News!

Gawsh, sorry guys. I was totally AWOL for a few days. Robin and I were down in Durban for the next doctor's appointments with the birthmom and we landed up staying longer than we expected... Remind me never to go to Durban for a day, expecting to return that afternoon and then having to sleep over and not even have a spare change of rods with for the next day. Mmm... Not too pleasantsmelling. We went and bought some underwear, and a toothbrush each... luckily we had forgotten some clothes at my inlaws' home the previous time we slept over, so we each had a fresh shirt to wear. Needless to say, I have learned my lesson. And so have my nostrils.

Anyhoo...

But we have BRILLIANT news. Bril. Liant. I am soooo excited. OK, so the baby is breach. Which means that I won't be the cheerleading team in the delivery room anymore, because the birthmom will now be having a caesarian section next Friday the 30th of May! Never have I been SO happy to get bad news before. I'm blaming my nerves for this one. I was so relieved that I wouldn't have to be shouting "push! push! hee hee! hoo hoo! push! breathe!" that I almost broke out into a moonwalk accross the doctor's rooms when she said that there's no chance for normal delivery.

Which just goes to show that I still haven't quite outgrown my penchant for 80s music.

Also, big bonus: now we also have a definite date for Jesse-Lee's birth too! Which means that Robin and I won't have to accumulate a few speeding tickets as we drive down from Dundee to Durban when Lindsay goes into labour. (If Jesse-Lee had arrived prem, of course). AND, Lindsay doesn't want to have an epidural, so, at this stage it looks like she will go under general anaesthetic, so she will sleep through the "birth" and not even hear Jesse-Lee's first cries! Of course, that's not entirely certain yet, but at this stage, it sounds like that is the plan.

Seriously, if all my wishes keep coming true like this, I might be winning the lotto soon at this rate.

On with the good news. OK, so now Jesse-Lee is arriving next Friday. I will obviously be in the surgery with the birthmom (Lindsay). I will then accompany little Jesse-Lee from the moment she's born onwards. Which means that I will be sleeping in the hospital's nursery like all the other moms until we get the "get out of jail free card" and can come home. Lindsay will be in the post-operative recovery ward, not in the moms ward. Our official adoption date is Monday the 2nd of June at 14h00 South Africa time. By then, little Jesse-Lee will have her birth certificate, and all relevant parties will be required to appear in court for the redtape and paperwork to be completed. THEN, I get to come home with my baby! Yay!!!!! MY baby! I am so excited. Of course they get 60 days after the courtdate to reconsider, but they really aren't in any position to reconsider. They live in shocking circumstances of poverty, and right now there is no way they can possible rethink their decision to place the little girl for adoption. Which makes me feel very relieved, obviously, but sort of like a bit of a scavenger for being so happy that they can't keep her! That's the nature of adoption though, so I mustn't dwell on it.

Other good news: our police clearance has been sent to us and we will be in possession of the certificates tomorrow morning already! How good is God? I just stand back in amazement when I see the doors swinging so wide open for us all the time. Every time we have taken something relevant to the adoption to Him in prayer, He has opened the doors for us. I have NO doubts whatsoever that this little baby was intended for our family. Every day we are seeing answers to our prayers and I just praise Him every step of the way. Wow.

What else do I have to share with you? My friend Charlene (sorry, my linky isn't working, but her blogaddress is: http://heathelsa.blogspot.com/ ) mailed me with a whole list of questions... So I better check that I haven't skipped anything!

About the little boy... Right now nothing is forthcoming. At the moment his mom (Michelle) knows that she needs to give him up for adoption, but just can't. Shame, it's heartbreaking! The poor woman. I can't imagine spending two months bonding with your baby after he's born, and nine months before that, and then having to make such a heartwrenching decision. So we are stepping back and allowing her to make her decision in her own time. And if she ever gets to the point where she's ready to be dealing with social workers, etc. then we'll get involved again. We haven't met her or the little boy, which is much better. We'll only meet her if she starts seriously pursuing adoption for him. For now, Robin and I don't really think that anything's going to come of it. But at this stage we aren't too heartbroken over it. We are trusting in God on this one too, and as soon as we know something more, of course, as usual, you'll be the first to know.

Because, as you all know, I am totally incapable to keeping anything from you. Not even my dirty clothes that I had to wear for two days in a row because we didn't pack an overnight bag.

I also got my galactogogues yesterday while we were in Durban and started popping dem pills immediately so that hopefully my boozies will produce some boob-juice by the time Jesse-Lee arrives! And - woot woot! - they are actually prescription tranquilizers that have lactation as a side-effect! So, guess who is sooooper doooooper relaxed today? No prizes for guessing correctly, guys. Hint: has super-hot boozies and wears stinky dirty clothes for two days in a row. Me thinks these galactogogues are going to be ranking right up there with cappuccinos and David Cook soon. Speaking of which, if my booty doesn't stop shaking from all the happiness soon, I might need to pop a few more galactogogues / tranquilizers to slow down and stop doing the happy-that-I'm-going-to-be-a-mommy-soon-and-happy-that-David-Cook-won-and-happy-that-I-am-wearing-clean-clothes-and-that-I-smell-good dance. Because at this rate, I'm going to shake something loose soon. And it probably won't be footloose either. Although it does fit into the fave-80s-tunes category.

Ok, I really need to go now because I'm starting to talk rubbish. I'm blaming the tranquilizers. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

Galactogazookas and other instruments of torture

Galactogogues, guys. It's all about the galactogogues right now. Galactogogues and boob suckers breast pumps. As if my poor little, wait, make that ginormous gazookas haven't been punished enough!

I have done some research. And my mom-in-law has also. (If you ever want to know anything about natural medicine, she's the lady to ask! She knows people who know people who know things. Clever things. Like home remedies for infections. Which may or may not include nutmeg. And if you know my mom-in-law, then you'll probably have had some of those famous concoctions. With nutmeg. Feel free to send requests for home remedies - unless you’re allergic to nutmeg, that is. Me and my mom-in-law - we're tight!) Together we (mom-in-law and I) have found something called Eglolyn. And that's supposed to help me to be able to breastfeed. I must admit I was a bit scared off of the idea of popping them after I did some googling and found a few articles which said that eglolyn is the best medicine for schizophrenics. And people who suffer from depression. Well, righty ho then. Suits me just fine!

That, and an enormous instrument of torture. The box says it's an Avent Breast Pump. Me thinks they need to rethink that name. I never knew my nipples could stretch so far! That thing could suck the lava out of a volcano on the other side of the planet! My poor pointies are still recovering, and I haven’t used it in like three days. Woe betide me when I'm popping them pills AND pumping those suckers.

6 weeks!

Six weeks, guys. S-I-X W-E-E-K-S !!! That's all we have to prepare for baby Jesse-Lee's arrival. I am totally spinning out of control right now. Yikes! There is so much to get done, that I just wanna sit down in a heap and just bawl my eyes out. Sta-ress. I am totally scared witless! Most people have nine months to sort out all their stuff. That's six or seven times as long as what we have. But, I would so much rather only have six weeks to prepare than never be able to walk in the malls and choose things for my little baby girl...

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That being said - SIX FREAKING WEEKS! Oh my word!

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So far we have bought:

1. 1 x crib
2. 2 x oil heaters (one for the bathroom, one for the nursery)
3. a bunch of 0-6 months clothing
4. a fluffy wuffy little hat and matching booties
5. a pair of little boots (seeing as we live in the bush and all...)
6. a mesh bath baby-holder-thingy-ma-jiggy
7. a nifty soft toy that looks like a sheep with big floppy ears

And we've been given:

1. 1 x Car seat
2. 1 x Pram
3. 1 x Camp Cot (does that have one "t" or two?)
4. Poop catchers Nappies (I think you non-South Africans call that Diapers)
5. A beautiful blanket
6. Some slightly used baby clothes

And in the meantime we're also trying to find out about the meds I could take to induce milk for breastfeeding and what that would all entail... and whether or not my newly refurbished boozies would be able to handle that... Mmmm... The type of boozies I chose were ones that would allow me to be able to breastfeed if ever the chance arose. So, must just check with my doctor dude to see what he says.

Oh, and I need to double check with our medical aid that all is in order for Jesse-Lee's birth, et cetera.

Oh my word.

Anybody know of some good anti-panic pills? I could use some.

I'm a sucker for punishment

Apparently, the allure of giving fertility treatments one last try proved too tempting for my restraint. I decided to take another trip to my doctor here in Dundee to see if he could give me some Dragon Pills (a.k.a. Clomiphene Citrate) just to give this Wishing For A Baby thing one last chance. I haven't touched a fertility pill for over a year now. But apparently it's not quite out of my system - this silly desire to have a baby of my own. So, I took the plunge. Bought another ticket for that roller-coaster ride that is The Pursuit of Motherhood. I've really been trying to move on. Been doing all sorts of things to try to make life as yummy as possible, if it meant that life would never include a baby of my own. Because, as I've told you all a gazillion times before already - "if this is my lot, then I may as well be happy with it, right?" Wrong. Been there, done that, can't let go of this desire of mine to be a mother. And I really did try to stop thinking about it, dwelling on it, et cetera. And the ticking of my biological clock in my ears just won't shut up either. It keeps saying to me "maybe you should just give it one last bash, before your eggs really are all dried up and biltong-like. And then you will NEVER have the opportunity to just try one last time. Because by then it will just be too late."
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Ugghhh...
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I so did NOT want to be barking up this tree again. But here I am. I remembered a post that Tertia did about giving up. And I've read it so often I can almost quote it word for word. And for a while I thought we'd made the right decision. For my sanity's sake. But I kept stepping on my broken dreams with bare feet and, believe it or not, it still hurts.
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So, two days ago I made another trip into town to go see my doctor. Incidentally, he's the same doctor who removed my stitches after my renovations. So, the first thing he asked me when he saw me was how the "ladies" were doing! haha! I told him really good. As was evident in the slightly clingy shirt I was wearing that day. He asked if he could see, and, never one to shy away from sharing my bounty with anyone, I promptly removed my shirt and lifted my boozie-hanger ever-so-slightly so he could see how well my wounds were healing. All very clinical-like. Promise. No hokey pokey funny business. Very scientific. But even Doctors can blush. Anyhoo... I explained the whole doo-dah-please-give-me-a-chance-at-being-a-mommy-story, and he said, no-problemo, and I said thank-you-very-much-kind-sir and off he went to find me some Dragon Pills. He handed them to me with a flourish and a wink and a three month prescription was mine for the taking, for FREE! Never underestimate the power of My Weapons of Mass Distraction. And that's all I have to say about that.

So, now I have three months worth of Dragon Pills. And another three months of Hoping. Please Hope with me? I am so determined not to be negative about this round of torture treatment, because, after all, I asked for it. And I really want it to work.

I took the very first pill in this month's course just this morning. And boy oh boy, they are already working. I am already bloaty, have ringing ears and a slight propensity for over-exaggeration. Oh wait, that's normal is it? Well, let's just say that I'm also already verging on emotional snappiness. That's just one of the other delightful side-effects of clomiphene citrate. Please exercise extreme caution when approaching this infertile right now. Don't tell me I never warned you.

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So, guys, here we go. Are you ready for the ride?

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Irony

It's been a few days. Robin and I were cavorting in Johannesburg with friends of ours on an extended weekend. I had to be at my plastic surgeon (I love the sound of that - my plastic surgeon - very hoity toity!) yesterday morning for a boob alignment checkup. But we made a weekend of it and did some serious coffee-shop-hopping. And now I'm in withdrawal. There's not even a whiff of coffee to be sniffed anywhere in Dundee and surrounds. I know because Robin and I spent one whole day of our christmas holiday driving around in a relentless pursuit for the good stuff. You know - the kind of coffee shop where you smell the beans already from the parking lot.

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I've even considered importing my own private coffee barrister. From, like, Brazil. Or Italy. Someplace exotic. With good coffee beans. Because this little town we live near to is in serious need of catching a wake-up in the coffee department.

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Anyhoo. That was my caffeine-withdrawal-drivel talking.

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Now for some infertility stuff. Again. I just can't seem to get away from it somehow. So, sorry folks. It's me again. Brain-dumping all of my issues on my blog...

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My friend Riana was telling us about a young girl who had fallen pregnant and was seeking an abortion at the hospital where another friend of ours, Janele, works. (Yes, abortion is legal in South Africa.) Janele was trying to convince the girl not to have an abortion but rather to give the child up for adoption, because there are so many couples yearning for children to love. After a while the young girl (who was already 23 weeks pregnant along and therefore could not have the abortion anyway) acquiesced and went home with her mother, who incidentally also wanted her daughter to get an abortion. I know. Very angersome for me. But anyway, this particular part of the story is not about me. A while later the young girl was back at the hospital. She had deliberately stabbed all manner of objects up her *hoot hoot* and ruptured the amniotic sac and the baby had died because there was no fluid left for it to float in. So then the hospital had to remove the baby from the girl's body.

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This was where I almost blew a fuse. I always try not to spew forth anger when I hear stories like that. For the sake of the people telling me the story. But I was with some really good friends and if they thought I was strong enough to hear the story, then they'd have to be strong enough to cope with my reaction. Which, actually wasn't too effusive after all. I just gritted my teeth together and said, "you know, the terrible thing about this story is that she will probably fall pregnant again within a few months and do the same thing again. She won't be punished with infertility for doing what she did. She has no idea how valuable that child was." Not that I believe that infertility is a punishment. At all. It's just so unfair sometimes.

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Is it a case of "you always want what you can't have"? Could that be it? When you're pregnant you don't want the child. When you can't have a child, that's all that you want. Is that it?

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I don't know.

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But later on that same day, Robin and I were chatting as we drove back from a visit with some friends. I said to him...

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"Isn't it a terrible twist that I especially wanted to marry you because I knew what a wonderful father you would be? And now I can't make you a father."

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and he said...

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"Well, the main reason I broke up with *** (his girlfriend before we got together) was because she didn't want to have children."

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How's that for ironic?

Boogie Boozies

And you all thought I wouldn't go through with it. Here they are then. Before and after pics.

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By the way, I hummed and hah'ed about posting these pics for ages already... so, let's hope you all behave. If not, I'm taking this post down. Oh, and I deliberately chopped my head off the pics so that I wouldn't find pics of myself on some p0rn0 site somewhere... Not that I look at p0rn0. I'm just saying.

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Oh, and you probably noticed that the After pics were mirror imaged? Well, the Before pics my friend took for me the morning of the op, and the Afters I took in the mirror a few days ago. It took a while for me to get some not-blurry pics, what with all the booty shaking I was doing.

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You could call me one happy customer.

Christmas thingies

I really wanted to post Christmas news a whole lot sooner, with bunches of groovy pics for ya'll... but our computer at home is about as old as I am, and therefore has about as much memory as I have, which means that space is rather limited, so things tend to freeze up at the most critical moments and pictures don't get saved and then things get rather confucious and cranky pretty quickly. And therefore not very Christmas-spirit'y. If you know what I'm saying. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. So, hopefully this weekend some time I'll make a pittstop at my work office and download some cheery christmas pics for you all to see.
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We actually had a really christmassy christmas. With loads of gifts, yummy food and fun times with family. My dad even dressed up as Father Christmas! (But someone forgot to pack the fake beard, so there was no fooling anyone into believing he was really Father Christmas... not even little Ethan who just turned four a few months ago...) But it was still fun seeing him squeeze into the outfit. I have it on dvd to show you all, as soon as I can figure out how to connect it to my computer get to my work office to download it. Not only were we all spoiled rotten with groovy gifts, but I also acquired a rather funky tan, leaving me resembling a radish. (I was going to say resembling a cranberry, but "brown as a berry" would be a bit of a stretch of the imagination. Radish is way more apt a description. What with it's crisp white top and bloodred skin... ) And a nose like Rudolph. As in the reindeer. Tis what Christmas in South Africa is all about. Sun burn et cetera.
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Tis hence the season to be wearing lots of Factor Fifty Two.
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And a wide-brimmed hat.
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It wouldn't hurt. At least not as much as the blisters on my shoulders. Although it would leave me looking like a german tourist. And hence make me a target for pickpockets and the like. (*Note to self: need to spend some time reading dictionary again to improve vocab - use of "tis" and "hence" becoming a tad profuse*)
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One of my favourite gifts was from my hubby: he bought me the cutest little boozie-hanger for christmas. One of those really cute little white lace and satin numbers. The type that makes you humm "I'm too sexy for my shirt" when you're dressing. And prance around the room once or twice before doing up that last button, just to see if there is any jiggling going on down there. And it reminded me that I still have not posted BEFORE and AFTER pics! How absent-minded of me. Which makes me a bit relieved that I have my "geriatric computer that has no hard-drive space left for new pics" excuse to hide behind. Because, apparently, there are a few people who don't believe I've even had some renovations done. No names mentioned Chrissy. I will be posting before and after pics soon. And that's all I have to say about that.
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So anyway, guys... Here's hoping your post-traumantic-Christmas weekend is a relaxed one. With lots of leftovers still in the fridge and lots of time on your hands to enjoy it. Sleep until you're hungry, then eat until you're tired. That's what I always say. (And that's why I'm going to need some lipo soon too. Just kidding. Seriously. No lipo for me. At least not this year. Haha. No, really, just kidding.)

The novelty died *updated*

OK, I'm suffering from sense of humour failure now. I really thought by now my boobs, or more specifically, my right boob, would be less sore by now. On Monday on the drive home to my friend's house from the hospital, we hit a couple of potholes that left my right boob really sore afterwards. I thought it would die down, but this right boob of mine is just plain friggin sore. All. The. Time. The best way I can describe it is like a toothache, that is a dull achey pain all the time, but throbs every now and again, and twinges when I use my arm too quickly. So I am popping painkillers all the time and hoping it's nothing too serious. I have my follow up appointment with the surgeon on Monday morning (sort of for an alignment, tee hee!) but when I phoned his practise the receptionist said it sounded like "phantom pain". Phantom pain my oo-all! I'm just sick and tired of it now. Sore. Sore. Sore. I wasn't actually going to tell you about it, seeing as this is self-inflicted pain and I volunteered for it and and and... I didn't want a bunch of "well you deserve it" comments... but we all know how good I am at keeping things from you guys.

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Other than that, all is well in the land of deep cleavage.
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My hubby arrived last night and it's absolutely heavenly having here with me. He is, um, impressed with my new additions! hee hee.

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Hope you guys have a wonderful weekend.
Me? I'm going to be topping up on some good painkillers.

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I just got back from the surgeon. He took one look, had a fiddle here and a fiddle there, opened the drains, pulled one long clot out one of them, and it was like INSTANT pain relief. I am totally painfree now, people. No pain whatsoever! Can't even begin to tell you what a huge relief it is! HOORAY!!!

Mammie

I've been trying to blog all day, but just couldn't seem to find something to blog about. Mmm... I've come to the conclusion that big-breasted women totally lack brains apparently my brains were vacuumed out during surgery, rendering me incapable of anything requiring imagination. It's hard to blog about anything but the boozies right now. Sorry folks. And I was trying so hard to "resume my blog's normal programming" too. Oh well. The stuck record is, well, truly stuck.

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Before I go though, I must tell you about my friend Riana's little boy, Jean. He calls his mommy "Mama". Apparently I am now officially mommy number two, because he's taken to calling me "Mammie". It was a bit heartsore for me the first couple of times he called me Mammie - I never thought I'd ever hear someone calling me that - but I must say, I am growing to love the sound of it. I get a wonderfully warm, squishy feeling when I hear him calling me that name, usually reserved for mothers. I could quite get used to it!

Boozie update

You think you guys can't believe I actually went through with it. I woke up three times last night just to check that I actually had boobs, because it felt like an awesome dream that I just didn't want to wake up from! Needless to say, I am totally smitten. EVERYBODY should get boobs! Yay for boobs!

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OK, so I was a little sore last night. Sore enough to wish I could take more than two painkillers at a time. And down a few bottles of vodka. And I don't even drink, people! So, yes, the pain has arrived. But still not as bad as what I expected, from reading Tertia's experience with her new girlies.

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Speaking of arrivals, tomorrow my hubby arrives for the weekend. So, excitement abounds. He can't wait to meet Pammy and Dolly. I can't wait to have someone to tie my shoelaces. And have someone else around to ooh and aah over my gals. Yes, I'm not afraid to admit that I am indeed just a wee bit of a braggart right now. Who could blame me when, OH MY WORD, I have boobs!

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This morning I had my first bath since the op. Took me about three hundred years to climb into the bath, even with my tjommie holding me up. And then about fifty two years to climb back out again afterwards. But at least now I smell as fresh as a daisy and feel absolutely wonderful.

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Anyway, just wanted to update you and thank you for all the comments! I love getting comments. Opium of the bloggers and all of that. I'm sure you must be sick and tired of hearing about my boobs all the time. I'm a bit of a stuck record right now. This blog will return to it's usual programming soon. Promise.

No Booboo's for me!

I am home, with my new 400cc's of boobs and a big bag of pills! I am soooooo excited! I can't tell you how awesome it is to have cleavage, baby! There is actually a valley between my boobs, people. A VALLEY! I was anticipating total agony, but this isn't even really really sore. A bit uncomfortable, but otherwise totally manageable. With pills. And coffee.

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My shattered nerves, I must tell you about my experience in the ward! I was in the geriatric ward, with six beds, so there were five other grannies ladies in the ward with me. It was obvious they weren't there for plastic surgery. If you know what I mean. They were all sixty and older. With really chronic cases of flatulence. If you want to know why I didn't get much sleep, then there's your reason. The one lady was even grossing herself out with the stench. Seriously! At one stage I thought I should ask for a gas mask. And they don't even try to fart quietly. Well, let's put it this way - if they were trying to do so silently, then pursuit of excellence surely isn't their strongsuit. And I mean that as kindly as is humanly possible, while holding your nose shut.

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Needless to say, me and my nose are both ecstatic to be at my tjommie's home again. As for my two new gals, they are gaaaaaawjus, doll. I've named them Dolly and Pammy. I luvvem luvvem luvvem. I can't believe I actually did it. So many years of bemoaning my bee stings. And now it's all over. I have bazookas now, baby. Really round boozies. I can't believe it. Granted, they are still really swollen and a bit really sore right now, but man oh man. Words fail me. I. Have. Boobs.

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And that's all I have to say about that.

Me and my boob-do

Yay! I get my boobs in three hours time! Am beyond excited now. Not nervous anymore. I get booked in at 12h00, surgery at 14h00, sleep the night and book out tomorrow morning about eightish nineish. Woot woot! Yay for boobs! Am going to a private hospital for the sugery so, it should be groovy. Not that I'm really going to have an appreciation for my environment once I have my boobs and all... my eyes might be a bit more prone towards my new, um, additions. You know. Very verrrryyy excited now.

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The doctor is awesome too, just so by the way. Not an old toppie or hoity-toity or anything. Very relaxed, but comes highly recommended. I honestly have NO reservations about the procedure or about anything. I even said to the doctor that the only thing more he could do that would make me extra happy would be to put a hot water bottle in my bed after the surgery! Tee hee... he said he'd do even better than that and put a "bear hug" on me or something like that. Apparently it's a really fluffy blankie that blows out hot air! Awesome. No cold feet for me!

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Just wish my hubby was also here... Otherwise, this is one happy chappy.

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So guys, I'll be chatting again maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day ok?

Here I go.

It's TODAY!

It's today! It's today!
Oh my word!
I am so nervous I could just pop.
Am about to leave for the consult with doc.
Oh my word!
EEEEEK!

One more sleep *updated*

So, today is my last day as sponge-stuffing Char! Woo hoooo! This afternoon I drive up to Johannesburg with friends who spent the weekend here in Dundee on the farm, and I'll be gone for two weeks. Tomorrow it's surgery, and then recuperation afterwards. I am still not nervous. At all. Just really excited. But I'm going to miss my hubby something terrible! He can't go with me, seeing as we have two major kiddies camps in December to prepare for, and my boss (honey that he is!) said I could go no matter how busy things are at work right now. How do I thank him for being such a groovy boss? He actually said Robin could go too, but we refused. We are a three-man-team, and if two of us disappear just weeks before two major camps, then what's going to happen with the preparations? So, these next two weeks are going to be hard for me, not seeing my gorgeous man every day...

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I will try my best to blog and to get emails and things, but I don't know if my 3G thingy will work at my friend's house... It should work, being Johannesburg and all! The biggest city in South Africa. If it's going to work anywhere, then it should work there! If it doesn't, sjoe!, I don't know what I'm going to do without being able to blog!

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So, peoples, here's wishing you a wonderful two weeks, just in case. Wooot woot! Sooooo exciting!

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OK, so it's two hours since I wrote this post, and now my bags are packed and I am ready to go. All of a sardine I am SOOOOO nervous I am actually shaking. My shattered nerves! Might need a few sedatives. And a couple hundred pots of coffee. It's not that I'm second-guessing my decision to have the op... I'm just scared of waking up afterwards and being really sore! Which is totally unavoidable, but still hectically scary! Like as in scared out of my flipping wits! EEK!

Going bust

Apparently the recovery for The Boobies is going to be hell on earth quite sore. I am generally such a ninny, but even excruciating agony will not keep me from going for this op! No pain, no gain and all of that! (Zara, you rock!) Oh, and apparently I will not be allowed to fall pregnant for at least six months afterwards. Haha! Very funny. I will also not be allowed to go fufi-sliding or bungee-jumping or horse-back riding for at least six weeks. Haha! Also very funny. Because, clearly I am the very active type who loves doing all manner of adrenalin-inducing sport. Haha! Soooo funny.
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So anyway, last night I had a rummage through my closet to look at my blouses and figure out which would be worth keeping and which would become a bit snug with the improved décolletage. Sadly, not many of them are discard-able... (And I was so looking forward to buying a whole new wardrobe too!)… seeing as I’ve pretty much always stuffed my bra with all manner of thingies to give me some shape… from wads of tissue when I was too young and shy to buy padded bras, to the awesome new very padded boozie-hangers at my fave stores lately. So the way I look now with all the sponge in my bra is pretty much how I will look after the surgery. Minus all the stuffing in my bra of course. Well, maybe a little more roundness too, and less ski-slopey-ness. More all-round squishiness et cetera. Yay!
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Five more sleeps till The Boozie Bonanza!

Keeping you abreast of the situation

I am sooooooo excited! I have big news, people. As in BEEEEEG. Kind of like how my boozies will be in a week's time. Yes, oh yes, o-blog-reading-ones, I have my boob-date set!!! Monday is the big day. Goodbye bee stings, hello boozies. Hello bikinis. And string vests. Adios padded bras. Bring on the bounce.

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This time next week I will already be recovering from my breast augmentation surgery grinning from ear to ear! And resting at my friend's house in Krugersdorp, which is where the surgeon and the private hospital are. Woot woot! Dream come true. A bra-burning session may well be necessary after my surgery, once I'm back in Dundee with my boozies in hand attached.

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Watch this space. I might just post a few before and after pics. If you're very good. And don't leave nasty comments.

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And now, an ode to my humps my humps boozies...

Mopy Dopy

I'm at home today. Think I might have foot and mouth disease*. Seriously. On Saturday morning I awoke with my mouth feeling weird. Besides the normal dragon-breath, I mean. Almost as if I'd been eating pineapples all night. Like sore and, well, weird. I thought to myself, 'man, I really need to go slow on the sweets today!' and left it at that. By yesterday my mouth was one big blister. Inside, I mean. My cheeks, tongue, gums... ugghhh... and I am feeling o-so-sorry for myself. Boo hooo! What freaks me out a bit is that I have had something odd happening to my bod almost every week since we've been here! I mean, how many more weird "sick"nesses can I feel? From spray-painting the loo, to upchunking into buckets, to dizzy lizzy and now this! What next???

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I only tell you this so that you can feel sorry for me too, of course. My usual dose of feeling-sorry-for-myself-alitus isn't quite enough to cover it today. Long story short, the surrogacy is not going to happen and I've been staring down the barrel of a childless future. I am sooo disappointed about it too. Could it really be that this is my destiny? Everything in me just fights against that possibility. Everything, besides my baby-making bits, that is. Blasted bits!

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Let me tell you about the country I live in, and the clueless leaders who govern it. Just recently (about three or four weeks ago to be exact) parliament took a decision that South Africa and it's citizens are quite capable of caring for it's own orphans, and therefore does not need nor does it want to participate in placing any of it's orphans abroad, nor accept any orphans from abroad as candidates for international adoption. Basically, how this affects us is that because the baby from Marie-Jeanne would need to be adopted by me and my bloody awful bits, the surrogacy can therefore no longer be entertained. I've known this for a few weeks now, but between Marie-Jeanne and I, we've been trying to wangle a way to make it happen regardless. Many fruitless attempts later, many banging heads on doors, et cetera, and we are now dropping our hands in despair at a system that prohibits it's citizens from completing their families due to the ineptitude of it's governors. I am angry beyond comprehension at these ninkimpoops who rule over us. But trying my best to accept that this then is the way things are, and there's zip I can do about it. So I may as well not exhaust my energies on things I can do nothing to change. And I may as well not make myself unhappy in the process. Hard to do, but I'm really trying. This was an opportunity like no other, and one that seemed like the best solution to my infertility.

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It's just so incomprehensible to me that everything we've tried just hasn't worked for us (me). Is it really possible that I will never have any children? Really? Is this it then?

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So anyway, this foot and mouth saga is really just an excuse for me to sit at home and mope a bit. To refrain from interaction with happy people. Happy people with children of their own. Happy people with happy endings and children of their own. Why do they get to have happy endings and not me? I don't get it.

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The cherry on the cake was an innocent little sentence in an innocent email from an innocent family member mentioning in passing that they are trying for their second child and couldn't wait to find out they were preggies. And it just reminded me how easy it is for the rest of the planet. And how impossible it is for me. Really? Can planning a family really be that easy?

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Oh well! That was my rant. I'm done now. No more moping. For today. I have books to read. Cappuccino's to drink. And that should fill the gap for now. That and the prospect of new boobs, of course.

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*Joking, obviously. My boss started out with this sore mouth thing a few days before he got the flu too, a week or so ago. So, I know what's coming. Been taking it easy to see if I can ward it off. So, I'm not toooo concerned that it's foot and mouth disease. Haha!

A little bit of this n that

I wanted to tell you my booby appointment date and time, but my poor friend that is my contact person for the surgeon is going through a bit of a crisis at home, and the last thing I wanted to do is phone her to ask her for the number and be all frivolous and frolicky when she's under so much pressure... That would be careless. And I like to think I'm not that self-involved. So, again, it's The Waiting Game. Which is of course the way things work in my life, and I shouldn't be in the least surprised.

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But I just had to share a few pics of our weekend with you. My sister, her hubby, my nephew and one of our friends came to visit us in the bush. We had SUCH a good time. The men did the usual "manly" thing they usually do when they come to visit - sit on our stoep and shoot things off of our fence, go quad biking, fishing and then shooting things off the fence again... you know... manly stuff. And us gals? We did whatever we wanted to. It was absolutely fabulous, darling. Think loads of food, fresh air, lots of laughter, a movie or two and haphazard naps. The perfect long weekend. (For all of you non-South-Africans, yesterday it was Heritage Day in here. Hence the long weekend.) It was also Braai Day! (That's South African for BBQ - pronounced like "high" but with a "brrr" instead of the "h".)

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Now look at that picture and tell me we don't look like a bunch of hillbillies, with the guns and all? That's L - R : Dale (friend), Robin (irresistably sexy hubby) and Andrew (bro-in-law)

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Robin in his Bourne Ultimatum pose.

(That's a Josh Duhamel wannabe if I ever saw one! hahaha... remember Win A Date with Tad Hamilton? hahaha.)

More pics tomorrow. I forgot my camera at home. Just call me Clever Trevor. (These pics above are from Dale's camera)

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It was also my tjommie Chantell's birthday. Happy birthday my tjommie. If only I could have phoned you. I hope you were spoiled vrot though, my pommie.

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As if that's not enough to fill the day yesterday, it was aaaalso the day on which my old school-friend Kate gave birth to her little girl, Freya Molly *Surname*. Welcome to the world, little Freya. I wish you and your mommy and daddy a WONDERFUL life together, with sunny days spent chasing butterflies and splashing around on the farm, friends as awesome as your mommy was to me, gifted teachers at school, not too many people teasing you about your interesting name, and a life overflowing with blessings and beauty!

Cue the Baywatch soundtrack!

And my decision is... I am SO going to get me some boobs! Not enormous ones, mind. Just enough that you could actually tell that I am of the female persuasion. I've priced them (inclusive of surgery, etc.) and they will land up costing between fifteen and twenty thousand south african smackarooskis (U.S. $2000-$2670). That works out to about seven thousand-ish ronts per boozie... Which really isn't bad, considering. NEW boobs, people. And say that they last approximately fifteen years, so that works out to Three Rand Sixty Five (about 48c in U.S. currency) per day. For new boozies. Tell me that's not worth it! I spend more on moisturiser!!! So, I say, bring it on. I will tell you on Monday when my consultation is. Woot woot! New boobies! New boobies!

Taking The Plunge

When I was small, they used to have opera on the telly on Sunday afternoons. Sometimes there'd be ballet, and I'd watch that if there weren't more exciting happenings going on. But if it was opera, you couldn't tempt me away from the teevee screen at all. Not even with chocolate. It was almost a fixation. I was transfixed by the drama, the music, the lighting, the story... and adults were fascinated by me. One pint sized five-year old glued to the screen. Little did they know that what I was really admiring (they'd never have guessed, thank goodness!) was the way those tight corsets pushed the women's boozies right up and turned their decoletage into something akin to big spongy bobbity booziness. Even back then, as an ignorant little five-year old, I wanted big round boobs. I couldn't WAIT for puberty so I could get them. Imagine my horror when one day I was sitting hiding under the foam bubbles in the bath with my cousin (almost two years my junior) and she pointed out how much bigger her boobs were than mine, with my chest which would put the Karoo to shame with it's flatness. Right there, that very moment, I decided that if there was ever any way to force my boozies out of their hibernation, I would grab that opportunity with both hands. Alas, puberty did me in, too. I got ski-slopes for boobs. And even with HUGELY padded bras (wonderbra wishes!) my poor little boozies still look... undernourished.

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So, here's the thing. I would really like to get my boobs done. As in really really! And many of my close friends are very supportive. Others (especially my mom and aunty!) are uncertain totally against it. And then, there's the money side. Now, you all know that we certainly haven't landed with our butts in the money butter. But I have some dosh stashed for my boobs a rainy day, and Robin's like "Char, if you want to do it, I stand with you all the way. You do it if that's what you want to do."

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I guess it also might have something to do with the betrayal I feel from my body. How do I describe this? If my body couldn't do something as "normal/natural" for a body to do, as make a baby, then at least it's going to look good. If it means that I have to FORCE it to look good, then so be it. I mean, these boobs will never have a babe suckling them, so if their only other purpose is to look spiffy, then, dammit, they WILL look spiffy! And round. And feminine. And round.

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So, ladies (not gents please!), what are your thoughts? (I might wanna kick myself later for actually ASKING you for your opinion... but, oh well.) Give it to me. What do you think? Should I do it? Should I take the plunge and get a plunging neckline?

Should I get my boobs done?

	Definitely! You need them!
	Yes, but only because you want to.
	Definitely NOT! It's simply wrong to do so.
	Definitely NOT! Why mess with perfection? snigger snigger!
	It's totally your decision. Our opinions shouldn't count.
	Maybe not. I worry about your mental stability.
	Do whatever floats your boat, girl!

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