“But I’m not tired Mummy” he says, as he snuggles into my lap and tucks his head under my chin. His fingers twine through my hair as he breathes a contented sigh. “I’m weally weally not bery tired”.

I’ve been trying to convince him to have a small sleep. We were up until 3.30am together, with Isaac vomiting every ten minutes to begin with, before easing to every 25 minutes. By the end of it, we were both exhausted. He fell asleep between vomits and I watched him carefully, to make sure he didn’t choke. He only tried to once.

By 3.30, I took us both to my bed, as Nathan prepared to sleep on the couch. With buckets and towels at the ready, I prepared for waking every half an hour, but his body had had enough and he fell asleep deeply enough to stop the retching.

***

It was 10.30pm and I was just falling asleep when I heard Isaac start to cry, before that distinctive cough that heralds a child about to throw up. I was up and moving before I realised it, in his bedroom just as he started to throw up.

Pulling him out of his bed, I rubbed his back while he threw up on our feet.

This is parenting, I thought.

This is the reality. I could have told the story about a sick child and the snuggling this morning, but instead I’m telling you that vomit on your feet when you’d rather be sleeping is what parenting has in store for us all.

***

At 7am Isaac’s eyes flew open and I cursed his body clock that would wake him up (wake us up) so early after such a rotten night. I got him a drink of water and turned on cartoons, before stroking his back and falling back asleep.

20 minutes later Amy was in the bedroom with us as well, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Figuratively of course, I was too busy hiding my head under a pillow to check the actual bushiness of her tail.

I debated sending her to school, before deciding that it was too much work. Not to mention a risky endeavour – if she’s going to catch this bug, I want her safely with us where we can keep an eye on her, rather than vomiting all over the front row of the classroom, like a friend of mine did in year 1.

We stayed in bed for as long as possible, but sleeping in is a whole different ball game when you’ve got two children in bed with you, kicking each other and crying.

***

It was not a pleasant night, but you don’t sign up for parenting without expecting to be thrown up on at some point.

And as Isaac tucked himself under my chin for a snuggle this morning, I decided that it’s the bad bits that make you appreciate the good.

I went to lie down this afternoon with my son and my book, only to wake up two hours later, kindle akimbo and pelvis screaming at me. I’d call it narcolepsy, but I suspect “pregnancy” is a better diagnosis. I woke up to find that Isaac hadn’t wet himself, that Nathan had cleaned the house and that everything was pretty much perfect. I am inordinately grateful for this.

Ten minutes later as I was sipping a cup of tea to wash down the buckets of panadol I required, Isaac ran up to me, threw his arms around my neck and squeezed tightly, before racing off again.

In contrast, I saw a physio yesterday who reminded me about the importance of good posture, gave me millions of pelvic floor exercises to do, looked a bit stunned when I discussed what joints of mine actually dislocate and sold me a pelvic brace.

It was an interesting appointment, rehashing things I already knew about how to correctly sit at my computer, how to not destroy my vagina forever and how to ease strain on my shoulders.

All of which are perfect in theory, but a little messy in reality. I pointed this out and she responded “It’s about finding the reality within the ideal”.

Which I guess is a perfect description of life, isn’t it?

As much as the ideal version of sitting at a computer looks great, if I sit properly, my blood pressure bottoms out and I either puke, or pass out. Neither are conducive to working, in case you’re interested. And so I write blog posts either lying in bed with a laptop, or with my feet resting up near the mantelpiece. Definitely bad for my posture, but it’s about finding the least bad thing and attempting that.

I keep reminding myself that pregnancy is not forever, that eventually I’ll be allowed to take the good drugs again and that I will have a smooshy new baby as compensation. Sometime in September, I’ll stop wanting to puke all of the time, my joints will stabilise a little bit and my skin will clear up.

Everything is falling apart and yet, it’s all going to be okay. Even if I spend the next three months unable to actually do anything other than write things and lie down, it will get better. Things will ease and I will not remain this unwell for ever.

This is shades of Amy’s pregnancy over again and I survived that, in worse health to start with. I can get through this. Pregnancy is meant to be glowing health and skipping through rainforests, while birds serenade me.

However, I’ve got to get used to the reality, within my ideal.

24 weeks.

Not pictured: My children covered in preserved cherry juice.

Thank you to Frogpondsrock (Mum) and Liz and Jarod for spending the afternoon with us! It was lovely.

Yesterday evening, after dinner, I took myself to my bedroom with a book in order to get some peace and quiet and hopefully stop my back aching quite so much. I could hear the children running around the house screeching and playing; with Nathan occasionally breaking in to ask them to PLEASE go and play in their bedroom.

It was relaxing, right up until my son came into my room, tucked himself under my chin and nearly asphyxiated me with the smell of perfume. It seems, during their playtime, Isaac had tipped the remains of a bottle of perfume all over himself.

It wasn’t pretty.

For the record, a little bit of perfume is lovely – a lot of it is nauseating.

This morning, after a good wipe down, a bath, a sleep and another wipe down, he still smells vaguely of perfume whenever he tucks himself under my chin for a cuddle.

It could be worse however – there was a time when taking my eyes off Amy meant that she would fingerpaint the kitchen with butter, or the hallway with nappy cream. At one point she smeared both sudocreme and bepanthan into her hair, leaving her looking punky and smelling like sweet baby bottoms for a week. Waterproof nappy rash cream is not designed to shampoo out easily.

Nowadays Amy hides herself in the bedroom with a pair of scissors, paper and the sticky tape, madly creating before anyone discovers her absence. Despite the little bits of paper she leaves everywhere that refuse to vacuum up, I can’t say I mind this style of creative expression.

It’s certainly less frustrating than discovering an entire box of cocoa tipped out, or the corn flour tipped onto the floor!

What do your children get into when you’re not looking?

Today, after a miserable night, I went searching through my blog archives. Long term readers know this, but I was hospitalised while pregnant with Isaac, with fears of preterm labour (short story: 24 weeks pregnant, lost mucus plug, positive fetal fibronectin test, steroids, antibiotics, 3 days in hospital for observation).

I knew that I was about this pregnant when it happened, but I couldn’t remember all of the details. You see, I’d bled on and off through the entire pregnancy to that point, so one more period of bleeding wasn’t entirely a memorable event. Only what happened afterwards is what sticks in my mind.

I’ve been having braxton hicks contractions for the last few weeks, but they’ve intensified in the last couple of days. No major cramping, they’re merely uncomfortable and not coupled with any bleeding, or true signs of labour.

As I was reading back through my archives, my blog was able to tell me that the braxton hicks contractions started at about the same time with Isaac’s pregnancy. That at 27 weeks they were uncomfortable and irregular. That he was still born full term, after two weeks of serious prelabour.

This is reassuring.

When people tell first time mothers to write everything down because they’ll forget, we scoff in disdain. What is happening to us is SO IMPORTANT that there is no way we’d forget any of it. Six years later I look back on Amy’s pregnancy to find myself hazy on the details. I know I was sick. I know the nausea came back with its friends, exhaustion and joint pain at about 22 weeks. I remember being incredibly miserable.

But I can’t remember the details like when braxton hicks contractions got uncomfortable and how badly my ribs ached when my uterus forced them to stretch.

It’s why I’m grateful that I blogged the pregnancy with Isaac, so that I can refer back to it this time.

So far, this pregnancy seems a perfect mix of both full term pregnancies I’ve had. The nausea, pain and exhaustion have increased in the last few weeks. The braxton hicks contractions are uncomfortable, but not a sign of anything greater. My ribs continue to ache and my skin is breaking out and I’m spending a lot of time laying on my bed with a book.

All in all, things look perfectly on track to finish in the same way I gestated and birthed Amy and Isaac.

While I’m nauseous and exhausted and crampy, knowing that this happened last time too (and the result of that pregnancy is draped over my lap right now, stroking my hair) is reassuring. I’m not going mad and I’m not going into preterm labour. I’m just not very good at pregnancy.

So I’ll follow the advice of my midwives from previous pregnancies. I will make sure I’m only doing light things around the house. I will rest lots and I will eat good food as often as I can. I will medicate as necessary and I will drink as much water as I can hold without audibly sloshing.

And, it should all be okay.

Outside in the garden, Isaac and I were hunting for frogs and spiders to photograph when I learned a few new things.

1 – My centre of gravity has changed drastically and my balance is wobbly at best.

2 – My son will push me over in order to see the frogs.

3 – Suddenly standing ankle deep in a garden bowl of cold water is not the most fun thing I could envision for my left foot.

4 – If a frog thinks it is well hidden, it won’t move while you photograph it. However, it will move very quickly if your three year old tries to touch it.

5 – Alpine strawberries (or “Wild Strawberries”) will continue to flower and fruit despite frosts and cold weather, making them perfect for Tasmania.

And finally, last but not least,

6 – If you ask your son to “just stand still and LOOK AT ME” so that you can take a photo, not only will he find the muddiest patch of ground to stand in, but he will pull this face.

What have you learned recently?

Early in this pregnancy, I couldn’t eat a lot of anything that didn’t involve salad. Recently, it seems that we’re moving back that way again, with salad, toast and tea making up a good portion of my diet. Throw in the occasional piece of fruit and I’m calling it a balanced diet.

Balanced ish, anyway.

But this recipe? This recipe I love.

Ingredients:

baguette
olive oil
clove of garlic
1 red or yellow capsicum
a punnet of sweet cherry tomatoes
half a red onion
green top of a spring onion
1 tspn red wine vinegar
sugar
salt
parmesan shavings to serve, or other delicious cheese

Method:

Preheat the oven to 220C.

Slice the cheeks off your capsicum and coat in olive oil, before throwing into a hot oven and leaving for 20 minutes, give or take.

While the capsicum cooks, slice the red onion finely and toss into a bowl with halved cherry tomatoes, spring onion, red wine vinegar and salt and sugar to taste. Set aside.

Once the capsicum is cooked, throw it into a small bowl and cover tightly with clingwrap. 5 minutes in its own steam will make it easier to take the skin off.

Split your baguette and rub with a clove of garlic (split), before toasting under the grill. Drizzle with olive oil (and more garlic rubbing if you like).

Take the skin off the capsicum, before slicing into pieces and tossing through the tomato and onion mixture.

Serve individual portions on pieces of toasted baguette, topped with parmesan, or other cheese.

New this week:

My uterus reached the level of my ribs and has been pushing on them steadily, causing all sorts of havoc and mayhem. Namely dislocated ribs that either cause me to throw myself at Nathan’s feet wailing “FIX ITTTT”, or leap to my feet to relocate the ribs under my breasts so that I can continue to breathe. Fun times, fun times.

The rising level of my uterus is also promoting large amounts of reflux, extra nausea and a need to sleep propped up on four separate pillows, and that’s not counting the pillows supporting my hips. Which also hurt.

Have I mentioned pregnancy when you’ve got Ehlers Danlos is not much fun?

On the flip side, no symptoms of pre-term labour, or bleeding. So really, all the important bits are happening how they should.

Isaac finally felt his sister kick – but only because she kicked him in the head while he was trying to get a cuddle. I laughed. He wasn’t impressed.

I expect most blogging from now on will be done from bed with a laptop however, sitting up in my computer chair is getting progressively more uncomfortable. My blood pressure insists on regularly bottoming out, meaning that my feet need to be raised most of the time and it’s just miserable.

I’m holding onto the fact that at the end of this, I get a baby, all going well. I’ll be happier once I hit 27 weeks and happier again to hit 34. Til then, day by day.

And now I need a nap.

With the rise of “Home Beautiful Bloggers” I have noticed a trend towards the airbrushing and prettifying of lives. Marita noticed this too and set up her “Real Homes” challenge, and Zoey has noticed it as well, addressing it in a post titled “10 things I am not good at”.

And I’ll admit, there is a push towards making our lives cleaner and less messy. To make the hurts more sanitised and worthy of a “Better Homes and Gardens” article, a yes, we’ve had troubles, but look at how uplifting our ending is!

This is where it’s easy to be a bit less than truthful with the truthiness of things. To photoshop the dirty bits out and skim over the mess.

And so I present to you, a series of photos of my kitchen and dining room, entitled:

What is actually there, VS what I want you to see.

What is actually there: The Kitchen.

The kitchen, taken from the living room. Bench top and shelves care of my father, who makes things for me. Hanging hooks (new!) care of Nathan. Hole in the wall covered by cardboard and duct tape, care of the previous owners and their stupid range hood that died and we’ve not had the money or inclination to replace. Red extension cord that runs to the other side of the house and powers my computer because my living room has NO power points.

What I want you to see: The Kitchen.

Artfully hanging pots, overexposed and given a slightly grainy filter. The edits are meant to draw attention away from the fact that they are mismatched and old.

My gorgeous kitchenaid, that I was gifted by a friend after he won it in a competition. If I didn’t tell you that, I’d just let you assume that I can afford such luxuries.

What is actually there: The Shelves.

Lots of different types of tea, plus percolater coffee hiding in a silver cannister. Herbs, spices, sugar, salt. Isaac’s laxative, because I have to sneak it into his drinks, or he won’t drink it. This corner is perfect for sneaking things in. Dessert glasses gathering cobwebs underneath the shelves, as well as a snap lock bag of broad beans for planting.

What I want you to see: The Shelves.

Carefully blurred tea cannisters, sitting on a lovely wooden shelf. Slightly overexposed to hide dust and fingerprints.

What is actually there: Hanging Spices.

Various hanging spices, a pair of scissors that I thought I’d lost until I edited these photos and a hanging pudding. Also, a grimy windowframe in a horrible colour.

What I want you to see: Hanging Spices.

What is actually there: Fridge and Fruit Bowl.

Freshly decluttered area next to the sink. Grimy wall and window frame. Empty jar. Canteen list stuck to the fridge. Spray bottle filled with lemon juice and disinfectant for when Isaac gets poo on the carpet. Gorgeous fruit bowl that was a wedding present from Kathy.

What I want you to see. Fridge and Fruit Bowl.

Fresh fruit. That’s all I want you to see of that corner.

What is actually there: Dining room.

Books. Nathan’s computer. Things shoved into the bookshelf willy nilly. I get points for having a table cloth on the table, but that’s a rarity, and anyway, it’s crooked.

What I want you to see: Dining Room.

Ceramic vase and platter from Mum. Really, if I’m trying to pretty things up, this is all you need to see of my dining room.

In conclusion:

Anyone can have a beautiful house on the Internet – all it requires is some carefully angled photos and a good photo editing program. You can’t see the bits I don’t photograph and you can’t make judgements based on things you can’t see.

At the same time, anyone can have a perfect life on the Internet. It’s very easy to gloss over the shitty bits, it’s much harder to share reality. If you’re feeling inadequate about your organisational skills, your decorating, your life in general – remember, it’s very easy to present a version of reality online that is actually nothing like real life and you shouldn’t let someone else’s blog make you feel bad.

Personally, I prefer my real life to any version I could pretty up.

Disclaimer – I’d just spent an hour cleaning the kitchen and decluttering everything because it was giving me the shits. So it’s already tidier than normal.

It’s been raining for days.

Not that I’m complaining; not when the tanks are filling up and there are puddles covering the paddock, making the ducks happy. Not when the garden is thriving and the grass has gone a pretty green colour, as the raindrops sparkle in the light. Not when the sky is darkly dramatic and interesting to watch.

Still, it has been raining for days and being a country girl, it feels like it should be an auspicious start to May and the middle of Autumn, the season of hot soups and hot water bottle nights.

The trees have dropped their leaves and stand bare naked, inhabited by crows in the early morning light as we drive Amy to school. Birds nests stand out in stark relief against the sky as I wonder about stopping and photographing them, before the rain falls down ever harder and I huddle inside my jacket in the slightly steamy warmth of the car.

And it continues to rain.

I dream of my grandmother nearly every night and wake up with a headache and scratchy eyes, damp patches on my pillow. I watch her die, again and again, before dreaming that she is alive and all is well again.

I replay old scenarios in my head, the post death fallout that I was subjected to and wonder that it has the power to hurt me all over again.

Anne Lamott tweets:

If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.

And I hold onto that when I contemplate writing essays about things that hurt, in an attempt to lance the wounds that fester. Yes, I’m angry with you. I’m still angry with you – all of you.

In the middle of all of this, the fetus continues to grow, while I wait for the end of winter. Her birth will herald the coming of my spring and I cannot wait.

In the meantime, it continues to rain.