Vagina. An inside story. Seriously.

Oh dear. It's that time again... 

Last week I got one of my least favourite letters in the mail. It went something like this -

 

Dear Mrs Daze,

Our records indicate that you are due for your next humiliation.
Please contact our surgery to arrange an appointment time to have your legs spread and cervix scraped.

Kind regards,

 
Dr Misogynist 

Your Local Medical Centre

That's right. It's Pap Smear time. I can't think of any greater civilised humiliation. I debated this recently with my husband. He argued that the male equivalent is far worse. The rubber glove test and an anal probing doesn't sound fun, but I still think I'd swap it for a Pap Smear any day.

So as I finished reading the letter and digested it's contents, my face winced at the thought of what lay ahead. Images of cold, ugly stirrups came to mind. The apparently calming directions, "breath in through your nose, and out through your mouth," haunted my thoughts. Then there's the inevitable unfamiliar face positioned squarely at my nether regions as I lie back with my bum in the air.

Can I pass please?

Aside from the obvious invasion of privacy and associated humiliation, I find myself in a pickle. 

The dilemma: how much preparation do I give to my Lady Garden? I mean, it's a check-up, not a dinner date. Do I look too keen if I over-prepare?

To bikini line or not? 

A quick trim maybe?
To wax my legs beforehand?
To dousche? 

Femfresh?!

The options are endless!

What if I over-prepare and the doctor thinks I'm some slutty pornstar with a landing strip and spectacular vajazzling*?!

Even Jennifer Love Hewitt dabbles in a bit of Vajazzling

This is too hard!

After much anguish, I finally made an appointment and found myself waiting nervously in a hushed waiting room. Due to past experience, I intentionally chose a non-Misogynist to conduct the, erm, procedure. This was a wise choice. 

Once in the doctor's consultation room there appeared to be some kind of confusion over the size of speculum required for my... apparatus.

"There's different sizes?!?" I said out-loud.

"Erm, yes..." my doctor said a little distractedly, as she sifted through various boxes of speculum.  

God! Let me be size Normal. Please!

"Here's a Large..." she faded off.

NO! Don't let me be Large. I don't want a Large vagina! I begged silently before my next thought barged in...

Oh God! What if I'm Extra Large?!

"Uh huh!" Came the pleased exclamation from the supply cupboard, "Medium".

Phew!

Medium. Average. Normal. I could live with that.

As bad as a Pap Smear can be, they of course have a very valuable place. I'm not condemning the need for this test (although I do wish it was less humiliating). In actual fact, a Pap Smear saved me from Cervical Cancer three years ago. 

I was the proud new mother of a very cute and pink, eight-week-old Miss E when I got the phone call that my test results were abnormal.

Terrible news. 

My life and my daughter's future flashed before my eyes. I was terrified that I wouldn't be in her future. I was completely besotted by her and the idea of not being there to watch her first steps, to share her sweet cuddles, to wave her off on her first day off school... It broke my heart. Part of me wanted to bury my head in the sand and ignore it, but another part of me wanted to be rid of the nasty cells that were occupying my cervix, and threatening to turn cancerous at any moment.

Several doctor's appointments, many tears and a few days later, I found myself naked underneath a hospital gown and being wheeled into surgery. Then, many more snotty sobs later, I waved goodbye to my daughter for the first time in her short life. This was heart-wrenching for me. I felt like I was abandoning her.

But in what seemed like minutes later, it was done. I was in recovery. I was uncomfortable, fragile and bleeding, but the cells were gone. No longer a threat. My future with my small family now seemed limitless and completely invaluable. Those nasty, evil, insidious cells did take one further stab at me 18 months later when they robbed me of the chance to have a natural birth, but that's a story for another day.

Humiliation and joking aside, I'm forever grateful for the routine Pap Smear.

*This does not indicate that I'm a Vajazzler

Family Snapshot: Big Bro works his aviators

How good are holidays for chilling everyone out and forcing some relaxation onto one and all?! Over Christmas we took the kids to Jindabyne for a couple of weeks. We loved escaping our regular life pressures. I took off my Cranky Pants and wandered about in my Meh-kini. Here Big Bro and I posed for the camera. He did his best rock star impression, while I did my goofy mum face. I can almost hear my piggy laugh through the Polaroid.

Five years BC {Before Children}

I went to uni once. For four years actually, but It feels like an eternity ago now. 

Life has changed so much since those carefree days. They were cruisey years about coming of age. It was a time of study and part-time (low-paid) employment, music festivals, day dreaming and sunbaking.

Aside from a short-lived and regrettable (but necessary) relationship, my uni days were all about my loved-up adventures with my Mr D. I suppose maybe there was some frenzied pre-exam study thrown in there too for good measure. But mostly my uni years were less about conscientious student application, and more about flexing my wings and being free. It was during those same carefree years that my then-boyfriend, and now-husband and I enjoyed the blissful BC {Before Children} years of our relationship.

It wasn't a completely child-free time. We were part-time parents of Big Bro as he stayed with us once a fortnight. We gave him our hearts and undivided attention every other weekend, and for the proceeding ten days we lived a child-free existence, aside from a few goodnight phone calls. It was not our preferred contact agreement, but we made the most of it. Despite missing out on lots of precious time with Big Bro, it did mean we got the best of both worlds. We could be committed parents, but still retained our freedom and autonomy.

Of course at the time I didn't appreciate this freedom for what it was. I didn't realise what I had until it was gone. I'm sure I'm not alone with this one.

If I cast my mind back to that time, I can recall working an afternoon shift at one of my many part-time employers. On this occasion it was a local drug and alcohol rehabilitation centre. I clocked off at midnight, physically and emotionally exhausted from the late night and vicarious trauma of dealing with clients in crisis. I drove home in my 1984 Ford Telstar, pulled off my whiskered denims and massive hoop earrings, and crashed into bed by 12.30am.

When my alarm rudely awoke me the next morning at the ungodly hour of 8am (imagine!), I buried my head under my pillow and groaned loudly. You see, for me to arrive on time to my uni tutorial, I needed to have an early start (if you can call 8am and early start). I muttered under my breath something about my misery and frustration of only getting 7.5hrs of sleep for the night. Uninterrupted sleep mind you, and a golden 7.5 hours slab at that!! Yes, I know, apparently this was a bad thing. I wish I got that kind of rested slumber now!

Ahh, those were the days. The same period BC heard me whine and squint and toss and turn as the sun rays woke me up at 9am on a Sunday morning. Can you believe that!? What a tragedy! These days I would give up a day's worth of chocolate for someone to let me sleep past 7am on a Sunday. If you know my relationship to chocolate, you would understand that clearly I must be desperate.

Apart from great sleep, which clearly I didn't appreciate enough, the BC period of my life was about the freedom to have a social life, and a dating life with my beloved Mr D. He and I would dine out two or three times a week and always saw the latest new release movies. We had a night life that extended beyond our lounge room. We had 'Couple Time' without a whirlwind of chaos taking hold around our ankles. We talked about things other than children (apart from when I was hassling him about when we'd start having them). Our evenings started something like this:

Mr D: I'm hungry.

Me: Mmmm, I couldn't be bothered cooking.

Mr D: Do you want to get Thai?

Me: What about Mexican?

Mr D: We could go to the Pub?

Me: Or we could get Mexican...

Mr D: *Sighing* How about Mexican?

Me: *Grinning* Sounds perfect!

We'd then get dressed to go out. This meant that we would inevitably have a spat about Mr D having to wear uncomfortable shoes. I would insist that he wear them anyway because I refused to walk next to him in his very daggy, $2.99 pair of ten-year-old thongs from K-Mart. A few eye-rolls and shakes of the head later, and Mr D would finish tying up his uncomfortable shoes. We'd then wander down the street to our favourite Mexican Cantina. You might know a similar place. It's where you don't need a menu, and they don't even ask for your order. They just bring it out, because they know what you like.

So, after two glasses of fruity, delectable Sangria and lots of uninterrupted dinnertime conversation, we had munched our way through our tasty Chilli Con Queso, Chimichanga and Spinach Burrito dishes. We were then ready for stage two of our date; the movie. And the next obstacle was when we stood in the foyer of the cinema, staring up at the movie listings:

Me: Knocked up?

Mr D: Pirates of the Caribbean?

Me: Knocked up?

Mr D: Ocean's 13?

Me: I'll let you have a Choc Top cone...

Mr D: How about Knocked Up, then?

Me: *Grinning to myself* I'll meet you at the Candy Bar

With the difficult decisions out of the way, we'd make our way up to find our seats, carrying a large popcorn, large coke, and two Choc Top cones between us. At the end of the movie we would walk home hand-in-hand, with no curfew, chatting about random, sweet nothings, and sometimes dreaming about what was yet to come. Plus, to top it all off, we had the glorious certainty of a rested night's sleep ahead of us. 

Those were the days.The BC period of our life.

And here we are now. Two degrees, one marriage, two babies, and one business venture later, and we're well overdue for a date night. I think we may have done this once in the last three years, and I was pregnant with J-Man so couldn't even enjoy a glass of wine with our meal.

So this weekend Mr D and I are going on a date. Just the two of us, with zero children in toe. 

Thank you grandparents! 

 

We're going to see a movie - I don't care which one. We'll eat Choc Top cones, hold hands, talk about anything other than our children and our business, and reminisce about the joys of the days BC. I just can't wait to have my husband all to myself. I won't even make him wear uncomfortable shoes... if he's lucky.

A super big shout out tonight to my Mr D - ilytddaf xxxx

Family Snapshot: J-Man on the slide

We like to play outside in our Pj's some mornings. Especially when the kitchen is looking particularly messy, and the kids' toys have taken over the house. Here J-Man proudly sits at the top of the slippery slide. It's only been in the last couple of weeks that he's become confident enough to climb up the ladder to the top all by himself. My, how fast they grow.

Mmmmmm. Cookies!

C O O O O K I E S!!!

When I first discovered the joys of baking sweet treats at the tender age of 12, my cousin shared with me our grandmother's biscuit recipe. I've been enjoying the recipe ever since, experimenting with different biscuit varieties:

Vanilla Choc
White Choc with sprinkles, 
Peanut Choc,
Dark Choc, 
Double Choc 
Triple Choc
Triple Choc Choc...

I think you get the picture. 

I think my favourite would have to be the combination of choc chips and hundreds and thousands, with a dash of vanilla essence. But they are all yummy and easy to bake. I've never been able to decide whether I prefer the cookie dough or the finished product. I'll have to keep testing them to decide!


So, this week, since I'm normally a cupcake baking fanatic, I decided it was high time Miss E and I enjoyed a new cooking experience. We baked some biscuits together. 

We made Miss E a new apron especially for the occasion. Doesn't she have a stunning, erm, pose?!

The mixture does get quite firm and doughy so it's tricky for little ones to do the mixing when you get to the business end of things. But they can still enjoy measuring, sifting, adding (and eating) the tasty bits and pieces, and of course getting their hands dirty with rolling the biscuits.

There's only four main ingredients, which we always have in the house. You can then pick and choose what you'd like to add to make it scrumptious.

Nan's Biscuit Recipe*

2 Cups Self Raising Flour

3/4 Cup sugar (caster sugar makes crunchy biscuits and brown sugar is good for softer ones)

1 egg

125g butter

*Ingredients can also include cocoa, choc chips, nuts, hundred and thousands, vanilla essence, or anything else you fancy.

1. Set oven to moderate - 180°C. Grease and line tray.
2. Combine sifted flour and sugar in a large bowl.
3. Break egg into dry mix. Mix well.
4. Melt butter. Add to mixture.
5. Stir until slightly moist and combined.
6. Add chosen extras. Mix well.
7. Roll approx 1 tablespoon of mixture into balls.
8. Place balls 2-3cm apart on a lined tray. Press down lightly with a fork or fingers.
9. Bake in oven for 15 minutes.
10. Leave to cool on wire rack.

Freshly baked biscuits, straight out of the oven. Yum, smells SO g o o o o d!!

We baked this batch with rainbow choc chips, dark choc chips, white choc chips and vanilla essence.

Family Snapshot: Lots of splashing

It feels like it's been raining forever, but I think it's been about four days. During a short break in the rain today, Miss E took the opportunity to don her gumboots and crack open her brollie for a good, old-fashioned stomp in the puddles. Life's tough when you're two!

Family Snapshot: Manly Ferry

This was always a treat for me as a child; a train trip to Sydney, and then a ferry across the harbour to Manly for lunch. I introduced Miss E and J-Man to the same journey a few weekends ago. J-Man loved pointing out the sail boats coasting around the harbour.

Family Snapshot: Miss E and her fairy dress

I've always been overtly 'snap-happy' when taking photos of my kids. I wanted to capture every joy and every milestone as if by doing this I could hold on to that moment in time for me to re-visit and reminisce as my precious kids grew older.

For a time I was on the verge of obsession with digitally capturing their lives through my camera lens. If I hadn't taken a 'keeper' by the end of the day I would feel edgy and would find myself chewing my nails as I sat with the discomfort. At the end of each month I'd collate all of the wonderful moments and create a corresponding Facebook photo album for all my friends to view. I took the role of proud parent to an extreme. But I got so lost in my fixation with capturing gorgeous memories, that I almost forgot to enjoy the moments along the way, because I was too busy grabbing my camera, or getting the right shot.

So I've taken a step back now, and sometimes go a whole week *gasp* without photographing my little angels. I feel much more relaxed, and less controlled by time ticking away. I've realised I'm still able to capture small windows of their childhood, without having to have my finger on the shutter button every other second of the day.

Back when I was a child, there was an odd commodity you might recall called 'film'. It was expensive to buy and process. As a result my parents would carefully choose the moments when they got snap-happy. I love looking through the family albums that my mother collated of my formative years. And I don't look through them wishing for a photo of my 126th day of my 8th year. I enjoy being able to re-live those years and feel the emotion as I journey through the memories the photographs relate to.

So now I'll be giving just a 'snapshot' of my family life. I'll proudly post photos of my family; I just won't be going over the top this time!

Miss E combined two great joys; her fairy dress and a ride on her swing. And for a pleasant change there was no week-old washing hanging on my clothes line polluting the backdrop.

Simple Pleasures

I had an amazing weekend, but I'm completely smashed as a result. It's unusual for me to attribute my fatigued state to self-indulgent activities. But in this case I'm entirely to blame - and I loved every second. I had a busy weekend, you see, with little sleep. The pleasant change was that it did not involve a string of children's birthday parties, backed up by a 6am dose of vegemite toast and Dora the Explorer. That's right, there was not a pony ride or jumping castle in sight.

So what did I do then, you ask?

I went away for the weekend. I left Mr D at home with our little babes and jetted off to my home away from home; North Eastern Victoria. The purpose of my trip was to catch up with my awesome sister-in-law, Doctor Bubbles, and to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of my dear friend La Pissa with a good old Hens Night. There was also the added bonus of being able to recharge my batteries and shed all parental responsibilities for two blissful days. 

The first moment I realised I was in for a treat was before I'd even left the airport terminal to board my plane in Sydney. I was feeling a little peckish having skipped brekkie to make the flight, and realised I could sneak in a packet of chips before our flight was called. Yeah, big deal you say? Well, yes! It was a big deal! Because:

1. I could buy a packet of chips for breakfast and not feel guilty about the poor influence my role modeling  would have on my children's eating habits.
2. I did not have to share one tiny crumb of that delicious packet of oily, processed potato goodness.
3. I enjoyed every last salt-covered morsel in uninterrupted peace!

That's right folks, not one chubby little hand reached up to demand their share of unhealthy breakfast. Because I was flying solo. Yes, there also happened to be an airport lounge filled with other jet-setters, but every single one of them was content to keep to themselves. All I had to worry about was myself. I carried no sippy cup, no 'just-in-case' undies, no baby wipes, not even a selection of toys to distract the curious toddler, eager to disturb explore.

The fun continued when I landed in Albury and Doctor Bubbles and I munched our way through a delicious cooked breakfast. We were interrupted only by our own musings and to watch some very chubby sparrows enjoy their own breakfast of grasshoppers, which were in plague proportions. This was truly such a treat. There was no bulky high chair with an accompanying 30cm radius vacant of condiments and crockery, and there was no hurried gobbling to clear our plates before an ensuing tantrum explosion. Poached eggs, sauteed mushrooms, grilled tomatoes... you get the picture. The pleasure of an uninterrupted mealtime never gets old.

The next step in my journey was on one of my favourite car trips of all. We ambled through the picturesque countryside of 'Ned Kelly' country. We absorbed the green, rolling hills, and greying, weathered tree trunks. We took in the lush paddocks with their grazing sheep and lazy cows. It was scenery straight out of a Banjo Patterson poem. Oh and you guessed it, it was free of all child-related nuisances. As we meandered along the country roads I relished in being able to talk freely, with the absence of my eavesdropping Miss E, and without the need for introducing a new and more exciting toy every 10 minutes to young J-Man. Because, uh huh, I was enjoying some highly valued, Me time.

When we arrived at my destination I was greeted not like an old treasured friend, but more like an honorary sister who'd been backpacking through Europe. It was a humbling feeling to be back in the presence of such a welcoming and energetic family. The fun of the Hens Night activities soon commenced and I savoured being able to harness my inner wild child, and not be haunted by any kind of mother's guilt. You know you're with a group of clucking, tipsy hens when you find yourself sucking back on an icy daiquiri through a penis straw, watching a relay of uncoordinated girls run as fast as they can with an inflated condom balloon between their legs. It was miles away from an egg and spoon race, that's for sure! For the rest of it I'll stick to the standard line of 'what happens on tour; stays on tour'.

Bottoms-up!

As our festivities began to conclude in the early hours of the following morning, I found myself gazing out the window of our mini-bus, acutely aware of how different this Saturday night was to my norm. For a brief window I took off my stiff Mummy Hat, and had donned a Fascinator instead. I had skipped the hectic goodnight hour that is dinnertime, bath time and bed time. I felt pretty and sprightly in my girly dress and bright lippy, instead of daggy and jaded watching Mythbuster repeats in my trackies. And ahead of me was a night (or what remained of it) of unbroken sleep, and a day of complete self-indulgence. I felt very contented. But as it happened, I woke much earlier than expected to what I can only assume from the tone of their moos, was some very constipated and strident cows. But hey, anything's better than rousing to a clingy, crying baby!

It wasn't much later that my weekend drew to a close, and I found myself back amongst the pollution and commotion of Sydney. As I wheeled my compact suitcase along the pavement to meet my waiting family, I felt a bounce in my step. That Fascinator had done me the world of good. But as I landed my tush on our icecream-stained passenger seat and greeted my gorgeous little people, it was like a sledge hammer to the forehead when reality hit my Mummy Hat squarely back on my head. I went straight back to handing out biscuits and apple pieces to stall their dinner time while we crawled through traffic, and back to the endless questions and observations from my chatterbox girl. But (you know it's coming) I was so glad to be home, and back in my comfort zone. I'll hang up the Fascinator for now. It'll come in handy for next time.

The love for a child

It has recently come to my attention that my Mummy Blogging has done more than just held a yellow caution sign in front of would-be parents as to the road that lies ahead. Instead, I have steered some friends and followers away entirely from embarking upon the journey of parenthood, with a large 'road closed' sign and an accompanying detour arrow.

Caution: children and family life this way!

Road closed: detour via any route to avoid loss of financial and personal freedom!

 

I'm told that I've painted a picture that portrays family life - particularly life with small children - as hard work, with little return, and next to no time for myself, let alone time for my relationship with my husband. This is all true. My intention was always to create an honest blog. However, my intention was not to deter couples from starting a family altogether. My aim was to be realistic when sharing my experience of motherhood, so that other parents wouldn't feel alone or isolated in their experience. 

Parenting is hard. This is well documented (except for in fluffy nappy commercials). But it is also one of life's greatest experiences. I know I am a mere 26 years of age, and I have many more years of my life yet to live (I damn well hope so anyway), but I'm fairly confident in saying that there is no greater joy than that of bringing a child into the world, and watching them grow, and feeling such immense love and pride for them.

When I shared the news with my late uncle that I was pregnant with my first child, he said two things that will forever stick in my mind. The first thing he said was the perfect thing every uncertain, expectant mother wants to hear. He said this: 

"You'll make an amazing mother, Fiona." 

I held onto this comment throughout my pregnancy and into motherhood, and it continues to reassure me even today, when I doubt my ability to love and care for two completely dependent human beings. 

The second thing my dear uncle said to me, was spoken from his heart, as he said something only a protective parent could know. He said to me:

"Fiona; you will slit your husband's throat in a second if it was to save your child. You think you know love now. Wait until you meet your child." 

I must admit I found this comment a little confronting at the time. How could such a strong statement of love be juxtaposed by something as harsh as a violent act? But those words, contained within my last conversation with my uncle, have rung true. His statement was fierce, just as the love a parent has for their child is fierce.

The fierce love I have for my children is a love that is simple and pure. It is endless, unconditional love. Complete adoration. My husband and I are the custodians of their future, and our great love for them gives us the strength and the motivation to care, protect and provide for them day-in, day-out, throughout these tedious, dependent days of their childhood.

The pride we feel for our children you must see in our Facebook status updates, in our photos, and in our candid stories. When we share their first words, the cute things that say, and cheer on their first steps (their first everything) we're reveling in parental glory. We fondly brag about explosive poo stories, and shake our heads dotingly at dinnertime disasters. There's the moments like when Miss E grabbed me by my cheeks, looked me in the eyes and said for the very first time: 

"I lub you, Mama." 

Heart-warming. 

Then there's what Mr D refers to as the 'Daddy's home' moment. This is when his car pulls into the driveway and his kids come racing to the back door. Shrilling and beaming from ear to ear, and stumbling over their feet to be the first to climb up into his car. They're eager for a kiss and a cuddle from their favourite man, as they yell:

"Daddy's home! Daddy's HOME!!!"

Priceless. 

People talk about their weddings as being the best day of their lives. I'm sorry, but this pales in comparison to the day your child is born. I have very fond memories of our wedding day, and celebrate the date annually. I too, recall the evening when Mr D proposed to me with sepia-coloured nostalgia, as I giddily said 'yes' and anticipated the loved-up year of engagement to come. But it was the tender moment we shared when I reached forward and grabbed our baby girl from my loins, pulled her to my chest, and held her in my arms for the first time that I most cherish. This was by far the most incredible moment of my life. I am almost speechless to describe the amount of sheer love that was bursting from our chests and radiating around us as we instinctively huddled together in that birthing suite. We made a perfect, tiny person, and delivered her into the world that day. This will forever bond us.

Sentiment aside, I'm so glad I chose to become a parent. And of course, we all have choices, but if you were to choose not to journey down the parenting path out of resolution, fear, or uncertainty, I believe you would be depriving yourself of a great gift. But don't just take it from me. Speak to any grandparent or great-grandparent from their wise perspective, and ask if they have any regrets. I'll bet their family are among their life's greatest achievements.

The cure is CHOCOLATE

I've been out of action for the last 24 hours with an undiagnosed illness. But in my own unprofessional opinion, I was suffering from one of the following:

a. Mastitis as a result of weening young J-Man (which you can read more about here).

b. Food poisoning from my brother's birthday dinner on Sunday night.

c. An unknown virus.

d. A serious case of chocolate deficiency - less likely, but plausible.

I'm not sure which it was, but all I know is I suffered from those nasty symptoms that only one's toilet bowl can divulge. Fortunately, we keep the lid down on ours, so you won't be hearing the details anytime soon.

I sent out an emergency SOS to my darling Mr D yesterday afternoon. I realised I had a problem when I had to hold onto the grass when I was gazing upon the clouds with my rug rats. I was fairly sure the sky was not meant to resemble a plug hole as the clouds spun around it, as if emptying down the drain. I was in no way fit to be the responsible parent in that condition. So I was pleased when Mr D came to my aid and saved our children from certain neglect and ultimate misadventure. Between 4pm yesterday and 9am today my pillow and doona were my refuge as I flit between comatose and fitful sleep, as my immune system raged war on whatever nasties were attempting to invade. What took place beyond my bedroom door I have no idea. But I did discover that Mr D had bunked on the lounge for the night, which is his idea of heaven - so it wasn't all bad.

This morning, once I was able to peel myself off my stuffy mattress, a mess from my fitful sleep, I ventured out to see what lie beyond my bedroom door. Cyclonic winds must have taken hold inside our playroom-come-family room and swept across our kitchen floor, spitting up debris throughout Miss E and J-Man's bedroom. I felt my head tighten. This was not a dehydration-induced headache. It was due to the extreme lack of visual cohesion in my mummy realm. You see, I like order. I need order. A messy house is tolerated when I have a tidy head, but when I have a messy head (said 'condition' is commonly caused by stress, fatigue, or illness), then I need a tidy house. Not necessarily clean, but it must be tidy. All Matchbox cars, Little People, Mr Potato Head facial features, and farm animals must be in their rightful place. A pile of cushions strategically placed as a trapeze safety net must be returned to the lounge. Colourful, wooden blocks that have playfully collapsed from a great tower of heights should be gathered up and packaged back into their rightful home. And soft toys, dolls clothes, and balls of all shapes and sizes need all to disappear into their appropriate toy boxes.

It's not that Mr D did a bad job. Everyone was fed, and cleaned, and put to bed the night before. The kitchen was sprayed, wiped, packed, and stacked to keep our cockroach family at bay. Everything was under control this morning with the breakfast routine underway. There was just that tiny issue of the mess. And the toys. And them being everywhere.

So what was the first thing I did this morning when I was able to balance on my two feet, without holding onto the wall for support? That's right friends. I went into a frenzied tidying spree, using the little remaining energy reserves I had left.  

* Picture a time-lapse video sequence depicting my crazed toy-tidying in fast-forward *  

Ahhh, that's better, I could see the floor again! I'll fix the fluff balls rolling across my floor boards like spinifex in an old western movie another day. In the meantime, my house is tidy - not clean - just tidy.

Now, after such an output of energy my next stop was the fridge.  

Oh. 

I then rushed to the pantry.  

No!! 

My elixir was no where to be found. 

WE ARE OUT OF CHOCOLATE. 

Not a Tim Tam, not a choc bud, not even chocolate powder was to be found.

I quickly chugged a three-sugared Earl Grey.

KIDS! Pile in the car, we're off to get supplies!

That's right, I needed to make my energy-fixing chocolate deluxe recipe, modified, but courtesy of The Women's Weekly Cupcake Cookbook.

Mars Bar Slice*

75g butter

3 large Mars** bars (or 6 fun-sized) chopped

1 tablespoon golden syrup

3 cups Rice Bubbles** (I prefer Coco Pops)

500g cooking chocolate

* We double the mixture since we're such chocolate whores at our place

** Generic brands work just as well

1. Melt butter, Mars bars and golden syrup in microwave in large bowl.
2. Stir in Rice Bubbles. Mix Well.
3. Press into greased and lined baking tray.
4. Melt chocolate in medium bowl in microwave and pour over slice.
5. Set in fridge for 30 minutes

Having done our first two steps, Miss E takes the opportunity to do a taste test. We have a sweet tooth here so we added a few extra Mars bars and used Coco Pops instead of Rice Bubbles.

It can be a hassle to carve up the finished slice into neat little squares. So to save myself the trouble I make them in cupcake trays. This does make it way too easy to gorge yourself though!

Mmmm, chocolate! If you melt your chocolate in the microwave, be sure to remove ALL foil from the bowl, otherwise you will see large licking flames and loud sparks. Yes, but you already new that. Hmm, me too. But I had a fail this time! Fortunately it didn't break the microwave.

The finished product. For something a little different, I drizzled white chocolate over the top. This is not essential by any means, but does make it fun for the kids.

 A word of warning though; if you want perfection, don't let your two-year-old 'help' you do the finishing touches. Because as we know; sometimes our little ones can help a little too much.

 

This recipe is deliciously rich and fills that chocolate craving. Tweak it to your own perfection.

Also a huge THANK YOU to my sweet-toothed Husband. These are for you, except for one extra special one for U.G. - Happy Birthday Bro :)

Best intentions and bum wrinkles

On Thursday night I broadcast my great mood and intention to do some serious reading of my new book, Mia Culpa. So how much did I actually read? Mmmm, after two great LOL* moments and needing toothpicks to hold my eyelids open, I called it a night at eleven o'clock - after reading a mere three pages. 

You see, my plan was that my little ducklings would bunk down between the very acceptable hours of seven and eight o'clock. But this was not the case. Miss E didn't crash out until 10.30pm! She had an unheard of ninety minute sleep at her school that day. Consequently, I'm now officially putting a stop to day sleeps! So since my little cherub (pronounced through gritted teeth) was up so late, I was limited in my capacity to do anything while she was bouncing around like an Energizer bunny on Berocca. So despite my best intentions, sadly, reading was not on the agenda last night.

Meanwhile, after a great response to my recent post, Do your boobs hang low? I thought I'd do a quick follow up on body image. Blogging friend Veronica, who writes on Sleepness Nights got me Googling about those badges of honour that women - and more so, mothers - wear on their skin. That's right. I'm talking about stretchmarks. I've got to say that I got off lightly with this one - not that I'm complaining. I have plenty of other whinge-worthy complaints about my skin;  freckly skin, excess skin, combination skin, breakout-prone skin, and UV-sensitive skin. So I'm pleased to not have stretchmarks among them. But this is not the case for many women, and stretchmarks (along with other body changes not depicted in Hollywood and the media) can be a very sensitive issue. Debilitating and humiliating for some women, hiding their secret that is unknowingly shared by so many others too. 

And that's why this website is such an amazing one. My earnest Google searching yielded a magnificent forum for all women, particularly those sensitive about their body shape. The Shape of a Woman allows women to share images of their bodies. You can view real, naked women, without airbrushing, without plastic surgery. You can search through such categories as 'breast', 'belly', 'hips', 'legs', and 'vulva'. You'll see images of everyday women, and read their stories about their body changes, and their insecurities. I found it a relief to see that I'm not alone in feeling disappointed and embarrassed about my post-baby body shape. It's great to identify with other women out there, instead of trying to compare and compete with the unrealistic, airbrushed and sculptured bodies presented by the media. I urge you to check it out:

The Shape of a Woman

But before you do, if "Saggy socks with tennis balls at the end of them," sounds like the kind of boobs you can identify with, you have to read what Romina writes on Martyr-hood. I loved her very funny post about this issue of body image and how it bugs women alike. Check her out and follow her blog here.

* This means Laugh Out Loud for the benefit of my grandparents who are new to the interweb. Love you guys!

{MONSTER} cupcakes

After a very ordinary day yesterday achieving diddly squat (not even a blog post), I am pleased to have had a successful day today. The kids were at 'school' (daycare) and I was in the office. I was able to zoom through some of my very long to-do list, and enjoyed such simple pleasures as office banter, a peaceful lunch break, and phone calls devoid of tearful punctuations. All a very different day to the relative chaos and monotony of yesterday, when the great achievements were eyes remaining in their sockets, no public tantrums and all tummies getting filled. 

So feeling fresh from a kid-free day today (well, at least 6 hours anyway), I'm left with an energised buzz as opposed to the lacklustre lethargy I get on stay-at-home days like yesterday, particular the overcast ones. Although, that's not to say that today was all good. I did get a particularly nasty paper-cut under my finger nail that I'd like to whinge about, and there was a colossal cous cous fight at dinnertime that needed to be swept up off every surrounding surface area. But the child-free hours cancelled out any negativity!

Since I've had such a blockbuster day, tonight I've made time to blog - but not for too long. One of my all time fave bloggers, Mia Freedom has her new book out, Mia Culpa, and it arrived in the mail today. So as soon as the kids are down for the count, and this is posted, I'm settling in for a cuppa on the lounge with my new book. Yay!

So here goes -

 {MONSTER} cupcakes

As you may recall, my Miss E asked me to make a Monster Cake for my 26th birthday last week. Now I've got to admit, I'm pretty hopeless when it comes to cakes. They always turn out dry and crumbly. I'm more off a cupcake or muffin girl. So having made an extra big batch of mini cupcakes last week to share with a new Mumma (to help her through those tedious nightfeeds and cure the midnight munchies) we had frozen some leftovers for later. They came in handy for our {MONSTER} cupcakes. Take a look:

Our pre-cooked mini cupcakes thawing out on the kitchen bench, after their time in the freezer.

Yummy traffic-light cream cheese frosting. Miss E decided the yellow one was hers, and marked her territory with her Woody (she pronounces it 'Hoody') spoon.

Lets get frosting. Our cute cupcakes get brightened up.

And here they are. A few carefully placed lollies, and we have {MONSTER} cupcakes!

This is Trevor*; the scary monster. He has three mini marshmallow eyes, with black licorice pupils. He has red licorice lips, green choc chip fangs and a red smartie for a horn.

Meet Greg*. He's a one-eyed, green monster. He has one marshmallow eye, with a green smartie for a pupil. He has red licorice lips and black licorice arms.

This was a really fun activity, and much less messy than the initial baking, which you can find the recipes for here. There is however, an ultimate sugar high, with it's inevitable come down. Have fun with that!

For the record, Miss E ate Fat*; the red, one-eyed monster. But she mostly ate the Monster and not the Cupcake. 

*These monsters may have been named after cherished family members. Names have not been changed to protect the innocent.

Do your boobs hang low?

Do your boobs hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? 
Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow? 
Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier? 
Do your boobs 
               hang 
               low?

We've had many a discussion in our Mother's Group about the shape (or lack there of) of our post-baby boobies. Superlatives like 'perky', 'pert', and 'petite' have long since gone from our vocabularies. Although I'm sure we could criticise any nook or curve on our bodies, a particular focus does tend to be placed on one's breasts. Perhaps it's because this is what makes us feel most quintessentially 'womanly'. Maybe it's because we're told that our breasts make us attractive or sexy. This is communicated through the pervasive messages delivered by various medias, but particularly in advertising (you can read more about here). 

It's hard to escape sexualised images of women these days. Sometimes 'harmless' advertising is verging on pornographic. This bombardment of images of 'sexy' and 'perfect' breasts begs the question; what is 'normal'?. If we're all left feeling inadequate, then what is an OK breast size, shape, position, colour?

My mummy friends and I have talked about breast augmentations, breast minimisations, nipple lifts, and surgical implants. But I'm sure this is not limited to mothers groups. These days, being subjected to so many sexualised images of female bodies and breasts, it's not surprising that over the past decade, the popularity of cosmetic breast augmentation has surged. Such a large proportion of women are self-conscious or dissatisfied about their body image and their breasts. 

Myself, I have experienced the changes that pregnancy and breastfeeding brings to the female body. I've endured (and enjoyed) 19 months of pregnancy, and 28 months of breast feeding. Trust me. Those three years and nine months of my life have taken a toll on my body. Oh my! Of course I have gained so much in that same time (and I'm not talking about fat cells) and I wouldn't change it for the world. But I have been tempted. I've looked at the websites. If I was offered a pain-free, risk-free, cost-free option in the vulnerable moment I first step out of the shower to see my naked reflection, I'd get a lift and a tuck in a second! Maybe.

But in all seriousness, recently I talked through some insecurities with my ever-patient husband. He did some boobie Googling (of the good kind) and stumbled across a great website which I hope reassures many women out there that they are normal and beautiful, even if their breasts don't stack up to what they once were, or what is presented in the media. Most of us don't live in a nudist colony. We don't get to see naked breasts everyday to compare and reassure ourselves of what 'normal' is. Take a look at this website. It made me decide to invest in some pretty bras and stop being so hard on myself. We're all beautiful, whatever the form we come in.

Please respectively visit this site, and be warned that the link does contain photographs of naked, non-sexualised breasts:

The Normal Breast Gallery.