My Journey and Those Along the Way

My pregnancy journey has been amazing. Oh, sure, I have suffered from my fair share of morning sickness and aches and pains, but on the whole I am loving it. I have wanted a baby for so long and my journey has had its ups and downs, but I feel so blessed to finally be growing my own baby. My pregnant body still amazes me. I catch sight of the curve of my stomach in shop windows or mirrors and still feel astonishment that I am looking at my own pregnant belly. 

It has been a long journey so far, and it is fast reaching its end- or rather, its beginning. I have been fortunate enough to have the support of some wonderful people along the way and would like to take a moment to mention them now.

My yoga instructor, Sarah of Sacred Journey. Deciding to attend weekly pregnancy yoga classes has been one of the best decisions I could have made. Each class leaves me feeling energised, revitalised, relaxed, free from aches and pains and in a better frame of mind, and more and more prepared for the birth. Sarah has such a wealth of knowledge and leads her classes with joy, humour and a sense of calm. I also enjoy the opportunity for a chat with the other mums-to-be before and after the sessions. I plan to continue the classes right up until the birth and am looking forwards to putting the techniques I am learning into practice during labour. One thing she has said has really stuck with me: "The pain you will feel during labour is coming from your own body and therefore it cannot be stronger than you or more than you can bear." This is something I want to remember during my labour.

My massage therapist, Annie of Sanctum Body Skin Soul. I met Annie at a Niche Market several years ago and quickly became addicted to her beautiful candles and soaps. She has since opened Sanctum and I have had several enjoyable experiences there, being pampered and wrapped in chocolate, having foot soaks, facials, and more recently, pregnancy massages. Back, shoulder and pelvic pain have been a problem for me over the last few months and Annie's wonderful pregnancy massages have been a lifesaver. I feel more relaxed from the moment I step through the doors of Sanctum, and enjoy every minute, from the chat with Annie to the massage itself to the cup of herbal tea and sample of fudge afterwards. 

My doula, Cherie Chugg. A doula is a trained birth partner; someone who is there for you and your partner before, during and after the birth to offer support- both emotional and physical- assistance, encouragement and act as your advocate. She is there from the beginning to the end of the birth as continuous support- something that will be very helpful in a public hospital with no guarantee of having the same caregivers throughout the labour and birth. I decided long ago that I wanted to have a doula with us at the birth and am very happy with our choice of Cherie. We have had several pre-birth sessions together now and I feel relaxed and comfortable with her, as if I am chatting with a trusted friend. She brings a sense of calm and support with her as soon as she steps into our home and I am very grateful to know that that same sense of calmness and support will be brought into the labour room. 

These three ladies are lovely and I do feel incredibly lucky to have them as part of my journey. I feel sure that it would have been a lot harder without them. I have no idea what my birth experience will be like, but I am feeling strong and ready to face it. 

                                                   

The Story of Finding a Grandfather

As I said in my last post, my Grandpa Jeffrey passed away last Sunday morning and it hit me fairly hard. Losing both my grandfathers within a twelve-month period was not something I expected. Grandpa Jeffrey was a little different to Pop, however. Pop, my dad's father, has been around since I was born. Grandpa Jeffrey was someone I only met when I was seven years old, back in 1991. How does that work?

You see, my mother was adopted as a newborn baby. She was adopted by a Tasmanian couple who already had two sons and enjoyed a happy, loving childhood. From the age of four, she knew about the adoption (though it came as an initial shock) but was happy with her adoptive family. Her adoptive father passed away when she was 18 years old, and she lost her adoptive mother to breast cancer when I was less than a year old. 

Though she still had her adoptive brothers, to whom she has always been very close, she began to want to find her birth parents. It took a number of years for her grief to subside and for her to feel ready. When I was six years old she began her search, with the help of an agency. She discovered her mother's name, and that her mother had travelled from the mainland to give birth to her and have her adopted. She wrote a letter and sent it out to all the women of that name that she could track down. There are strict guidelines for that sort of thing- the agency does not recommend that you write "I think I am the daughter that you had adopted," etc. Instead, she wrote that she was looking for a woman of that name, who had travelled to Tasmania on that date, to discuss a personal matter. Then she waited.

I remember Mum checking the mail every day. A few replies began to trickle in- all return to sender, or 'not known at this address, or 'sorry, but that wasn't me'. Then one day a letter arrived. I remember Mum reading it, and then I remember her asking Lisa and I to go outside and play as she wanted to lie down. It was only years later that she told me that she had sent us outside, whilst barely holding herself together, so that we would not see her sobbing her heart out. Later that evening she explained to us (we were fully aware of her search) that her mother had written to her, but did not want to talk to her again. Many years later, Mum showed me the letter- the letter that broke her heart, but which she had been unable to throw away as it was the only thing her mother had ever given her. It was formal, impersonal, cold and typed. 

"Dear Mrs S,

Yes, I did travel to Tasmania on that date. That chapter of my life is now closed and I have no desire to enter into any further communications regarding the chapter. 

Regards, 

Mrs. K"

No wonder Mum was devastated.

Life went on. Mum locked her new grief away as best she could and tried to put this second rejection by the woman who had given birth to her aside. I remember her sadness and her quietness. I remember cuddling her and feeling shocked that someone's mother would not want them. A few months went by.

Then one Wednesday, Mum received a phone call from the agency that had been helping her. We were in the kitchen and I remember her dropping into a chair and the look of amazement, wonder and joy that spread over her face. The agency told her, "Sit down, Debbie, as we have some news...Your father has been trying to find you for the last 33 years."

By that afternoon, Mum had spoken on the phone to her father. She had learnt that her mother had refused to allow him to have anything to do with the pregnancy and had never told him where she had gone to give birth. She had wanted to marry another man and wanted a career and therein lay her decision. Jeffrey had never given up searching. Mum learnt that she had a half sister and two half brothers, and when she tentatively asked about meeting up, Jeffrey announced he planned to fly to Tasmania to meet us all the very next week. 

Mum was beside herself with joy and we were so excited, for her and for ourselves at the prospect of a new grandfather. The following week Mum drove to the airport, an hour and a half away, to collect her father, while we waited at home with Dad. When we saw the car we ran out to see our beaming mother, and our grandfather. He wasn't a stranger to us and we ran straight to him, to both be swept up into a tight, tight hug by strong arms. He held us close against his woollen jumper and we laughed for joy. One of the most important things we wanted to know was what to call him. Mum was still calling him Jeffrey- it wasn't until she spent time with her sister that she began to slip into calling him Dad from time to time- and he told us we could call him whatever we wanted to. He told us that his other two grandchildren- our new cousins- called him Grandpa and we quickly decided that Grandpa Jeffrey seemed right.

He was a big part of our lives from that day. Before too long, we had flown to New South Wales to meet Mum's siblings and stay with Jeffrey in his beautiful home in the Blue Mountains. Mum became very close to her half-sister, who she closely resembled, and we were instantly close to our new cousins. Over the years Jeffrey would visit us or we would see him, and he loved to spoil us at birthdays and Christmas. He took us to the beach and would carry us, one at a time, out into the crashing waves and hold us tight while jumping the waves. He never forgot a birthday or passed up the opportunity to see us. 

The last few years of his life were hard. Due to several poor decisions, he lost his highly successful law practice and his lovely home and moved into a small flat. He lost none of his spirit and passion. He may have had flaws, but we never doubted his love for us and he has undoubtedly left a hole in our lives. He was unwell for some time before slipping away on Sunday, and though I am sad I did not see him again before the end, I am also glad in a way that I did not see him in a coma. I am glad I can remember him as he was- loud, and jolly, and full of life, jumping the waves and keeping us safe.

 

Thrown Off Course

To everyone who has been reading my blog, both new and old readers- thank you for reading, and I apologise for the silence this past week. I feel a bit off course at the moment. I am coming up on 17 nights of insomnia (by which I mean still being awake past 2 or 3 am, and only getting an hour or two of sleep on the worst nights) and it is taking a toll. Those who read my blog will know I have suffered from insomnia for my entire life but it has never been this bad before. I am frustrated and a little more exhausted each day. Someone commented "Yeah but you're on leave now- does it matter that you aren't getting much sleep? Can't you just nap?" This wasn't really helpful. There are children in the house who are early risers and need to be taken to school, appointments to be kept, children to be picked up from school, etc, and the knowledge that if I give in to an afternoon nap (why, why oh why is it so much easier for me to sleep during the day???) I will make it harder for myself to sleep come night time. 

I am finding it a bit of a struggle at the moment. Each night I think I will surely sleep as I am so exhausted...but it won't happen. 

To make things harder, my Grandpa Jeffrey passed away early this morning after spending the last three days in a coma, and it has hit me fairly hard. I have now lost both my grandfathers and it makes me sad that neither of them will be around to become a great-grandfather. I have many fond memories of Grandpa Jeffrey to hold onto and am planning on writing about him soon. I don't think I can say much more about it all yet. It's still too raw.

I planned to just write a sentence or two to explain my silence but once I started to type, it just came out. Writing has always been therapeutic for me and I do enjoy my little blog and hate neglecting it. I am hanging in there. Sleep will come...and then disappear for a while once my little man arrives, but that is a journey I am looking forwards to.

Stay well, everyone, and I will return with happier entries soon. And hopefully I will feel as relaxed and rested as Faye clearly does. 

 

Our Easter Weekend

Good Friday began bright and early with two very excited children eager to see what Easter Bunny had brought for them. (They are with their mother on Sunday so EB makes an early stop here.) They were thrilled to see that the Easter Bunny had shed some fur in a trail around the house (even though naughty feline Faye had followed the bunny and tried to play with the fur as it was dropped...) 

 

Easter just isn't the same without chocolate before breakfast! Jasper, Rob's Seeing Eye Dog, didn't miss out on a treat either- EB left him a nice big carrot which he was very happy with.

We all enjoyed some pancakes for breakfast and headed up to the Gorge for a picnic and a walk around lunchtime. We live on the Trevallyn side of the Gorge, but when we arrived at the car park- only 5 minutes drive from our house- it was packed and we ended up having to drive through town and go around to the Basin side. Oh well. It was a beautiful day and we enjoyed the sunshine. 

I was feeling very happy and relaxed as Thursday was my last day at work before beginning Maternity Leave. I still have a while to go before the baby arrives, but I've been struggling with back pain and lack of sleep for a few weeks now so I'm very happy to have finished work. My work gave me some chocolates, a card and a generous gift voucher, which was lovely and I'm looking forwards to buying the last few things we need.

Saturday we decided to head to Bridport for the day to go to the beach, visit my dear friend Jude at her campsite and have some fish and chips. The weather was a bit dubious with some rain on the way out, but when we arrived it was quite nice- windy, but not cold. The children didn't mind that we said it was a bit too cold to swim and enjoyed running around after we ate our lunch on the beach.

After lunch we decided to drive along to the dog beach to let Jasper have a run. We told the children they could change into their shorts and have a paddle up to their knees...I'm not sure who we were kidding as they both ended up drenched, but it was great to see them having so much fun. Jasper was ecstatic as well- as soon as his lead was off he was charging through the waves and along the sand. At one point he tore off to the other end of the beach and brought back a new friend to play with.

Just as we got back to the car and dried everyone off it started to rain, so our timing worked out well! We got back to the city by late afternoon and the children were picked up by their mother soon after, so we just had a quiet night. Today has been a little fraught....as we had our Easter celebration on Friday we planned to have a very lazy day and not leave the house at all, but I realised that something was wrong with Pesto's mouth and discovered a large infected cut on his tongue. No wonder he didn't eat his dinner last night. I feel guilty for telling him not to be fussy! A trip to the vet ensued and we had to leave him there. I've just had a call to say he's going to be okay and we can pick him up in an hour once the anaesthetic wears off. Poor puss.

So that was our Easter weekend. I hope everyone has enjoyed time with their family this weekend as well. 
Love,
Bebb

Bittersweet Adventure

I am extremely close to my mum and dad, and always have been. As a child, I struggled with terrible homesickness on school camps and at sleepovers as I missed them and the warm and loving environment they had created for my sister and I. We talk several times a week, and their house is less than an hour from mine.

Yet they won't meet their first grandchild, my baby son, until he is at least 4 months old.

You see, my mum and dad are more than just loving and devoted parents. They are adventurers. Lisa and I were brought up to love being outdoors and enjoying bushwalking, abseiling, camping and kayaking.

Dad, me, Mum and my sister on an overnight bushwalk last year.

Several weeks ago they left 'mainland Tasmania' in a helicopter, which deposited them on Maatsuyker Island, a small , rugged, remote island off the south coast of our island state. There they will remain, as the sole inhabitants, for six months as the volunteer caretakers. They will live on the supplies they brought with them and vegies from the carefully maintained garden, with one resupply by helicopter at the halfway mark.

They will face roaring winds and cold as they rise at 5am to send a weather report to the Bureau of Metereology. They will maintain the grounds, the gardens, the house, keep an eye on the colonies of seals and shearwaters (mutton birds) and send several weather reports a day. They will have each other for company and be able to talk to friends and family on the satellite phone and listen to the radio...no internet or television on the island.

They will miss the birth of their grandson and his first few months of life.

Why, you may ask, have they chosen to be so far away and unreachable during this time? Well, becoming a volunteer caretaker on Maat is quite a coveted position and has a rigorous application process. They spent 3 months on the island in 2010 and have always been keen to return. Long before I fell pregnant, they applied for this longer stint and were accepted just before I found out the news.

Did I cry? Did I sob in Mum's arms and beg her not to leave? Did she cry and spent days in a torment of indecision?

Yes, we did. And then Mum and Dad made their decision, and I accepted the decision and did my best to come to terms with it. I'm still coming to terms with it. But I'm also happy that they are following their dreams and having this amazing adventure together. I know that they will be the most loving, committed, fun grandparents for the rest of my little boy's life, and this first four month is such a small part of that. I asked Mum the other day if she wanted me to call her as soon as I go into labour, or if she would prefer to wait and hear the news once the baby is born. I had visions of her and Dad pacing the island in an agony of tension. However, she assured me that she wants to know as soon as I even think I am in labour. I know it wasn't an easy decision for either of them. It's hard on me too. I am lucky, though, to have the support around me that I do and in the meantime, all I can do is wish them well on their adventure and look forwards to their return and their next adventure as Nanna and Pop.

The Insomniac, Part 2

I wrote a post in 2011 about my struggle with insomnia. It's been an ongoing battle for my entire life. Last year, after going through some very challenging times in my life, my doctor suggested I try sleeping tablets so that I could at least make it to work- I was so stressed and upset that I was running on about 1 or 2 hours sleep- if that- a night, losing weight, and just not feeling good. I reluctantly agreed, after always saying I didn't want to take that path...and was instantly converted. I was only taking the tablets a couple of nights a week, generally before a work day, and knowing that I was going to be able to go to bed and sleep straight through for the entire night until my alarm went off was a wonderful thing. The only side effect I suffered was that the fact that my dreams tended to centre around pirates on these nights. Strange.

Fast forward to falling pregnant, and of course I had to stop taking the tablets. It was a non-decision- I simply wasn't going to take anything that might harm my baby. I didn't suffer any withdrawal symptoms, but my insomnia returned, of course. Coupled with that well-known phenomena, pregnancy insomnia. Some nights are fine...others I will still be wide awake at 3am.

I wrote before about insomnia being lonely. The loneliness of being the only one awake in the house, and feeling like you are the only one awake in the world. Things are a little different this time around, however. I have company.

My little boy seems to be just as much as a night owl as I am (please, please don't let this continue after he is born!) and I find it comforting to feel him kick, wriggle and dance when I am lying on the couch reading after being unable to fall asleep in bed. I will often talk to him or stroke the bits of him that sometimes protrude from my bump. I love it when he answers by prodding my hand or wriggling even more. It makes a difference to me knowing that someone is awake with me and keeping me company. I can't wait to hold him in my arms. I just hope he doesn't continue his nightly playtimes after he arrives!

Mouse in the House

Let me set the scene.

It was a Thursday evening at around 8.30pm. The children were fast asleep in bed and Rob and I were relaxing on the couch watching TV. I was feeling extremely tired from a very busy week at work and the thought of moving any time soon was not pleasant. 

Enter Faye, one of the cats. She came into the lounge, sat in front of the entertainment unit and stared at it. My heart instantly sank. 

You see, several years ago she spent two days staring at the stove before I finally worked out that there was a mouse hiding under it. Last year she sat and stared at the fridge- yep, once more a mouse was in hiding. So I instantly knew that there was the possible of a furry intruder in the house. I explained to Rob, grabbed a torch and had a thorough look...no mouse to be seen. I chastised Faye, told her she was crazy and tried not to think about it. The thing is, these mice don't just come into the house. Faye is not the brightest of cats and once she catches a mouse (which is very rare) instead of doing the normal cat thing, by which I mean chowing down and then leaving the head and several organs in a tableau more suited to Dexter outside one's front door, she prefers to bring it inside, unharmed, and let it go. I don't pretend to know why. I was hopeful that this time, there was no mouse. Perhaps Faye was hearing things. Or smelling things. Or something.

We returned to My Kitchen Rules and I tried not to think of it. Suddenly, Pesto (feline 2) entered the room, sat down and...stared at the entertainment unit. Then began sniffing at it. Then began scratching at it. My heart sunk further. Pesto has a great deal more common sense than Faye. I explained to Rob what was happening and we decided to have a closer look. I was still optimistic that there was just a large spider, or a trapped moth, or even a skink in attendance. (They call this denial). Rob managed to move the heavy cabinet forwards a little, and Pesto and I had a good look behind it. Nothing. Next to the cabinet is a much smaller cabinet, holding one of the speakers, and we decided to check under there next. Rob moved it, Pesto leapt forwards and a very large mouse erupted out from under it and into our Thursday night.

"Oh flip, it's a flipping mouse!" I screamed. (Replace the word 'flip' in that sentence-both times- with another word beginning with the same letter, and you'll realise what I actually said. Ahem.) No sooner had the words left my mouse than Rob disappeared from the room- backwards. I've never seen him move so fast. Then again, if I was unable to see and someone started screaming obscenely about a mouse, I would probably beat a hasty retreat as well. He reappeared moments later, now wearing his slippers, while I shouted "Get it Pesto, get it!" as Pesto chased said rodent behind the curtains. Let me make something clear. I did not wish the mouse actual physical harm. I am a vegetarian and against animal cruelty. But I am also against mice in my lounge room and the words just...came out. I didn't want Pesto to catch it and eat it, but I didn't want to grab it myself and I had some vague notion that if he grabbed it, I could grab him and use him as a mouse-carrier to take it outside, then somehow make him let it go. Not all that well thought out, I know, but it was a chaotic situation.

Pesto and I both lost sight of it and the next ten minutes were spent crawling around (difficult when one is heavily pregnant) looking under furniture with a torch, while Pesto prowled around doing his own searching and Rob hurriedly shut our bedroom door and the children's doors. Pesto and I were very much a team by now. I would call him over to help me look, and he would meow me over if he thought a piece of furniture deserved a second look.

"It has to be in here somewhere," I huffed to Rob. He stood still, listening. His hearing is a lot better than mine. 

"I can hear something...behind us," he whispered. I spun around to see the mouse making a break for it into the kitchen. 

"There is is! F....lip! Pesto!" I screeched. Pesto chased the mouse and we chased the cat, but in the kitchen it was nowhere to be seen. (Where was Faye during all of this, you might ask? Having- presumably- brought the mouse inside and caused all of this, she was watching with interest from the couch and making no move to help.) I decided that the fridge was the only thing it could be hiding under, and Rob proceeded to move it while I tried to look under it and Pesto stood on guard. Once more the rodent burst forth and darted from the room, this time heading into the front room (also known as the library). We all followed and I saw it disappear under Rob's computer desk with Pesto in hot pursuit. We quickly decided to block both doorways to the hallway and kitchen (which don't have doors) and open the front door in the hope that, with a combined effort, we could chase it outside. Good plan, right? This involved Rob moving two heavy bookcases to cover the doorways while Pesto guarded the desk. Suddenly the mouse appeared on the top of the desk and ran across the printer, which turned on. As the mouse disappeared under the desk again, the printer inexplicably began to print. I half expected to see "Look guys, I didn't mean to cause this fuss. Just let me go, and we'll forget everything" on the paper, but it was blank. The mouse suddenly made a break for the bookcase and wedged itself through a tiny gap and back into the kitchen. 

As I cursed while peering over the bookcase we were now trapped behind, Pesto went crazy as he couldn't follow and Rob wondered what on earth was happening, Faye carried out her only useful act of the evening by appearing in the kitchen, causing the mouse to clearly decide "better the devil you know" and reappear in the library. He then saw the open front door and, joy of joys, made a break for it, boldly running straight through Pesto's legs in the process. The mouse was last seen disappearing into the bushes, followed by Pesto, and I slammed the door on the whole debacle. Rob moved the bookcases and we collapsed on the couch again, both exhausted. 

"Well," Rob said after a moment, "at least we learnt something about each other."
"And what's that?" I asked, still trying to catch my breath.
"Neither of us like mice," he finished drily. 
True. They do say that any experience in which you learn something is worthwhile, but I'm not so sure in this case.