31 October 2009

The appointment with the Professor

It turns out I need not have been too worried about bringing Champ to the specialist appointment. Not because he behaved like an angel; he didn't.

He ran around yelling 'toot-toot car!' because his keen eyes had spotted a children's play area in the waiting room, then the only thing that would keep him quiet during the appointment were the handful of crackers and 2 muesli bars I had packed to be shared by all of us which were eaten all by Champ in minutes at which time Cowboy escorted him out of the room while I sat and talked with the very serious and softly spoken Professor in peace.

I need not have worried about taking him because the Pregnancy Management Clinic waiting room was the same as the Pregnancy waiting room. Yup. I was waiting for my recurrent miscarriage appointment in a room of approximately 20 women at various stages of pregnancy. The hospital was designed well, no?

Anyway, despite my envious green eyes in the waiting room and Champ's noisy departure the actual appointment went well. After I told the Professor (that's his name because that is how he introduced himself - 'I am professor blah, blah an obstetrician at this hospital' - I can only assume that 'professor' is a higher qualification than 'doctor' for all the pride he took in saying it) our relevant medical history, he asked me what questions I had.

We discussed that no, my in-laws were not correct that Champ being such a heavy baby had stretched my ute to the point of no return; and yes, I was being silly blaming my physical activity (walking) the day before each miscarriage as a cause; and no, my heavy and clotted periods since the second miscarriage were not a concern of retained product despite having not had a D&C either time.

Ok doc, whoops, I mean Professor, you turn. Where to now?

The Professor said that given our 'easy' pregnancy with Champ and given that he is 'normal' (which I wanted to dispute - he is not normal, he is complete and utter perfection, can't you see that Professor?) he is 'cautiously optimistic that we will get the family we want'.

Cautiously optimistic.

He believes that the likely cause of my miscarriages is chance. That my 1:4 came up. Twice. Or my 1:16 came up for all you maths buffs out there.

But then the warning came. Do not pass go, do not collect $100.

He urged me not to succumb to pressure of well meaning family and friends, not to put pressure on myself. That I am young. That Champ is still young. Do not put pressure for this to happen too quickly.

Despite his cautious optimism, we should run blood tests. We should wait for the results. The results won't be back for another 2 weeks. Ok, I say. We'll sit this cycle out. Whoops, his next appointment isn't for another month (my next Cd14). Ok, make that sitting out two cycles. At best. So, no more making babies for the Lemoncakes until New Years Eve.

Here are 15 vials for pathology to fill with bood. Happy New Year!

29 October 2009


This evening I was busily getting everything ready for our 'early start' to the pregnancy management clinic tomorrow morning (it's at 9 a.m. in the city - leaving home with enough time to make it through peak hour traffic will mean waking before our precious little miraculously-sleeping-in-regularly-since-daylight-savings-change-over lovely boy).

I was searching our office for all of my relevant medical history: ultrasounds, blood tests, referral letter, etc. but the letter was no where to be found. A more organised woman may have filed all of her miscarriage documents in one place, but not this one. I finally found it between some of Champ's finger paintings and his 2011 pre-school information letter.

It struck right then me how lucky I am to have him. Some women are surviving this battle and worse ones without the help of finger paintings to cheer and distract them. Whilst the thought didn't quite stop me from crying at Muscles' before and after ultrasound images it did make me plant an extra kiss onto Champ's chubby cheek and thank God for my blessings.

23 October 2009

Part of 'The Club'

It looks like I am now part of a club that I never asked to be a member of and wish fervently that didn't exist at all, for anyone to join.

Since my miscarriages this year, whenever people note that I have an 'almost 2 year old' (which I now say rather than trying to remember exactly how many months Champ is) they ask when he is going to become a big brother. Seeing as they feel comfortable enough asking me about my family planning, I feel that they can handle hearing the truth. If not, they wouldn't have asked, surely.

More often than not when I 'out' myself to people I hear in return stories of their (or their sister's/BFF's/boss') miscarriages, struggles to conceive, even once the story of egg donors being the only way the woman could carry a live child to term.

I am now part of 'The Club'. People feel that since I have experienced loss, they are comfortable talking to me about their fertility issues. We talk about their charts this month, how often they 'did it' on the one time they were successful at conception, tell me when they are on CD1 and all they want to do is go home to bed and cry.

I am part of 'The Club'. But I am not. I want to stamp my foot and scream 'I am not joining this stinkin' club! I never asked to be here! I am super fertile!'. But I am part of the club. This time next week I will be at the Pregnancy Management Clinic in a department that specialises in multiple miscarriages.

In a freak of the universe I have no one to babysit Champ that day (people are usually lining up to do it, but this one day everyone is busy). I really don't want to bring him. Not because it will be hard work getting him to refrain from running around and touching everything with his sticky little fingers while I discuss our issues with the doc, not even because I don't know how long we will have to be there and if it will run into his nap time. I don't want to take him because I am worried about upsetting the other women in the waiting room who have also experienced multiple miscarriage and may not have the delight of a toddler to take their minds off the worries of the world.

My Mum's comment on that was 'That's a lovely thought, Red. But that's the way the world is. Those women can't get away from it, or never see little children.'. But maybe it is because I am part of 'The Club' that I can feel so deeply for these other women. Maybe I am part of 'The Club' after all.

20 October 2009

His parent's son

Champ is one of us, he is a Lemoncake through and through. It is enchanting watching certain characteristics he has inherited from both Cowboy and myself emerge in this new little person. I read recently ('The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox' if anyone is interested in a fascinating read) that when we are born we are an anagram of all of our ancestors. I have definitely noticed Cowboy and my initials imprinted in Champ.

For instance, Champ is grumpy when he is hungry, loves television, hot chips, cheese and ice-cream, is a thinker, takes a while to warm up in new social settings and loves his Mummy very much. All traits shared with Cowboy.

Champ also is stunningly attractive, exceptionally intelligent and very quick witted. Just like me. Ok, ok. Maybe we don't know where exactly he got those traits from.

But he is a chatterbox and somewhat of a show off, loves reading and being out and about, craves attention constantly, adores being centre stage, is rather partial to his Daddy and is scared of the butterfly enclosure at the zoo. Just like his Mummy.

There is one little characteristic that must be a throw back from past generations (probably my Grandfather actually), he is a little comedian. Since he was young, if he found something that made everyone in the room laugh he would perform it over and over to get the reaction. Early on it was simply things like rolling his eyes in an imitation of a teenage child upon seeing his parents do something incredibly silly or embarrassing. Lately it has been slapstick comedy.

He will run around calling out, 'yun, yun, yun' ('run, run, run' for those that don't speak 'Champ') and then cry out 'pall' (fall) just as he attempts a little somersault or otherwise crashes to the ground. He will then roll around the floor saying 'Oh no!' basking in the laughter of those around him (or the sigh of his mother who has seen the act more times than I ever asked for).

Somewhat cuter is when he engages in imaginative play by getting teddy to do the act while Champ commentates. When teddy falls and cries 'Oh no!' Champ picks him up and says 'Zaza (Xavier) kiss, all gone' (like the way Mummy's kiss makes Champ's hurts go away).

I'll concede that his streak of kindness comes from his Dad too.

14 October 2009


A mother at playgroup who announced her pregnancy the same day I did (Turtledove) delivered a daughter yesterday, Gracie. I love the name.


Another friend showed me her 14 week ultrasound pictures today. We were due the same week (Muscles). I was doing a really good job of not remembering which week I would have been up to too.


I have just over two weeks until we see the specialist. This cycle we are actively preventing pregnancy (given our track record, we really do need to). It seems so counterproductive.


Champ was watching Playschool this week and the presenter asked 'Do you have a little brother or a sister?', he turned to me and said 'Sister, Mummy? Sister?'. I wish.


At playgroup Champ spends most of the time playing in the dollies corner, putting the dolls to bed and pushing them in the pram (the rest of the time he spends in the play kitchen - domesticated little man that he is).

He has really started noticing the little playgroup babies (sisters and brothers of kids his age). Today he was besotted by a 5 month old baby there. As soon as he saw her he started calling 'fia, fia!' to little Sophia. I hadn't even realised he knew her name. Then, all of the session he was watching her and smiling at her, he would hand her toys and pretend to tickle her (we stopped the tickling when he started with a 'squeeze fia's toes' game). He came running to tell me when she fell asleep 'fia sleeping' then when she woke up 'fia wake'. I had to hold back the tears watching him. He will make a great big brother someday, hopefully.

Ok, one more big sigh, then back to getting on with life:


11 October 2009


Champ took quite a while to say my name. I distinctly remember that he could say cheese, dada, bird and book before he showed any interest in saying the name of his most loved thing - me! We used to joke that he didn't say my name because he just saw me as an extension of himself, not anything that he would ever need to call - I was already always there.

When he did finally say 'Mumma' I thought I would never get tired of hearing him say my name. I was wrong.

This week, wherever he is, whatever he is doing he randomly calls out 'Mummia!'; he could be happy as Larry (happy guy, that one) playing by himself, not actually needing anything and I still here 'Mummia!'.

Conversations can go like this:

'Mummia? Play?'.

If you are curious about the use of 'Mummia' rather than 'Mummy', we are too. At the moment Cowboy and I are 'Daddia' and 'Mummia' respectively. The only conclusion we have drawn is that it is a misunderstanding by Champ about social norms.

You see Champ's actual name (I know you are very surprised that his real name is not Champ) is:

(Sans the 'I heart' part)

So you see, when pronounced, it ends in 'ier' OR 'ia' to an Aussie.

So we figure Champ thinks that '-ia' is a polite thing to add to people's name. Like the Japanese have '-san' or '-chan'. If you come up with a better reason, we would love to hear it.

Must go, Champ calls.

06 October 2009

Off hold

This past year I have been putting many parts of my life on hold. Paused. To be continued.

I expected to have baby this December, and then again in April, so why should I start my business/loose weight/etc, etc?

As of about a week ago, I have resumed life.

Champ and I are walking most places and I have been trying to eat just as healthily as I make him eat (Seriously, what was I thinking serving him fresh grapes while I eat chocolate biscuits?). I don't know if the exercise will continue once I am pregnant again since I am paranoid of overdoing it after the miscarriages, BUT that isn't going to stop me from doing it before I fall pregnant anymore.

I have also started doing some thing for myself in the form of work. I am just doing what I feel like, when I feel like it. But right now I am enjoying it so much that I am doing it all through Champ's nap time and well into the night each night.

I really wanted to sell modern cloth nappies via party plan (because I love them and can't stop talking about them to everyone I meet anyway!). I recognise that there is quite a small market for this and I didn't want to go to the effort of starting my own business with such a small market, so I am selling the cloth, but also selling Tupperware via party plan.

I am hoping to do all of the work getting parties for the Tupperware side, and then if I am at a party with someone who is pregnant or has small children (which constitutes most people at Tupperware parties), I have an active audience to slip in about the wonders of cloth nappies for those interested. I already have a few Mum's talking about setting themselves up with cloth so there are lots of willing people out there who just need demonstrations to see how easy cloth is these days.

So I am a busy Mummy at the moment, and loving it. I adore staying home with Champ, but I hope that this business gives me that little extra challenge that I need, just for me.