The Contingency Plan

The Asian side of my family is obsessed with spiritual mediums and fortune tellers (the Scottish side prefer alcohol). They all visit them and despite my scepticism, the woman my Aunt Jackie sees is very perceptive.

For example, Mum was in Taiwan visiting my Aunt around the time I discovered I was pregnant. Mum tagged along with Aunt Jackie to visit the woman (let's call her Glenda) and she told Mum some juicy information about me - Mum knew I was pregnant and that I'd keep the baby before I did. This woman has predicted the miscarriage of my cousin's baby, the marriage of an aunt and the unfaithfulness of another uncle so she's not someone I want to mess with.

Anyhow, besides information about the baby, Glenda also told Mum information about my relationship with Lucas. According to Glenda we're going to make great parents, will get married when we're around 26 or 27 and Lucas will cheat on me when we're around 35 with a co-worker. Yes, and Mum had no problem telling me the last part - like what the f#$%?!

I was happy to hear the other bits of information, but don't quite know what to do about the cheating bit. Sure, it's 10 years away but I often find myself wondering how I can avoid the event taking place and whether it will actually happen. And I find myself occassionally paranoid because of it.

So instead of keeping this to myself, I of course told Lucas who thinks it's a load of bollocks (of course he would). Apparently "I have it goin on and shouldn't worry about a thing".

Anyhow, although I think there's room for this not to take place, I'm really wary of spiritual things - I'd rather not mess with what I don't know.

And then I think Wolfie will be 10 by then. I wonder whether we'll still be in Oz or overseas, whather we'll have more children, whether he'll still be working in IT and whether we'll be 'otherwise happy'. And then I think my father cheated on my mother for 25 years and hoope I don't end up with someone like him.

I think 35's a good age for us to move to a deserted tropical island.

So here it is for your reading pleasure:

Dear Kazumi + Lucas,
Congratulations on your new baby!
I hope your are both extremely well and excited about the newest addition to your lives.
Umi, I hope the pregnancy was o.k. for you + the birth that sometime's can be painful was o.k too.
I guess I just wanted to send some warm wishes from an old friend, & even though things worked out the way they did, you both still have a place in my heart. I often wonder what happened. I guess a parting of ways like you always used to talk about Umi: your philosophy of friendship: a day: a season: a lifetime.
Sometimes I'd like to say 'g'day dear old friend' & for it to be simple, but I am afraid too much has happened or changed or ....... It's bizarre.
So I thought a little note to say 'CONGRATS' wouldn't be too hard for you
to take.
I sincerely hope this note finds you well & doesn't cause any negativity or ill feelings to arise.
May the friendship we shared provide sweet memories for us both this lifetime & may our hearts be filled with love + gratitude for the times we shared.
With love, honour, respect of you....
Your old friend,
Sophie
xxxooo

I feel a mixture of emotions whenever I read over that note. This is how it usually plays out:

First reaction:
Immense irritation. She's an idiot. Giving birth to a baby is always and never just "sometime's" painful.
I know Soph and whenever she doesn't want to deal with someone she writes them a letter.
I never should've opened the letter. I should've just sent it back. Perhaps I'll write back, but then I'll be tempted to belittle and highlight all her faults and I don't want to do that (although part of me would love to).
I hate how she can still affect me because the last phase of our friendship was a painful waste of time.
She's a dick for trying to act like the bigger person.
Plus who signs off a letter 'with love, honour and respect of you...'? It's just so wanky. You shouldn't need to say those things. I don't understand how she's loving, honouring or respecting me.

Second reaction:
I should really try and be more mature about this and not react so badly. I don't think I'll contact her in any way.

Summary:
I guess Lucas summed her up today when he said, 'Yes we all know she means well but she's too stupid to mean well and do well'.

I'm relieved we're no longer friends.

Work it Baby

I was feeling quite energetic after a visit to Hugo's doctor today so Lucas, Hugo and I took a trip to my old stomping ground (work) to drop off some proofs and say a quick hello.

Following my post on Tuesday, I was eager to stay out of the house, and felt the excited, clucky faces of my friends would remedy some of the down and exhausted feelings I've been experiencing.

After taking the back entrance into the office, it only took two minutes before we were surrounded by everyone in the company. Hugo happily slept through the whole ordeal, which may have been a good thing as he was passed to and from so many people. We had to pry the poor thing back to leave, but hey, I don't blame them for getting so attached.

The visit was also designed to help me through some of the decisions I have to make over the next six months.

During an online conversation with my MD (Kirsty) tonight, I discovered the company will tomorrow announce the departure of my Group Account Director (GAD), yes, the one I currently can't stand to work with. The timing is bad as her departure marks the three most senior people in the team leaving within a month of each other and will really sting my former colleague and Account Director as our GAD was the reason why she left. Kirsty will take over management of the group until Jane, an absolute gem who's been freelancing for us, will take rein in February. Jane's from the UK and we get and work along soooo well together. She only plans to stay a year in the position, but I hope they convince her to extend that further.

Anyhow, Jane's going back home for the holidays and came over last night to say goodbye and to give me the goss from, work, but also said Kirsty adores me and was raving about me before she left the office last night. I find that an enormous compliment as Kirsty has extremely high standards and is someone I respect and admire.

So with all this shifting and changing, there's an opportunity for me to quickly move up the ranks if I return to work after my maternity leave. The workaholic in me adores this thought as I thoroughly enjoyed the higher management role I had before leaving and was obviously good at it as I reported straight to Kirsty and ran the team smoothly.

The obvious con to this, is that both Lucas and I abhor the thought of putting Hugo in child care so I can't return to work full time. We think we only have one chance to raise him and it makes sense for Lucas to continue working as his salary is so damn good. Our ideal plan would be for me to work from home 3-4 days a week and to go into the office on the two days Lucas works from home, but I don't know if this will be possible so I'm really grappling with thoughts of whether or not I return.

Can I have my cake and eat it too?

In with the new and the old re-surfacing

It seems with each new stage of life, a part I'd forgotten or left behind resurfaces, giving me the opportunity to reconnect or disregard it again.

And with the birth of Hugo I've opened myself to a number relationships I'd forgotten or rejected, including friends I've grown up with, to my father.

A friendship that's re-surfaced is one with a friend called Allanah. Allanah, Sophie and I were extremely close for years, but grew distant over the last twelve months. Our friendship started over six years ago through partying and jobs in retail and has seen Sophie and I as bridesmaids at Allanah's wedding and me as the godmother of her first child.

Anyhow, we used to always laugh about our differences, but they seemed to be the thing that ultimately tore us apart.

Allanah had her first child at 23 (a gorgeous boy called Eden), married early at 24 and now at 26, also has a girl called Michaela, a mortage for a two storey house in the suburbs, which she shares with her loving husband and their budding family.

Despite graduating as a high distinction business student at university, Sophie developed into wandering fairy, has never held a full time job past a year, has changed religions four times in the past six years, studies ayuverdic medicine at a nature care college (in between visits to India to spend time with her favourite guru) and even though she's 27, still lives at home with her parents.

I, on the other hand, was seen as the city-loving career girl, who was ambitious to move up in the corporate world, working for big name consumer tech companies, living in waterfront apartment and trying to balance a healthy partying life with book clubs, time out with friends and of course, time with the boy.

I know it sounds a bit stereotypical, but it's true.

Anyhow, the last time I saw Allanah was eleven months ago when Sophie and I went to visit her in hospital for the birth of Michaela. The visit was awkward. Allanah and I have always bonded well, but Sophie and Allanah have always had their moments and this was one of them.

Although Sophie has a good heart, she can be a little clueless and unfortuanately gets a little ditzier as the years progress. Anyhow, she said a few thoughtless things to Al and then weakly offered to massage her swollen feet (which would've been more painful than pain-relieving) and I could tell by the end of the visit that we wouldn't see each other for a while. Unfortunately I thought Al was also upset at me, but she wasn't - she was just fed up of Sophie.

Anyhow, Al's had a hard year with a baby that seems to have stayed in the hospital more than it has at home and although we haven't been in touch, she phoned as soon as she heard that I'd had Hugo to congratulate me. We talked for hours and it felt SOOO damn good to chat to an old familiar friend who is also a mum.

We plan on meeting next Wednesday and I can't wait. I love how we just picked up from where we left off without dramatising things, I really appreciate friendships like these.

Anyhow, with this time of the phoenix, I also received a letter in the post today. It was hand written in texta on coloured paper with the return address of Sophie.

Wolfie turned two weeks old today... how time already flies!

It's 11pm and the house is silent except for the tapping of my fingers on this keyboard and the vague whisper of waves brushing up against the sea wall.

Lucas is still at work, Hugo is sleeping and I'm lonely. I don't even know why I feel lonely. Perhaps it's because I haven't really been out of the house since giving birth and used to lead such an active life.

I think the reality of this situation is really settling in now. I really love being a mum, but feel I need to get out more. I think I would, but still need to express milk every 2-3 hours as the hungry Wolf is still not latching. There has to be a way around this that doesn't involve formula...

The Curse of the Smooth, Flat Nipple

If you peep into our apartment these days you'll find an interesting surprise.

Sitting on a sofa with a bottle and breast pump, you'll see me, a figure of motherhood, breasts exposed through a black lace maternity bra, in my underwear, drinking Guiness and Coke (it's apparently high in iron and good for breastfeeding) and pumping milk for my baby boy. All I need is a cigarette to complete the scene.

It's been hot and my care factor has been low.

Hugo has been a heavenly baby to care for. He sleeps extremely well, barely cries (only when he's hungry) and has a healthy appetite. Although he's very well mannered, some of this has been accounted to jaundice, which he's still dispelling from his tiny frame. And I wasn't helping as the poor little guy can't latch onto my nipples. This meant he wasn't feeding enough to gain weight and dispell the jaundice. And feeds were taking up to 2.5 hours. We'd both finish them exhausted, frustrated and in tears.

I've always been fond of my breasts, but it's horrible to hear you have a problem with them that's preventing your baby from eating. Lucas even helped me prepare for breastfeeding by sucking on my breasts coming up to the birth. Besides being enjoyable, it helped me get used to the sensation of someone sucking on them for an extended period of time (yes... good excuse).

Anyhow, as Wolfie was loosing weight, his jaundice wasn't improving, and I have an oversupply of milk, I've been expressing milk every 2-3 hours to keep up with his feeds. This has been going on for three days now and I feel like all I do is pump breast milk to feed him. Thankfully a midwife will be visiting me to help me with the issue.

Oh well, time to get the pump out again for now...

How Wonderful Life Is...

I know, It's horrible of me to keep this information from you. I keep trying to think of a creative or clever way to write about it, but am too excited. Too sleep deprived. Too hormonal. Too focused on feedings.

Yes, I've had the Wolf.

Hugo Wolfgang was born on Wednesday 10 November 2004 at 6.48pm, 18 days early.

After a night of little and restless sleep, I woke at 7.30am with the awful realisation I'd wet the bed. Shocked, I woke Lucas up who, despite the time, managed to tease me before getting me a towel. It's then I realised my water was breaking.

Calm yet silently scared, I called the hospital, packed my bags and called mum while walking up our nine flights of stairs. Lucas and I then drove to the hospital where we were shown our delivery room.

The room was plush with a big bed, a few couches for a support partner/s, a stereo, computer, and a separate room with a bath, shower, exercise ball and bean bags. I was suddenly impressed with the public health system. Lucas kept thinking we were to be ascorted out to a different, dingier room, but no, this was it.

Without taking off my shoes I went and sat on the bed, knowing I'd give birth that day to our baby. I was filled with a sense of excitement and fear - I would finally get to meet Wolfie yet knew I'd experience more pain than I ever have, and possibly will.

Due to some minor complications, the doctors decided to induce my labour and put me on antibiotics. I found the drip to be most uncomfortable, but it did the trick as within a couple of hours I had entered the first stage.

It's around this time Mum arrived at the hospital in a flurry of excitement and colour, dispelling the calm atmosphere Lucas and I had achieved. Brightly dressed in a pink fluffy cardigan, tight, dark denim jeans and stilletos, she bounded into the delivery room, almost shouting her excitement, gave Lucas a bag of food (so he wouldn't go hungry), took off her jacket and asked the midwives when she could expect her grandchild. This all within the span of around a minute.
I told her to calm down, but that's after I noticed her lips. They were huge. They were swollen. They were almost shiney and the first thing I had to ask was, 'What the hell have you done to your lips?' She told me not to worry. Her plastic surgeon had suggested the adjustment when he last checked her breasts and she saw no harm in it. My life momentarily felt like an episode of AbFab again.

Anyhow, my labour continued smoothly with contractions occuring every 3-5 minutes for the next couple of hours. I was on gas but the pain was increasing with each contraction so at around 2pm, when I was 5cms dialated, the midwives offered me an epidural. I wanted to hold off for as long as possible before having one, but after a few more contractions, accepted their offer.

In retrospect, the level of pain I experienced increased with each procedure - from the drip to the epidural, the delivery and the stitches, not to say they each had their agonising merits. My pain threshold is relatively high too, something the midwives all commented on. Anyhow, it took the anethiest three attempts to get the epidural right and besides being a little freaked out by the fact that they were inserting a needle into my spinal chord, it was hard to stay still while still experiencing my toe-curling contractions. Nevertheless, I was able to nap and relax after the drug had kicked in.

I was also able to take calls and had an amusing time talking to the girls at work, other friends (news travels fast) and my tax accountant, who called me from my apartment wondering where I was. Luckily I had a good excuse for not being there.

This lull continued for four hours, during which I'd fully dialated and had already started to experience pressure in my lower abdomen as the baby's head and shoulders travelled lower. My Dad had also unexpectedly arrived, meaning it was the first time my parents had been in the same room together since their divorce had turned a bitter leaf nearly two years ago. Thankfully they kept their cool and Lucas managed to keep me feeling supported while entertaining everyone so the tension didn't rise above the occasion.

And it while Lucas had taken Dad out for a coffee that I first felt the real need to push. The widwives explained the urge was similar to when you really need to go to the washroom to do a number two and I have to agree. It's similar, except much worse.

And it's also at this point that I lost all dignity. With three midwives, a doctor, my mother and Lucas in the room, my legs were splayed and my mind focused on staying calm and pushing (Dad and Natasha were outside waiting). One of the midwives later told me I was the first person she'd ever seen look relaxed during labour, but I have to reassure you that although I tried to be mentally strong, there was a point I thought I couldn't handle the pain any longer and didn't know how I'd get through the rest of the delivery (the doctors had lowered my epidural to a minimum so I'd know when to push so I felt everything).

Nevertheless after 45 minutes of pushing, I was told to stop and so occured the birth of my first child. As soon as he was delivered, Hugo was placed on my chest and I felt a mixture of relief, pain from the event, shock and utter love for this tiny baby covered in blood and gunk. Lucas and I kissed, I held the baby and then it cried.

Hold me tight

He worked until an ungodly hour last night so this morning, Lucas slept in and in exchange for a full breakfast (eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, etc), I got a morning full of snuggles in bed.

I love a great hug.

When Sophie and I were close, she'd often say we need at least 18 hugs a day to be emotionally healthy. I don't know where she got it from and I think it's a load of bollocks, but would LOVE that many good hugs a day.

Hugs are perfect when they hold you tight and overwhelm you with comfort, kindness and closeness.

And with this in mind, my top five huggers would be:

1. Lucas. I inconspiciously taught him how to hug me as they used to be soft, often one-handed and almost not there, but that's all changed (mwahaha). He's tall enough so I fit underneath his head and can breath in his smell when he holds me.

2. My dad. He nearly crushes me with his hugs, but they're unreal. Big, secure and fatherly.

3. Next would be Sophie. Despite all that's happened, she always knew when to hug me and for how long. The force is strong when it comes to her hugging intuition (or as I like to now say, HI) and lucky are the people who now benefit from it.

4. My good friend Gordon. He's my silly-bugger friend. We've known eachother for a good six years and never had a single serious conversation for at least the first four. As you can imagine, it used to astonish and perplex Sophie. But we just have fun together and I always come away feeling like I've been on holiday. We of course talk some serious stuff now, but just thinking of him makes me laugh as I'm flooded with many of the stupid things we've done and his hugs are just full of that.. and usually a good bum grab too.

5. A past co-worker, now friend of mine called Sam. She also has a strong HI and work was better for it. She would often pleasantly surprise me when we went out for a cigarette break by asking me how I am and hugging me when I needed it, something which starkly opposed the professional and impersonal environment at the time.

mmm///... good.

xx

Names:
* Hugo Wolfgang for a boy - have to keep the hate close with middle names
* Inez for a girl - this one's growing on me... can't have a prissy, girlie name... am still looking into Polish, Irish, Spanish ones.

Not stressing... any suggestions?

The Brand New Heavies are pumping through my apartment. I've loved them since first hearing 'Dream on Dreamer' when I was 15 and have phases where I just want to revel in their funk.

I know, my excuse is poor - all this time and no blogging. Slap bottom. And I won't use the 'busy' excuse on you as I hate that one too - yes, we're all busy these days.

So I've been lazy. I haven't kept to a sleeping pattern. I've read. Spent days watching DVDs and playing the Sims 2. I've had brunches that span whole days. I've composed long letters to long lost friends. I've put on happy, sing-along music and have danced around the house. I've been to the movies on my own. I've lit incense and snuggled with blankets and the joy of the rain. And I've been procrastinating - I have loads of laundry and a messy house to clean. Maybe I'll do it today, maybe I won't.

I'm still shedding my stressed-out skin from days at work. It's only been a week and I still have trouble sleeping at night due to my overly-active mind, but can already feel the difference: my relationships are breathing and I'm slowly returning to the Kazumi I enjoy - friendly, easier-going and smiling more.

I'm frustrated and my thoughts are dominating me. They start off minute, making connections and small streets but in no time they are super cities with bustling highways, minority groups, art history and lights, wanting to burst out of my head, demanding action.
And I can feel them coming on. I try to ignore their actions, swallow my words, make things smaller than they really are, but my expressive face betrays me and in no time I'm yelling or crying to the thought that he's a selfish lover and absent-minded partner.
And I want to run or dance or move so fast that these thoughts loose traction, fall out of my ears, seep through my pores and are cried out of my ducts, but then realise it's hard enough to sit comfortably, let alone walk and so my days are filled with myself and there is no escape.
And I so badly want to surrender, desperate to loose myself but there is nothing. So I weep until I can't see, until the air becomes thick and I fall into the arms of sleep.

Today was my last work day. Although I officially left on Friday, I cleared my desk on Sunday, met briefly with my team for a handover yesterday (Tuesday) and voluntary attended a client meeting to soothe the woes of a worried one until my group account director returns next week.

Part of me is a little freaked out at how much my life will soon change. Ok, more than just a little bit, which is why these extra work activities have been ok. But I waver between stress and anticipation and think the stress would minimise if I felt organised and in control. So that's what this week is all about.

I have to admit I've been very busy. Each day I've crossed off important 'to do' items like getting our bills in order (and establishing a filing system that doesn't involve just shoving them into the third drawer of our kitchen unit), organising the registration of our car and finding a good accountant to do my taxes. I also bought a new journal so I've been writing a lot more.

And this extra thinking time (and time in general) has made me realise I still miss friends like Sophie. I've grown apart from three close friends this year. I don't think I want to re-establish these friendships, but have discovered the loss has meant I rely on Lucas more to fulfil all my needs, which is impossible.

I know some may disagree, but I've never been one to believe that one person can fulfil each of my needs (or anyone else'). And it's not that I have that many to fulfil, I just think it's too unrealistic and sets expectations far too great for anyone to meet. It takes different people, which is why it's important to still foster friendships throughout any shit-hot relationship.
Anyway, I've been getting so very upset and frustrated with Lucas, as although he has great intentions, he's been extremely absent-minded lately.

Lucas has always been a bit of a dreamer. I don't mean this in a 'big picture' sort of way, but in an actual day-dreamer sense. He's always pre-occupied with his own thoughts and often jumps in and out of conversations, depending on his interest level. If he's bored or tired, he simply won't make an effort and will shamelessly journey into his own world - something that often infuriates me, especially when introducing him to people I'd like to become good friends with, but something I'm learning to deal with.

And it's not that he's unintelligent. The guy has studied for a number of high-end Cisco qualifications entirely on his own and averages 98% on each test. He's the same age as me yet makes almost three times what I do as a result. But I often think his mind is fit for the very technicial as he struggles with changing a vaccum cleaner bag or remembering to consistently charge and turn on his mobile phone.

So as you can probably imagine, this becomes worse when he's stressed and focused on performing well in a new job or preparing for a baby (which I even question he does) so I've been a second or third consideration, which is never nice. Especially when you're emotionally sensitive and about to have a baby at any moment. Plus I'm a major multi-taskers so it's a challenge to understand people who aren't.

But I know my woes are not unique. Partners all around the globe suffer similar fates, I just miss someone to openly talk to - not someone to judge or tell me what to do, but someone I can discuss what to do with. Sophie and I used to do that a lot.

Is that too much to ask for in a friend these days?

Anyhow, I also want to avoid over-analysing things too much, which is another reason why keeping active is probably healthy.

Well, today is my first official day off. I slept in, pottered around the house and our cable TV connection is playing up, so here I am online. I'm using the computer in the spare room (soon to be nursery) and the place is an absolute mess. Lucas has been using it as his cave - his nerdy paradise - so there are books, games, old computer screens, CDs, keyboards, microphones, speakers, routers and cardboard boxes (filled with more of this stuff) everywhere. He knows where everything is so I can't just rearrange it to my liking, but we thankfully bought a proper desk and a funky filing cabinet/storage space on the weekend so I'm comforted it won't be like this for long. I know he's reluctant to give up this space and keeps suggesting we move to a larger one, but we'll see how we go.

A big part of me wouldn't mind a bigger place now as Lucas told me on the weekend that his parents (mother plus fiance, really great guy) are coming to visit on 28 December for three weeks. It's stressing me out as I don't think we have enough room and would need to move the baby stuff out of the spare room and buy extra furniture (bed, mattress, etc) to accommodate them - I know, bad timing. I'm sure we could make things work (optimism kicking in), but I'm also worried as Wolfie will only be a month old and Lucas isn't taking any time off when his folks are here so I'll be looking after a baby and his parents as well. Although our place is lovely, I think it may be a little small for all of us, but there's no way I don't want to be hospitable. Lucas doesn't seem to be phased by any of this and I don't want to sound like a bitch so I think I'll just carefully plan everything, and also try to take them out with either of my parents so they can help me.

It's times like these I wish my parents were still together. They were great entertainers. People would often stay with us and we had friends over all the time - our family was warm, inviting and comfortable. And my parents are relaxed, open minded and funny, which also helped. I think I may worry too much and want everything to be perfect, which won't help me stay sane and enjoy their time here....