POAS Addict

To those who are not up to speed with the lingo, here is a crash course to understand this post:

(Sidebar: if it makes you feel any better, I had to research all of these abbreviations too)

So the DH and I have decided to start TTC for baby no 2.  Great, fabulous, if only his boss would stop carting him off to JHB every time I ovulate….(you think the universe is trying to tell me something here?)

So here we are, at least it is not a O-week, and I am home alone, yet again.  Although he has been MIA for the past weeks, even though he has been at home, he might as well not have been-you know what I mean?

Maybe it is because we are ‘trying’ that my head is starting to screw with me, but I am turning into a real POAS addict and I am just worried that I may turn into the girl that cried wolf pregnant.

Here is my confession: this past month I have used 5 HPT, all of which have been negative.  This amounts to a total cost of R 105.00, or translated into female: a Deluxe Pedi.

I have been feeling very tired and run-down.  I could sleep for a whole week and still would not be alert.  I am suffering from porridge brain-well more than usual. The kickers though, are what happened this weekend.

We had a braai at the in-laws on Saturday night, and I dished up as usual, but when I brought the meat to my mouth I gagged.  This behaviour from a self-proclaimed carnivore is slightly disconcerting.  Also I have been in the most enviable position that I am nauseous…this is not limited to the mornings in any way and I have been craving fish like there is no tomorrow and could audition for both Dr Jerkyl and Mr Hyde.

There are other more subtle things as well that is a little bit outside of my ‘what-I-can-post-on-the-internet-comfort zone’ which all culminated on me taking the plunge seat this morning-again-and peeing on a stick.  I waited the requisite 3 minutes and it is a BFN.  So clearly instead of buying booties I need to spend that money to go see a shrink, because my head is messing with my body.

So the total stands at 6HPT, all of which were a BFN.

Anyone know where I can buy bulk?


Within the blink of an eye

Setting: Sunday night I am relaxing in front of the telly, watching and episode or two. The terrorist is happily ambling about the living room.

Sidebar: The terrorist has this nasty little habit where he picks up anything that is made of glass, looks you right in the eye, and then promptly drops it onto the tile floor, only to shatter into a million little pieces. Let me be clear on this, if you were to see the look in the little bugger’s eyes, you too would know that this was no mere accident. *Maybe my boss was right when he said that kids are tiny little psychopaths …now hang on before you light your torches and camp on my front lawn…psychopathic behaviour is defined  as someone having little or no regret, and little or no remorse – except when they are caught, now tell me honestly-anyone out there that has kids-how does this not sound familiar?

Anyway, so he was happily ambling along, eating the remote, chasing the cat, climbing onto the couch, climbing over me, walking behind me on the couch…you know, being ‘around’.

Next moment he discovers the box of grape juice that I had been hiding under the table, and wouldn’t you know it, it had several glass bottles inside.

He promptly picked one up just to drop it on the floor, there was juice everywhere. When he realised what he had done he tried to get away from the scene of the crime as fast as his little legs could carry him, which resulted in utter chaos.

He slipped on the juice and fell into the glass shards of the broken bottle.

All of this happened in one nano-second.

You know those situations where you see something is about to happen and you get to the point of origin and try and prevent it, but it is like you have some muck under your feet and it seems like seconds are hours? I could see the bottle slipping, I sprang up and shouted at him to stand still, which unfortunately may have been the reason why he tried to ‘flee’ the scene.

I ended up scooping him up out of the mess, running around trying to find a clean towel, thought better and found a not so clean towel to throw over the mess on the floor so that I dont slip with him in my arms, ran to the car to find the first aid kit-all while he is screaming his little heart out and bleeding all over the show.

So I put him in his high chair and started washing off the blood, to reveal, much to my amazement two cuts (with the amount of blood that I saw I imagined that we were at least dealing with a near amputation).  But there it was, one cut on his left palm-not deep enough to need stiches, and another on his right big toe, no need for stitches either.  But me being a first time mom, I was standing there, vacillating between the car keys and the savlon swab, all the while sobbing like I really was dealing with an amputation.

A mere two minutes into the ordeal the terrorist began coo-ing and giggling when I swabbed at his foot.  I was deeply suspicious of this behaviour-I have read that people who were near the ‘end’ suddenly became coherent and acted like nothing in the world was the matter, but when he started chewing the betadine plasters from his wounds, I knew, this was no false ‘breath of life’ but the real maccoy, he was okay.

I on the other hand, needed a couple of glasses of wine and a shit-fit directed at the DH before I felt like a human being again.

Today the terrorist is acting like nothing happened at all, so at least I have not broken him…yet.


Ink me please

Humans are such strange creatures. We all have a little masochist in us, why else would we pay to have ourselves pierced/waxed/tattoo’ ed?
Piercings are rather painful-and let me just set the record straight, anyone that is trying to tell you otherwise, are just not being completely honest-hey who said that I can’t be diplomatic? It may be that my memory of my belly piercing is slightly tainted because it was a the spur-of-the-moment-I-am-in-the middle-of-a-double-shift-I would-like-to-get-a-hole-shoved-in-my-abdomen-mad-moment (I did warn you in the beginning I am certifiable). I remember looking at my stomach after work and feeling a bit green around the gills and just packing up the cleaning supplies and taking it to a friend to help me because I couldn’t bear to look at it. But do I learn? No, it would take a botched nose piercing, HIV and Hep test, semi botched tongue piercing that remained swollen for weeks, allowing me to lose quite a bit of weight as I could only eat liquidised soup (effective in the weight loss department, but definitely not something I would try again soon) a couple of swallowed pieces of surgical steel later and only then did I get the point that maybe piercings are not really for me.

Personally I am not a fan of waxing either- I tried it once-got stuck to the bath and various other pieces of furnishings (because I was to weak to really give that strip a big ‘ol tug) and for weeks thereafter kept on picking little ‘scabs’ off wax of myself.
But I really let the little masochist in me come out and play when the subject of tattoo’s come up. They are painful, permanent and absolutely addictive-how divine! It really started almost ten years ago in a dodgy little tattoo parlour in Obs, think it was actually called OBS Tattoo Bar. Self-explanatory really, a bar where they served alcohol and the customers got to watch people inflicting pain on themselves (very S&M-come to think of it). The tattoo artist was a bit creepy and made some passing comments about my backside that had me a bit uncomfortable about him staring down in for the next 45 minutes, and the massive window looking out onto the street was not exactly a comfort, but I persisted and 45 minutes later I had my first tattoo. It was marvellous! What a kick! Almost as good as the first time I walked into a bar with my leathers and helmet.
So the bug has bitten me again, and I have decided to dedicate this to the auspicious occasion of my son’s birth (rather late than never) and thus I am to be inked, at Wildfire’s convenience with the following: