Instead, the husband decided to get out of Christmas lunch with the inlaws and opening/assembling any further craptastic plastic toys by developing pancreatitis and, rather scarily, drivibg himself to the hospital at 7am.  Leaving a certain heavily pregnant wife to deal with Santa present opening, car packing, getting the troops ready and doing the hour long drive to my parents’ place solo.  No mean feat.

I do not apologise for the fact that my children had chocolate and lollies for breakfast, nor for the fact that getting out of the house necessitated a lot of screaming and some tears on my part.

Anyway.

Long story short, mr hissychick’s gallbladder was found to be the cause of the pancreatitis (much, much less scary than the other possible causes), the kids survived and enjoyed Christmas Day blah blah blah fishpaste.

The husband was discharged yesterday morning after a three night stay….and his gallbladder removal surgery scheduled for next Tuesday.  The day before my due date.

Fast forward to today.  I woke at 5:50 am this morning after another totally relaxing late pregnancy night’s sleep (think waking three times between 10 pm and 12 am to go to the toilet, 1 am with night sweats, and everytime I needed to pee or roll over thereafter) and I felt….like I had dropped my bundle.

After a shower and managiing to nick my pink bits when I stupidly decided to give the ladygarden a tidy up sight unseen I sat on the edge of my bed and cried with exhaustion and frustration.  Perhaps it’s was the last of the adrenaline of the last few days leaving my body…but I don’t think it’s that.

Yes people, I’ve reached that point where abject fear of childbirth is outweighed by the desire to feel semi human again.

And it seems Bertramina is sympathetic to my cause.  OB checkup this morning revealed she is well engaged and good to go, with the lovely and calm Dr J reassuring me all was well and that he would be seeing me before the husband’s little surgical jaunt.

My feeling is soon, very soon. 

So on that note I am off to eat fresh pineapple and watch as many episodes of Mad Men as I can.

Until next time….smooches.  Scared smooches.

That’s what you gotta do

Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts

And a smile’ll come back to you

Thanks for all of your kind messages everyone.  I’m pleased to say that mr hissychick has started the ball rolling in terms of appropriate treatment and has been making a concerted effort in terms of his own behaviour.  No it does not take away the pain of what I discovered but it helps somewhat when action is taken rather than platitudes mouthed.

Bertramina is doing well, she has decided to recommence the whole lock and load procedure, so much so that I spent a large portion of last night somewhat panicked about the possibility of a pre Christmas birth.  However I am keeping my legs dutifully crossed on the sage advice of Simone, who reminded me that a post Christmas birthday would be far more cost effective as I could purchase presents in the sales.

Miss A and miss E are their crazy unique, intelligent, gorgeousi yet exasperating selves, who are each expressing unique and challenging reactions to the impending arrival of their sister.

Our youngest imp has been ensuring that we do not get cocky enough to enjoy an unbroken night’s sleep before Bertramina arrives (hey, why start after two and a half years?).  Apparently only Mummy in Mummy’s bed will do and right now I just can’t be arsed dealing with it.  That honour shall fall to the husband while I am in hospital.  Thing is…she gets away with this and murder in general because she disarms us with a smile and a cheeky comment rather than an argument. Little minx.

My mini me is as fragile as a delicate flower wanting so much attention but rewarding us with some of the most vile behaviour yet, which I won’t share with you readers because the parents of threenagers and the like in case you lose the will to live don’t need to know just what is in store for them just yet.  There has also been a hell of a lot of incessant whining about being last, and ultra competitiveness that would do an Olympic athletes head in.

I try to hide a lot, which is not easy when you truly are a Christmas pudding.

Anyway I’d best get back to using my last two daycare hours (ever for Miss A and until late Jan for miss E) to do nestingy stuff so that I don’t have yet another panic attack about the whole birthing gig.

Smooches.

So it’s not exactly hard to understand that my sleep deprived and stressed out self is a tad over it right now.

However all is not lost.  Mr hissychick has taken it upon himself to cheer me up.  By cheer me up I mean give me an affectionate pat on the bum as he walks past. “It’s a boy hug” he gleefully tells me, oblivious to the thunderous look on my face.

The vacant block next door is far too obvious a place……

*Let us not speak of the emergency ward stuff up where a doctor checked off that she had been examined but had in fact was not seen for six hours after admission, during which time I had the pleasure of soothing my terrified child when an eighteen year old screaming in agony from a bowel obstruction was admitted into the paed bed next to ours. The very same hospital that failed to diagnose my ectopic pregnancy six and a half years ago, not once, but twice.  Never again.

hissychick (deftly clicking away her credit card points while booking flights to Melbourne): We’re booked to fly out on the 25th and return on the 28th. A will be so excited to meet her new cousin…

mr hissychick (eyes glued to two screens): It’s nothing to do with A, you just want to enjoy that freaky sniffing a newborn thing you do.

hissychick (suppressing the urge to emit very loud chicken noises): Oh come on, even you have to admit little bubs are gorgeous. And this is your new niece…

mr hissychick (not paying attention): …….

hissychick (summoning up as much charm as a hissychick can summon):…I bet I’m not the only one who will be clucky.

mr hissychick looks up and directly into my eyes and he……….

LAUGHS THE HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER OF A MAN WHO CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS HEARING SUCH ABSURD NONSENSE

hissychick (pouting and wounded but oh so stupidly persisting): oh come off it, you don’t have to be like that, I was only testing the waters..

mr hissychick (wiping tears from his eyes): hahahahahahahahahahahahaha

hissychick (smiling sweetly): Let’s face facts. You’re not far off adult diapers now and I could do with an extra set of hands at change time because I’m sure as shite not doing it.

mr hissychick (laptop thrown aside, now rolling on the floor): as if you would do it anyway. And…..heeheeheeheehee

hissychick (trying her hardest not to stomp her feet): That’s it, no nookie for you.

mr hissychick (unable to contain his glee): gigglegigglegiggle.

hissychick (stormclouds in her eyes): EVER AGAIN!!

Hissychick stomps off towards the bedroom, wishing she had unplugged the telly and therefore denied mr hissychick the pleasure of watching the soccer too.

Happy anniversary love of my life, my best friend and wonderful father of our two children. Here’s to many more magical years together. Hopefully this evening will be free of today’s antics, which thus far have included:

• A deciding that it would be fun to lift her top up over her head and do a dance as we waited in line for an ice cream, before exclaiming how disappointing (yep, four syllables, I kid you not) it was when we sat at a table in a quiet area with no one next to us.
• E managing to open the bathroom safety gate and me discovering her on top of the bathroom vanity, exclaiming “Door! Yay!”.

They so get it from you my darling husband.

I have lined your pockets with many dollars over the past three and a half years, initially because of the fact that the scary plasti-chemical combo you include in your nappies is the only one not to give my oldest daughter nappy rash.

So please tell me why my youngest daughter, who is not even eleven kilos, can no longer fit in your toddler size nappy, which is supposedly for little ‘uns between 10 and 15 kg in weight?

Surely your fine corporation isn’t minimising the size of your product in an attempt to quickly graduate children to the next size nappy, of which there are significantly less per packet and therefore more profits to be had.  Not the company that makes such warm and fuzzy soft focus commercials focusing on the fact that having a baby is all warmth and cuddles and giggles with nary a faeces filled nappy in sight.

As for my oldest daughter, she continues to require your alchemy in the form of Drynites big girl nappies that draw all wetness away, meaning that my daughter likes to lie in bed in the morning and wee before she gets up, therefore providing me with no clue as to whether she is night trained and no longer requires your at this stage $1.50 per nappy product night time ‘pants’ because as we know, dryness happens at their own pace, which of course has nothing to do with maximising your hold over my wallet for as long as possible.

Keep up the good work.

Regards,

mrs e. hissychick

***********

Darling E,

And hello and g’day to you too sweetheart. I am totally loving your language explosion at the moment. There is nothing more adorable than the way you wave ‘night ‘night when we put you to bed for a sleep.

What I’m not so keen on is the fact that you have decided that said sleep is to be avoided at all costs because you need to maximise your time practising your burgeoning language skills.  One am, 3:30 am and 5 am are not the most suitable of times to run through the names of all of your favourite people in the world.

And please cease and desist on that I will poo ten minutes after you have put me in the cot for a daytime nap trick and then you will have to get me up again or I won’t sleep and then I won’t sleep anyway or if i do it’ll only be for one and only one brief nap mwhahahahaha habit that you’ve had happening for, oh the last forever.

What was that? Oh you just grinned at me with your delightful now with added molar smile that lights up your whole face. You want a kiss, and to sing doo doo doo along with the Night Garden and na na na along wth the chicken dance?  Of course I give up, you can have anything you want. Once you climb down from the glass front buffet. Umm how did you get up there in the first place?

Much love

Mummy xxx

**********

My beloved A,

To answer your question: yes darling I still love you all the way to the moon and the stars and back even when you’ve been naughty. Why do I love you when you are naughty? Because you are my daughter. Why are you my daughter? Because you are made from special little bits of Mummy and Daddy. How did we make you? Oh look up there at the stars.

What are stars made of? How far away are the stars? How can we get there? Is a rocket ship the same as a car? How is the car that had a flat battery that we saw yesterday going? Wh-

Oh for the love of dog, please go to sleep. If you actually got some decent sleep we might see less of this blood pressure increasing defiance and meltdowns over trivial issues such as the fact that your sister dropped a piece of banana on your bedroom floorbe able to spend more time exploring things that interest you, such as counting to one hundred and learning about the engineering behind water supply and building construction.

Love always and forever (and yes forever is a long, long long time sweetie)

Mum mum xxxxx

PS YEs tomorrow is Saturday and yes that means movie night. And you’re right the day after that is Sunday and Daddy is still home from work because it’s the weekend. You’ve got it, that day after that is Monday and that means physie class. And then, that’s right, it’s Tuesday and- oh hang on, go to sleep. You’ve mastered the concept of a week but now it’s time for sleep.

PPS Mummy is very proud of the fact that you picked out a gorgeous black leotard and tutu from the usual pick and frilly options available. That’s my little individual, use your determination for good and not evil!

*************

Dear husband,

I will try to stop laughing at the fact that A refuses to call you Daddy, just like Bart does to Homer in the Simpsons. And the way that E likes to smack you in the head as a form of greeting.

No I won’t.

Smooches,

Wifey xxx

******************

Hello body of mine,

First of all I’d like to offer a  big well done to friend thyroid, who is continuing to behave herself in a manner most becoming to a normal butterfly shaped neck gland.

Iron stores, I have to issue you a formal warning.  You have sneakily slacked off,  plummeting to a silly low while I was simply thinking that I was just a bit tired. Take your daily supplement with good humour for the next three to six months and we’ll have another performance review then OK?

Finally blood pressure. I’m very, very disappointed in you. What the hell were you thinking, shooting up like that?  You’d better pull your socks up, because I am now required to keep an eye on you several times a day for the next month. Enough already of the vagueness and occasional dizzy spell, oh yeah, and potential for long term damage to my health. You nasty sneak, you can’t possibly want to go back to the drugs and endless testing we last had almost ten years ago.  Surely my having to remain calm, relax  and not sweat the small stuff blah blah hippy fishpaste is enough for you?

Signing off,

Head in charge.

And you wonder why I don’t blog about my husband very often.

Being that he is not like most men, and doesn’t demand anything other than to be left alone to rest and recover I feel that it is my duty to log off and annoy the hell out of him by asking him “Are you OK?” every three minutes or so. At least until he is irritated enough to forget that he is sick so that he can take up some of the night duty with E.

I am such a selfless soul.

Mr hissychick: Charli has left Hi5! Whatever shall we do? (The latter being one of A’s favourite phrases).

Me: Why? A is so not wearing a Hi5 tshirt today.

Mr hissychick: Because after 10 years it ‘was time’. They are now Hi-2.

Me: Funny how the two remaining original members are the ones who could have split the band when they broke off their engagement. I reckon Charli is up the duff.

Mr hissychick: Nope- she wants to be an actress, may even go to NIDA lol

Me: You know I always hated her and now I have a valid reason.

We are a match made in heaven.

In other news:

A has been using the word dodgy in correct context. As in “No thanks Mum, that pikelet looks a bit dodgy. I’ll have that one over there please”.

Here is a gorgeous photo of my party girl in action last weekend. Only one more 3rd birthday party to go tomorrow (We hope).

E brought her sister’s Dora toy kitchen crashing down this afternoon, narrowly escaping injury by managing to have her head safely enclosed in the fridge door. And do you know what she did? She laughed. I’ve said it before and I will say it again: we are so in for it with the pixie. The same pixie who is trying to crawl and stand, quite often at the same time. Have you ever seen a baby try to crawl by straightening out both legs and lurching forward in a downward dog type yoga pose?

Here is a cute shot of E at the same party as her big sister, happily chewing on a balloon string, potential for choking be damned. My wide eyed girl sure does love balloons, cooing to them in a manner somewhat akin to calling the mothership.

Have a great weekend y’all.