Happy Birthday Indy!!
Today our son turns 2. Simply amazing how quickly the time flies by. Why only yesterday, he was still in a cot, but not today…
It’s your Birthday! And what an excellent little helper you are.
Enjoy your Thomas big bed, little man xxx (more…)
When it comes to severing ties with those you hold nearest and dearest to your sack heart, you gotta weigh up your options. I had considered the Something About Mary home vasectomy kit, but when it comes to frank’n’beans, I opt for something a little less tearful to the eye and prefer to not end in the phrase, “We got a bleeder!”
And being the open-minded fella that I am, I went with an Open-ended vasectomy.
Which sounds like wrestling two garden hoses as they spray haphazardly out your trousers. Open-ended actually means the tubes are cut off and only one end is tied off. Your body still continues to produce sperm but it’s absorbed back into your body within 15 seconds. Kind of like when you dribble soup down your chin and quickly suck it back in before it drips on your cargo pants. Minus the slurping sound. It’s quick and scalpel-free. Best of all, I have a fully legitimate reason for literally being, SELF-ABSORBED.
And my practitioner of choice…
True dat! Dr Nicholas Demediuk (aka Dr Snip®), has performed over 20,000 vasectomies (and I thought I met a lot of ‘dicks’ in my profession). So he can pretty much do this with his eyes closed (but thankfully, doesn’t).
It all begins at home the night before when I have to shave my own ‘region’. A little whipper-snip and back burning to bring the manscape back to bare. There’s a reason you don’t take selfies when you’re shaving for a vasectomy. None of the angles do you any favours. Oh, the indignity. I don’t think I breathed during the whole ordeal.
Come game-day and a plaque on the wall reads, ‘Carpe Scrotum’ which if you know your Latin, is somewhat less than comforting (Seize the Scrotum). Man, I hope that’s a serving suggestion and not a direct order. Sounds like the Spartans war cry from ‘300’. However, Dr Nick assures me it’s less painful than going to the dentist, but then again, I never had a dentist pull teeth out through my scrotum. (more…)
We had our 20 week scan and got to see our beautiful girl doing tumble turns in the oven. It’s a marvel of technology to be able to see everything going on inside. That’s the humerus…“Gee, I thought it’d be funnier?” I said. The stenographer smiled politely. Mumma topped me without missing a beat…“we thought you would be, too.” Then high-fived each other with their eyes. It was a good call, but stung like a prick to the testes.
Our gal is growing marvellously and we couldn’t be happier. The placenta is a little low, and seeing as we have no experience in cheering one up, we have to get another scan at 32 weeks to ensure it’s not obstructing the birth canal. That will determine whether or not she takes the natural route or gets ejected through the skylight.
We followed that up today with a visit to the Midwife clinic, where we had a couple followers of our own. A friend from our Mothers group and a friend of Mumma’s sister, both midwifery students, accompanying and observing our appointments. It’s a little unusual to hear the Doctor call out your wife’s name…and four people get up and walk in! Like Bill Paxton and his ‘Big Love’ Mormon Wives. Our own private entourage. (more…)
I’m scared and excited this week to participate in my very first Blog Hop. Excited because I was invited by Sophie at The Mother Load. Sophie’s twice award-nominated blog is beautifully presented and she’s a wonderful writer, incredibly open and generous about her thoughts on life and is reflective, intelligent and honest in her writing. You should definitely check out Sophie’s post here.
Scared because the subject of this blog hop is a look into the writing process and how we go about it. I also get to nominate four other people to take part and discover wonderful insights into how they attack the blank screen when writing their posts.
But, are you sure you want to go down this rabbit hole? Even I’m afraid to travel deep down into my own mind without some kind of life insurance cover to see how it all works. It’s no Willy Wonka factory, let me tell you. More like if Willy Wonka was on crack and Albert Einstein on LSD and their lucid dreamings crossed streams and melded into a menagerie cloud baby that joined forces with a robot from the 12th dimension in a nice tailored suit, and was refused entry to the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party because he wanted to bring along his own boom-box with a mixed tape of his favourite 80’s songs. Then my mind…would live next to THAT guy. (more…)
Happy Days, Seinfeld, Breaking Bad…all good things must come to an end. And so it goes for my nut bag. The very thought of it makes me cringe and although we feel incredibly lucky to have been blessed with our miracle man and a bunette currently in the oven, I’m acutely aware the sands of time continue to spill through the hourglass. Although I’m young at heart, the body says otherwise.
Struggling to read bedtime stories under dimly lit conditions, I was told by my optometrist that I’m entering the ‘Presbyopia’ stage of life. A type of short-sightedness that affects us all over the age of 40 and currently, the majority of the Australian voting public (have you ‘seen’ our PM?). As much as I adore being a 40YrOldDad (*ahem), I have no intention of one day becoming a 50YrOldDad…with a toddler!
Hence, as Joe Hockey pointed out during the budget…cuts must be made. And so, with a gulp in my throat and a tear in my eye, it’s time to ‘git snippy widdit’ and book in for a vasectomy. (more…)
Indy had just gone down for a nap and I was in the loo when I heard it. Not that, THAT…the shrill of Mumma’s ringtone. By the time I made it to the living room, my heart was already in my mouth, which is probably why I couldn’t breathe. Unless it had something to do with a certain There’s Something About Mary ‘frank’n’beans’ moment I had unwittingly recreated in my haste to zip up and hear the news.
Through wincing eyes and bated breath, I was playing catchup. Having already missed part of the conversation, I had to extrapolate what I thought was being relayed down the phone by piecing together Mumma’s subtle facial expressions, body mannerisms and pupil dilations as she listened intently. Like trying to figure out what’s happening on LOST, when you’ve already missed the first two seasons, there’s just no way.
Even if she did say something, there’s no way I could have heard it over the pounding of the pulse between my ears, like the guy swinging his hammer at the Rank Arena gong. And suddenly, all at once, there was a resounding SILENCE as she hung up the phone. The results are in… (more…)
Our journey into parenthood began a couple years ago with Four Little Words, “You’re f*#ng kidding me!” Now that we’re writing the sequel, there were actually zero words. Just shock. Open-mouthed, jaw dropping shock…for about a day and a half!
The day before my birthday Mumma approached me on the couch and said, “Hold your hands out…”. Slightly confused and a little disappointed that whatever was behind her back was neither the size nor shape of golf clubs, when she placed the stick with two lines in my hand…my mind got carted for a six!
Next thing I remember, it was Wednesday.
Wow, for those who don’t know our story, we tried for 10 years to get pregnant. Endured 9 failed attempts of IVF, quite a few miscarriages and even a visit to a witch doctor but still no dice. We both turned 40 and decided it wasn’t to be, so we decided to have holidays instead of kids. We packed up and moved to Bali for 5 months and fell pregnant naturally with our miracle boy, Indy Wayan, within the first month of living there. Now, he’s just turned 22 months old and is the joy of our lives.
Never ever in our wildest dreams did we ever expect to ever get pregnant again. EVER! It’s one of those things we always said, “if it happens, it happens”, and we always thought it would be lovely to have another kid, but we never truly actually believed it would (or even could), ever actually really happen. So yes, I was gobsmacked and totally paralysed internally.
Can we really do this? Is it real? Indy was such a great baby, what if this one’s the devil or worse, barracks for Collingwood? What if it’s a girl? I know nothing about girls, I’m 43 years old now and still don’t understand women fully. What if it’s another boy? I love Indy so much, can I actually even love another baby? I’m considering going back to uni in July. Can we even afford another baby? How will Mumma cope? How will I cope? How will Indy cope? (more…)
Kidspot.com.au are running their annual Voices blogging program, searching for the bestest and most awesomest voices out there in the blog-o-sphere.
From over 1000 nominations this year 600 blogs were nominated.
From those 600, a Top 100 was selected encompassing 3 categories;
Food & Wellbeing – (30 finalists)
Beauty & Lifestyle – (40 finalists)
Personal & Parenting – (30 finalists)
And unbelievably, we’ve been selected as finalists in the Top 30 Personal & Parenting category!!
I’m both humbled and excited by our inclusion in the Top 30.
So, I’m actually ‘humbited’ or ‘excumbled’ (I can never tell those two apart, especially when they wear the same sweater vests).
Amazingly, out of the entire Top 100 there are only 4 blokes. And 3 of us…are Daddy Bloggers! (more…)
Step aside Twilight Zone, two-steps to the left Amazing Stories and kneel down and bow your head LOST, because our little man just officially blew my mind during breakfast that sent a shock wave of “What the…” rippling down our spines.
Checking my emails at the table while Indy munched through his honey-toast dip-dip in his high chair beside me, my spider-sense tingled at the sound of water streaming into the pool under his chair. Fully expecting to look up and see him pouring his water bottle over the side, I was shocked to see it was still in its place, untouched on the table and he was contending with a chewy piece of crust.
But underneath his chair, lurking like an aquatic troll, was a golden pool of liquid that immediately sunk my spirits and made me groan internally. Oh no, he’s peed himself in his high chair.
Mumma saw the shock wave ripple in her cup of tea from my sunken shoulders and leapt to lend a hand, but upon inspecting our presumably soaking cherub, he was actually…bone dry! His fiddly bits tucked away inside his nappy and not a drop of wee down his leg hole, his waistband or anywhere in between. But I heard it spill down into the pool and the evidence is clearly…evident. (more…)
Darkness looms. A figure hunches in the shadows of his nightly prison, incoherent whispers hush quietly, incessantly. A crack of light from an open door spills across the figure, illuminates his damp and blotchy skin. Like Gollum from Lord of The Rings, the creature springs up, shields its eyes from the piercing glare. Its fiddly fingers conceal and protect his ‘precious’ from anyone who would dare try to steal it. The frenzied whispers rise to an audible exclamation as the creature leaps toward the bars and yells excitedly…
“Wee-wee!”
Yes, at 21 months of age, our son has discovered his ‘precious’ which he kindly refers to as his ‘wee-wee’. And like Lara Bingle and bad publicity, he just can’t get enough of it. Which is not really a problem in itself. I mean, we both knew it was inevitable that he would eventually find it, and if he wasn’t meant to play with it then God would have given him shorter arms or put it somewhere you can’t reach, like the spot between your shoulder blades or on top of the fridge. But what makes things challenging, is that he tends to dig around inside his nappy for it when he’s in bed and as a result, pees all over himself and the bed.
So there we are, a tag-team midnight pit crew change. Mumma strips him down and changes his Cookie Monster jammies on the change table, while I strip down and reassemble the cot. Done and dusted in under a minute. Our precision is envious. The whole thing to him occurred as a psychedelic blur of light and fleece, to which his only recollection in the morning must be, ‘how did I change pyjamas in the middle of the night?’ But even then, the flannelette cowboys on his second pyjamas have already worked up a sweat, as he’d been digging around and struck liquid gold, yet again. (more…)
November 27th, 2017
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August 19th, 2017
THEN YOU SAID…