Suburban Hen

monkey says no

2009-10-17T22:45:00.004+01:00

Earlier today I got the camera out. I was going to take some shots of one of the neighbours cats. He didn't comply, but when I came inside Junior was sitting there looking cute. I don't have that many photos of him, so I thought I'd grab a couple. I got down to his level and was trying to get him to look down the lens when Monkey came along.

Monkey has never had trouble posing for the camera, and if I didn't know any better, I would say that Monkey felt strongly about Junior having his photo taken.

sour

2009-10-08T22:21:00.002+01:00

I would like to write something.

Hmm.

Some time ago it came to my attention that as part of my ongoing residence requirements for the UK, I would need to sit a test. A citizenship test! Yes, that test. The Life in the UK Test. The same test that many people born and bred in the UK, had they need to take it without first studying the official guide, would fail. Australia has a similar test.
I'm not sure how I feel about the test. On one hand it has just been a rather stressful and annoying element of the box ticking that needs to be done for my Unlimited Leave to Remain. On the other hand, I am gobsmacked at how difficult it is, and I actually fail to see what it ultimately achieves. Well, no, I don't fail to see what it ultimately achieves. I don't like what it ultimately achieves.
The test, in essence, is designed for only a certain section of the community to be able to pass it. First, you need to have a very good understanding of the nuances of written English, as some of the questions are not simply worded. All fine and dandy for me, an Australian, but not so great if English is not your first language. I'm left wondering what kinds of people they are trying to eliminate with the test, and frankly I don't want to talk about it out loud, as it makes me feel dirty.
On Wednesday morning, there were people in that testing centre who probably failed the test. Thirty three pounds and twenty eight pence later, that's a pretty lucrative fail on behalf of whichever department the funds ultimately end up supporting.
There is an alternative for those who are not capable of reading or speaking English to the level that the test requires, and that is a course, which I understand has a test at the end of it. I have not researched this course or its ultimate requirements, so I can't comment on what it might or might not achieve, although I wouldn't be surprised if it hoped to achieve the same sort of chaff sifting that the Life in the UK Test seems to be designed for.

Ultimately, I should just shut up and be happy, as I passed the test. Selfishly, what should I care about the people who took the test with me on Wednesday? The thing is, I do care. In the weeks I took to study the test, it was constantly playing on my mind that there would be people who would not be able to pass this test. My own mother, for example, does not have the kind of study or memory skills required. How many other peoples loved ones just don't have the right kind of aptitude for something like this? It worries me. On a very basic level, the test just isn't humane, and is actually intellectual snobbery at its most vile.

holding pattern

2009-09-25T18:17:00.002+01:00

It have been very quiet. Inside and outside the blog.

It has been a time of re-evaluation for me, though I haven't come to many conclusions about life. I guess you could say I am pretty confused. I have always had a 'plan'. I have always been working toward something. Life is now full of so many uncertainties, so many things that are seemingly out of my control, that I am a bit bereft of where I should be channeling my energies. I just don't know where to point my nose, and I am a bit out of sorts for it.

We are in Spain at them moment, on a mini break to see my sister-in-law. We are spending one night in Barcelona as well, and that is where I am writing this from. The hotel has wi-fi. We've had great weather thus far, and it (the weather) really reminds me of Brisbane.

I have a few ideas on what I want to do, or what I should be doing. It is just a matter of doing them.

last night i dreamt i was a dog person

2009-08-29T12:34:00.004+01:00

Some months ago, Pussle took to sleeping on my pillow at night. Smack bang in the middle of it. She moves in on it when we go to bed, and if I move her off it before I go to sleep, I will only wake to find that she has put herself back there at some point.

As annoying as it is, I'm not complaigning. She's getting on, and it isn't like she's going to be around to annoy me forever.

commentary

2009-08-29T10:39:00.002+01:00

So. Over at dooce.com, home of one of the Internets most influential bloggers, there has been a shit-storm of monumental proportions over the way #26 wielded her Twitter power when being treated poorly by the very posh washer company, Maytag.

The shit-storm erupted when people decried her use of her influence to 'get what she wanted'. Try as I might to understand these peoples points of view, I'm struggling.

Let me get this straight. Lots of people are upset because Heather used her influence to pressure a multi million dollar corporation into...giving her some customer service?

In her post about the issue, Heather almost seems to apologise for her expectations, insinuating that there might have been fewer Tweets from her on the subject had she not been so sleep deprived due to the newest addition to their family, baby Marlo. What I would like to say to Heather is this. It doesn't even matter that you were sleep deprived, and I hope you come to realise this. All you did was rat out a mega corp for shitty customer service.

Early doors in the comments on the post, someone calling themselves 'Jane's Mom' writes:

3. Jane's Mom said:
I watched the whole thing unfold yesterday and it is my opinion that you were unjustified in ranting on Twitter about it. I know you were sleep-deprived and god knows I've been there because I have three kids and life sucks sometimes. But I think you should have known better. And your husband too. Anyway, cool idea from mommymelee and kudos to you for seeing it through. Hope your washer works okay from here on out.

To Jane's Mom I would say this. If it was the end of the world, and only you and Heather were left, and you were fighting over the last Snickers bar, Heather would not only beat you to that last Snickers bar, she would deserve it.

There was a scene in the film 'Serenity' (nerd alert!) where on planet Miranda the atmosphere was pumped full of a 'peace gas', in an experiment in controlling violence. And all the humans have died from apathy.

May the world never be filled with the likes of the apathetic 'Jane's Mom'. It's because of people like her that we remain in this diabolical mess of corporation control.

2009-08-23T11:50:00.000+01:00

Hello Internet.

anything you need to confess?

2009-08-10T22:29:00.001+01:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

quickly

2009-08-05T17:47:00.002+01:00

Two things.

Firstly. I have very tentatively rejoined Stalkerbook under my now married name. I did this because I miss the interaction I had with some friends on there, and because I wanted to have a search result for "My Married Name". Why? It's a solidarity thing, plain and simple. Something that seems to bother the hell out of some women is seeing photos of their ex on Stalkerbook. Worse still if those photos include his girlfriend/wife...

Secondly. If something 'good' can be garnered from our pregnancy, and latterly the termination, is that the local team who deal with counselling people like me have accidentally thrust a pair of second cousins together.
After my termination, my counsellor was falling over herself to do things for me, so I asked if she could put me in touch with someone going through something similar to me. Specifically, I mentioned a couple who our specialist had causally referred to once when we were meeting with him. My counsellor came back to me with a name and some contact details, and the lady and I spoke to each other on the phone, arranging to meet.

Then we met.

My second cousin tells me that her mum was shocked to confirm that yes, her mum does know my mum. Because they are first cousins, sharing my maternal great grand parents (and my second cousins paternal great grand parents).

So let's recap.

My second cousin lives about three blocks away, and we met through the team trying to help us have babies, in a city and country far away from our respective home towns.

Ruminate on that if you will.

todays funneh brought to you by ICHC

2009-07-26T12:54:00.000+01:00

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

lull

2009-07-24T19:39:00.004+01:00

It's been a quiet week. LB has done a five day stint as a radio presenter of a mid-morning show on progress fm, a local LGBT friendly mostly Internet based radio station. They had a seven day FM license, and LB coincidentally timed his introduction to the station at a point where he could put himself forward to run one of the time slots. So he did. And it was great. He also had a bit of fun with an 80's show last night, and the ten of us that listened really enjoyed it :)

My full week back at work has left me no time to feel sorry for myself. Just what the doctor ordered, really (actually, the doctor ordered I take at least four weeks off. Er. Like THAT was ever going to happen). My lunch-time colleague C (she of the chocolate sending) has been off this week caring for her sick daughter (not swine flu), so I've had a week muttering to myself about how shit teenagers are at mopping floors/being polite/insert gripe here. It's the big things, I've got got tell you.

And I am slowly but surely chugging through the post-production of my second to last wedding for this year. Hooray!

On Sunday evening I am meeting a local woman who has a Robertsonian translocation. I asked my genetics counsellor if there was any chance she could organise an introduction for me with someone 'like me', and she has managed to make it happen. Bizarrely the woman I am meeting is Australian, lives in the same post code as me, and her parents come from my home town. When you are aware of where my home town is and where I live now, you realise that the chances of this coincidence are low indeed. We've had a good chat on the phone already, and I am looking forward to getting to know her.

just funny

2009-07-21T18:55:00.006+01:00

From Mondays xkcd comic, with a new comic every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

what's in a name

2009-07-14T16:39:00.002+01:00

Those who like to analyse the deep psychological motivations behind why people do X, Y or Z will not have to dig too deep to come up with the reasons behind my having spent the best part of this afternoon adapting my Internet identities to my married name, as opposed to my old married name.

Slow on the uptake, I was mostly apathetic about it because changing my last name with certain official channels has always appeared to be both time consuming and expensive. I didn't really see a point in changing my name anywhere when officially I would remain a 'insert previous married name here' until I coughed up the funds required to make it otherwise, and because LB isn't a misogynistic megalomaniac, it hasn't bothered him either.

When we finally decided to bite the bullet and try for a baby, I thought it prudent to see if I could change my last name with the NHS without providing my passport. And I could. So I did. The last thing I wanted was for people to think our baby was a bastard.

THAT'S A JOKE!

Actually, I just figured that it would be nice for people in the NHS not to mistakenly call LB Mr 'insert previous married name here', or to call the small one who is no longer with us Baby 'insert previous married name here', when neither was true or even slightly accurate. Taking his surname with the NHS was the action of someone who could foresee all the possible mistakes that could be made by well-meaning idiots. I love the NHS, but it's staffed by humans, and not all of them could possibly be as competent as our FMM specialist. Fielding two surnames left too much room for error.

This doesn't explain the change of heart with almost all of the rest of my life, but let's just put two and two together and blame my hormones.

no longer distracted

2009-07-11T13:01:00.002+01:00

This is not the place for writing about the mechanics behind the medical termination I had this week. This is also not the place for people to read about the mechanics behind the medical termination I had this week. The experience is apparently different for every woman, and reading the stories of those who have been through one that are on the Internet do confirm that this is the case. Logic tells me that while I might write up a blow-by-blow story for very well-meaning purposes, for another woman to come along and maybe have her decision affected by my ramblings...

It just doesn't seem wise.

What I do feel I want to say was that the physical pain was unbearable. That the various drugs made me vomit, piss myself, and gave me the most horrendous diarrhoea. That I was left with no dignity, but when the morphine kicked in, I didn't care. I do not think it is inadvisable of me to share this with the world. Facts plain and simple.

I am on the most part just 'getting on with it'. It being life. My colleagues, for all that my lunch-time shift at the local fish and chip shop is, have been very understanding. Given the short notice they had to deal with the situation, I felt telling them the truth of it all would be the only way forward. No point in dancing around something so challenging. It was the right decision, as they have been able to offer me the right kind of support. I take up work again on Wednesday, but will let my colleague C do all the 'hard' stuff. She actually admonished me for not telling her about the pregnancy in the first place. She says she would have done more for me (not that I needed her to). But anyway, it shows that people can be kind when you let them.

The big question is will we try again?

The answer is I don't know.

When we started on this endeavour, it was with the hope that everything would turn out OK. Except it didn't. This was my very first pregnancy. I've had no 'near misses' in my past, or even a 'scare'. We didn't try for months or years. It was like it was meant to be. We decided we were going to try to get pregnant, and we got pregnant. We knew the risks of a Down syndrome diagnosis, and what it would mean for us as a couple. But we thought it wouldn't happen to us.

We were wrong.

I didn't go through the termination alone. LB was there for every horrible moment. His experience wasn't physical, but can't be viewed as lesser. He was the father of the baby, and he is my husband. He watched me spend a day in physical agony, because as a couple, this is what we chose for ourselves. I don't know if he could do it again, and because I know that I wouldn't be able to do it again without him, then I don't know if we will 'try again'. It isn't all about me.

I know what my body wants, what my heart wants. But I also know what I don't want. In a world where we are in control of so many aspects of our lives, getting what we want is too often so easy that we are lulled into complacency. Suddenly when we can't get what we want, we start searching for ways to make it happen, demanding they appear. But in this, not even IVF holds any guarantees. Yes, a normal embryo could be made for us, but the implantation could fail. We're not eligible for IVF on the NHS, either, because LB already has a child. We would have to pay. And we could end up paying for empty promises. Not to mention what my personal feelings on IVF are, either...

So, I don't want to go through another termination.

I don't want, and can't afford IVF.

But I do want my own genetic family.

And I have no idea what LB wants, which is more important than I think he realises.

If anyone has any idea where we go from here, I would be deeply appreciative of the answers, as I do not have them. My well of answers is dry.

The Cutest Thing Part II (alternatively titled 'Distraction Technique')

2009-07-09T20:48:00.016+01:00

Further to this post where I wrote about how the man-kitten, Junior, was collected by his cat friend to go out and play.

Man-kitten's friend is quite the regular visitor now, and if Junior isn't about when his friend drops by to play with him, I dutifully set about finding him so the two of them can enjoy each others company.

For the purposes of posting, I shall name Junior's friend Mr Cat.

This is Mr Cat.

Classy, no?

Junior was upstairs when Mr Cat stuck his head in the cat door this afternoon, so I nipped up there to disrupt his bird watching time so that he might entertain me and Mr Cat.

I must apologise for the quality of these photos. The kids were playing in the neighbours garden, and today I might be excused for not scrambling over the fence to get better shots. I stood on a chair as it was, and even that felt a 'bit too much'.

Here is a better photo, for those who expect more of me.

There is nothing else to see here.

3-2-1...

2009-07-05T18:22:00.005+01:00

The paperwork sits to the left of me on the desk. I've placed in on the bottom of my 'pile' of things, because it's the largest of the pile of items, and that is how the pile works; by size. Some days the pile is really quite messy, containing effortless amounts of procrastination. Today it isn't.

I am at a loss as to how to write about this. My head is in my hands, searching for the right words in my brain. Junior the man-kitten is posing a wonderful distraction. He's just learnt how to play 'fetch' with a small ball of paper. It's delightful. He's not the best at it, but it's certainly novel, compared to the lazy pack of minxes who I have had the pleasure of caring for the past many years.

Junior is not fetching crumpled up bits of the paperwork on my desk. That wouldn't prove very wise. The paperwork is important. It comprises of the information on my pregnancy to date, compiled in what are called your 'hand held notes', and some consent forms. The consent forms are for a termination.

Late Friday afternoon, our specialist called my mobile. He rang twice, actually. I missed the first call, and rather than just move on to something else I am sure is as equally important in such a busy mans schedule he tried calling again an hour later. He wanted to tell me that the test results had come back, and that our baby is Down syndrome.

So begins the journey to the end.

10-9-8...

2009-07-02T18:14:00.004+01:00

A few weeks ago we attended an appointment for a CVS test, something required if we wish to ascertain what the chromosome arrangement is like for the baby placed in my uterus by my husband. Due to my retroverted uterus and the positioning of my other somewhat vital organs, like a bladder and a bowel, the test did not go ahead. The doctor, skilled as he is, did not even attempt to stick a needle in me, because he could see no way of reaching the required spot of placenta without driving said needle through my bowel first. Fair cop.

I wrote of my disappointment of not achieving the test that day here.

Cue three weeks later to yesterday morning, and the skilled doctor used all of his aforementioned skills to attempt and achieve a small sample of Chorionic-Villus, which was sent away for testing. We may have results tomorrow, or it may take up to three weeks. If you have ever struggled with patience, then perhaps pregnancy isn't for you. In fact, it would probably be safe to say that maybe child-rearing isn't for you, either. But I digress.

The test itself was extremely uncomfortable. If you are squeamish, or just don't want to know about the experience, stop reading now.

Have you stopped?

Now is the time to stop reading.

And now it is too late.

There are several needles, the first few are for local anesthetic, which for me was injected in three or four spots centering around where the doctor wanted to insert the sampling needle. This was all around my lower abdomen. These needles sting quite a bit, and when he put the last one in, telling me I would feel a scratch, I told him he was fibbing. It just plain hurt.

Then came the sampling needle. I never got to see it, what with my head resting on the bench slightly lower than the rest of my body so that my internal organs fell a bit more out of the way of the needles destination, but boy-o, did I feel it. I felt something go in, and as it got further into my body, I felt a lot more. My word, what a large amount of discomfort and general dull pain it was causing me. Despite this, I did not dare move a muscle. It's amazing how still you can lie with the life of your unborn baby resting in the hands of you and your new best doctor friend.

Because yes, there are significant risks with this procedure. Risks of spontaneous abortion. There are all sorts of statistics all over the web on how risky, but I tell you, I'm sick to death of statistics. Statistics might suggest that flipping one hundred tails in a row is nigh on impossible, but that's not to say it wont happen. Plus the statistics of getting pregnant, staying pregnant, and other associated statistical things have so far not applied to me and LB and our baby making escapades. There are statistics which suggest getting pregnant might take a while, what with it being my first attempt at pregnancy, and the statistics associated with the fertility of a balanced translocation type person such as myself. Yet these statistics did not apply to us. We got pregnant instantly, in a 'just add water' two minute noodle type scenario (well, it lasted longer than two minutes, but you get my drift, yeah?).
Further statistics would have me believing that baby would fall out before twelve weeks, again with this being my first pregnancy and my balanced translocation status.
Except, IT'S STILL IN THERE.
And statistically, there should have been morning sickness, except there wasn't. There was some mild nausea in the evenings, so I just went to bed whenever I felt bad.

Statistics are weird and unreliable.

Except I am still aware of the last statistic looming over us, and the countdown to find out if we can dodge that one has begun.

Some nasty looking little bruises came up last night to remind me of what we got up to earlier in the day, but so far that's the only side-effect of the test. Baby has not (yet) fallen out because of the test, and for that I am so very grateful. For while I know that a termination is our decision if the baby has Down syndrome (GOD STRIKE ME DOWN), having baby die because of such a test would break my heart. Oh, by golly yessy. It would shatter into a million pieces.

What we saw of baby yesterday was again just simply amazing and wonderful. Baby was 'sitting down', a sure sign of its genetic relationship with its parents. It has the requiset number of legs and arms, and it only has one head (huzzah!). It has a nose and I could sort of see a mouth, amongst other things that I will not mention here because my husband DOES NOT WANT TO KNOW THE SEX. I'm not fussed (about knowing or what it is) either way, and what I think I saw was accidental. I was just soaking up the image of our baby in front of us, and that my eyes were drawn in that direction when it flashed its legs open is hardly my fault.

you'll never know

2009-07-01T14:07:00.004+01:00

I haven't lost my shit.

OK, well I did lose some of it some time last week, and it was dumped on LB. I chucked a HUGE and not very lady-like tantrum over the conditions of contact for him and Maddie that his ex had dictated to him for the Glastonbury weekend. Something about her not believing him when he said we would not take Maddie to Glastonbury Festival, and deciding that the only way Maddie could see her father that weekend would be if he agreed to three hours supervised contact in her home or at a government contact centre. LB agreed to it, only to have me chuck the hugerist tantrum this side of the Trent, and for him realise that perhaps the conditions of contact were actually so out of order that the only safe thing to do was refuse them.

As the loving partner of someone who is being put through the wringer by their ex, it is hard to not just let them do what they think is right, and to just suffer the consequences with them. Because that is what happens. Anyone who thinks that they can protect their new partner from their bitter ex is kidding themselves. As my neighbour said yesterday, only by the grace of God went he when he split from his ex and then did not spend the following years regretting the day he ever laid eyes on her. It is complete luck of the draw, as it seems even the nicest person can turn nasty when such deep emotions are involved. Not that I am saying LB's ex was ever nice. I have no idea. I never knew her before the bitterness set in. All I have to go off now is the grubby, dirty actions of a manipulative cow, so I am hardly an unbiased judge.

This time around I chose not to stand back and let my husband make what could have been the worst decision to date when it comes to interacting with his ex. After months and months of him being told in person, by text, by phone, and by email that he is not welcome in her house, and that she even finds the interactions of organising contact for Maddie a chore, I felt it would be an extreme error to agree to spending three hours in her house with only a five year old as a witness. Many a time now his ex has told him that she intends to take out a harassment order against him for an 'incident' in September of last year. She calls what she wants an 'injunction', and believes that it will keep LB from her home with immediate effect, which is just evidence to me that it is the talk of a simple-minded bully who has listened to too much gossip while knocking back the pinot grigio.

To have been told all this time and time again, and then to willingly walk into the dragons den would be to invite the kind of repercussions that only the imagination of Jodi Picoult could conjure up.

So he didn't go. And that's real sad. And while we will never know for sure how sad things could have been if he'd gone to his ex's house, I'm pretty sure they would have been sadder, and I cried the tears to prove it.

words and pictures

2009-06-30T15:00:00.001+01:00

What I am doing when I am not losing my shit.

Thank you, Queenie.

losing my shit

2009-06-18T18:19:00.000+01:00

Some days I wake up feeling more anxious about life than on other days.

At the moment we are in a bit of hot water and I think we are both pretty scared, but doing really well at faking calm. I'm worried about money. I'm worried about our pregnancy. I'm worried about going to court for contact with Maddie. I'm worried about lost friendships.

I am, in general, quite worried about everything. And I am mostly worried that I am not doing enough, or could have done something differently, or could have prevented something from happening if I had just been able to see more clearly what was happening.

On any given day I am not sure exactly how I make it through without losing my shit completely. One can only suppose it's because I have been there done that with some of the things.
I've been broke and on benefits; I find a job eventually.
Friends have fallen away; I have made new ones.
Knowing that I have made it through these things before maybe leaves enough room for the things I am not so sure about.
I'm not so sure about pregnancy, childbirth, and how on earth we are going to manage. All I want to do right now is go out and throw myself into finding a better job. It's always easier for an employed person to find a new position than an unemployed one. Someone finally took the leap with me and now I have some of my employee credibility back. Coming to this country on the kind of visa that I did really hindered my efforts for finding work. No one wanted to take a punt on the Australian who might just go back to Australia.
But I can't just do that. I am pregnant. And after being pregnant comes being a mother. Some days (many days) I wish I had not pissed so much of my life away in dead end jobs. My skills set is limited, and the only option I have for making any sort of decent wage is via wedding photography, the thought of which leaves me feeling cold. Don't get me wrong. I'll do it. In fact, I'm looking into getting my website back online as I write.

Mostly I worry about my decisions. It's possible I have made some bad ones. Or at least some ill-timed ones. My track record is in some ways diabolical, and I am losing faith in my choices, becoming crippled by the outcomes, and my apparent lack of foresight.

the cutest thing

2009-06-17T16:47:00.003+01:00

This morning I came downstairs dressed for work to find the black and white cat I mentioned in this post in the kitchen. He wasn't eating the food, and had obviously only just come in. He chirruped hello to me, and then wandered about the lounge room. Just at this moment, the man-kitten, Junior, came downstairs. The black and white cat spotted him, trotted up to give him a playful swat, then made their way out the cat door together; trotting off to do whatever it is that kids do these days for kicks.

Slightly taken aback, I realised that my cat had just been picked up by his friend to go out and play.

guilt

2009-06-16T17:32:00.002+01:00

It's not very often I become angered by company policies. I can usually see why a company might commit to doing this, or refuse to do that, and I am often the first to say that I can understand the company's point of view.

With my pregnancy has come a little bit of weight gain. It was instant. I just woke up one day a bit fatter than usual, and it hasn't gone away. Like, duh. And it is only going to get worse.

Due to my cautious nature, I am not inclined to want to buy maternity clothes. Not at this stage. And let's face it, we are not in any financial position to just buy me a whole new wardrobe at each and every stage of this pregnancy. At the moment I am in the 'little bit fat stage'. What I buy now isn't going to fit me after pregnancy, and isn't going to fit me in a few months.

So right now, I would like to simply extend the wear of my current wardrobe with the purchase of what I have come to discover is called a 'bump band', and perhaps a waistband extender of sorts, and yesterday we dropped into Mothercare to pick up said items.

Except they don't sell them.

They don't sell them because "We like you to buy new clothes".

To this I say, quite crassly and with my working class roots hanging out for all the world to see; "Fuck. Off.".

Who the HELL are Mothercare to tell me what is right for MY body, during MY pregnancy? As if pregnancy isn't a minefield enough of political correctness gone mad! Now I am being informed that the clothes I wear during pregnancy are going to potentially harm our unborn child. WHAT?!

Clearly Mothercare's demographic isn't the financially strained, or even the thrift of wallet. Which to me suggests they care only about mothers who are affluent enough to buy from their racks. Lovely. A company with a narrow sense of community values. What a surprise.

So, Mothercare. To you I say I will not be gracing your store with my presence ever again. For while I might be stating here that I don't have a great deal of money to spend on pregnancy and child rearing, I do have some. You just wont be seeing any of it.

2009-06-13T19:14:00.002+01:00

Something really sweet happened yesterday.

Some of us may remember Barney, the tabby cat who moved in to our house for a short period last year. Barney had a perfectly good home with an owner who loved him dearly, but this wasn't enough to keep Barney home. No. It seems Barney really liked the cat biscuits we feed in this house, and he was willing to move home to get him some. It got to the stage where Barney's owner, Tim, would text me to ask if Barney was here and OK, because he wont have seen him for days.

Eventually Tim bought Barney the same food we feed here, and Barney immediately took to staying home. A big win. Barney was crossing a very busy road at least twice a day to visit us. It worried me. It worried Tim.

When I walk to the supermarket, I walk past Barney's house. Sometimes I see him, sometimes I don't. If I do, I am sure to say hello and give him a scratch on the head. Yesterday on the way back from the supermarket, Barney was at the front of his house. I stopped to say hello, and his response was to jump up onto the short front fence, reach his paws up to my chest, and give me a full on face to face rub.

I immediately turned into a puddle of mush.

And then when he moved to a different part of the fence to get a better angle on doing the face rub thing again, I think my heart just kind of went 'POP'.

I had only just been thinking about Barney earlier in the day yesterday, because when I came home from work, Millie dutifully pointed out to me that the cat biscuit bowl was empty. Very odd, as I had only just filled it that morning. It got me thinking that maybe we had a hungry visitor dropping by.

I wasn't wrong, as today our hungry visitor made himself known. He's black and white and has yellow eyes. He gets on really well with Junior. I've met him before in the back garden, but I didn't realise that he had graduated to using the cat door. He doesn't have a collar, so I don't know his name and I can't call or text his owner to make sure he isn't lost or a stray. Maybe if he starts spending a lot of time here, I will put a collar on him and attach a note. An occasional visitor is one thing, but a fifth cat is quite another!

something good

2009-06-12T22:30:00.002+01:00

On Wednesday, while the doctor was taking a look at things on the ultrasound, I was taking a look, too.

I noticed some things.

Thing one. Our bebeh has grown.

Thing two. Our bebeh is moving around a lot in there.

Thing three. When I crack jokes* and then laugh, the bebeh jiggles.

While I was noticing these things, the doctor was noticing things of his own. One of the things that he cared to share with us as we were about to leave was his general impression of our bebeh's nuchal translucency. He said that to his eye, it looked normal.

Not a guarantee, of course, but nice to know.

* yes, I crack jokes during serious procedures. What a surprise.

is this thing on?

2009-06-10T11:45:00.003+01:00

Last year on my Down Syndrome sisters birthday, I went for a blood test to find out if I am a Down Syndrome carrier. And I am.

This year on my Down Syndrome sisters birthday I am scheduled for the CVS test that they could not perform today, to find out if the baby I am carrying is Down Syndrome.

We were warned that the doctor might not be able to achieve a sample today because sometimes things are not in the right place, and the bits that are needed cannot be accessed without extreme risk. Today I fell into that category, so no CVS test was performed.

This has left me feeling strangely gutted.

I took the day off work today, expecting that I would need to take it easy after the test. I will now need to schedule another days holiday, immediately after having taken four days of scheduled time off, and with only one day in between. For someone like me, that's a huge thing. I do not like taking the piss, or even being seen to be taking the piss, even if I am not really.

I am really, really bothered. Frustrated. Upset. Angry.

Because I feel a distressingly large amount of guilt. Guilt that I do not want a Down Syndrome child, and angry at myself for being able to put what could be a perfectly normal fetus at risk of miscarriage because my desire not to have a Down Syndrome child outweighs my desire to protect any imagined normal fetus.

I feel abhorrent, and I hate myself for doing this. I can't bring myself to be happy about the pregnancy until I know it is a normal child and I feel like such an awful human being. All I want is to love what it inside me, but I wont let myself until I know. So more weeks will pass where I keep my feelings for my unborn child at arms length, because I cannot embrace those feelings if I am going to just ahead and terminate it.

threes

2009-06-04T10:06:00.003+01:00

A little while back (looks at diary. About a month ago. Ish) two things happened. One I wrote about here. The other just passed under the radar. It a) Wasn't that exciting and b) In my experience, could have ended as quickly as it started. And well, it still could, given my condition and the terms of employment that I will still be subject to when (if) it comes time for me to tell them I am with child.

Just over a month ago I joined the ranks of the employed. Just a few lunch hours each weekday on minimum wage. But employed all the same.

It is by no means an exciting position, and while I'm not too proud to do the work I've got to tell you, it's the least 'romantic' job I have ever held. But for someone who finds running a small photography business too stressful, and the mysteries of how to make anyone else in this country employ me still kept somewhere under a rock I am yet to turn over, I'll be the first to admit it does have its quiet advantages. There isn't much to getting a persons order right, for example. OK, so once I forgot someones tomato sauce. And a customer had to remind me about his large chips the other day. But mostly so long as I am listening, it's hard to screw up.

Still, it is a good feeling to know that at the end of the week, a few more pennies will be available to us to live on. And given LB's recent bombshell, it could make all the difference. Who am I kidding? It has been making a difference. Just a few weeks ago we went in to replace one tyre on the car, and many hundreds of pounds later left with four, seriously biting into our already humble budget.

The timing of LB's redundancy is stressful, but I remain optimistic for him. We've talked it over (and over and over and over) and we both feel it's not the worst thing that could happen. It's going to have some unpredictable and possibly dire side-effects for certain aspects of our life. I also know he is going to get underfoot for a little while (I'm used to my own space), but I hope that with the closing of this door, a new and better one opens for him. To be frank, LB was wasting some considerable talents in the industry he was in, and I think he knows that.

The old wives tale of things happening in threes has me worried though. Was LB's brother going to prison one? Making the redundancy two. Leaving a third. Or worse still, what if the redundancy was ONE, and there are still two to go? Like I referred to before, when That Woman finds out about LB's new financial status, she's going to flip a lid. She's been saying all along that when he had his pay reduction, he should have started looking immediately for a better paying position (preferably one in her part of the country!?) so that he could maintain the level of payments to her that he based on his wages of over four years ago, and is not lawfully committed to...
We have it in writing that she reduced his contact time with Maddie after he reduced the child maintenance, so that he would not reduce the money any further. While it 'troubled' her to do so, she felt she had 'no other choice'. LB wisely maintained the new lower payments. I say wisely, because now that he is going to have NO income, I feel he would have severely undermined his position if he'd returned the payments to their former (outrageous) amount. The message he would have been sending was that he'll always find the money at any cost, and that he actually could afford it and was just trying to pull a swift one on her (something I realise she still thinks anyway). At least now his initial caution over it all is in a very serious way validated.

That Woman doesn't know yet. And I have been urging LB to hold out on telling her until after M's next scheduled visit, so that at least he'll have one last guaranteed weekend before the poo hits the fan. I've suggested to him that he spend the time of the next visit explaining to M what might happen when her mother finds out that LB has lost his job. M knows her mother 'gets angry'. I was talking to her about it not long ago. She asked me why she couldn't talk about her weekends with daddy at her mothers house, and in explaining to her I asked her, how, you know sometimes your Momma is angry, and you don't want her to be, but she stays angry? And M said yes, she knew what I meant. And how her mother is sad about some things but we don't know how to cheer her up? And M said yes, she knew what I meant. And how some things seem to make her mother worse, and we have to try and be careful not to upset her? And M went quiet. Because M hates having to be careful. She hates upsetting people by accident, and I get the feeling that she carries a lot of guilt on this subject.

If things happen in threes, I'm worried that we're due to two lots. Making six. There are a lot of things going on in our lives that could...go wrong. While I remain hopeful about the outcome of my CVS on Wednesday, I'll admit to being really cautious. Two things could happen. One could be a spontaneous miscarriage from the test itself. And two could be that the test doesn't do any damage, but the results do.

All this doesn't leave a lot of room for worrying about much else, and I feel I have especially let LB down in not being as supportive as he requires. Saying that I have a lot on my mind seems like such a cop-out, but it's all I've got.