High on the hill...

...was a lonely goat herd.  Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo.

Raina meets a friendly goat.

The Birth

I've been thinking about writing this for six months or more, but unsure if anybody really wants to read all the gory details.  I've decided that enough time has passed that my glasses have become sufficiently rose in colour and I won't horrify anyone.  So here goes, the story of how Raina popped into the world....

My due date was 12 February and because of my family history (father and cousin born 8 weeks early in the car on the way to the hospital in the middle of winter) and the potential side effects of the surgery I had during the pregnancy I was well and truly ready to have my baby by Christmas time.  A few twinges at the Christmas dinner table made me think "This is it!" but alas, false alarm.  Christmas came and went, then New Year was upon us with a friend reminding me that I would be giving birth to a watermelon shortly.  I was still very active at this time, hiking across Amsterdam visiting museums and eating cake at the incredible Patisserie Pompadour and starting to get a bit anxious.  I still had six weeks to go, but in my head I was over due.

My mum arrived mid-January and fresh off the plane exclaimed "You don't even look pregnant!"  Well, thanks. I certainly looked pregnant when I stared in the mirror, but I guess that's another drawback of being fat.  I just looked even fatter.  Joy.  Pass the cake?

Before I knew it, it was the end of January and my baby shower.  There were soooo many people and sooooo many amazing gifts.  It was an hour-long present opening session.  I've never seen anything like it in my life.  The best thing is that we are still using so many of the gifts and Raina still needs to grow into some of the clothes!  But, still no baby.  My father in law's predicted date: 29 Jan came and went without a twinge and before we knew it we were entering the busiest birthday month in the family and it was turning into a game of "Dodge the Date," as the 6th is my sister in law's birthday and she didn't want to share her day (although she did change her mind in the end), then an uncle, an aunt and two cousins.  I still, after more than four years don't understand the Dutch obsession with birthdays.  Anyway.  Before I knew it, the due date was upon me.  Less than 5% of babies are born on their due date, so I really was not expecting anything.  In fact, by this stage I was preparing myself (not very well) for a 42 week pregnancy.  I just knew that she was in no hurry to come out and my begging, pleading, crying and shouting wasn't making her move any faster.

Honestly, the week after my due date was the hardest of my pregnancy.  And this includes multiple trips to casualty in the middle of the night for mystery blood loss, two hospital stays for vertigo and blood loss, surgery at 13 weeks and an extremely sensitive nose (the smell of raw meat still makes me want to hurl).

What made it even harder were all the helpful comments:  "The baby will come when she's ready," and "It's so nice and warm in there, why would she want to come out?" and my favourite: "Make the most of this time, you'll be wishing for peace and quiet very soon."  Really?  I doubt it.  I was done. D.O.N.E, done.  40 weeks was more than enough for me.  The waiting was so difficult - it was like Christmas Day that never comes.

I was under the care of a gynaecologist and part way through week 40 I started asking about being induced.  The hospital wouldn't do it at 40 weeks, but he was the first person who understood that it was the toughest time and agreed to start inducing at 41 weeks in the least invasive way.  Awesome!

On the Friday, when I was almost a week over due I went with my mum and mother in law to Urk to see the ice flows.  It was a once in ten years experience where the sea ice was breaking up and being swept on shore.  There were mountains of beautiful sparkling ice shards glimmering in the sunshine.  It was beautiful.  Too bad that Urk is the unfriendliest village in a 300 km radius...

Ice flows, Urk

That night, it happened.  I woke up at 3 am with shooting pains in my abdomen. and my excitement knew no bounds.  I started timing the contractions, which were about 30 seconds long every ten to fifteen minutes.  I knew from my child birth session with my good friend Becky that this was pre-labour and usually lasts 6-8 hours.  Sensational, pregnancy was nearly over and my amazing, difficult, rewarding new life was about to start.

But no.  Actually, it wasn't.  The pre-labour contractions continued through the night and well into the morning.  By lunch time on Saturday I was starting to wonder when I would move to active labour and by bed time I was trying not to be too impatient, but I was excited and positive.  You see, Sunday was my birthday and the possibility of me having a baby for my birthday was looking pretty good.

Then it started.  I had managed to get a few hours sleep, and then at around 2 am active labour began in full force.  Contractions for 90 seconds 4-5 minutes apart and gaining momentum.  I woke Maarten who didn't seem to be too interested and instead rolled over and went back to sleep.  By 6am I asked him to call the hospital who weren't ready for me yet.  I had to have contractions two minutes apart for an hour before I was allowed to come in.  You see, in the Netherlands quite a few women give birth at home and even if they do not wish to or cannot give birth at home, it is expected that much of the labouring is done at home.  We are all sent a birth package from our health insurance company to prepare for the prospect.  In the early days of my pregnancy I would not even entertain the possibility of giving birth at home, but after talking with other mums, reading everything I could get my hands on and learning to relax and go with the flow, I decided that if I was to do it all again I would attempt to opt for a home birth.  I would just have to talk someone else into cleaning up the mess....

By morning the pain was reasonably intense ("reasonably" is Australian for "just about unbearable," by the way).  Not sure if it is the most pain I have ever been in or the worst I have ever felt though.  All my yoga practice went out the window.  I am blaming the teacher for that though, she was absolutely rubbish.  All discussion and little practice.  My advice when looking into pregnancy yoga, do your research.  Find a teacher based on recommendations, not a quick Google search like me.

At around 6.30 my mum came in and we decided that I should open my birthday presents as we had no idea when I would get the chance, otherwise.  I remember struggling to rip open the paper and having to stop to walk around and breathe through a contraction.  Mum gave me a beautiful Cow Parade cow and Maarten gave me some lovely opal earrings, then I asked him to call the hospital again at around 7.30.

Surprisingly I was allowed to head in and to say the car trip was a challenge is the understatement of the century.  The only way I had been able to manage the pain so far was to sway and walk, and that ten minute car journey may have been the longest of my life so far.  Maarten had his 2 euro coin all ready for the wheel chair, but it was pointless.  I couldn't sit and cope with the contractions, so I walked to the delivery suite with poor Maarten fretting behind me with an empty wheelchair.

By 8.00 I was installed in a nice room with a bathroom and plenty of space, but no TV.  Apparently all the flats screens from the birthing wing in the Flevoziekenhuis had been stolen!  Seriously, who steals a TV from hospital?  Some extra gauze I can understand, but a TV?!  I had decided by this stage that I wanted some pain relief.  I had thought all the way through my pregnancy that I would go without, but I was also a realist.  I could feel myself slipping into another realm and not coping so well.  I was even less personable than usual and managed to offend the nurse who was going off shift in about 10 seconds.

Amazingly, my own gynaecologist was the rostered midwife (the actual midwife had called in sick), so he got in and had a bit of a look and a dig around and broke the water.  The feeling of that was so bizarre.  Gushing and hot and not at all ladylike.  However, it was all in good time as there was a little poo in the amniotic fluid, but nothing to worry about (although I took some convincing of that).  He also made a big deal about telling me I was six centimetres dilated and how he was proud that I had waited so long before coming in.  According to my wonderful nurse Jeanne, most labouring mothers come in when they are around 2 centimetres!  Then he fixed a heart monitor to the baby's head, helped me get hooked up to the IV, waved and said he'd be back in an hour and a half to two hours to see how I was going.

About this time (maybe a bit sooner or maybe a bit later, I don't really remember), my mum and mother in law arrived as part of my support team.  What I remember most was my mother in law muttering that I should breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, a mantra that Maarten promptly adopted.  I'm sure they honestly believed that they were helping me, but really all I wanted to do was punch them for their helpful tips.  After an hour or so mum and Maarten switched places and mum held my hand, breathing with me and helping me through each contraction.  You see, the pain relief wasn't helping.  At all.  Turns out there was a kink in the hose...


By about this time my body was trying to push.  The effort to compress the urge to push was almost too much to bear.  I kept shouting "I need to poooooo!"  Yes.  All glitz and glamour.  But nobody would listen to me.  Not enough time had passed for the doctor to come back, so I couldn't possibly be ready to push.  After what felt like hours of asking for the doctor and trying to breathe through pushing contractions, finally the nurse came and brought the doctor.  He flipped me over and had another look and declared that I was 10 cm and ready to push.  No shit Sherlock.  I could have told him that half an hour before.

At 10.20 he gave me the go ahead to start pushing and helped me get into position.  God knows where Maarten was at this point. He was in the room somewhere and I think I saw him looking a bit bewildered.  I do remember seeing his mum taking photos (graphic is NOT the word!) but was pretty out of it by this stage.  The doctor told me to push, so I gave it all I had.  Yelling helps, it really does.  I could feel the baby moving down, and filling my birth canal, then with the next push her head was out!  I actually felt her pop out.     Weirdest thing ever.  Becky had described the crowning feeling to be like sticking your fingers into the corner of your mouth and pulling your lips tight and she was dead on!  With the third push I felt her slip out and then she was plopped on my chest squalling.

Our first photo

From then on my memories are really in snapshots.  I don't really remember anything in the first person.  I was pure emotion.  Crying, shaking, overwhelmed.  The nurse asked what her name was and even though we had decided months before, I still wasn't 100%.  It took me a few moments to choke out "Raina."

Maarten cut the chord, the doctor whipped her away to do the reflex tests and then I was stitched up - ouch and phone calls were made and all of a sudden we were left alone.  After the sprint that was the birth and because there were so many people around (both mums, Maarten, a doctor and a nurse) it seemed a bit strange to be just the three of us blinking and wondering what on earth we should do next.

Having her reflexes tested

Papa still managed to find the time to do his hair...

The nurse came back and decided it was time to try and get Raina to latch and begin feeding.  This was not something that I really wanted - I was determined to let her explore and try it for herself, but the nurse was insistent so I let it go.  Some times it just isn't worth the argument.  My birth plan had gone out the window anyway, so what was one more thing?  The nurse also started looking at her watch and told us that because it was a Sunday, our post-natal care at home (kraamzorg) might be difficult to arrange.  However, she said that if we could get ourselves home and on the phone to the service before 14.00 they would send someone over.

This sent us into a bit of a panic.  I wasn't ready to go home yet, but I wasn't ready to go home and not have any help for the first day.  Raina had not really had anything to eat or drink yet and besides, how was I going to change her nappy?!  So it became a mad rush to get showered, dressed and home.  We made it with 15 minutes to spare and a nurse arrived by 15.00.  I had heard stories of new parents being sent home from hospital within four hours of giving birth, but I had not expected to be home within three!

This was when the fun really began.  It was time to learn the ins and outs of keeping a baby alive and who would have thought that this stuff isn't instinctive?  Learning to bath Raina was easy enough once I remembered to hold her head properly, but drying her had never occurred to me.  I had never realised that there were so many nooks and crannies that I had to dig around in to make sure she was nice and dry.

The nurse was with us a week and it was one of the roughest of my life.  I knew that breastfeeding could be a challenge, but never realised how emotionally draining it was when it wouldn't work and we had to supplement with formula while I pumped like a mad woman to try and get some milk flowing.  When it finally all worked it was like a miracle.  It really was.  The relief was palpable.  It was all going to be ok.  Raina started gaining weight rapidly (she lost almost 10% of her birth weight) and we all started coping better.  There were still many tears, very little sleep and I was only holding it together by a thread, but it was improving and I was slowly getting the hang of motherhood.

In the role he was born to play

Now when I look back on those weeks of my life I can't believe that I went through it, that every mother goes through it.  And how easy it is to forget when I don't sit down and make the effort to remember what it was like.  Raina is now almost 7 months old and life has a completely different set of challenges (solid food, crawling, tantrums, and teething), but I love it.  She is such a reward, and like my friend Juliette says about her boys, I'm so happy she picked us.

Coping with Grandparents on the other side of the world

Have you been living abroad for what seems like forever and never been visited by your parents?  I have a great solution for you:  have a baby!

I flew the coop back in 2006 (incidentally I was going to England for a year to have a look around and maybe see some of Europe and be home by somewhere mid-2007 to move to Perth and become the World’s Best Tour Guide) and in all the time I had been abroad, I had had two family encounters.  One was my Truly Great Aunt (TGN) who flew from South Africa to deliver my wedding ring.  Actually that is a lovely story all on its own.  The TGN had always worn her grandmother’s (my great grandmother) wedding ring and had promised that she would pass it on to me if ever the time came (which I doubt anybody ever expected) and she decided that the best way to ensure it arrived safely would be to accompany it.  She arrived on a rainy day in December – I doubt she could have picked a crappier time to visit the Netherlands, and stayed a couple of weeks.  It was some of the best times I’ve had in my four year stint living here so far.  I have two TGNs and to be perfectly honest, they are probably my favourite people in the world.  Sorry everyone else, I do love you too!

But, back to the story at hand...  The other family visitor was my grandmother.  We had originally planned for her to come and stay with us for a couple of weeks, but that evolved into a few days one side of a Grand Tour of Europe and eventually into an afternoon in Amsterdam and dinner at our house before swanning off to the Rhineland and beyond with her BFF.

But my parents...  I had never really dreamed that my parents would visit.  My mum has struggled my entire life with her health and my dad is always so busy with work that it was like a dream that was sure to never come true.  Little did I know that all I had to do was get myself pregnant and they would fall over themselves to book flights!  My dad was so keen that he had two fifteen hour stopovers on the way here and back.  My mum had never left Australia and because she is possibly the friendliest person on Earth, made loads of friends on the flight over.  I’m surprised that none of them turned up on my doorstep while she was here!

In the middle of January this year we were so convinced that winter was over (especially after our 14 degree Christmas!) that when Mum arrived we were all hideously underprepared for the icy front that would hit and linger for three weeks.  Some of the coldest weather in Northern Europe in years apparently, people dropping like flies – it was awful.  I’d sent her into my all time favourite store – Kathmandu – to pick up all her winter supplies, but it really wasn’t enough!  The poor woman had to go out and buy a second winter coat to avoid freezing to death.

Anyway.  My parents trekked across the planet upon the birth of Gorgeous Raina, and then eventually had to return home to reality.  Since then we have all had to learn to cope with them being “Skype Grandparents.”  As often as we can we will have a Skype session (thank goodness for my iPad) where they can look at and coo over Raina, but it’s less than ideal.

For everybody’s sake, I miss that they can’t be close by to see her growing like a weed and they miss all of the milestones.  First time rolling over; first solid food (and the related first solid poo!); first time crawling; the list goes on.  And on.  Thank goodness I had the foresight to buy Maarten a fancypants digital SLR while I was pregnant.  The damned thing hasn’t been switched off since February.  If you’re interested there are even some arty* shots of the birth....

And Facebook of course.  If it wasn’t for us being over-sharing STFU Parents (well I do believe I’m slightly less offensive than the majority of submissions on that site) posting about every little meal, smile and poo, my parents wouldn’t get to see anything.  Maarten has told me that on the odd occasion that he hasn’t posted a food photo, he has been bailed up by colleagues to find out why.  Facebook has been by far the best way to share with my parents as much as possible.

All of this is by far the biggest reason that I am counting the days until I go to Australia.  My parents will get so share in some of the milestones, finally!  First Christmas, and hopefully first steps (obviously I have a wonderchild who will walk at ten months).  I’m not sure if they’re too concerned about me returning home to be honest.  I think they would probably be just as happy if I popped Raina on a plane and sent her over by herself for a month or two.

I can't wait for the family reunion that my other TGN is arranging, I couldn't bear to miss out on another family gathering (a gathering that 10 years ago I would have probably done anything to avoid) after I missed the launch of Granny's Snake Yarns that my Great Auntie Vida wrote and self-published last year.  We're going to celebrate 100 years since my great grandmother taught at the school my grandmother went to (years and years and years later).  Most of all, it will be wonderful to take Raina to all my favourite places.  We'll actually visit the safe place that I go to in my mind when I'm struggling to cope...

Here she is, the love of our lives...

How do you manage with having long distance grandparents (or indeed being a long distance grandparent)?

*Arty being practically pornographic

A Return to Regular Programming....

So you may have noticed that I have been absent for a while.  Almost six months it turns out!  For a while I thought that this blog might have been dead in the water, but pestering from my husband has seen me pull my finger out and try to write something again.

In February I gave birth to a gorgeous little girl who is the light and the bane of my life.  The first few weeks were probably the hardest of my life.  Giving birth was a piece of cake in comparison.  But now we have found our rhythm and are getting along famously.  I’m back at work and a new normalcy is fast becoming established.

And as for my adventures in integration?  Well I think I’m nearly there.  I conquered one of my final frontiers a few weeks ago – going to the doctor and speaking only in Dutch.  Only the hairdresser to go now!  My life is almost completely dutchified.  I look out the window and it’s pouring with rain (in June, of course it is.  Summer is O.V.E.R.) but I didn’t even consider taking the bus.  Not an option.  I even take the baby on the bike in a carrier.  You should have seen me last Friday:  Baby, shopping, flowers and lunch; all on the bike.  Too easy.

I think I’ve moved through to the final stage of culture shock – mastery – and am happier and happier every day.  That’s not to say that I don’t encounter my share of idiots on a daily basis, because I do.  I’ve started an ‘idiot count’ which keeps me entertained on my way to and from work each day on the bike.  The big difference between now and a year ago is that now it entertains me instead of making me want to shoot people!

Before the baby appeared I started to become more involved in the Almere English speaking community International Almere.  In fact, I’m now the organisation’s secretary.  Having said that, in the last few months I have been so wrapped up in my own world that I haven’t had time to do much – not even attend any of the events that happen every single week!  I’m hoping that now I’m back out in the big wide world I can be more involved again as it’s such a fun organisation to be a part of!  So (shameless plug alert!) if you live in Almere, come join us.  You don’t have to be from abroad, almost half our members are dutchies!

Another invaluable resource has been the ABCDE Playgroup.  Not that I’ve had a chance to attend any of their popular Wednesday or Thursday get togethers, but the Facebook group is very lively and it’s wonderful to just know that the support is there whenever I need it.  The fabulous Becky who runs it is also a childbirth educator and helped me no end build my confidence before I went into labour.  I really, truthfully could not have done it without her. But, more about Becky in a later post about the best and worst choices I made while pregnant and after the wee one was born.

So, coming up in the near future:

My birthstory; are you ready to hear all the gory details?

The best (and worst) buys I made for my baby.

The choices I made and the far reaching effects,

Going back to work; good or bad?

My new obsession,

And let’s not forget a Weekendje Weg post (well, a “weekje” weg in this case).

It’s great to be back.  I’ve missed you.

Here she is - she's too big for that outfit now!

2011, AKA "The Rollercoaster"

I can’t believe that Christmas is upon us.  In a couple of days I’ll be sitting down to feast after feast, coming down from a post present opening frenzy.  I received a gorgeous letter from my great aunt today, with all the news of her year, and it made me reflect on everything that has happened in my own life this year.

It’s been a year of the lowest lows and the highest possible highs.  I’ve been to places I never thought I would get to and seen some of the most spectacular sights imaginable. Here’s how it panned out...

I welcomed in the new year with Maarten and friends, watching the neighbourhood fireworks display (as it’s legal to buy fireworks in the weeks leading up to New Year), then on New Year’s Day, Maarten braved the infamous New Year’s Dive.  This year they had cut a hole in the ice and he had to jump in and climb out of the frozen swimming pool.  We then went home and celebrated with the family by eating Oliebollen and Boerenkool and I made my epic “Ik kom klaar”   comment to the grandparents.

The hole in the ice for the New Year's Dive

 January marked the first of our new years resolution trips abroad - to Ghent which I loved and then February we made the trip to Berlin.  I was lucky enough to visit the Berlin Zoo and see poor Knut only a few weeks before he died.  March was Carnaval in Maastricht and a trip of a lifetime to Prague.

The three towers of Ghent

Prague city skyline

Through all of this I was noticing some strange happenings within my body, so went to have a check up in Early April, only to find out that I returned a very serious result in a PAP smear, which in turn resulted in an even more serious outcome after a biopsy - severe dysplaysia and surgery pretty much ASAP.  This was the absolute low point for me this year (perhaps even my life so far).  Before I knew what was going on I was terrified.  Of course when confronted with cancer it’s perfectly normal to freak out somewhat, but I think it was the shock that was the hardest to deal with.  Once I had all the information and knew the worst case scenario (a hysterectomy), I could manage and get on with it.

Then, not only was I dealing with the fallout of this news, literally the day before my scheduled surgery, I found out that I was pregnant with Inky.  We then had to dash to the doctor to find out what happens next, and the specialist and oncologist were adamant that the surgery had to progress, it just wasn’t safe to put it off until after the baby was born.  So, we rescheduled, and I went under the knife in August.  

Our first look at Inky

In the mean time, we were still persisting with our monthly trips abroad.  In May we went to Madrid and Segovia, which was probably one of the best trips we made this year.  Segovia was magical with its startling skyline and Madrid was just one of the most amazing cities in Europe.

Stunning Segovia

June took us to Normandy and the stunning Mont St Michel via Le Somme World War I battlefields, Vainstream and Hurricane music festivals and the pregnancy bombshell.

Mont St Michel

In July we (and I mean Maarten’s dad) renovated our bathroom.  It was such a tiring time.  All I wanted to do was sleep, but had to push through and at least pretend I was contributing to the effort!  Our trip abroad was also a bit half-arsed.  We didn’t have the time or the spare money, so we dashed across the border to Aachen for a schnitzel before celebrating a friend’s birthday in Maastricht.  So it still counted!

August saw me taking the train to Paris to meet my oldest friend Fleur, which was just the coolest day ever.  Two girls from Avenue Range living it up in Paris, munching on macarons and sipping champagne.  It was such a highlight.  The day after I came home from Paris I checked into the hospital for the surgery and then a couple of weeks later was given the all-clear.  No cancer and they had been able to cut it all out.

September was holiday month.  We booked a ten day trip to Crete and it was just wonderful.  We stayed just outside Hersonissos and made the island our own.  Maarten surprised me with an early Christmas present on the second last day - a trip to Santorini!  Sadly one day just isn’t enough to appreciate it and I just can’t wait to go back.  

Santorini

The view from our hotel, Crete

The beach at Agios Pavlos, Crete

Sagrada Familia, Barcelona

By the time October rolled around I was really starting to feel my pregnancy.  Tiring easily and trying not to be too much of a dragon (that is sometimes a losing battle!).  For our weekendje weg, we went to Antwerpen, which is a beautiful city, just an absolute bitch to get around/into.  Driving the ring road is like running a gauntlet, you just never know when your number’s up.  Getting into the city itself is just as big a nightmare.  A maze of one way systems and no parking (obviously an exaggeration).  Once you’re in, it’s wonderful though.  The train station is listed as one of the top five most beautiful stations in the world and the city is just lovely to try and get lost in.  But the traffic was just way too stressful for me, and I don’t want to go back.

In November I realised that my pregnancy was just flying by - I cracked the third trimester!  Inky has been growing and making herself known all the time.  Our second last trip was to Barcelona - an absolute flying city visit.  We saw the high points and enjoyed Siesta and then came home again.  It was a taster really, but enough for me to well and truly fall in love with the city and start dreaming of a return trip.

It was also about this time that my body started to pack up on me.  A mad dash to the hospital (seriously, I’ve been there so often this year I must be on their Christmas card list) saw me kept in for a couple of days for observation and the decision was made by the doctors that I had to stop working, the stress was just too much and I was at risk of going into premature labour.  At twenty nine weeks, was the last thing I wanted to hear, so since then I’ve been ensconced on my couch day in day out, with only the occasional trip out the door to run errands.  

At first I thought I would go a bit mad, but now I’m used to it and am starting to like it.  You’d think that because I’m home all day the house would be spotless, the washing and ironing would be done and I’d be well up to date on current affairs, but no!  Inky’s bedroom however, is ready for its new tenant and I spend quite a bit of time in there just marvelling at the idea of a baby moving in in about seven weeks from today.  Seven weeks!

Today I’m sitting down preparing for Christmas.  All the presents are wrapped and under the tree and I’m menu planning for our Boxing Day feast.  It’s also our last child-free Christmas and I just know that Christmases from now on are going to be so different and much more fun.

I can’t wait for 2012 to get cracking.  One of my dearest friends is coming from Australia and will celebrate New Year with us, my mum arrives in about three weeks time and Inky could appear at any moment.  Then my dad is coming in March.  2012 is going to be the best year ever.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Tell me about your highs and lows in 2011.  Has it been the rollercoaster ride I’ve had?

I have a problem...

...I'm addicted to baby stuff.

No, seriously.  It's pretty much all I can think about.  I'm busy daydreaming about how I'm going to make the baby room look, what the baby's name will be, which pram I'm going to buy, whether or not I'm going to have a boy or a girl, how much giving birth is going to hurt, how I'm going to cling on to my own identity, how I'm going to juggle work and pay for day care (which is a stressy post, all of its own), everything.  I feel like there's a tidal wave of blah blah blah that is bursting to get out of me, but I don't want to bombard my poor husband (who only last year went through all this while I was planning a wedding!) and I'm sure there's only so much baby-talk that my friends can take, so you're my lucky victim.

How is all this baby blabber related to my integrating you might ask (if you're even still here.  Chances are that you've long clicked on to another, more interesting site).  Well.  When I'm not on the toilet (nobody seems to tell you how often you have to wee before you get pregnant!) or wearing a peg on my nose from all the offensive smells surrounding me, I've started putting together a Lust List for what I absolutely must have for my baby and some of the items are Dutch!

A couple of weeks ago I had a mad dash to the hospital in the middle of the night (well it was about 5 am, but it was still dark, so technically the middle of the night) because of some nasty bleeding that I was trying not to freak out about.  While I was waiting for the doctor to finish delivering two babies (two!  One straight after the other - it's a production line!) I noticed a lovely little bit of writing, stuck right on the wall.  It seems that there is a fabulous website called Mooi op de Muur where you can order fabulous stickers for your walls, wth a store in Almere!  Now I'm busy trawling every single picture for suitability and inspiration:

from the Mooi op de Muur website

And when I'm not busy trawling websites for nice decorations, I'm comparing the prices and usability of different prams (or buggies, or kinderwagons, depending where you come from).  Of course I made the mistake of googling 'bugaboo' and now I'm in serious trouble.  Bugaboo is like the Porsche of prams.  Really.  Here's what I'm lusting after most, the Bugaboo Cameleon:

 Both images are from the Bugaboo website

The major selling point for the Bugaboo, as opposed to other brands is that it's Dutch designed and owned!  You see, as it's such a big investment, I had to have a good selling point to Maarten.  But with a retail price of around 850 euros, we are searching every day on Maarten's favourite website of all time: marktplaats.nl.  On the upside, they seem to retain their value very well, so we should be able to make some of our money back after a couple of years when I get tired of it the baby grows out of it.  Of course, if anyone has a Bugaboo that they would like to get rid of (or if Bugaboo would fancy throwing one my way), please let me know!

So those are two of the many hundreds of things swirling around my head at the moment.  But, with the 'baby brain' that I appear to have been afflicted with, I will probably have forgotten what I was talking about by tomorrow.

If you've had a baby of your own, what did you think about all the time?  What about prams?  What did you use?  How did you train your brain to think about other things?  Help!

Meet Inky...

For those of you who haven't been formally introduced, Inky (short for Inkblot) is our 14 week old baby in waiting.

Through all the health dramas of the last few months that I've posted about here, my body clearly thought that I wasn't under enough stress and thought it would throw a baby into the mix.

I was due to go into hospital for the LLETZ surgery and literally two days before I started to wonder if something was amiss.  So Maarten and I were crowded around the pregnancy test and were staring in disbelief at the two lines.  We didn't quite believe it, so did it again in the morning (the day before the surgery) and bolted to the doctor to find out what on earth happens next.

Cue good  news, the surgery was postponed until after we made it to the twelve week mark of the pregnancy.  This last week I was thirteen weeks, so they wheeled me in and a team of about ten people took care of slicing off the nasty cells quite safely and now I'm free to get on with enjoying (is that the right word?) being pregnant.

Needless to say, Maarten and I couldn't be happier.  Although I'm not usually into the mushy stuff, this truly is a gift.  I just have to figure out what to do with it...!



PS.  If you need any help figuring out what is what in the picture, the baby is laying face down with the head to the right of the screen.  The white line across the top is the spine.