Category Archives: Friends



When we last left Cricket she was performing a concert with her bestie, Iris, while Saff introduced Grandma Willow to Mrs. Iris…

‘It’s so nice to meet you Willow. Saff’s told me a bit about your exciting life. Sounds wonderful!’
‘It has its moments that’s for sure, but it’s just so hard with this lot living over here, especially with my little Cricket-Wicket being so fabulous and growing so fast.’
Grandma picks me up and I squeal. I didn’t know I was FABULOUS!
‘Yeah, it would be hard. I don’t know what I’d do without my Mum to babysit.’
‘I don’t know what I’d do without your mum to babysit either!’ Mum said that and Grandma looked a bit miffed I thought.
‘Oh? So you get Tess’s mum to babysit Cricket, darling?’
‘Only a few times, but yes, she’s been so lovely to offer.’
‘Yes, of course. So you’re on mat leave too, Tess?’
‘Yep, but I’ll be going back soon unfortunately. I’m a makeup artist and worked casually and for myself before we got pregnant so I didn’t get any leave entitlements and I think it’s time to go back now.’
‘A makeup artist, that’s great. How’s it going, working for yourself?’
‘I’d only just started really when I got pregnant, so I’ll basically be starting over.’
‘Tess is almost 20 years younger than me Mum.’
Tess looked shocked. ‘Twenty?! No, not that much!’
‘Mmm, yeah, I think so. I’m 42 and you’re 23 aren’t you? That’s 19 years…’
‘Yes, right, wow. You don’t look 42.’
‘I feel it today.’
Mum put her hands on the bench and stretched her back out.
‘23! Goodness, it’s like the 1950s again. Was Iris planned, Tess?’
‘Mum! Oh my god, she has Tourette’s sometimes. Sorry.’
Mrs. Iris laughed and it sounded like happy, like finally finding a green sheep. ‘It’s fine! She sort of was and sort of wasn’t is the short answer.’
‘I think I need the long answer, dear.’
Mum banged Grandma’s coffee down on the floor next to her. ‘Mum, seriously, wow.’
‘There’s not really a long answer, but the medium answer is that I have quite severe endometriosis and my doctors told us it would take many years if we wanted to try and fall pregnant naturally so we started trying and fell pregnant three months later.’
‘Goodness, that must’ve been a shock! And it’s the opposite of Saffron’s story isn’t it?’
Because I’m plugged into Mum I could feel her heart hurt a bit. Not too bad, but a little tug, like when you fall over, but on your back, not on your face.
‘It was a bit of a surprise. A good one, of course. And I guess it is the opposite of what Saff went through. Sometimes I feel bad that she struggled for so many years and we tried for a few months and were lucky. It’s been a bit of an adjustment period, especially career-wise.’
‘Yes, but it’s a blessing really, I mean, you have all this time now, and you can have lots of children if that’s what you decide.’
When Grandma said that I felt Mum’s heart hurt much more than the first thing she said. Face-plant hurt this time. I stretch my arms up to her but she isn’t looking at me.
‘Yes, I guess that’s true.’ Tess looked at Mum funny. ‘So, will you guys try again do you think Saff?’
‘Well, yes, I think so. We’re actually starting the process now.’
Grandma stopped squeezing my knees to stare at Mum. ‘Really darling? That’s… I mean, that’s wonderful. I’m a bit surprised, but it’s just wonderful. When does it all start?’
‘Thanks Mum. Well, I think it might start now. If we can do the first bit quickly and get to the egg pick up stage then it’ll be really helpful if you’re still here.’
‘Well of course I’ll still be here if you need me to be. That’s such good news!’
‘Well, we’ll just see how it goes.’
Iris started slapping her leg and looking at Mrs. Iris. That means Iris gets to poo in her bucket! Life is so unfair. Mrs Iris jumped up and picked Iris up.
‘Saff, can I use the toilet?’
‘Of course hun, you don’t need to ask.’
Grandma looked very interested as Mrs. Iris took Iris off to the bathroom. ‘What’s this?’
‘Tess is doing elimination communication with Iris.’
‘Elimination communication?’
‘It’s basically toilet training from birth, it’s pretty amazing. It’s common practice in heaps of places across the world and is just starting to become better known in the west. If I had more fortitude I’d do it myself.’


‘Toilet training from birth? Wow! I need to see this!’
Grandma scooped me up and ran with me to the bathroom. SQUEEEEEE! And there was Iris pooing in the toilet LIKE A REAL PERSON!! Mrs. Iris was holding her above it and she was POOPING INTO IT! Ohhhhh how I wanted Grandma to hover ME over the toilet too! I went berserk in her arms to let her know.
‘You like that, do you, Poppet? It is pretty cool, isn’t it? Maybe you and I can try it while I’m here, what do you think?’
Oh Grandma, how I love thee.



Filed under Baby, blogging, Books, Cats, Family, Fiction, Friends, Health, Humour, Inspirational, IVF, Love, Melbourne, Motherhood, My Book, Pregnancy, Sex, Women/Feminist, Writing

Fun and Funner


When we last left Cricket, GRANDMA had just arrived for a surprise visit…

‘I hope the timing is ok. I was going to call, but you know I love a good surprise!’
‘Indeed you do, mother.’
Mum sits with us and the coffee smells good. I’m not allowed coffee. I’m thinking of staging a protest. Maybe I can get Grandma to help me.
‘The timing might force my hand on something a bit, but that’s ok. How long can you stay?’
‘How long can I stay? Normally you’re asking me how long am I staying!’
‘No I don’t.’
‘Yes, darling, you do.’
I sense Mum getting tense. I’m a barometer for Mum’s feelings. She doesn’t know this. She thinks if she sings or makes everything rhyme, or says everything with a very big smile on her face, even when she’s unhappy, that I’ll think she’s happy anyway. But it doesn’t work that way. Even though Placenta got taken away from me (my dear, sweet Placenta), for some reason they left the pink ribbon behind. I’m beginning to think I’m the only person that can see the pink ribbon. It stretches from Mum’s heart to mine and it’s always there, even when we’re not together. And through the ribbon I can feel everything she’s feeling. It’s pretty cool.
Mum tends to get tense around Grandma. I don’t know why because Grandma only has two settings – fun and funner. I hope when Mum and I are old we don’t get tense with each other.
The doorbell rings. IRIS IS HERE!! I go to crawl before I remember I can’t and face-plant the play mat. Mum get’s up to let Iris and Mrs Iris in and Grandma grabs my hips and lifts them up and pushes my knees together with her hands so it feels like maybe I could crawl. It feels amazing!
‘This is how you do it, Cricket-Wicket.’
Mum comes back down the hall with Iris and Mrs Iris behind her.
‘Mum, this is Tess and this little cutie is Iris.’
Grandma strokes Iris’s cheeks – she does have lovely cheeks – and everyone says hello and finally Iris is right next to me and we get started practicing for our concert straightaway. We’re a bit rusty, but I’m sure we’ll be amazing very soon. Mum is already bustling. Mum is very good at bustling because of how many things she can do at the same time. Dad can’t do anything at the same time.           ‘Who wants coffee?’
‘I’ll have one, thanks Saff.’
Mrs. Iris has a lovely voice. It makes me hope she joins our concert.
‘I’ll have one too thank you darling.’
Grandma calls Mum darling, just like Mum calls me darling!
Grandma sits on the floor with us and Mrs. Iris sits at the kitchen counter.
‘So are Iris and Cricket the same age?’
‘Pretty much. Iris is three weeks older.’
‘She’s very beautiful, what’s her heritage?’
‘What?! I’m interested!’
‘It’s fine Saff, she’s got interesting genes.’
‘Yes, but it’s rude to ask someone their heritage.’
‘Why darling? Why on earth is it rude?’
‘Because, I don’t know, it just is. Why is it relevant, why do you need to know?’
‘It’s relevant because I’m asking about Iris.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘It’s fine Saff, seriously, I’m not in the least offended.’
‘Yes, Mum, I see.’
‘She’s a quarter Italian and half Chinese. I was born here, but my Mum is Italian, and her Dad is Chinese.’
‘Wow! Beautiful combination isn’t it?’
‘All babies are beautiful.’
Grandma tickles my belly and I crack up. I’ve only just learnt how to crack up. It’s hilarious! Obviously. Everyone loves it. Except Hoot. Mum and Dad always clap and laugh when I crack up, but Hoot just looks alarmed. Cats look kind of funny when they look alarmed so I just end up cracking up more and then he looks more alarmed. I think that’s called a venomous circle.
Grandma looks back up at Mrs. Iris and Mum.
‘So how do you two know each other?’
‘We met at Mother’s Group and now we see each other almost every day. I’m not even sure how that happened, are you Tess?’
‘Boredom? We started meeting for coffee every morning after nap time and it just stuck I guess. It’s great, and the girls love each other, which is really cute.’
The timing with that remark is a bit unfortunate because Iris had chosen that moment to pull my hair just as I decided to test my removable eyeball theory. It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other, it’s just what we do. Iris’s eyeball didn’t come out either, even though I felt definite movement, because Grandma prized our hands off each other.


Filed under Baby, blogging, Books, Cats, Communicating, Family, Fiction, Friends, Humour, Inspirational, IVF, Love, Melbourne, Motherhood, My Book, Pregnancy, Women/Feminist, Writing

Neck Skin is Detachable

babe22We last left Cricket wondering who was at the door and thinking how beautiful her mother is…

There is seriously no-one beautifuller in this entire world than my Mum… her legs have freckles on them that look like chocolate drops, and her arms are so chunky and strong that even when I’m too tired to hold my head up she can carry me anywhere I need to be.

I bang a cupboard door open and closed, open and closed repeatedly because Mum didn’t even leave me a toy to play with. She’s such an enigma. And then there’s a weird yelping noise and I wonder if Hoot brought Mum another pet dead bird. I strain my neck to see down the hall. All I can see are Mum’s bare feet and another pair of feet in sparkly shoes. I can’t wait any longer for Iris to be in front of me singing Let it Go. And I can’t sit here with nothing to do but bang a stupid brown (brown means poo) door. And I can’t wait any longer to touch those SPARKLY SHOES so I start to wail. I start off slow and quiet because I’ve learnt there’s nothing more dramatic than a build-up. I’m only midway through when a giant, sparkly, Christmas bauble with legs comes running down the hall, straight towards me, shouting CINNAMON CRICKET!! at the top of its voice.

GRANDMA IS HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s too much. I fall backwards and bash my head on the floorboards. I go quiet and Grandma stands over me and we’re both stock still for a few seconds and I’m starting to realise that hurt quite a bit and it wasn’t what I wanted to happen and maybe I’m in shock, but before I can wail, Grandma scoops me up in a shiny, glittery, perfumey hug and then hangs me upside-down to look at those sparkly shoes. What a rollercoaster!
I’m hanging upside-down with my head dangling close to the floor and all the blood in my body rushing to my eyeballs when Mum walks in.
‘Mum! What are you doing?!’
‘Showing Cricket my new shoes.’
‘Mum, don’t dangle her, you’ll break her ankle!’
‘You can’t break a baby, darling.’
And now Mum has me under my arms and Grandma has my legs and I’m suspended in the air and Mum is looking like she looks when she thinks I’ve swallowed a carrot stick without chewing it (never happens, never will, but Mum thinks it every, single, time) and Grandma looks like she’s just won the lotto.

This is going to be GREAT!!!

Mum wins and yanks me free of Grandma’s twinkly hands. She has rings on EVERY FINGER! She schmooshes my cheeks.
‘Oh my sweet girl, look how big you’ve grown!’
I launch into a dissertation about how big I am and how I can’t crawl yet and how frustrating it is and how Iris poos in a bucket and how Hoot is sort of my friend now and how glad I am that she’s here.
‘Yes indeed my talky girl! You are big and I am very happy I’m here too!’


I squirm ferociously in Mum’s arms, throwing myself towards Grandma as hard as I can.
‘Guess she wants you.’
Mum hands me over and so much is twinkling I barely know where to start so I grab dangly earrings and pull. Turns out Grandma’s lobey things are much stretchier than Mum’s lobey things and Grandma doesn’t even care that I’m stretching them down REALLY far. I pull harder. It’s the best fun ever!
Mum starts making coffee and Grandma kicks off her sparkly shoes and sits cross-legged on my play mat and let’s me keep trying to slide her ears off of her skull.
‘You’re not mad are you darling?’
Mum looks around at Grandma and smiles her I’m-fine-but-not-actually-smile that only dad and I know what it means.
‘Of course not! It’s great you’re here. I’m just surprised. I thought the show was still filming.’
‘Well you’re meant to be surprised! Filming finished yesterday and I just couldn’t wait any longer to schmoosh these little cheeks.’
Grandma schmooshes my cheeks again and I grab her nose and turn it. I have a theory that noses can actually turn upside-down if you twist hard enough. I’ve also worked out that it’s better to test this theory on old people because everything on their bodies has more give. Grandma doesn’t seem to mind, which hasn’t been my experience so far when I test out my nose theory. She must be a very tolerant person. I make a mental note to test out my other theories on her tomorrow:

  1. Lips are detachable
  2. Eyelashes are food
  3. Bellybuttons are homes for teeny tiny people and must be filled with food to save the teeny tiny people from starvation
  4. Knees bend the other way
  5. Ears are detachable
  6. Elbow creases can be microphones as well as vomit receptacles
  7. Eyeballs can come out
  8. Tongues aren’t real
  9. Neck skin is detachable
  10. Boobs need to be slapped in order to work.


Filed under Baby, blogging, Books, Family, Fiction, Friends, Humour, Inspirational, IVF, Love, Motherhood, My Book, Reading, Women/Feminist, Writing

brown means poo, green means goo


Cricket’s story continues…

I heard Mum crying last night. She’s a private crier. She doesn’t even let the co-manger hear her crying. She only cries when there’s no answer. If there was an answer she wouldn’t be crying, she’d be fixing the problem. That’s why she’s the Manager, because she fixes things. And that’s why Dad’s the co-manager, because he helps fix things. But when things can’t be fixed, Mum doesn’t want people trying to find the solution because it annoys her, she just wants to cry alone.

Mum was crying because she’s worried I’m not going to have a brother or sister and she feels bad for me. Thing is, I don’t know what it’s like to have a brother or sister, I only know what it’s like not to have one, and I like it just fine. And really, a brother or sister might be more trouble than they’re worth, I mean, look at Tony Soprano, his sister was CRAZY and Meadow Soprano and Anthony Jr Soprano hated each other. So really, I think she was crying because of guilt. Guilt is like cauliflower. It’s truly awful and pointless and leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Guilt – like cauliflower – should be spat out in great, gooping gobs. Guilt and cauliflower have no godly business being on this earth.

Iris loves cauliflower. I don’t get it but I don’t hold it against her because she’s fabulous. Iris is coming over today and I’m going to play my xylophone and she’s going to play my drums and we’re going to put on a Frozen concert for Mum and Mrs. Iris. They’re not going to believe their ears!

Before Iris arrives Mum said we have to clean up the kitchen and cut my nails. I’m not sure why she says ‘we’ because we both know my helping just makes things messier. I don’t even know why she bothers. When Mum puts everything away I can’t see anything and I have no idea what I want and so my limbs just flail about and do nothing, which isn’t healthy.
‘Come on Cricket, let’s clean up.’
Mum picks me up and puts me on her hip and starts moving dishes around the kitchen. There is no rhyme or reason to this and I try very hard to tell her this.’
‘Yes darling! That’s right! We’re going to do the dishes!’
I tell her I don’t want to do dishes and that I don’t believe she really does either, so why don’t we just put the dishes down and practice our music for our Frozen concert.
‘And now we’re going to do the dishes, do the dishes, do the dishes.’
Mum’s singing about doing the dishes. I think she thinks if she sings everything she’s doing it makes her a better mother. It doesn’t. I worked out ages ago that she’s doing it because of guilt. Mum thinks if she’s not stimulating me I won’t know my colours and will never learn to read. This is dumb for several reasons:

  1. I already know my colours. Brown means poo, green means goo, pink means me and yellow means wee. Black means sad, blue means Dad, white means nappy and orange means happy. See?
  2. Mum singing all the chores she’s doing in the same tuneless tune every single day is about as stimulating as a house with no cats in it.
  3. Guilt never gets you anywhere, ever.

I tell Mum I don’t want to sing the dishes song anymore.
‘Yes darling! And now we’re going to do the dishes, do the dishes, do the dishes.’
Please, someone, kill me now.
But then there’s a knock on the door! Saved! Iris has come to do the concert early! I kick my legs as furiously as I can and almost fall off Mum’s hip.
‘Cricket, wait! Why are they here so early? The house is a mess. God damn.’
And then she does the thing that annoys me the most – she puts me down instead of TAKING ME TO THE INTERESTING THING. If she wants to stimulate me, this is definitely not the way to go.

She’s striding down the hall now, hands flying all over, fixing her hair, pulling at her clothes. I’ll never understand this pulling and picking and fixing. There is seriously no-one beautifuller in this entire world than my Mum. Her hair looks like honey and spider webs and her skin looks like milk and she has amazing ridges around her eyes that look like the veins on leaves, and her tummy is squishy like a soft cushion, and her legs have freckles on them that look like chocolate drops, and her arms are so chunky and strong that even when I’m too tired to hold my head up she can carry me anywhere I need to be.


Filed under Baby, blogging, Family, Fiction, Friends, Humour, Inspirational, IVF, Love, Motherhood, My Book, Women/Feminist, Writing



Cricket has told us the story of her birth and now moves onto the things at hand, like GRANDMA is coming!

Turns out Grandma is in New Zealand because she’s famous in the REST OF THE WORLD TOO!! Grandma was in a movie about dancing a long time ago, when gay meant happy and Facebook was called visiting. Grandma’s movie made everybody feel very gay so now it’s got all these very happy people who like rainbows and kissing obsessed with it.

Like Auntie Jack. Auntie Jack is Mum’s best friend and she has boy hair and big boobs and wears lots of eyeliner and her Mum’s ITALIAN! How EXOTIC! Her Mum isn’t called Grandma, she’s called Nonna, and she doesn’t give me cake, she gives me torta. WOW!! Sometimes Nonna fills in for Grandma because my Grandma doesn’t live here. I think this might mean that I’m exotic by proxy.

Auntie Jack came over today to help Mum with laundry and cooking and me, which means Mum makes Auntie Jack coffees while she runs around doing laundry and cooking and Auntie Jack flicks the occasional toy in my direction. Auntie Jack doesn’t have any kids so she doesn’t understand how someone as small as me can make so many loads of washing and eat so many vegetables. But she also SINGS! Not like Mum sings, she sings like she’s swallowed a dinosaur! – a dinosaur who can SING! It’s REALLY LOUD! When I’m grumpy she sings me Ave Maria and it makes Mum cry. I don’t know why Mum cries, it cheers me right up!

Auntie Jack flicks me my phone with the big buttons. ‘Knock yourself out, kid.’
Seems a tad aggressive. Maybe I’ll just make a phone call. I think I’ll call Dad and tell him how I pooped out a fully formed Baked Bean this morning. I think that’s newsworthy.
‘Is your Mum coming over after New Zealand?’
‘Yeah, I think so. We’ve barely spoken since she’s been there.’

WHAT???!!! GRANDMA IS COMING??!! I’m so excited I throw my phone in the air and then faceplant my xylophone. It really hurts.

Auntie Jack is sitting on the floor right next to me watching Mum cut vegetables and my scream makes her jump two feet in the air.
‘Holy mother of shitting shitballs, that’s loud!’
Mum is already at me, scooping me up before Auntie Jack has time to retract her swear.
‘Sorry Saff. Cricket, my girl, would you like a song?’
I make it a habit of never saying no to Auntie Jack’s offer of a song, even when it hurts my ears and makes my eyes bug out a bit. I stop crying long enough to request Let it Go from Frozen and use my phone to call Iris so she can listen too, but Auntie Jack does Un bel di from Madame Butterfly so I hang up. It still cheers me up though.
‘That sounds amazing Jack. You been practicing?’
‘A bit, yeah. Soph likes that one.’
Soph is Auntie Jack’s new girlfriend. She loves Auntie Jack’s voice even more than Mum does. She’s always telling her to go on the stage, but Auntie Jack just laughs and says that’s over with now.
‘You ok, Poppet?’
Yes, Mum, thanks for asking.
Mum goes back to chopping vegetables and I bang my phone against Auntie Jack’s leg because I like the slapping sound it makes. I’m also praying to the God of Arendelle that there’s no cauliflower up on the bench.

Was there cauliflower on the bench? When is Grandma coming? Can you stand the suspense?!


Filed under Australia, Baby, blogging, Books, Family, Fiction, Food, Friends, Humour, Inspirational, IVF, Love, Motherhood, Music, My Book, Pregnancy, Women/Feminist, Writing

Taste of Motherhood


My husband CJ was a ten+ pound baby. I’ve already had a chat to the Bean and suggested that that was not an option for them. Not much else has been going on really, and certainly nothing glamorous. I’m sleep deprived already so I guess I’m in training. No-one tells you any of this stuff though. I mean, it’s in books, sure, but reading it in a book is far removed from your girlfriends actually telling you stuff. Like how I had to sleep for two hours sitting up last night because my hip was horrendously aching from lying my on side all the time. No-one tells you this stuff. Like birth – all you seem to hear is ‘mother and baby are both doing well’. But what does that mean exactly? Ultimately it just makes me think one of two things:

  1. It was plain sailing and after an hour or two of ladylike pushing, a baby fell out.
  2. It was so horrific it can’t be spoken about.

I did bring this up with a friend recently who is pregnant with her second and she said she experienced the same thing with her first – where are all the shared stories? So she shared her birth experience with me and I was SO grateful. Hers was also a good experience which was great to hear because basically all the women close to me have had emergency c-sections, and they make me a bit, you know, terrified.

In other news:

  • I recently spewed pink spew all over our front garden after eating porridge and raspberries and then doing Pilates. I just made it home before losing the lot on a bush in front of a surprised husband who happened to be taking the rubbish out at the time. To be honest, I think he was impressed my spew was so feminine.
  • My breasts are seriously fabulous – big, perfectly round orbs of lusciousness that many women pay thousands of dollars to try and replicate. I’m constantly running late for work because I can’t stop staring at them. I guess I should take photos before they turn into huge, veiny milk-wagons….
  • I was told I’m carrying small (I sucked in the bloat as much as I could) for 17 weeks this morning and I could have kissed her. Because 10 pound baby husband.
  • My mother-in-law is in a knitting frenzy already. This is going to be one warm, soft, lucky baby!
  • Marlowe has completely abandoned me. He can see the bump, and no-doubt his extrasensory-cat-sensors told him long ago his rival was on the way, and he’s now totally and utterly CJ’s cat. The love-affair they have going on is ridiculous quite frankly, and I’m jealous, but there’s nothing I can do about it. What a traitor. I spent many weeks at home every day when he was a tiny kitten, making sure Bronte didn’t eat him, and this is the thanks I get. If this is a taste of motherhood I’m seriously concerned.


Filed under Baby, Beauty, Boobs, Cats, Family, Food, Friends, Health, IVF, Love, Motherhood, Women/Feminist

Kind of Glowy…

pregnant-runner-272x300My belly has popped, which would be cute, if you could actually see it under all the bloat that’s going on on top of it. Pregnancy so far has been less the splendiferousnesses of wonder and delight I thought it would be, and more about gas. A lot more about gas. Sure, I feel joyous – how could I could I not? It took six years, four years of IVF, two surgeries and lots of money to get here. Despite a midwife girlfriend telling me off recently for daring to ask if I could do something, anything, to make the bloat go away (how long have you tried to get here? You’re not allowed to feel miserable!), I do think I’m allowed to have the odd miserable feeling… You know, just those times when I’m so bloated I can’t breathe, none of my clothes fit and I’m only 14 weeks pregnant, I’ve slumped my head over the sink in anticipation of a surprise spew, and I’m so tired at work I actually fall asleep in a meeting with my boss who asks me if I need a pillow and I seriously consider saying yes. How do pregnant women with a toddler DO THIS and LIVE?!

I’ve had plenty of time to picture me pregnant. It looked something like this:

Garlands of flowers in my hair, walking through a sun-dappled field, then skipping home to both the time and intense bursts of creativity to write a best-selling novel in nine months, taking writing breaks to sip on freshly made vegetable juices as I lie my head on Hugh Grant’s lap on a park bench in a romantic garden, my belly looking adorable while the rest of me is skinny…. really skinny.

Well….. PFFFFT.

It’s been challenging to go from this vision to the reality of all-day morning sickness and tiredness so overwhelming just the thought of my best-selling novel sends me into a coma. I’ve stared at people I’ve worked with for more than two years and wondered what their names are. And Hugh Grant and my skinny ankles are absolutely no-where to be seen.

On top of that, my cat Marlowe is conspiring against me. I found this in his diary yesterday:

Dear Diary

I’m beginning to fear all is now lost. My Mistress wanders around in what looks like a daze of silly self-satisfaction and none of it has anything to do with me. Can you imagine? My attempts at making her morning sickness worse by breathing tuna breath in her face as soon as she wakes up isn’t working like I thought it would. It makes her gag, sure, but she still seems kind of… glowy.

Although… she did spew before lunch today and it happened because she was preparing a tuna wrap. Tuna. See? I waited about ten minutes and then spewed on my carpeted cat tree. Her stomach wasn’t quite settled yet and she’s a little funky getting cat vomit out of carpet at the best of times, so she had no hope really. My plan worked because she spewed cleaning up my spew. Not so glowy after that.

So what if my cat is conspiring against me? I am kinda glowy. Wait til he meets the new crying, pooping hairless cat in July – his furry little head’s going to explode.


Filed under Baby, blogging, Cats, Family, Fiction, Friends, Health, Humour, IVF, Motherhood, My Book, Pregnancy, Women/Feminist, Writing