What Today Looked Like

We woke up early - but not too early. The Doctor is an early riser (usually 6am, if not earlier) - but today gave us a sleep-in 'til 7ish. Maybe it's a new seven for 7am thing. 


We opened presents in bed, then he requested breakfast. In bed. He wanted pikelets, so I set to work whipping them up to be devoured amidst a mess of flannel sheets, wrapping paper, and presents. 


A lazy day at home was enjoyed. We watched Diary of a Wimpy Kid (gosh that is SUCH a funny film - highly recommend), hung out together, I mustered some energy to bake (I've got a cold. Poor me) a birthday cake. Cuddled. Reminisced. Cuddled some more. And altogether had a lovely day at home.


I tried to get the Doctor to go ten pin bowling but he wanted to stay home. So what's a mama to do?


We did as he wished, then went out for Chinese (as his heart desired) at our local. Because that's the way we roll. I estimate the Doctor ate about a bowl full of fried rice before declaring that he was ready for cake. READY FOR CAKE! We hurried up with the eating - and then brought out his dream cake... A Freddo ice-cream cake. I know I've talked about this cake before - and I struggle with this cake! 


So above is the cake we're having after dinner tomorrow. To celebrate both boy's birthdays and to continue the birthday festivities. Because that's the way I roll. 


You can read the Doctor's birth story here. (If you're that way inclined.)

On Newborns Turning Seven

My little newborn is turning seven tomorrow. 


I can't quite believe it. 


I so vividly remember everything from before his birth right up to to his birth. Everything. - vomiting spaghetti bolognaise, to telling Matt quite tersely that he'd better hurry up and anticipate my needs. And stop turning the damn lights on. I am an animal. I am in labour. I want to labour in the dark. In the nude. And PS - do not mess with me. 


I remember walking over 2 kms the afternoon before the birth - hiring Sex and the City and laughing when the guy shrilled "see you soon". I remember in my head thinking - "you will NOT see me soon sucker, I'm in labour!" I walked all the way home, having to rest every hundred metres or so while I rode out a contraction. 


I remember when Matt got home that evening. He worked as a framer (as he does now) and hugging him and bursting into tears. 


I remember my sister driving like the clappers to get us to the birth centre. The labour aid exploded all over my foot. And her car. Oops. 


I remember arriving at the birth centre and quite literally tearing my clothes off. 


And I remember coming home with that newborn in my arms. Terrified - the revelation that: "I am responsible for this baby surviving and thriving."


Happy 7th Birthday to my beautiful little man. I am so, so happy and proud that you chose me to be your mama. Ever since we first found out about you, you've brought us great joy. Thank you. x

The Face of Birth

I am really excited to see this documentary ASAP. If you're a long time reader of PMM, you'll know I am very passionate about birth. If you're new to PMM, FYI - I am very passionate about birth.


It features one of my all-time favourites, Sheila Kitzinger. During my pregnancies I read a lot of her books. I love her, she's pragmatic and passionate and just down-to-earth and smart. 


And Michael Odent - the man gives me goosebumps. 


You can read Jodi's post on The Face of Birth here.

Now We Are Six

This time six years ago I was in pre labour. I walked over a kilometre to the supermarket to buy lemons to make Labouraid. I dropped into the DVD store to hire Sex and the City. I stood next to the rows of DVDs in a contraction and rode out that wave. I walked over a kilometre home, stopping intermittently as the intensity increased. I imagined that small babies head knock-knock-knocking on my cervix. I am the Queen of visualisation, thank you Marie Burrows.

I got home. I squeezed those lemons. I made the Labouraid. I spilt it all over the kitchen floor. Later it would explode over the floor of my sister's car on the ride to the birthing centre. Sorry about that, Choc.

I ate spaghetti bolognaise. I went to bed. I vomited up spaghetti bolognaise. I woke up later. I went into a darkened room. Matt turned the light on. I turned the light off. Matt turned the light on. I turned the light off. I laboured at home. The intensity turned up a notch or two. Matt turned on the light. I turned off the light and screeched "YOU BETTER START ANTICIPATING MY NEEDS!"

Matt called the midwife. The midwife told us to wait. I knew I couldn't wait any longer. Mother's instincts. My sister arrived. We three drove like the clappers at 5am down the highway, to the birthing centre, behind a garbage truck, in half light, into the tunnel, we drove. Every bump I felt as I continued riding those contractions.

We arrived and I tore off my clothes. It was all I could do. I got into that delicious bath. I laboured. We waited. Matt went to sleep. Matt woke up. I got too relaxed and my contractions stopped. I had to get out of the bath. I pushed. Two hours of pushing. I got tired. I screamed "COME ON!" like Lleyton Hewitt. And then I held that wee baby, I held that warm, beautiful, loved baby against my chest. That warmth.

I'd do it all again in a heartbeat for my beautiful soon-to-be six year old. My delightful, talkative, bright six year old.

Why Hello There!

I never reported back and told you that the Doctor was accepted into the out-of-area school we applied for. Yep. I had an interview with the principal. It was, to me, more nerve-wracking than a job interview. Tomorrow we go for Kindergarten Orientation, which is both exciting and a little sad. It's a bittersweet symphony.

Today is a jolly good day folks. Not only is it my sisters birthday - HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANNA! but one of my best, and long-time friends gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

Me, being crazy like a fox, commenced sewing just a few short hours after I learnt this awesome and exciting news. I'll show some pics when I have got more than a couple of pieces sewn together, but oh baby, it's PINKalicious.

Winners (courtesy of the Random Number Generator) of the Lego DUPLO are:

- 9 - Two Tuesdays

- 5 - Spectacular Fairy Wren

- 18 - Jovana

I tried to do a screen grab but of course Blogger won't come to the party.

Please email me with your name, address, and mobile number! Thanks to everyone for entering.

Baby. Baby. Baby.

I have been loving watching SBS' 'One Born Every Minute'.

I just love anything to do with birth. I'd love to one day be a midwife, but alas, I will wait until my smalls are not so small and I can study full-time.

This program showcases some seriously awesome midwives - so supportive, empowering and genuinely interested in the mums and babies being born - and full of the LOVE!

Every birth brings goosebumps to me - the tension, the nerves, the tears, the frustration, the exhaustion. Those big gutsy pushes. Oh man, I just love it.

You can watch this series online too. Just in case you missed it.

image via The Guardian

Birthing

I've written previously about my two birth experiences. Both were completely different, and both were incredible. The Doctor loves to hear about how he arrived. We were lucky to be surrounded by passionate, supportive midwives who empowered us to make our own decisions (that coupled with being incredibly lucky made for two beautiful births).

If you're passionate about women having choices and being able to make their own decisions - then rally 'round sisters.

Shout it from the rooftops.

The Sydney event will be outside the office of Tanya Plibersek

11-117 Devonshire Street Surry Hills NSW 2010

Thursday, February 18 from 10:30 am to 11:30 am
Find your local event here.

For more information visit here.

Found via the ridiculously cool Rummey Bears

I May Be Sporting A Wee Hangover

So instead of banging on about anything, I'm going to send you off to other people. I'm tucked up under a quilt, sipping on lemonade, a box of tissues keeping me company. I'm sad like that.

Looking for an international man of mystery? Nan has some spectacular insights into French lurve.

Feel like a weekend trip to Tasmania? Fancy a seat on the fanciest red tractor? Go visit Michelle. She's been checking out the auctions.

Pip has a genius feline in her presence. As well as a piece in The Age (for some reason I can't link but definitely worth a read! - click over here).

Cindy's asking the big question - Why Do You Blog? My answer - because it's like my online diary, I am bollocks at keeping a written journal; and because I love to write.

And last of all, I'm sending you off to listen to some music. Put your feet up toots, sit back and enjoy one of my all time favourite songs. Have I shared this before?

Ahem. Image is yet another shameless hint for Matt. Pink Schwinn makes me go schawing!

A Problem As Old As Time Itself

Would you believe, my camera batteries ran out in the middle of the party? Hmph. Big, fat, HMPH! It is dear friends, a problem older than time itself. No wonder there's no photos of dinosaurs, they always were running out of batteries themselves.

However, I have managed to snaffle just four frames from my camera before it decided it was outtie.

My Mum and Dad came as King of the Jungle (a funny little lion) and Queen of the Hive (a fab bumblebee). So cute. And it was a surprise, not even the bigs knew about it, so big and small were all surprised when they buzzed and roared in. This is what memories are made of. My Mum and Dad are super good!

The Doctor had an ace time. I searched high and low for a tiger costume for him, to no avail. We then downgraded to looking for a tiger, but only came up with adult versions (hello, hole in the market??), so I made him his very own tiger tail. Photo will come later as no photos available. Double hmph.

I think we're all still recovering from the party. I certainly am. But it was a wonderful, fun and memorable weekend for all the right reasons. And the smalls had super fun.

Oh and here's the cake we finally settled on. A dinosaur attacking a train. Super.

Blogger - please stop flipping my photos around. Tres annoying.

When The Doctor Was Born

My firstborn. My heart. I remember waking with a sore back. I knew the sign. Matt had long gone to work. I had a plan to meet my sister for shopping. I knew I was in pre-labour, but who knew how long that would last? And as if birth was going to get between me and a cash register. No way Jose.

I drove off to meet my sister, all the while my back pain increasing, a sneaky contraction here and there. I sent Matt an SMS "It's a nice day for a baby" to which he didn't reply (I later learnt his battery was almost dead).

My sister and I shopped. Things were ramping up. I could feel that baby was coming. I went back to my sister's house to watch some waterbirth movies. I'd heard that watching these can bring things on a little quicker. After my movie time was over, I drove home. I don't really remember that drive, but I do remember pulling into our driveway and my father-in-law and a handyman telling me that they were doing some jobs around the house. Fabulous timing because all I wanted to do was crawl into a steamy hot bath and say vamoose to the sore back. I did. I threw caution to the wind. I got in that bath. Then got out. Dressed. Decided to go for a walk to get some things to make Labour Aid. Clearly I was delusional. I walked the two kilometres and all the while my contractions were coming on stronger, more rhythmically.

I stopped off at our local Blockbuster and as any reasonable labouring woman would do, I hired Sex and the City. I remember standing in the store experiencing a contraction. Breathing. Hmmm. Hoping no one would notice a heavily pregnant, heavily breathing woman.

When I checked out the DVDs the guy said a cheery 'see you on Sunday' - and I thought - no buster, you won't. I'm about to have a baby. Overdues - I'll see you sooner.

I don't know how I got home on that long walk, but I know I had to stop here and there to rest. Breathe. Breathe. Open.

I walked home. Made Labour Aid. Got lemon juice all over the floor. Bottled my Labour Aid. Rested. Another bath?

Matt finally come home and I remember my aching body being held in his arms. Ah relief!

We had a quiet dinner together (hey - things can get a little rowdy around here), and went off to bed. I slept until around 1am when things started really ramping. And I vomited (there's an ongoing theme of vomit here lately, isn't there?). I had all the lights off. I hate lights when I feel unwell. I am an animal in the dark. I sit in the bath again. I feel my contractions. I feel them grow ever stronger. I get out because the bath isn't hot enough. Matt's still sleeping. How ever do men sleep through such a mad racket?

Finally, around 2am Matt came out to find me labouring away, I think by this stage I was back in the bath. We decided to call my sister who was coming with us, driving us to the hospital and who would be with us throughout the birth.

I sat in the darkest room in our house. Matt kept turning lights on. I kept turning them off. Breathe. We were in touch with the midwife, and we knew we had a 40 minute drive ahead. The midwife tried to stave us off, but I knew we had to go. I was ready to go. We clambered into the car. My fashion sense clearly thrown out the window. Me in Matt's old paint splattered tracksuit pants, a very worn, almost transparent t-shirt of a Chinese woman smoking an opium pipe (?), Birkos and a quilted cotton Chinese jacket. Very continental. I'm sure the world has never seen such haphazard styling before.

My sister drove like the clappers. Down the highway, I felt every bump. Every single bump in my bump. In my heaving body. Breathe. Hold the seatbelt away. Drive behind a garbage truck. Thankfully it was 3:30am by this time. Traffic was clear. This baby had good timing. And then the Labour Aid exploded all over my foot. Excellent.

We arrived at the hospital and the guy at the front desk insisted we fill out the forms before going up to the Birth Centre. Then I, leaning over the reception desk let out an almighty moan and he realised I was in labour, so reluctantly let us go up. We went up and went into our room. Dark. Quiet. The midwife expected me to be 3cm dialated. Instead I was 8.

Briskly (as brisk as any labouring woman can) I tore off my clothes (I couldn't bear my fashion genius any longer - truth be, I can't stand being dressed when feeling ill either - must be dark, must be naked - how wrong does that sound when typed?) and got into that bath. Oh that bath. That gloriously deep, seductive and calming bath. Hot! Hot! Hot! I laboured away for the next couple of hours in that bath.

Matt had a sleep. MATT HAD A SLEEP! --- Apparently just another day in the office for him. Meanwhile...

My contractions became more and more fierce, I rode them out, but I was growing tired. I held Matt's and my sister's hands. And then my contractions. My contractions - they damn well stopped! I had to get out of the bath because apparently I was too relaxed. Damn it. There goes my water birth. All throughout the birth our wonderful ante-natal teacher had been calling us to see how things were doing. That woman is a guru.

I got comfy on that birthing ball and cushions, propped up.

And after two hours of puuuuuuushing, (and me going, I can't do it, I can't do it - and everyone else saying - you ARE doing it, you ARE doing it, and then me going - COME ON! Lleyton Hewitt stylie) that big-headed, cone-headed, Mohawk-ed baby finally, finally came out.

That there friends is how the Doctor arrived. 10:02am on the 20th May.

The Never Ending Story: My Secret Quest For Rocky

Hello Party People - it's me coming at ya straight from Party Central. Only one more sleep friends! One more sleep until we're the proud parents of a very talkative, very imaginative, very funny four year old. Up there - we're proud parents of a minute old baby. Lucky for you friends you can only see a thin sliver of me.

Speaking of sleeping - both of ours are sound asleep. Last night was a fiasco that I was not keen to repeat. Tiny rudely interrupted my Masterchef viewing by vomiting all over me. Bon appetit people!

Matt and I are madly wrapping presents. Well Matt's wrapping. I'm blowing up balloons, placing party blowers about the house and streamers too. Some of the Doctor's birthday wishes granted!

One particular birthday wish however is not going to be granted. The Doctor has been asking for Rocky (TTTE afficionados need no intro, but if you do, see here!) for six months. Six months is a long time in anyone's books. Particularly a little person. But guess what?! Rocky is no longer being made.

Unfortunately for us, Rocky was amongst three things on the Doctor's list. Ouch. I don't remember ever being scarred by anything that I didn't get for my birthday - so we're hoping the Doctor won't notice. Or need any expensive counselling.

I had hoped to finish the Doctor's scarf in time for his birthday, but I am really a slow knitter. Matt thinks I might have it finished by next birthday (thanks for the confidence boost toots), as for the cushion, it's coming along. But slowly too.

Thanks for all the birthday tips yesterday, we're going for a home-stylie party, very simple, but high on fun. So I'm armed with all these insider tips. Merci beaucoup to you!

Anyway, must head off to bed because I know someone small who is going to wake up at the crack of dawn for present opening. I know this because he told me before he trotted off to bed. At least I get a heads up, right?

The Big Question: Cake O'Clock

The Doctor's birthday is in just two sleeps. Two sleeps 'til I am the mama of a four year old. Sheesh.

The big question is, what cake does he want? I have to make two. One for his actual birthday. Another for the birthday party. He's already told me he wants lotsa lotsa cakes.

I'm consulting everyone's favourite just to be safe. But there's still loads to choose from.

I've been looking on Flickr for inspiration. The problem is, there's too much inspiration.

And party bags? Party games? Talk about party pressure. Experienced mamas - and any inspired creatures, gimme some tips, gimme some inspiration. Gimme me, gimme me, gimme.

In other breaking news, Tiny has been punking me up a storm of late (Ashton watch out). She's teething with the best of them - I think there's four teeth coming through at once including two eye teeth - yowsers). So she's been super grumpy - and for good reason. Here's one glimmer of the usual Tiny. One of my friends gave her the greatest little red coat. Tiny is obsessed with it and seeks it out at every opportunity. She finds it, tries to put it on, can't, cries out, and I pop it on and she's happy. She found its little red hood today - and wanted that on. That made for one happy Tiny. ('scuse the wee mess in the background - didn't see that did you, you were blinded by Tiny's cheeky smile).

Sunrises & Sunsets

Lately, the Doctor has taken to waking up around 5:30am. I'm not the best morning person, I try, I really do, but really I think I am just a big grump. If only I were a morning person, things would be sweet. I wouldn't detest seeing so many sunrises. Or just the crack of sunlight stealing through the curtains at least (between my half-open eyes when I'm feigning sleep and telling the Doctor to go back to bed - ne'ermind, never works).

Would someone tell that kid to go back to bed already?

Since when is it even legal to be awake that early?

Are you feeling my morning grumpiness yet?

But sunsets? Sunsets are a different kettle of fish. I can get with a sunsets. Is there anything more spectacular, or even more different from night to night? How many shades can the sky shift in a matter of minutes?

This weekend? I hear you ask.

It's all been a whirlwind of preparation and celebrating Matt's birthday. Breakfast out and about. That Bill Granger sure is one clever boy. Sweetcorn fritters, scrambled eggs, bacon.. Sunrise drink anyone? Mmm.

The Doctor's birthday in three sleeps. You've no idea of the countdown. Or do you?

Things

I've been mixing things up a little here at PottyMouthMama Headquarters. I'm crazy like that.

I'm making dinners the night before (casseroles and curries are my friends, beef vindaloo tonight for tomorrow). This is saving me time (and a serious case of dishpan hands).

I'm trying to tidy up small parts of the house all the time, in an effort to keep it tidy (Mum are you reading this?!).

I'm rewarding the Doctor via a star chart for tidying up his bedroom and packing up his toys.

I've become hooked on Masterchef.

I've found new compact fluorescent light bulbs that don't cast a blue light and make me feel like I'm in one of those anti-shooting up rooms (you know when you're out somewhere and they have that blue light). This is particularly big news for me, because although I use these bulbs, I've been really cranky about them. Welcome me into 2009 with this revelation.

I'm turning 30 in about eight weeks and still haven't completed my list. Better get my skates on, huh?

But before my birthday there is a little someone turning the big four. I can barely believe it. I've spent much of today reminiscing about my firstborn. Taking a walk down memory lane via our photo albums. Those first days with a newborn in my arms. Not to mention the pain and thrill of labour. The struggle to learn how to breastfeed. The incredibly steep learning curve. The fear of coming home with babe in arms. Watching our newborn unfurl as the days went on. And of course, that wonderful newborn smell. My big boy is turning four. I know this may sound strange, but I could always imagine myself with a baby, but I'd never foreseen a small person. Evolving. Developing his own likes. His own dislikes. So my thoughts are turning to the soon-to-be little birthday dude. A mixture of sadness, happiness and great, great joy.

The Big '1'

It's one year ago today that my baby girl came swooshing out into the world. This is her birth story.

The day before Tiny's birth, we decided to treat ourselves to a meal out. Actually, it had become some sort of - quick every week before the birth of this baby let's go out and make the most of it. I walked around the restaurant and remember clearly the feeling of walking like a waddling duck. I visualised the head waaaay down. In my heart, I knew the little babe's birth was imminent.

We got home. The Doctor was sleepy, and what two and a half year old wouldn't be at nine pm? We tucked him into bed, then I had a mini-freak out. I'd been experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions all day, I'd had my hair cut, been to the beautician. I'd gone into lockdown - it seems I know when birth is on the horizon because I start not answering phones and emails.

Anyway, back to the night before. I had a mini-freak out. I decided to quickly read through my friend Sheila's book because for my second birth, I'd done very little reading. I thought, yes I better write a birth plan, though Matt and I pretty well knew what I wanted. And then I thought, hmm, things are going along, maybe I better pack a bag.

We went to bed, I slept 'til around 4am. Woke with contractions getting ever stronger. Dozed a little, then got out of the bed around 5:30am, and as I did - guuuushhhhhhhhhh.

"Oh my, I think my waters have broken." I grabbed anything I could to mop up the Niagra Falls. Raced into the bathroom. Contractions continued stronger from this point, and Matt called the birth centre. By this stage the Doctor was still asleep. In my mind, I was waiting for the little man to wake. If I had had my way, I think I would have liked to home birth, but NSW laws are ridiculous, and it's a little too costly for us at the moment. Birth centre it was. A birth centre across the city, at least 40 minutes drive, could be an hour and a half in peak hour.

I asked Matt to put the bath on. I was determined to labour at home for as long as possible, and to hopefully wait for the Doctor to wake up so I could say goodbye.

Matt told me there wasn't time for me to have a bath and that we should go. He was thinking logically, he (and the midwife) thought things were going to hurry along, and I think he had visions of me birthing on the side of the road. I had discussed the possibility of this with the midwife previously. So while Matt was putting the bag in the car, I snuck into the bath. I felt so scheming. So clever. The Doctor was still sleeping. The one morning he ever sleeps in.

I rode out those contractions, they were coming harder and more frequently, and then when it got a little too much, I told Matt it was time to go. I had to sneak in to say goodbye to the Doctor. I got half way in his room and ---- bIIIIg contraction. I snuck out. I had to keep breathing. Keep breathing.

The car trip was comical.

My first birth (with the Doctor) my sister came with us. She drove. She's cool under fire. Matt sat in the back of the car on that trip. I felt every bump of it.

So this trip, Matt's tension just made me laugh. I couldn't help myself. He was hilarious. We were making very good time careening through the tunnels. By this time it was around 7:30am. We were talking, I was breathing, I was getting ready. Then we were coming 'round the last bend in the last tunnel and I started to transition. Ah transition. I think the hardest most panicky part of birth for me. But this time I said, "We're really not doing so well - we're not there. I need to get there." I remember a semi-trailer on the right of our car. I remember Matt looking at me a little horrified at what I had said.

We raced into the birth centre. Jacquie, a new midwife was to be with us. And the midwife that I had been seeing throughout my pregnancy, Tess was on duty. Familiarity. Ah.

It was the same room the Doctor was born in. Double ah.

I got into the bath. I laboured for a while in part-darkness. Silence. Just Matt and I. The midwife occasionally coming in. Then I felt Tiny's head click into place and I told Matt it was time to push. I held his hand tight and pushed. I remember feeling her feet kicking the sides of my belly. Incredible.

Fifteen minutes, and no lie, Tiny just swam out - a beautiful water birth. Just swam like a little goldfish. Sweet babe of mine. I had to do some crazy leg manouevring as the umbilical cord was a short one, and then that babe lay in my arms. Oh my. My little vernix covered baby. Two weeks early. My sweetheart.

So my darling Tiny, I'm so glad you are here with us, shining smiley baby girl. If we can't get you a pony, will one of these do?

So Tired Sunday: Then There Was One

damien hirst's shark - a little different to our fish breeding program

We had a busy Sunday which was a happy, happy thing because I got to see my nephews and brother-in-law who I haven't seen in over a year. Particularly great because they got to meet their newest cousin, and we all got to kick back with a delicious lunch by my sister and other bro-in-law. Good times.

Previously on pottymouthmama I had mentioned our silverfish dying. Well would you believe we saw another two fatalities over the weekend and now there's just one lonely little fish left? It may have had something to do with the fact that Matt walked in when our son was tipping the fish from one bowl to another, rather excitedly. I don't think goldfish do that particularly often in the wild, hence their rapid demise. And today I see one of our snails is floating on the surface of the water. This pet-owning thing is not going well for us.

As a conclusion to the original silver fish that has left us to go swimming in greater waters - I must concur with a number of commenters. I think the other fish must have eaten him. You've no idea how much that disgusts me. It's almost as bad as the mice we had to breed in Year 7, our mummy mouse birthed a whopping 13 babies and ate seven of them. I can't ever imagine eating my own children, but hey - different strokes for different folks.

In other news, Emily from the delightfully effervescent and beautifully-hued sugar & meringue tagged me. Here's the lowdown on how to play:

1) Link to the person who tagged you

2) Mention the rules

3) Tell six quirky yet boring, unspectacular details about yourself

4) Tag six other bloggers by linking to them

5) Go to each person’s blog and leave a comment that lets them know they’ve been tagged

Here are my six reasonably quirky and yet boring (quirky and boring - wowsers, I thought these things were mutually exclusive) things about moi:

* During Year 12 I got my Dad to tape each of the episodes of Australia's Most Wanted so I wouldn't miss it. I loved that show. I have some freaky fascination with crime shows. CSI - the original is my favourite. I even have a special CSI dance I do while the show theme music is running, much to the amusement of my husband.

* I am ridiculously terrified of spiders. I need to get over it, I know. But they seem to follow me. It all started when I was nine and had a life size poster of Elle MacPherson in my bedroom. I thought my sisters had played a prank on me and put a fake spider in my room. I went to pick it up and just as I went to grab it, the damn hairy thing moved. I didn't sleep in my bedroom for two nights after that. Following that they were in the car above my head. Then in some tracksuit pants my sister borrowed from me. I clearly remember lying on my bed when she came in to borrow them. She wondered what was in them, thought it was the drawstring and flicked out a ginormous huntsman. We squealed like piglets. Dad had to come and rescue us. See a pattern here? Spiders terrify me.

* During my pre-labour with my son I walked 2 kms to the supermarket. I was in denial and HAD to go to Coles to pick up my supplies to make labour aid (which subsequently exploded all over my foot in my sister's car on the way to the birth centre). I picked up Sex and the City DVDs on the way home while experiencing intermittent contractions and grimacing at the man serving me who said a little too cheerily "See you on Sunday" - all the while thinking, no, no you won't because you have no idea, but I AM HAVING A BABY RIGHT NOW! PS - I never even drank the damn labour aid.

* When I am nervous I get a rash all over my decolletage and it creeps up my face. Same happens when I drink vodka.

* I hate shoe shopping. I am probably the only woman in the history of mankind to ever say that. I have size 11/12 feet. It doesn't help when I ask for my size shoe and the shop assistant comes back and says, "No I don't have that size, but I've got an 8 or a 9." Well that's really useful, I'll just go either a) dislocate my toes, or bind them and shove those suckers on my feet, or b) chop off my toes.

* I ran away from university when I was 19. I asked this guy who lived in the same building as me to drive me to the train station and to not tell anyone where I had gone. I have no idea for the need for such secrecy, but I went home to my parents and knew I'd never go back to that university. A few days later the RA of the university campus accommodation rang up and asked my parents if they knew where I had gone. Of course they knew, I was at home in my old bedroom. Some people told me I'd regret it. I didn't. I've never looked back.

And six bloggers that I think should step up to bat for the boring yet quirky tagging?

- Hugo & Elsa (Michelle is living my dream life in Tasmania)

- Che & Fidel

- Hoppo Bumpo

- Paper Dolls for Boys (Tracey - I know you have more of this)

- ChoccyBangles

- bugandpop

Play if you want to. Come on. You know you want to.