I'll finally say, Holy crap, you mean these are mine? Forever? What the hell are you saying? Being given a date was rather sobering.

So, the knife. Over the past few weeks the two of them have been very acrobatic indeed, resulting in some major jolting and wriggling, and some very bizarre (and painful) belly shapes. Turns out that Bob, previously lying sideways, has now decided that breech is the go after all. And they've completely swapped sides. You wouldn't think that there was room to scratch yourself in there, but they've wriggled and fiddled and somehow made the switch. It explains a lot! But as a first birth, both twins breech is just not considered safe to attempt naturally, so slicey-slice it is.

We landed ourselves a very good doctor at the hospital yesterday who gave an an entire hour of her time to explain everything and answer our questions, and we're both satisfied with her reasoning for both the method and timing of the delivery. The 17th will be 38 weeks 4 days.

So we now have two weeks minus a bit to get unpacked and arranged at this new house, wash all the baby things we've been given, pick up the baby things we're missing, arrange for a dog-sitter for delivery day and after, buy a new fridge (ours died in the move, annoyingly), finish what we both need to do at our respective workplaces, and, and, and.... *phew* We're hoping to be all done by the weekend prior so that we can have one last grown-ups weekend, meaning dinners, movies and so on. That's the plan, anyway.