On the Pride Festival/GAYTM Hoo Ha

Many people already have already discussed this, and have done so eloquently.  I'm mostly posting to clarify to friends what my thoughts about this are after heated discussions on Facebook.  I also wanted to simplify the issues around what happened at the parade further, and also comment from an artists (albeit seldom practicing) perspective on the vandalism of the GAYTM.

Firstly, I have to say that when I first heard about the GAYTM's existence I kinda cringed.  While I am a strong advocate for gay rights and visibility in the community, and also a huge fan of Reuben Paterson's work (so much so I ballsily friend requested him on Facebook [which he accepted] when I realised you could do such things) they just felt wrong.  It felt wrong because it felt representative of a small slice of the varied gay community I know*.  This was just the face value, gut reaction I had - torn between 'Yay! Positive spotlight on gays!' and 'It's just a giant money lending cliche...'

So I wasn't surprised when I first read about one of the machines being vandalised.

When I read about it I assumed based on the article that the vandalism was an act by ignorant homophobes.  When I discovered otherwise, I was not surprised.  I was saddened that this wasn't the story initially told by the media, because the only pro of this vandalism (because I'm not pro vandalism generally) was the message behind it, which I think is important.

I don't think Queers Against Injustice went about this the right way.  It seems likely to me based on the media's assumption that the poster they stuck to the machine either came off, or was taken off, before anyone of import could read it.  Their message was lost and the vandalism rendered mute.  A friend of mine works for the company who made the GAYTMs - those rhinestones are all glued on by hand and have to be done so again.  This is painstaking work.  I don't know how Pateron feels about it.  If it were my artwork I'd be sad that it was defaced for no apparent reason other than what it represented to the common man.

But the message this group had, which we now have is out, and is important:
'Pinkwashing, a term we defined and outlined in the attached poster, describes the way that institutions co-opt LGBT struggles to distract from and disguise unethical behaviour.'
This was about the fact that while ANZ put on a friendly gay front they, not unlike certain political parties (cough cough National cough cough) have quite possibly done so to obscure, smoke and mirrors style recent furor around the treatment of their workers.  It pisses me off to no end when the government which I DIDN'T vote in does this - I would be pissed too if I felt my community was involved in, or the beneficiaries of this sort of behavior in such a visible way. 

The choice in 'venue' of the vandalism (Ponsonby) was a critique of the parade itself: 'Associating queer politics with personal banking within a gentrified area reduces the queer subject to a bourgeois, cis-gender**, white, male subject...'  Why this part of the message has hit so close to home for me has nothing to do with queer politics.  It's more that this is something we've seen through history, over and over again.  Recently, in feminism.  Early feminism was a movement pretty much for middle and upper class white women.  It completely ignored women of colour and of lesser means.  And in many ways, it still does.***  The perceived exclusion of certain groups represented by the Pride Parade is in some ways no different, except that, in this case, many of those feeling excluded are also those who put the bricks in place so we could have Pride, but are no longer represented by what Pride has become.

If I were in their position, I would feel very frustrated, angry and ignored.  So while I don't agree with the act of vandalising the GAYTM's I understand the message, and I agree that it is important for both the LGBTQI community, and everyone else to hear.  And had they not defaced the GAYTM's, less of us would have heard it. It was not by any means an 'ignorant' attack.

And this anger is obviously not something felt by just this small group of people.

Having a political voice and the freedom to express it was one of the founding ideas (I thought?) of the Hero Parades back in the day.  And while I understand that for everyone's safety parades require important planning and organisation, I can understand why those who felt excluded from this process would not go through correct procedures to peacefully protest issues with the parade in the parade.

I have seldom had a negative experience with the NZ Police force.  I have been to a number of protests and find them generally to be professional and friendly - often identifying personally with the cause they are marshalling.  I do think the Police are a necessary presence at most big events such as the Pride Parade for the safety of the majority.  I am also a white, educated, 30 something year old, not unattractive, middle class woman.  I cannot know, besides via media, how those in the LGBTQI community are treated by the police because I am not one (well, not an obvious one anyway).

What I do know, however, is what it is like to walk down the street with someone who is obviously male dressed as a woman.  It is honestly the scariest experience I've ever had on K Road.  This person was not trans - we were leaving a cross-dressing themed dress up party.  I also have family who have transitioned and have lived with someone while they were transitioning so have a small understanding of the day to day struggle these people experience.  I also know that the trans community experience high rates of bullying, mental health issues, sexual assault and suicide.  I do know that trans folk don't have it easy, even from their peers in the rainbow community.

I also think, that if someone is not harming anyone and wants to hold a banner and have their say about an issue I know little about, that they should be entitled to do so.  Particularly if they are from the community supposedly represented by the parade regardless of the colour of their skin, their sexual orientation or their gender identity.

I cannot understand how this act necessitates the kind of force required by the parade security to break a small woman's arm.  I cannot understand how this necessitates keeping this woman from medical attention for half an hour.  All that these recent events have done for me is solidified the idea that exclusion of those who are 'different', or have different ideas is 'normal' within all communities - even communities initiated around diversity and freedom of expression.  And that's extremely sad.

I think Robyn Keneally summed it up best: 
'Because Pride is nice day, for celebrations, and absolutely no sad or bad things ever, and that’s the rule now, that’s the thing we’re all supposed to say about queerness now.  We don’t admit that the movement centres cis people, and white people, and people who aren’t opposed to the way the state runs. We’re legit, we’re mainstream. The state doesn’t throw us in jail anymore, it marches with us.' 

*I am not an idiot.  I know you cannot easily present a coherent, sophisticated (and enjoyable) artwork which stands for a large/varied community.  But the rainbow sparkles vomit that is the GAYTM (sorry Reuben) seemed a little OTT.  Maybe just a rainbow (fairly universal symbol) sans sparkles (albeit Reuben's trademark) may have been less offensive? 

** cis-gender basically means folk who identify with the gender they were born into. Transgender often means folk who identify with a different gender to what they were born into, but can also mean identifying with unconventional male/female gender types.  Neither of these terms have anything to do with sexuality.

*** Because how is it that I have time to contemplate and write about gender issues and blog generally?  Because I only work 12 - 20 hours a week.  Because my partner earns enough that I don't have to and because we already have a mortgage we don't have to work our arses off to save for a deposit.  Feminism is in many ways still a privilege to pursue.  And in many ways feminism is still about perceived 'roles' which shift depending on a variety of factors including wealth, culture and even sexuality.

On preparing for baby #2

Because this whole thing kinda jumped up and bit us in the arse we've had to rethink a few things.

Well, we probably should but the reality is in terms of stuff around the house we've pretty much done nothing.  While I'm sure there are things to be done and problems to be solved I'm good with just having a place for the baby to sleep.*

And I cleaned out the freezer.  I'm happy about that.  I found frozen meals in there from 2013.  Now I have room to do the only other prep job I can wrap my brain around - frozen meals for the first couple of weeks.  One thing I learned from last time is that it's good to be organised early to minimise stress if the baby is early.  I also learned that while I managed a few days in my first week home feeling like a proper good housewife, that didn't last long.  So while I did manage to cook a roast meal in my first week home from the birthing units, soon I was a frazzled, paranoid, sleep deprived Mum with little time or energy to cook.  And this time around I'll have a toddler in tow.

Which is the main area we're looking for preparation in - getting Etta prepared for the thing that will alter her life beyond all other things - a younger sibling.

What is really awesome about toddlers is that you can tell them outrageous and abstract things and they don't need you to qualify it - they simply believe you.  We told Etta quite some time ago that there was a baby growing in Mummy's tummy.  And even though she can't see the baby she completely believes us and consequently talks to it, and cuddles it and asks if 'bubba's moving'.  It's very sweet.  She isn't old enough (and doesn't care enough) at 21 months to ask how it got there, or how/if/when it will get out which makes things nice and simple.  The only thing we've had to explain is that not everyone has babies in their tummy, and that all that is in her tummy currently is food (and maybe some rocks).

There was an awesome thread on the Mummy's forum I follow about things to do to prep an older sibling for the arrival of the new one.  It was so good I pinched some ideas from it which inspired other ideas.  The coolest one being I've made up a book using altered images of us about what will happen immediately when the baby decides to arrive.

It runs through what might happen in early labour, who will look after her while we 'get the baby out' and what may happen immediately after (Mummy might have to stay in hospital - important to explain because while I often work night shifts, we've never been apart entirely overnight).  It explains that she can come and see the new baby, that we love her very much, and that our family will have another person in it.

The other thing I took from that is getting Etta a present from 'the baby' to help her still feel loved when the newbie arrives and suddenly she isn't the center of attention any more.  While this isn't going to solve this issue, I thought it a nice idea.  Equally, we are letting Etta choose a present (within reason/budget) for her younger sibling to aid in her feeling excited, and part of its arrival.  We've also let her choose some new clothes for it for the same reason which she has really enjoyed.

And lastly, doing the book gave me an awesome idea - The Big Sister Box.  I've made up a box of a few little bits and pieces that Etta likes (marshmallows, bubble mix, balloons, butterfly stickers etc) that she can open with my Mum while we're at the hospital 'getting the baby out'.  It also has a 'big sister' T shirt in it (courtesy of T&T for $2) so she can feel like it's a special day and she's an important part of it.  This entire treat box has cost us under $8 and will help keep her entertained while we're out on important baby business.

While I know that none of this will truly prepare her for Hurricane New Baby, doing these things will make me feel, at least, like we're doing something to help with the transition.  Whilst simultaneously keeping me too busy to worry about the fact we haven't organised anything else...**

* I think we'll come to the big problem (finding a permanent room for the baby) when we need to.  For the first four or so months it'll be in our room anyway so there is still plenty of time.  And, if it's an amazing, good quiet, fantastic sleeper then maybe it can share a room with Etta and we won't have to worry.

** We kinda have organised other important things.  I have my PPL sorted, a budget done and we'll be applying for the in work tax credit soon.  So I've done the boringest things.  Just not the around-the-house things.  I have a list... I just need motivation/help/a new hip to help complete it.

On the myth of baby gender prediction

Oh this drives me nuts on a regular basis!  While there are many old wives tales around this, the one that seems most prevalent here (in NZ) is the how-your-tummy-sits one.



Girl or boy?  Can you tell?

Apparently, if you are carrying low and narrow you can expect a boy, and if you are carrying high and wide, it's a girl.  I've also heard more specifically that if you are carrying a boy it's all in the belly - if it's a girl the weight is more evenly dispersed.

So I thought I'd just explain the actual stats on this one.

50% of the time, prediction by tummy shape/size etc is accurate.  This is as accurate as predicting baby gender by tossing a coin.  So it's not very accurate.

There are many things that affect how a woman's stomach will sit during pregnancy including simple things like:
- the height of the mummy-to-be
- the abdominal muscle tone of the mummy-to-be
- the amount of amniotic fluid surrounding the baby-to-be
- the shape of the mummy-to-be's uterus
- the way the baby-to-be is lying
- the number pregnancy it is (cos usually affected by changes in muscle tone from previous pregnancy).

So yeah.  If you think you can accurately predict what I'm having just by staring rudely at my belly I will not think you the sharpest tool in the shed.

Here are some things that I know for a fact have caused differences between my pregnancies:
- the last one was my first (carried past first trimester) and consequently this one is not.
- the last one was on the back of two abdominal surgeries within 9 months (so totally screwed abs/back)
- the last one was planned... so I was fairly fit and healthy when I got pregnant (good nutrition)*
- this one was not... so I was not in good shape (slightly overweight) and had poor nutrition (anaemic)
- this time I was also breastfeeding up until recently (contributing factor to poor nutrition)
- last time, I was not breastfeeding, so kept all those bonus nutrients to myself!
- last time I was not on medication for anxiety - this time I am
- last time I was on prescribed medication for pain relief (cos of the dicky hips) - this time I'm not
- last time Etta was positioned almost perfectly for most of the pregnancy
- this time this baby is breech (carrying breech babies is uncomfortable!)

And I'm sure there are many other things I've missed.  Basically, pregnancies are different.  For many reasons.

The factors above are far more likely to indicate the differences between my pregnancies.  Not the gender of the baby.

And I own that because this annoys me I should battle these comments without placidly (or not so) saying WE DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS (we do, we just aren't telling anyone).  So I'm practicing responding to these comments thusly:

Stranger: 'You are carrying a boy.  I can tell'.
Me: 'You are carrying a pie.  I can tell.' or 'Do you have x-ray eyes?' or 'I have a penis?'

Stranger: 'Do you know what you are having?'
Me: 'A baby?' or 'a cheeseburger combo please, upsized' or 'A FUCKING BABY MOTHERFUCKER'.

I suggest if you are one of these people who thinks you can 'know' a babies gender based on their Mama's preggo belly, maybe think up a more creative method of 'knowing' than this old, inaccurate boring one.  Like maybe you toss a rabbit and if it lands on its feet it's a boy, and if it lands on its back it's a girl.

Or maybe you could just toss a coin...

I just need to say to all my whanau and friends who have been asked to guess gender/baby size/date/time because of our family tradition in placing stakes - I am not talking about you guys.  This is a tradition.  I expect you to guess at this stuff.  As long as you don't tell me these as facts based on an arbitrary measure I won't be mad.  I promise.  Our guessing stuff is all in fun.

What I do suggest you do, however, from a winning point of view, is, if you haven't yet placed your bets choose an exponent that is an outlier to what others have chosen ie: if everyone else is guessing 'boy' - guess girl.  If everyone else is guessing a time close to my EDD, choose one WAY before, or WAY later.  If everyone is guessing a weight around what Etta was, pick either tiny wee or GINORMOUS.  The winner of our guessing game last time was a statistician.  Stats don't lie.**

*mentioning this because nutrition is what makes pregnant women crave weird stuff.  Hence almost no cravings last time and ALL the cravings this time.

** Except when they do...

On Breastfeeding

                 Early adventures in breastfeeding

Breastfeeding was one of the things I was most worried about when I was pregnant.  I desperately wanted to be able to feed my child this way cos I knew breast was best and formula was expensive!  When working out the feasibility of having a child I never took the cost of formula into account as it could have quite possibly changed the viability of our baby plan.  So I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

And then Etta was a wee bit early and delivered by emergency C Section.

Because of all the stories you hear about C Sections and breastfeeding I was pretty worried, but in all the conundrum of emergency room and new baby, my Midwife just put her on my boob (no decorum in the delivery room) and it magically worked - she was feeding.  Hallelujah!

I soon found it didn't magically work like that all the time.  I was so grateful to move from Waitakere Hospital to the Helensville Birthing Units where the nurses were also trained lactation consultants.  I had been meaning to go to a lactation class before I had Etta, but with her being a little early, like many other pre-baby plans it fell by the wayside.  These women were a godsend.  Because of my C Section some of the more traditional feeding holds I had been shown in hospital were quite uncomfortable for me and we had difficulty with latching.  They  helped me find a position that worked (rugby hold) which made a huge difference.  I do think I would have struggled with breastfeeding without that amazing support and education in the first five days.*

Although I 100% believed (and believe) that breastfeeding is the most natural thing in the world, it didn't feel that way at first.  I have never been a 'babies' person and all things 'baby' were terrifying and foreign to me - especially breastfeeding.  You have to maneuvre one very delicate thing into the mouth of another very delicate thing - it's pretty scary to start off with! (And scary all over again once one of those things gets teeth!)  And when your milk comes in around day 3 and they feed ALLTHETIME on raw nipples it kinda feels like you're trapped in some sort of hell where you will be doing this for all eternity.

Thankfully, things got easier.  We did have issues with latching early on and did investigate an upper lip tie (not the problem).  I did get extremely chafed and sore nipples.  I did get blocked milk ducts a couple of times, but managed to avoid mastitis by following my gut and expressing and feeding as much as possible.  I got over the awkwardness of how to hold Etta pretty quickly, and had a very supportive group of whanau and friends.  While I'm not a total prude, I had anticipated I would find feeding around other people uncomfortable.  However, once I was a Mum I didn't bat an eye - it ended up being less of a deal than I'd imagined as feeding Etta became a natural priority.

We tried expressing milk so I could have more 'away' time, but unfortunately this was something that didn't work out for me.  I had difficulty expressing, and then, after eventually managing to get enough for Murray to try using it we found I had a weird excess lipase issue, which meant my milk went off quickly.  So I just breastfed as required.

I know a lot of women have difficulty being in the position I was, but it was ok for me. Before having Etta we'd talked about and decided that I could be a stay at home Mum for at least the first few years.  In my pre-baby state I figured that meant full time full on Mummydom, so I was invested before I knew what I was getting myself into.  Looking after a baby (my baby) ended up being far more fun than I had anticipated it would - I truly love being a Mum.  So having to be quite attached (via breastfeeding) to my daughter never felt like too much - it felt like exactly what I had committed myself to before getting pregnant.  I know it doesn't feel like this for everyone and I was expecting to feel the opposite when I was pregnant as I'm a very independent person** so I am super thankful that in spite of that added attachment I've enjoyed Etta's babyhood.

And as things turned out I went back to part time work when she was 10 months old, and even with the restrictions we had with feeding, this worked out just fine.

Before having Etta I had it in my head that I'd feed her up to two years which is the World Health Organisation's recommendation for breastfeeding.  That was about as far as I'd gotten with breastfeeding planning and ideals.  I was quite terrified of the idea of feeding beyond two - this concept informed solely from knowing a few guys who were extremely 'breast obsessed' - all of whom had been breastfed until age five or six ie: not very well informed.

Like many things pre-baby, post-baby this changed.  Breastfeeding has been an integral part of bonding with my daughter.  When she was first born and I couldn't do a lot post surgery, it felt like it was the one useful thing I could do.  From early on, the idea of having to enforce weaning felt unnatural to me.  While many friends weaned, or had their children self wean around a year, I fed on.

I definitely had pressure to wean her earlier.  When she was around 10 or 11 months my GP recommended topping up her feeds with formula at night to help us both sleep better (we are both terrible sleepers).  I knew this was totally normal, and many of my friends with similarly aged babies were doing exactly this.  But because I knew the (my) sleep thing was mostly an anxiety thing I decided to ignore this advice*** and instead got some help to manage my anxiety better.  And Etta's sleep has gradually improved on its own.  I had a Plunket visit shortly after I found out I was pregnant, and was recommended to wean Etta for health reasons (I was pregnant and anaemic).  Etta was about 15 months old.  I knew it was actually sensible advice but I just couldn't do it.  It just felt wrong for us. 

And there was societal pressure.  While all of my friends and family have been totally supportive of my still feeding Etta, I still felt like I had to question this choice purely because I knew very few people still feeding their littlun's at similar ages.  I don't believe in any particular 'style' of parenting - I just do what seems to work for me and my child.  In order to do that though I've had to trust my gut and ignore that perceived  pressure.  I stopped feeding Etta in public and around friends at around 12 months - partly due to how we managed her feeds, but also for fear of judging eyes.  Retrospectively, I wish I hadn't - the more other mothers see older babies and toddlers being fed, the more they may feel it's ok.

Right now I am nearly 29 weeks with surprise baby #2 and Etta has just weaned herself at just over 20 months.  She still asks for 'Mummy milk' but doesn't actually drink - I think it's more of a routine and comfort thing than anything else.  A few weeks ago we were in Rarotonga for a holiday - Etta had been making moves to wean prior to that, but fed a LOT over there.  Because of all the excitement, change and upheaval, she didn't really eat very well while we were there, so I was extremely grateful she was still feeding then.  But clearly Etta had decided it was time - she stopped shortly after we got home.

I thought I would feel some sense of loss when Etta weaned, but I haven't.  It was just time.  And I'm quite glad.  While I was prepared for the possibility of tandem feeding, I was worried about the impact that would have on my health (possible anaemia with toddler and new baby), so that will be one less thing to worry about when this new person turns up.

I can't recommend breastfeeding enough to those who are able but unsure.  It's definitely not always easy, and it won't work for everyone but it is worth persisting for at least a little while.  Not only is it great nutrition for bubs, but for us it made immunisations so much more manageable.  It has aided us through illness and supported us in times of stress.  It has helped me feel close to my daughter, and in the early days helped me acclimatise myself to feeling like a 'Mum'. 

I hope I'm lucky enough to be able to breastfeed baby number 2 for at least the first six months, and to have the confidence to feed for as long as that baby deems necessary.  And if not, I hope I can have the confidence to just do what works for my child.

* For so many other reasons as well!  I had absolutely no clue how to do anything baby related - change a nappy, dress a baby, give them a bath.  The whole new Mum thing was quite terrifying (especially post surgery fragile, in pain state).  I can't recommend enough that if you do not feel ready to go home - don't.  I'm pretty sure that in New Zealand it is your legal right to be in hospital for up to two weeks.  Stay until you feel safe you can do things by yourself.  It is your right.  Becoming a Mum can be scary and confusing - there is a lot of basic stuff to learn - especially if you have little to zero experience with babies.

** A very independent person who also has anxiety issues to constantly monitor - so thought there was no way I'd get through the early years of being a Mum without becoming a crazy, blubbering mess.

***I just need to say here that I'm not anti formula.  At all.  I'm just a tight arse.  I don't think it's a poison, and in fact will have saved countless thousands of babies lives worldwide over time.  I just feel like if you can do without and your baby is healthy, happy and growing fine, it's not necessary.  Etta has never had formula, but she has never needed to.  While I hope this is also the case with our next child I know it may not be and that will be ok too (our budget is slightly more flexible these days).  I think all parents should do what feels best for themselves, their child and their family, whatever that may be.

On feeling like a fat, grumpy, useless jerk

 Feeling huge...

Pregnancy huh?  Can't live with it, but can't continue the human race without it...

While this pregnancy has, as a whole, been easier than the last one, it still undeniably sucks.  In big part, because being fat in Summer sucks.  Being fat in Rarotonga sucks but you know what?  Auckland is as hot as Raro, so while I enjoyed our Raro holiday and also enjoyed coming home, we arrived home to a January which had at that point had one rain day, and was 27 degrees.  That shouldn't even be legal.  I am a grinch of Summer even when I'm not 15kg bigger than usual.  Adding this weight, plus a just-learning-to-walk-10kg-toddler to the mix makes for a serious Hulk Hannah.
You best not be stepping where you don't want be messing!*

On top of being huge, I feel huge.  Regardless of this heat I feel giant because my starting weight for this pregnancy was 5kg up on the last one and I've gained weight at a slightly faster rate.  And because people constantly comment on how massive I am.  Thanks people.  That's awesome.  Women always like to hear that.  Especially hot, pregnant, sore ones.  And I've still got almost 12 weeks to go to my due date and 8 weeks to go until I finish work.  And then I can hide in my house and avoid comment from random incompetent gits - my toddler has never called me fat.  High fives for her.  Punch face for git strangers.

And I can't help it.  The hugeness I mean.  This time around I actually have food cravings.  It's cos I started this pregnancy off as an anemic, breastfeeding wreck which was NOT THE PLAN!  Last time, we had a plan and so I was healthy and good.  This time was a whoops - I was not in any state to be pregnant.  So now, to compensate I must eat ALLTHETHINGS.  Cheeseburgers, chocolate, icecream, chippies.  Badbad things.  And cos have toddler shove food in my face when the opportunity arises.  Not like last time, where I could meal plan and focus on being good in body and mind (yoga, positioning, diet etc).  Now it's all about DO WHAT THE BODY SAYS MUST DO.  And it would appear this body wants to eat all the things, and be as big as a house.  Self control you say?  Pregnancy diabetes mayhaps?  FUCK YOU!

Consequently, I feel cumbersome.  Being big is awkward.  I can't move good like I used to and simple tasks are hard.  And it makes it difficult for me to breathe.  I get panicky at times and have to actively focus on breathing.  I can't lie on my back or sit forward purely because it causes oxygen deprivation - my lungs just can't lung that way.  And this baby is lying breech so its movements are far more uncomfortable than Etta's was.  Seriously.  It literally kicks me in the pubic bone and my vagina hurts.  This is especially bad when I am walking.  Some days walking hurts my vagina.  Lots, like, I wanna cry hurts.  I am mad at my unborn child.

And I feel useless.  Last time, it didn't really matter too much if there was stuff on the floor.  It was just me and Murray.  Plus we didn't just tromp around throwing stuff on the floor willy nilly very often, so there wasn't much on the floor.  These days we have a tornado toddler thing.  So anything under the level of about 1.1 meters can end up on the floor at any given time.  Including things in drawers.  And cupboards (we've locked the good stuff up now though.  Phew!)  So the floor is a colourful array of Etta collateral.  Which she could break, put in her mouth and choke to death on.  And my hips hurt.  So unless I'm feeling super awesome it stays on the floor.  And we hurt ourselves on it.  And while Etta hasn't choked to death yet, it could happen any day.  And I feel useless.

And I'm useless at work.  Still fab at all things customer service, but shite at things like vacuuming, and putting things away on low shelves.  And because sad/mad/bad am writing this blog post at work.  I am a terrible person.  I actually love my job.  Everything is just hard right now.  Cos big.  Work also has air con.  And cos I work alone I have full control over it.  Work is like an icy, bug (and baby) free oasis in a swamp full of crocodiles, mud and mosquitoes.  I should be kinder to my work.

And I'm a terrible wife.  Wanna do something fun?  Fuck you.  We only watch mindless television in these parts.  And read terrible things.  TERRIBLE THINGS.  And occasionally play a board game but not any new ones cos I have no brain, and not any long ones because I will get tired and cry.  And sometimes we can watch a movie.  Sometimes. If it's under 97 minutes in length and we start watching it at 7.30pm sharp.  But don't fucking touch me or I'll stick you like a pig!

And a terrible mother.  It's a gorgeous day out?  We will go out when Mummy hangs the washing.  Then I will watch you frolic on the lawn with the animals while I sit on the deck steps and drink imaginary cider (lemonade mixed with apple juice).  Mummy too tired to even do laundry?  We're just gonna sit on the couch watching endless Pocoyo while I brush your hair and you put cream on my legs.  And I'm not gonna fight with you at dinner.  Right now it's fine if you only eat rice, pasta, rice bubbles or porridge.  I will sneak veges in when my legs move more good.  Too hard right now.  You get scurvy.

Unlike the witches of yore, rain is pretty much my favourite thing in the world.  WAY more awesome than any super food (fuck you goji), more awesome than chocolate, more awesome than WINE.  Rain makes life tolerable.  This is why Raro was tolerable - it rained most days we were there.  The other thing making me slightly less murderous is swimming, baths and aircon.  These days if I am feeling claustrophobic from the humid Auckland murk I either take Etta to Kmart or the mall.  There she can frolic around to her hearts content with toys or clothes (she loves crawling around under clothing racks), I don't have to hold her and, most importantly, there is aircon.**

And sometimes there is icecream.

So yeah, I am a world hating jerk right now.  Sorry.
If you are to have any contact with me over the next three months, these are important things to know:
- Bring me popsicle slushies
- Don't call me fat
- Make it rain.
- Expect nothing in return

Do these things and you will avoid Hulk Hannah***

Rant end.

*I fancy myself secretly black, but the truth is I'm one of those lame middle class wannabe rappers that actually is terrible and not cool at all like, not like Natalie Portman or Daniel Radcliffe, actually just lame.  Like, lamer than Hannah Hart.  Super lame.

** I would take her to the park which is closer, but there is no aircon, or icecream, or walls, so I spend the entire time chasing her and trying not to cry and wishing I could just be drunk, or in the bath, or asleep so I didn't have to haul my giant arse around attempting to ensure my existing offspring does not maim herself.

*** Unless you make the mistake of telling me what gender child I'm having based solely on looking at me.  Are you a scientist?  Do you have magic baby science eyes?  No, I don't think you do (because I just made that up).  You are welcome to ask to perform some tests on me (not of the old wiving variety) to work this out if it is that important to you.  You can even look at my 20 week scan results but believe me, I'll think you're a fool if you think you can tell what baby I'm having from where my baby belly sits.