11 May 1996 (or why I only had one child)

For many, many years I never wanted children.  I didn't play mummies and babies as a child and it was never my ambition to 'get married and have babies'.  I didn't hate kids, I simply wasn't interested.

As it turned out, I did get married.  My husband already had an 11-year-old son from his first marriage and didn't want any more. Fine by me.   For four or so years this state of affairs was acceptable and to be honest, I didn't actually give it much thought.

Then, one morning when I was 31, I woke up quite literally on biological fire.  I can't explain it any better than that.  It was as if every cell in my body was on fire and screaming "GIVE ME A BABY. NOWWWWWWW".  I was shocked.  And I tried to ignore it. But I learned that these things will not be ignored. I nervously told my husband. If he said no way, then there'd be no baby. I am not the type of person who would deliberately fall pregnant and I vowed I would stay on the Pill if he said no. But to my surprise he said "oh alright then".  This was so significant that I actually remember the date I went off the Pill (I had been on it for 16 years).  8 December 1994.

And I promptly forgot all about it.  Until August 1995.  I was doing a play and had been feeling terribly tired and a little bit weird.  I thought I was just over-tired, working full-time and doing a long production.  The last thing I thought of was pregnant.  But I was.  What a surprise! And I had to remind myself of my past biologal urge which had actually subsided.  But I did want this baby so I decided to proceed with the pregnancy.

Being pregnant sucked harder than a Dyson for me.  There was only a brief window of time when I felt good.  And lots of things went wrong.  My waters broke at 15 weeks. I was rushed to hospital, expecting to lose my baby.  Amazingly a strong heartbeat was found, despite my losing so much amniotic fluid.  I remained in hospital for two weeks.  I had to have an anti-D injection because I have O Rh negative blood and that's when I learned all about Rh disease. Terrific.

When they sent me home I was told to stay in bed, with my feet up, for four weeks and to attend hospital once a week for a foetal heart check.  I was desperate to get back to work.  The day I was due to start back, I started to bleed.  Off to hospital again.  Placenta praevia! Yay. More time in bed, off work.  I was also diagnosed with borderline pre-eclampsia.  I constantly had some but not all of the symptoms so I had to have weekly blood tests.  My husband was starting to get cranky.  I didn't blame him.  This pregnancy caper was a joke!

I crept around for weeks, convinced I'd never complete this pregnancy and vowing never to try again.  I have always been prone to fluid retention so I didn't think too much about my increasingly swollen ankles and hands. But the swelling continued.  I had very serious oedema.  And I got bigger and bigger until eventually I couldn't walk. I was wheelchair bound or hobbled with a stick.  I had to have a heparin (an anticoagulant) injection once a week to prevent deep vein thrombosis. The baby couldn't be palpated as the oedema had crept up over my belly and almost to my armpits.  And I still had five weeks to go! It was an agonising and miserable time. Eventually, with three-and-a-half weeks left, my ob/gyn took pity on me and said he'd induce me on the Friday. I felt like I had won Tattslotto.

I was induced at 6 am on 10 May 1996.  I lay like a beached whale on the bed waiting for something to happen but nothing did.  They sent me back to the ward to wait.  Almost as soon as they left me alone I heard/felt a "pop" as my waters broke.  And off we went back to the delivery suite.

I won't bore you with the details of the next 19 hours but suffice it to say that the phrase "failure to progress" still rankles.  I went straight into Stage 2 labour but I never dilated beyond 6 cm.  My epidural failed and I had the intereresting (and by interesting I mean vile) experience of feeling labour on my right side but not on my left.  I begged for a Caesarean section but they wanted me "to keep trying".  At 22 hours the midwives were arguing with the obstetrician to take me to theatre.  All I wanted to do was die.  Eventually, at 23 hours the obstetrician relented and off to theatre we went.

Finally, at 5.45 am on Saturday, 11 May 1996, my son was born.  Tipping the scales at 8 lb 8½ oz (and three weeks early!), with all the right bits and pieces.  Absolutely perfect.  I passed out shortly afterwards and came round on 12 May, Mother's Day.  That was a nice day to meet my baby.

My son was an awesome baby.  Placid and happy from the start.  Very relaxed.  And breastfeeding was a breeze! Something I hadn't expected or even given much thought to (I still don't give a crap about the breast vs. bottle debate - a baby needs to eat. Feed it. I don't care how you do it and neither should anyone else).

3 months old.
He had such sticky-up hair!

And despite my mum's and my nanna's misgivings (which they cheerfully confided to me), and probably my own if I'm honest, I actually proved to be quite a capable mum.  And I never again experienced that overwhelming biological urge.  Odd, that.

And today he turns 17.  Tall, handsome, funny as hell, quirky and with a strong sense of social justice, I couldn't be prouder of him.

Beautiful young man

He was diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome when he was 9 and he's grown into his individuality and has a healthy self-esteem and doesn't suffer fools gladly.  He's got some very good mates, which is so good as for a long time he didn't have any and it broke my heart.

He makes me laugh.  And oh, how he's made me cry over the years.  But not too much really. Not in comparison to what some people go through.

The teenage years have had their moments for sure, but when I look objectively at his continuum I know we have all escaped fairly easily.

Happy birthday my darling boy.  The time has flown by.  You're growing up so beautifully and I can't wait to see the good man you are well on your way to becoming.  I love you more than you'll ever know and I'll keep telling you forever.

With all my love,
Mum
xxx

The Accidental Relationship

An Open Love Letter to My Partner on our 10th Anniversary

I'll never forget the first time I saw you in that pub.  It was 23 March 2003. Having chatted back and forth via email and MSN (remember that?) for a few months and forming a tentative friendship, it was so exciting to learn we actually lived quite close to each other! Remember that you bailed out twice then made a sudden "it's now or never - meet me in 20 minutes" decision? I know that on that night neither of us knew what to expect. We hadn't exchanged photos, had no idea of the age of the other - nothing to go on except a mutual appreciation for each other's posts on an internet forum.

And there you were.  All tall, slim and gorgeous in your black jeans and Doc Martens, complete with broody look, you could have walked off the page of a catalogue.  I thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever clapped eyes on. And I should know, I've clapped a few! And young! So young! Oh cruel, cruel universe.

You were 30. A loner, a stoner and as wary as a wild animal.  I was nearly 39, divorced, with a 6-year-old son. We lived in a rented unit as I'd lost my house in my marriage settlement.  I thought if I could get you into my bed and keep you there for even a week, it would be worth it.  Because of course, neither of us expected in a million years that this would ever be 'a thing'.

And that's how it started. Any time you were at my place was a delightful bonus and when you were not, I didn't give it much thought, so confident was I that this was never going to amount to anything but an occasional 'friends with benefits' arrangement.  There was no pressure, no 'where are you? why haven't you called me?'.  I had no idea what you were doing when you weren't with me. I didn't care and that went both ways. We both just got on with our own lives. I was also seeing a couple of other guys at the time - I used to refer to you to one of them as "the beautiful boy" and we'd joke about how long I could keep you.  All very casual.

First photo together 2004.
Note my body language, hanging on!

And strangely, on the basis of that very casual, no hassle/no expectations style, you found yourself choosing to visit me more and stay longer each time.  Sometimes you'd disappear for weeks. Other times you'd be at my place for four days in a row.  Pretty soon it was time to clear out a drawer and put a spare toothbrush in the rack.  Yet still neither of us thought we were in a relationship. I didn't want you to come to my son's 7th birthday party because, well, there was no need was there? It wasn't like you were my boyfriend or anything - why would I introduce you to my family and in particular to my ex-husband, the father of my son? Yet you were insistent so I relented.  Remember how my mother took me aside and whispered "He's very good looking isn't he? Better not get too used to him being around for long"? The implication was quite clear. You were far too good looking to want to stay with me for very long. And to a certain extent, I agreed. But I didn't care because we weren't in a relationship.

It would be another three years before you introduced me to your family.  You always did like to take things slowly.

So we drifted along, realising how much we enjoyed each other's company. You surprised me constantly with your intelligence and how much you knew about stuff.  I rather arrogantly had you pegged as just a pretty face so it was quite a shock to learn that you were both beautiful and smart! Before we knew it, two years had passed. I was no longer seeing anyone else, just you. But we still weren't in a relationship. Oh no!

Then my father died in September 2005 and unexpectedly left me some money.  Not quite enough for a deposit on a house but pretty close. And you were eligible for the First Home Owner's Grant. If we pooled our resources we could buy a house.  How confronting! This was real stuff and required real thought and, worse, discussion. I think we were both pretty scared. But we're both pragmatists and we realised this might be our only chance to get a house.  So we struck a deal for 12 months and that at the end of that time, if we couldn't bear the sight of each other, we'd sell the house, each get back our initial contribution and split any profit 50/50 and walk away with no regrets, each better off than when we started.  So we took a deep breath and found a little house.  We moved in on Melbourne Cup Weekend 2005. And we're still here.

In that time we've had holidays in Queensland, South Australia and Tasmania, countless weekends away around Victoria, camping and motel stays, travelled to New Zealand and Malaysia. We're planning a motorcycle tour of North Vietnam next year. You finally got yourself the motorbike you'd always promised yourself and, to everyone's astonishment, at the age of 44 I got my motorbike licence! You taught me to ride offroad in the forests. We hired a Suzuki V-Strom 650 in Queenstown, New Zealand in 2009 and hurtled around all day on it. You loved it so much you bought one when we got back and we've had so many adventures going 2-up on that bike!

You also stepped up to the parenting role of my son in a way I never could have expected. Even though he sees his father regularly, you were the one front and centre day to day in those crucial years. You came with me to Parent/Teacher nights, you taught him (with remarkable patience!) how to ride a bike. You took him camping and we went away together many times.  You volunteered as a parent on his Grade 6 camp - I couldn't imagine anything worse but you really wanted to do it and you did. You held me close when I cried inconsolably when I thought I'd lost him in 2011. And you were as relieved and happy as I was when he came back in 2012.

Launceston 2012.
Look at that body language!

So here we are in 2013.  It has been ten years.  Ten freaking years! I know neither of us can quite believe it.

This has been the best relationship of my life. It's lasted longer than my marriage and has been so much better than anything I ever hoped for myself.

You have loved me with an intensity I never expected. You still make me laugh and I still think you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen. We still prefer each other's company to anyone else.  My mother still remains baffled as to why you'd want to stay with me (thanks mum!).

As you know, we only have one regret. That I couldn't give you a child. In that area, your being very slow to come to major decisions had a very real cost and by the time you realised you wanted a child, it was too late for me. I told you to leave. Told you to find a young woman and establish a relationship and have your baby. It's the one thing I can't do for you.  Yet you have chosen to stay with me. I can't tell you the depth and mixture of feelings that evokes in me. I literally can't. I don't have the words.

I love you so much. Small, inadequate sentence as it is but perhaps in its very simplicity it says all I need it to mean.

I'll be 50 this year.  You'll be 41 this year. Wow.

Happy Anniversary, Matt. It's been an unexpected and brilliant ten years.  I'm incredibly lucky.  Every single day you tell me you love me at least once (just last night: "do I tell you that enough?". Yes. Yes you do.  I could never have dared hope to have such a functional, loving relationship. I hope we have many more years together but even if we don't, 2003-2013 belongs to us.

Thank you my darling.


UPDATE: May 2014. 
Completely unexpectedly, out of the blue, my partner - the love of my life, left me.  There's not much else to say really except that I'm still in shock as I write this and wonder if I will ever fully recover.  At the moment I don't know who I am or what my life looks like.

A word of warning to you: don't EVER get smug or complacent. Don't EVER think you've made it in the relationship stakes. Things lurk under the surface, ready to pull you under, even if you're not expecting it. Always be on your guard.

Perimenopause versus Teenager

Some of you know that my son was untimely rip'd from me in August last year and whisked away to live with his father. Pulled out in the middle of Year 9, plonked in an (I'll be kind) "alternative" school (thereafter known as Hogwarts) and basically given free rein, meaning no rules, no boundaries, treated like an adult.  Alcohol, dope smoking, unsupervised parties, you name it. He was 15.  He has Asperger's syndrome, diagnosed when he was 9 and is also dyslexic.  He's a sensitive, quirky kid.  I love him to death. Probably quite literally.

He's now 16, in the middle of Year 10 at Hogwarts and his father recently announced they're upping stakes and moving to Queensland. Over my cold, dead, perimenopausal body! And so began the fight to reclaim my boy.

Well, today I won that fight.  My son is coming back home, where he will be safe and secure. Where he will have rules and boundaries, a set bedtime and strict homework criteria.  Yep, I'm an unashamed nazi in that regard. His recent mid-year report from Hogwarts was a fail of spectacular proportions.  Turns out he's missed a lot of school (surprise!). He wants to go back to his old school.  And naturally I sold all his uniform some months ago after he told me he was never ever going back to that school and now have to scout around to try and get one together again. That'd be right.  So he'll be coming from a long way back but I'm going to try to ensure the rest of the year goes as well as possible for him so he can complete Year 10 and transition to VCE smoothly.  It will take a lot of work, I know this.  We all have a lot of shit to get through, I'm fully aware of it.

So I will be going through my perimenopausal stuff and dealing with a surly Aspergian 16-year-old.  I already feel for my poor partner. We're all off to counselling soon to get our collective shit together - there needs to be an Airing of the Grievances so we can all move forward. Along the way there'll be tears and tantrums and that'll just be me.

But you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way.

Today, my boy came home.