Some days...

Some days, like when I am having a massive Mummy meltdown after having to leave Library story time early because Champ would not stop randomly pushing other kids to the floor (he still hasn't grown out of it and I am very tired of it), I think I might wait until Champ is in school before we try for another baby and then our family will be complete as the four of us.

And then...

Some days, like when Champ and I are bent over, heads together in concentration over his colouring books or a bug he has spotted outside and I reach over to plant a kiss on his head, I think that even if I have five kids it still won't be enough.

Non-negotiable

My darling boy Champ,

I thought I'd put this in writing so that there will be no doubt as to my meaning. Since you are not yet two years old, and even for a good year after you do turn two, having a nap is a non-negotiable part of the day.

Whilst I do realise that there is much more fun to be had playing in the sunshine, you need to sleep. I know that yesterday you made it through the day without a nap. That was a once off. Your Mummy couldn't stand any more crying, and after two hours of coercing, threatening and almost begging for you to sleep she gave up and we played in your sand pit in the shade with the hose running to cool us off. This will not be repeated.

Nor will the offer of reading quietly alone in your cot. Mummy doesn't like torn books does she?

I know that nap time comes at an unfortunate time - the hottest part of the day. Of course the hot Australian sun beating down on your blinds and the unrelenting stickiness of the day make napping a bit tougher than usual. You need to to get past that and Just Go To Sleep.

You are too young to be 'over' nap time. You need it. I need it. The world is a much happier place when nap time is adhered to. You are simply too young.

Although you are also too young to lie. Lying is quite a complex skill. You need to be able to preempt what someone else will do if you tell the truth and then deliberately say something that will cause the other person to behave in a different way. You are far too young to grasp this. And yet today you lied to me. Today at nap time you told me you had done a poo. You hadn't, had you Champ? When Mummy checked and told you your bottom was clean, you then lied again didn't you, darling boy? You said you needed the potty. But you didn't did you, sweetie?

So, can we please agree that you are 22 months old; you need sleep and you do not lie. The sleep part is the most important, mmkay?

Love always and forever,

Mummy

xxxooo

Champagne and chilling

I have now had time to digest the news that there will be no baby Lemoncake making in 2009.

Cowboy thinks it is a good thing because 2009 has been so unlucky for us. He thinks we will start afresh in 2010.

My reasoning is different, but I have come to the same conclusion. For more than medical reasons, it is a good idea to wait until the new year to TTC again.

I have my sister's 21st, Champ's 2nd birthday and Christmas in the next couple of months. Not to be pregnant during those times means a) I can drink champagne at my sister's 21st; b) I won't be running to the bathroom constantly to check for spotting during my favourite time of the year; c) I can drink champagne over the silly season.

Overall, it will give me some time and space to relax, not worry about our future children and find a little peace with our 2009 trials.

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!

Blessings

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.