I meant to write this post a few days ago so the title would be some hilarious movie pun and o you would all laugh and laugh. As it is the Rocket is ten weeks old in just a few hours but if you could ignore that fact it would be great.

This week has been tricksy. Theo is very unwell at the moment - we are pretty worried about him. He's been to the vet with an upper respiratory infection, and they noted he'd lost even more weight - he's a fuzzy skeleton at the moment and not much more, my poor kitten. They tested everything and also pointed out he had fleas. We've bombed the house and the cat and he got some antibiotics and was looking better, but now he seems to have a kitty UTI just a day later. And man, do I know how that feels, so I feel awful for him. Otherwise, the Rocket had an eight week appointment and they say she is not putting on enough weight, so I have been freaking out about that - breastfeeding seemed to be going fine but now I feel like I am failing her, even though she is a happy little baby. (As I said during one tear-drenched moment to Chris: Both of my children are underweight, I am a horrible mother.) When I am calm I realise this is something that can be overcome and everything is fine, but if she has trouble feeding or I am feeling frustrated, I can spiral into low self-esteem very quickly. Lastly, our car is on the fritz so we decided to buy a new one - you know your car bites when you decide buying an entirely new one is a more financially sound option than keeping your old one - and so we've been trying not to drive it all week, and today we went to a dealership and bought a new one, like a proper new one where you can pick the colour and stuff. It's a lot of money, but as our car has cost us nearly three thousand dollars so far this year in repairs it'll hopefully be worthwhile. I even was all brave and talked the price down and was stupidly proud of myself, even though if we were Better Adults we probably could have done better, going to other car yards and stuff, but we are really not that good at this type of thing.

It seems to be my thing to start with the negative. I do it at the movies too. But my life, bar my childrens' health issues, is amazing, really: Natalie is the most beautiful thing in the world, a little baby burrito I spend all my time with and who is warm and perfect, smiling at our terrible curtains (I'm glad someone likes them) and laughing when we poke our tongue out at her; shouting when she wants to talk; watching science documentaries with intent; gazing with glee at the toys and books and company everyone has given her; snuggling up to us in the mornings when we take her out of the cot to have a warm family hug; burying her face into my chest when I take her for walks in the baby carrier; watching us eat dinner while she is propped up on pillows on the couch next to us. So much of what was important to me has fallen away; writing, the internet, Business Fiona. I thought this would be something I would do my best to avoid, but it turns out I don't really care, not for now, anyway. She is much more entertaining than I thought she would be, a new friend who I get to hang out with all the time. Not as great a conversationalist as some of my friends and she interrupts my conversations a lot, plus she's not really good with restaurants, but all the same, she's great. I am surprised by that, really, by all the Feelings I now Feel whenever she smiles or sleeps or anythings. Which is a lot of the time. I mean, don't think I'm surrounded by flowery happiness when I have to change her poopy butt or when she cries and cries and CRIES, but the majority of the time is not that, it is sitting quietly with her in my arms and eating Chili Kettle chips because PEOPLE, they are now back in the market and they've taken away the MILK in them, hooray.

So that's my rambly brain today, I apologise, I am really on a single track now. Choo choo.

I sure wish I'd posted earlier, maybe kept a bit more of a record of how I felt those first few terrifying weeks after the Rocket was born. But I was too busy flailing around keeping the kiddo happy, or checking Twitter (because it is much easier to stare in slack-jawed interest at my phone than get to my computer and write something), or eating potato chips, because that is the most important part of parenting that the books don't tell you.

My body felt pretty ravaged for about four weeks after birth, but now I feel amazing. I mean, my arms and back are sore from carrying her around when she's upset (or happy, or just about all of the time), but I've gone for a couple of short-distance runs and I walk every day and it feels so good not to get tired as quickly. My skin's cleared up and my hair isn't breaking any more. I've put on a bit of weight so I don't fit into all my old clothes just yet, and I'm still wearing my maternity jeans and looser t-shirts, but I'm on my way back to normal. I probably look about three months pregnant still (though this time instead of sticking my belly out with pride I'm sucking it in, if I remember) and my belly is soft jelly that looks like it's been clawed by Freddy Kreuger, but it doesn't get in my way. It's truly alarming how fucked up you feel just after birth. I knew I would - you can't push a baby out of your body without any problems - but my spine was shocked at the sudden loss of weight, and I walked like someone who was a hundred and five for about two weeks; it hurt to go to the toilet; it hurt to sit down; getting up out of bed was tricky because my new weight distribution threw me off; my whole body ached from the experience; and my breasts, oh, those poor dears. My mother told me when I got pregnant to use a nail brush on your nipples to toughen them up. It seemed ridiculous at the time but I can see the point; my nipples did not know how to cope with breastfeeding and they hurt really badly for the first few weeks. (And to think I'd thought that pain was over.) There were a couple of times when I could only equate the pain to having a railroad spike hammered into your chest and through your back, because it hurts there too, presumably because you tense up in anticipation of the pain. She took a whole chunk out of my nipple (how, who knows) so I was bleeding for a while and had to pump and feed her with a bottle, which was nice for Chris because he got to do some of the feeding. And nice for me to get a break.

I always loved the Rocket because she is mine and she is amazing, but I will say that for me, it wasn't all star-speckled soft-focus adoration for those first few weeks while I was healing. I was so absorbed in trying to get myself back into a humanoid state that it was a kind of strange love, like that you feel for a relative you've always had - a little like something I knew I had to do because I was a relative, though that sounds worse than it was. Her father, because he was all wrapped up in her, showered her with such love that I didn't feel she was lacking - we had a heap of lovely visitors, too, who helped both of us. Then one day, after maybe three weeks, without realising I'd healed enough that my focus had shifted from myself to her, I sat after a feeding with her blinking on my lap and the soundtrack to the movie Storytelling in the background and I burst into the happiest tears I'd ever had, because I had this beautiful baby with shining brown eyes that looked at everything like she was fascinated and who, despite all the pain and discomfort, was worth every single minute a thousand times over.

We all have the things that make us happy in this world; a career, education, charity, travel, food, a partner, ourselves, so many awesome things. I don't think I quite realised how much she was my happy thing until I noticed how mellow I feel around her, how happy I am. It's like that feeling before you get on a plane somewhere lovely, or before you start a new job you know will be great. This glowing feeling inside. There are moments of turbulence, if I'm going to be cheesy and continue the plane metaphor (you know I'll take any opportunity to be cheesy), but it's the journey I've always wanted to take. Okay, I'll stop, I'm making myself sick.

I should also go and tend to my child, who has been happily watching cartoons while I've been writing this, because I am a bad influence parent and apparently she loves the Little Princess. Now that I have all that serious, past-seven-weeks stuff out of my head, maybe I can start posting steadily again and without so much sap. Ha, unlikely.

( you knew there'd be pictures. )

Hello! How are you? I am fine. After nearly a month of finding small blocks of time here and there, I have finally finished writing the story of how my Rocket was born. It's super-duper TMI, so don't read it if you think you might have trouble looking me in the eye again. Also, don't feel you have to read it at all. I've offered below a few options for your reading displeasure.

Note also that many people have had much worse births. Mine is not the worst story out there. But still, it was truly unpleasant. I haven't held back much about the horrible parts of birth. Yes, the memories of it fade; yes, it's completely, utterly worthwhile. But don't let anyone tell you it's a breeze. They were probably far too high to remember correctly.

( a nearly 5,000-word essay on the birth of my lovely daughter, full of flowery language because I am ridiculous, and also kind of intimate if that type of thing worries you. And no, I'm not joking about the length. )

( the tl;dr version, a much, much shorter one-paragraph version of events that is not particularly gross at all. )

( a picture of the Rocket for those whose interest in the subject extends only to cute pictures of babies in hats. )

Well hello all. So, some of you may know this because we're pals on facebook or IRL or what have you, but if I haven't commented on a post you've done that was super awesomely interesting it's not because I don't love you, but because I had a baby and have gone from on the internet 90% of my awake time to only turning the computer on once every two days. And then I write a sentence of my birth story and the kidlet cries and then I forget the computer's on and etc etc. (This post alone took me two days.) So, no birth story yet, but I can give you the short version: on Sunday March 11, at 3:23am, after twelve hours of labour including about five hours of moderate-to-hardcore pushing, and after surgical intervention that involved two attempts with a vacuum then some Neville-Barnes forceps to pull her out of me before she went into distress and I fell apart.

She is magical, beautiful, everything. She is Natalie Rocket, a perfect pi weight at 3.14 kilos. And on her first day in this world, this is what she looked like.

My beloved friends Lian and Matt have been banging on relentlessly about The Total Glory that is Flemington's Laksa King for YEARS. We've generally not gone because Flemington isn't near us (Eastside, yo) or even that close to them (right in the middle of the city, where there are, generally, a few other meal choices) but at lunchtime last Sunday the stars had aligned, we were all in the mood, and so off we trundled. Even the parking goddess smiled upon us and we didn't have to park a thousand miles away which is helpful when you're shaped like a bowling ball and walking further than fifty metres is a distant memory.

Matt's always vouched for the vegan-ness of the vegetarian laksa and I'd quietly dreaded having to ask, in case it turned out it wasn't, but it says it right there on the menu: vegan-friendly. And because our pals had been so insistent on the laksa being excellent, we didn't even look at anything else and promptly ordered what they told us to.

And OH.



I know nothing of laksa - there's a chance this is the first time I've had it - so I can't judge comparatively to other laksas. But as a meal it was, quite frankly, amazing. The coconutty broth was heavenly and I scooped it up. (I usually ignore the soup portion of such dishes). There were two different kind of perfectly cooked noodle. The tofu had soaked up everything (my only complaint: there wasn't enough tofu.) All the vegetables were the right texture and taste and it was spiced without being too spicy. I really can't praise it enough. The bowl is actually huge - apparently no one they've ever taken has ever been able to get all the way through - and even when the nice waiter had taken the bowl away there was a part of me that wanted to just reorder a fresh one so I could start again.

Go there, order this.

Laksa King
6 - 12 Pin Oak Crescent
Flemington, VIC

If you tripped and fell out of Newmarket Station, you'd probably land in Laksa King. It's cash only, but there's an ATM inside.

UGH you guys I am the discomfort. You probably don't want to hear about it, but now any space in my life is well and truly taken up with how my body is feeling. I think I chose exactly the right time to go on leave, because now I need to pee every thirty-two seconds and if I had to walk up that staircase at work every time I needed to I would have given up and started peeing on books I didn't like. Also, I can't stand up for very long or walk very much because of intense pressure on my pelvis that makes it feel like I could give birth anywhere in a sudden whoosh which of course doesn't happen but hey, that's bodies for you. I was determined to do a lot of walking these last five weeks but it hurts too much, so I don't know what I'll do. I have an appointment with my midwife today so I have to at least get myself to hospital - a tram trip and a short-ish walk. Otherwise, sleeping is becoming virtually impossible, I wake up during the night to pee at least once, and the night before last I could not find a single way to sleep so Chris ushered me into the lounge room, propped me up with all the cushions and the footstool and made me feel like I was on an airplane. By that point I'd woken up so much that I couldn't get back to sleep, so I sent him back to bed (he tried to sleep on the other couch but looked so uncomfortable I felt bad about it) and spent the morning being surprisingly constructive, drawing a comic (more on that soon, maybe) and writing a review (I still do them for work). I cramp up around my right hip almost all the time when I lie down, though the further left I roll the better it is for my hip, the more likely I am to be squashing the kidlet who then kicks me. WAH WAH it's all fine, really, she is still well and things could be much worse. I am downing heartburn lollies like they are keeping me alive, though.

And of course even though I am mostly whining, yesterday Chris washed a bunch of the clothes we've bought and hung them on the clotheshorse in the kitchen, and I walked past them today and saw all these tiny little outfits - pants and shorts and singlets and onesies and blankets - and my heart just leapt. I am so excited to meet her and to have her foot not be in my ribcage any more. I'm still worried, too - there's no way around it - and even when the midwives and other hospital personnel tell me she's doing fine, she's perfectly average and excellent and my nutrition must be wonderful, I can't help but be anxious about her. I want so much to hold her little breathing form in my arms and kiss her squishy little head.

I have been trying to do the domestic goddess thing with my time off. It's not one of my greater talents but life will be easier if I perfect a cleaning and cooking routine before she's born. This doesn't mean Chris is never going to do it - ho ho, not a chance - but if I can make some huge pot of whatever during the day and then freeze it for meals then it's just going to save so much time. I've already started making a few things from The Vegan Table, none of which have blown my mind yet but I'm still learning - I'm really not very good at making food. Tonight I'm going to make Channa Masala, which was my favourite dish at the now-closed Vegetarian Nirvana in Richmond. I will dim my hopes a little though. But I've made a potato and leek soup that's lasted two meals so far (and could have lasted three if I'd been more sparing in last night's servings) and Aloo Gobi that also lasted two (could have stretched to two and a half if I hadn't left the half out too long.) It's kind of satisfying and makes life much easier. Cleaning is harder because I HATE IT, which is hardly a newsworthy thing to point out but I really should at least get the house into good shape when she's born. I could probably sadface my mother into helping keep it in shape for a few weeks afterwards but at the moment I'm too embarrassed to let her in the door. SOON MY FRIENDS, soon I will have people over because I won't be anxious about their judgement. Hopefully.

Anyway lovers, I am off to fidget awkwardly and eventually make my way to the hospital where they will tell me only good news (POSITIVE THINKING) and will hopefully continue the tradition of no internal examinations. D:

This was one hell of a week. I mean that in a celebratory kind of way, not the kind where you need a stiff drink and a good cry (though there has been crying.) I finished up at work on Thursday, otherwise known as Australia Day, which I celebrated by going to work to earn double time and then going off to Take Your Taxpayer Dollars for months. (Not for the next six weeks though - until the kiddo is born, I'm on my own, surviving off savings and my annual leave which I'm taking at half-pay. I mean, and Chris's income too of course, but you get my drift.) I've often gone starry-eyed about my workplace but they showed me why again by giving me three final days, in a way - on my last Sunday, the weekend manager made me the most wonderful chocolate cupcakes and I got hugs; on my last Wednesday, aka the last day with the full(ish) staff on board, I got Cupcake Central cupcakes (with JAM, can I just say that jam is my THING right now) and everyone else got cake and I also got a baby bottle with a guitar on it, and then more hugs; on my proper last day, Australia Day, I managed for the first half of the day and then was called down while I was doing some upstairsy paperwork stuff thinking Oh God, Some Customer Is Going To Ruin My Last Day but NO, instead my lovely adorable coworkers had bought me a Slurpee (which they GIFTWRAPPED) and some flowers and then we all had a hug and they all put their hands on my naked belly to say goodbye to my daughter as well. Then Chris came to meet me at work and I drank my Slurpee in the park and everyone was running around playing in the grass and I was about as happy as you could be.

On Friday morning I woke up at stupid o'clock to go pick up my gorgeous friend Callie and her lovely fiance Gareth and head to the airport to fly to Sydney because we were going to the wedding of someone you've all heard me bang on about: Lian, my most fashionable and wonderful friend who has so many excellent qualities I have to stop listing them now or I'll burst into tears. Anyway, she was getting married at her uncle's property on the NSW coast and Callie and I were bridesmaids, Gareth was the minister who was hitching Lian and Matt's carts together and Chris was there to make me look good and also be useful in general. (This eventually translated into: "play golf", which just gave him a blister and the kind of rage he gets when he's not very good at something.) So off we flew - kiddo did not like it when the plane tilted, let me tell you - and then landed and were in Sydney only fleetingly as we packed into our hire car and shambled down the Princes Highway.

It was a beautiful drive that Gareth and Chris shared; my ability to do head-checks, especially ones at 110km/hr, is getting unfairly constricted. We made our way through mountains, around lakes and by the coast. I love Melbourne like it's an addiction, but Sydney really can do beautiful drives; the places I go are never so hilly and lush. It rained; there was mist; there was sun. As Lian was planning an outdoor wedding (with an undercover backup plan) I was sad to see the rain and wished it heartily away. We drove into Nowra, checked into our hotel, and all promptly had naps. Chris and I went for a walk down to the river and got heartily rained on as soon as we sat on a pier. It was still nice; I was so happy to be there in general, for a wedding and for a change, that I wondered why I ever cared about getting rained on. It's just water. It doesn't matter. (NB This is an opinion I rarely hold on rain.) Later in the evening, the four of us went to a Thai restaurant the hotel manager had claimed was the best in Australia; they were pretty good and happily listed which vegetarian dishes had fish sauce/eggs etc (I specified again anyway when I ordered) and if I was ever there again, I would totally go. I also can't remember what it was called. Riverside Thai? Anyway, om nom.

The next morning - Saturday, the day of the wedding - dawned muggy and damp. We held the rehearsal on the lawns of the estate and Callie's shoes sank in the wet ground. The five of us - four giggly bridesmaids and one smiling bride - practised our walk up. Gareth explained what was going to happen. It was beginning to seem very real, and very relaxed and fun. The marquee was up and lovely, the trees in full leafy grandeur, Lian's mother swimming laps in the estate's pool. Lizards ran by our feet, cows congregated in the distance, flies buzzed around our hands. We were shepherded off to the bridal salon and suddenly in a world of marble and chandeliers and floor-length windows and high tea. Pro tip: everyone should have an uncle who owns a wedding venue. I felt like we were in a movie.

The hairdresser came and made us all pretty; Callie did everyone's makeup. There were scones with jam and cream, a fruit platter, and little tartlets; I was advised to bring my own food and fixed everyone up with my excess chocolate, crackers, dip, grapes. We arrived at the salon at around 10, maybe 10:30, and how we spend the next six hours exclusively getting dressed and laughing I couldn't really tell you, but it was complete fun in that way you really have to abandon yourself into. Where a whole day of preening is a luxury you allow yourself. Where you get to spend an entire day just making sure your friend is happy, and they're the kind of person who's happy if everyone around them is happy.

Until her hair was done, Lian was relaxed and chirpy; once the hairpiece was in, her hands started to shake. Makeup applied, jewellery on, dress on, me about to lose my shit (really I'm a terrible bridesmaid, all I do is get emotional at every moment) and she looked so nervous, so anxious, and I wanted to put my hands on her hands and just siphon all of the anxiety out of her. In our heightened emotional state she gave us the most beautiful bridesmaid gifts: according to Chinese mythology (she is of Chinese heritage) when you are born there is a red string that connects you to the most important people in your life. So she gave us bracelets made of red string holding a tiny silver heart and we all had a bit of a cry. (I didn't take mine off until this morning when I washed my hair in the shower and I didn't want the shampoo to damage it.)

After that, with our big love-in coming to an end, we all made our way to the drawing room in the main house and waited until the crowd formed in the garden. We were counted out to walk down that aisle in our floral tea dresses, bracing everyone for the most lovely sight they wanted to see: Lian herself, on the arm of her father, beaming nervously around.

I can't remember much of the ceremony. It was perfect, their vows were amazing - funny, touching, and totes 2012 - but all I remember was Gareth saying they could now kiss and Matt launching himself at Lian in romantic excitement and holding her face and kissing her like a puppy come home. As maid of honour, I signed the registry, with Matt's best man, and they were officially married.

Without official photographers, instead of hours of posing the crowd just walked through the marquee to the other garden, replete with bar, giant chess set, canapes and three juice machines. There we hung out, happily chatting and playing, until summoned into the marquee to be seated for dinner. (I got my own - asparagus with pesto and pine nuts for entree, and a glorious puff pastry affair with roast potatoes for my main.) There were speeches - I made one where I talked about how I wooed her like a date and told no embarrassing stories because a) you really just can't do that about the bride and b) I have none anyway because while being excellent fun, Lian conducts herself far too well. The best man's speech went for much longer because, happily, Matt is very embarrassing. (I'm kidding, but he does get into more scrapes.)

There was dancing, there was booze, there was a late-into-the-night barista and a supper ham. There were dress-ups and polaroids and a typewriter to give advice to the newly married. (Never fear, someone did The Shining's "All work and no play" line, in case you were worried.) There were lights strung in the trees and there were bats and you've really never seen anything come together in such exquisite form. I don't have any pictures yet, but I hope I will soon.

That night, we slept in the estate's stables (no babies born in mangers, don't worry); the next morning, we had brunch in Berry (I had JAM); we drove back to Sydney; we flew back to Melbourne (that flight was much worse - despite flying twelve fricking times in the past year, on take-off and landing I hung onto a very patient Chris and cried.) Lian and Matt are husband-and-wife-ing it up in Sydney for a few days; I am now a lady of leisure who needs to clean her damn house and stay well for the little sprout in her belly.

As anyone who is either in Melbourne or has the misfortune to be on a Melbourne person's social network feed these past few days knows, it has been HOT, stupidly so. 40 degrees today. 32 is about where my enjoyment heat level cuts off, and this was eight degrees above that. Even though we have air conditioning now, it's not quite up to the living-in-a-refrigerator standard I enjoy in summer, so we went off to the movies to see The Skin I Live In (a debatable Bechdel Test pass and unpleasantly full of sexual assaults) and hang out in better cooled climes. Then we caught the train home and ate icy poles as we walked back to the flat. Back there, Chris continued his cleaning nesting frenzy and I sprawled nude in front of the aircon until it became temperate enough to move, then I helpfully alphabetised CDs.

Yesterday I worked - in pretty much the only place open, it seemed - then went home and had a bit of a weep about how useless I feel. Useless at work (I can't lift or reach anything and I tire easily and can't stand still or walk up the stairs or basically do any-fucking-thing), useless at home (I got tired putting a fitted sheet on the bed. Like, what?) and useless in basically every other way possible. This is no one's issue but my own - everyone is ridiculously supportive - but one I'm having more trouble with than anything. New Year Resolution: be less whiny about this, fix self.

And the night itself: I went to the home of my wonderful friend Lian and we ate glorious snackies and played old Nintendo games which probably drove her a bit mad and I may have been a little blind to due to my starry-eyed nostalgia. We left at about a quarter to twelve to walk back to the car - we'd parked ages away - and watched the fireworks from in front of Melbourne Central and didn't see the Arts Centre spire catch fire, though we did see the emergency response team barrelling towards it. Earlier that day I went to my current favourite place in the universe, the ocean, to float around and feel like a whale come home. As Chris's sister lives right on the water, she and her husband came along and we all splashed about and Katie made us pose for pictures. I like this one.

( another bump-type picture )

In summary, happy new year, everyone! I hope 2012 makes you feel like the above picture makes me feel, i.e. super pleased and a bit giggly.

$544
$100 (estimate - two doctor visits, minus refunds, plus medication)
$644

I'm vaguely sure I have been back to the doctor twice since my last post when I was recording money spent. A couple of weeks ago, when I was last complaining, and then again tonight with fresh complaints that are also the same. As my normal GP is closed and I still can't bring myself to go to the emergency room for these kinds of non-emergency issues, I went to the nearby after-hours clinic which was, happily, not too horrible a wait and didn't really cost too much more than normal. The doc recommended I stay home tomorrow and drink three litres of water and juice to help my new dilemma but I am conflicted. I hurt and it's awful, for sure, and I can barely look at customers without thinking how much I hate them for not being me (i.e. in pain, though honestly how would I know) and everything is dimmed by pain and frustration. But then there's parts of the day when I feel fine. WHAT DO?

Kidlet is kicking like mad just about all the time. It is quite lovely though sometimes she kicks so hard it takes me by surprise. She is about 43cm from head to toe - that is longer than a ruler! - and appears to like reggae because she goes nuts when we put it on. We had a stab at cleaning her room. It's still terribly messy but, you know, progress! Despite not being born she still scored some sweet xmas presents in varying shades of pink, so we went and spent some xmas money on one billion items of non-pink clothing and blankets (and one pink playmat that I pouted about.) I don't have to worry about my bias against pink meaning she'll never have anything; everyone else will supply the pink for her.

I had an elaborate xmas post planned with all we did (three different catch-ups) and all I felt (sappy/disgruntled/offended/happy/sad) and Oh My Goodness The Weather (tornadoes, you what?) but now that I am in a trough and not a peak you can all just make up some great Wizard-of-Oz story about how the day went.

What are you guys reading at the moment? I have no attention span any more so I am reading nothing, though I carry around Cordelia Fine's Delusions of Gender and stare at sentences like I understand what words like "and" or "that" mean. But I'm hoping this will pass! So what books do you have your dirty paws on?

My lovely coworker Imogen asked me yesterday, "Is it exciting? Being pregnant?" I told her: "Not this week," and then went on a big rant about All My Woes but concluded by rubbing my belly and saying, "Well, actually, I guess I'm excited about her. It makes up for everything else."

( Like all the complaining about being in pain and whining about body image! )

Today I went out for brunch with the lovely D-Peng to celebrate the birthday of hers that I'll miss. She suggested A Minor Place and I looked at the online menu and saw the words "white beans" and it was all I could do not to be there in my pyjamas at 11pm. (This is a lie, I don't wear pyjamas.)

I have a cold today (boooooooo) so I ordered a lemongrass and ginger tea while I was waiting for D which was probably the greatest idea I've ever had. When she rocked up shortly afterwards we both went for the white beans with roquette (roquette? surely it's just rocket), dukkah and toast.



Once I get a new iPhone my pictures won't look so bad. (Who am I kidding, I'm a terrible photographer. They will always suck.) Anyway, this was great - the beans were a touch acidic, but I don't know if that's just my wonky taste buds at the moment or not. I still ate it all up. Great toast, lovely dukkah (not enough of it though! Because I am greedy) and fancily-spelled rocket. Later I had a very zingy soy chai latte and D had two lattes. Anyway, I would probably go back there again if I was in that part of the 'hood. Which I rarely am. Also, they have outdoor seating in two different places, which I am now interested in as it's easier to deal with a squalling baby outside; the acoustics are better (worse? Let's go with "more appropriate") outdoors.

http://www.aminorplace.com.au/

103 Albion St
Brunswick
03 9384 3131

A quick post to say how much I love the company I work for. In the email discussing our xmas bonus (I don't know how much it will be, I'm just stoked to be getting anything!) they told us what was going on with the Foundation that our company started two years ago as well, which donates money to various charity organisations that request it. This year, they're donating $100,000 to literacy progams for recent immigrants and refugees.

That is why I work where I do.

Pilfered shamelessly from joshthevegan!

1. What are you listening to right now?
Green Onions by Booker T, on vinyl (that's how you know I'm a hipster)

2. What song(s) make(s) you sad?
Casmir Pulaski Day (or however you write it) by Sufjan Stevens. Bright Eyes by Simon and/or Garfunkel. That song makes my CRY. Both do. I cry always though.

3. What is the most annoying song in the world?
Yellow by Coldplay. For reals, I hate that song. There are probably more though. (The most annoying sound in the world is Christian Bale talking as Batman.)

4. Your all time favorite band?
I always feel like I can answer this question but I don't think I can. Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Tom Waits. Animal Collective.

5. Your newly discovered band is?
Working in a record store (yes, we sell music as well as books) I discover new bands every day when someone puts an album on. I can't even remember what they sound like, but we've been listening to Real Estate at work a bit lately; that's pretty good.

6. Best female voice?
Karen O (Yeah Yeah Yeahs)? Wanda Jackson? The woman from Broadcast? (She died earlier this year, that sucks.)

7. Best male voice?
Tom Waits. Avey Tare. Nick Cave.

8. Music type you find yourself listening to most?
Alt-rock, probably, though god I don't know about you but I hate genres a bit. Left to my own devices (ie not influenced all the time by all my alt-rock friends and the alt-rock cds at work and on Rage) I partake in a bit of rockabilly. And beats, maybe.

9. What do you listen to, to hype you up?
Add (n) to (x). All their songs sound like you're in a video game or something but this one particular song that is on an album that is currently in a box (fuck! Why are we making space again? Dammit) is extra pumpy. Oh! OK GO! This Too Shall Pass gets my heartrate up every time, and their film clips are excellent.

10. What do you listen to when you want to calm down?
I stop listening. I don't know. Beirut, maybe.

11. Last gig/concert you went to?
Godspeed You! Black Emperor, when we were in Toronto, in case I haven't tormented Josh with that nugget enough. Last gig we saw in Australia: Best Coast and Os Mutantes.

12. Band you find yourself listening to the most right now?
I cannot get enough of PJ Harvey's newest album Let England Shake. Seriously, I have listened to it literally a hundred billion times.

13. Most hated band?
Kanye West. He's a total prick and his music is boring and I don't get him at all.

14. Song that makes you think?
Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu. I don't know what he's saying - he's singing in his indigenous language - but it makes you wonder what he is singing about and so you get to thinking.

15. Band that you think the world should love as much as you do?
Full Fathom Five (Australian band that have possibly broken up since I obsessed all over them in, like, 2003) or the Rectifiers (Australian band who I believe are still together.)

16. Coolest music video?
Most recently I love this:
http://thecoolhunter.net/article/detail/1944/apache--danger-beach

Less recently, Conceived by Beth Orton and her band of merry critters. More less recently, Goldfrapp when they did Strict Machine and Twist.

17. Music video with the most babe watch?
The less "babes" the better. I will be more likely to hate a clip if it's just about being sexy in a limited type of way.

18. What do you play/would you play in the bedroom to spice things up?
We're not too specific, but we used to play Dirty Three a lot.

19. Can you play a musical instrument?
I played the clarinet in high school. I was never very good. I also have an electric drum kit but a) I can't keep time and b) I can't make shit up. Words, yes. Music, no sir.

20. Ever been in a mosh pit?
Haha oh god no.

21. Are you in a band?
No though Chris will make me bang drums to his actual music-making sometimes.

23. Ever dated a musician?
Chris isn't a professional musician, but he does have like 13 guitars and can play them. Otherwise, no.

28. Do you wish yourself that you were a musician?
Not really. I wish I could play without learning. I have a lot of wishes; this is pretty low down.

29. Best chick all female band you know of?
Dum Dum Girls, maybe.

31. Last song that you heard on the radio?
God, I don't know. Last song I remember was Deep Sea Arcade's Girls. Because I downloaded it.

32. What do you think of Classical music?
TERRIBLE GET IT AWAY FROM ME

33. What do you think of Country music?
Can be really awesome. It gets played a bit at work - Dylan LeBlanc's song If Time Was for Wasting really blew me away recently. Couldn't tell you why.

34. What do you think of Death metal?
No thanks.

35. Last BIG band that you saw live?
Os Mutantes felt big. They were awesome.

36. Are you a groupie?
Not really. I'd be a groupie for Tom Waits but he hasn't been to Australia since before I was born.

37. Do you listen to music in foreign languages?
Yes! Frequently. Gurrumul (Chris loves him at the moment, foreign is probably the wrong word though), El Guincho...when I think about it, mostly bands that play in Spanish. Japanese bands after we went to Japan. I try and learn at least a line so I can sing something.

38. What famous musician would you like to spend the night with!?
Ryan Gosling. What, he's in a band too! He's dreeeeeamy.

39. Worst concert moment?
Worst is an exaggeration, but when we paid a buttload to see Best Coast as a support act because their solo gig (at the vegan friendly East Brunswick Club, dammit!) had sold out, and then she spent the whole time whining about how much the audience sucked and weren't dancing enough. I'm not a dancer but I just paid eighty bucks to see you, please be happy about it! Either that time or the time I fainted during the Raveonettes.

40. Funny concert moment?
When Nick Cave sang to me - for reals! - and described me during a rendition of Deanna at the Forum and I did nothing but stare and beam at him. Either that or the time I fainted during the Raveonettes.

41. Sad concert moment?
When I realised Warren Ellis from the Dirty Three was more creepy than cool.

42. Best local act you can think of?
I am uneducated in the ways of the very local. Australia-wise? Cloud Control? I love them a bit at the moment though they are a little cheesy.

43. If you were a musical instrument what would you be?
A guitar so Chris would continue to fondle me often.

44. Do you listen to the radio?
PBS. RRR. PBS has a lot of interesting stuff and a lot of crap. Damn you, gospel on the way to work on Sundays, but hooray for latin jazz on the way home in the sun!

45. Do you watch music TV?
Sometimes Rage. Chris used to tape the entire Friday night from 11 to 11, spend all Saturday watching it then give me the highlights when I got home from work. I did watch Video Hits when we channelflicked during ads in the cartoons in the mornings though they mostly played crap.

46. Do you follow the music charts, like the top 40?
Nup. I used to when I was a tragic tweenager, and I'd carefully tape my favourite songs and listen to these cassette configurations on my bedroom floor. Now I sometimes forget that Denis Leary's Asshole isn't immediately followed by Prince's Cream.

47. Have you met any famous musicians?
I don't know how famous they have to be. Missy Higgins? The girl from Blue King Brown? Paul Kelly? These are all people who've come into work.

48. Are any of your friends/family/etc. musicians?
Friends, yes.

49. Song that best describes your feelings right now?
If there's a song about being tired, it's that one.

50. Song that describes your life?
Tragically, Good Life by Kylie Minogue - it was a Bside on a "Santa Baby" CD single (yes, I was and continue to be occasionally tragic) and she sings about how she had a fantasy of how life was going to be but reality is better. Yes, I wanted to live in a castle with Devon Sawa. Living in a flat with Chris is better.

51. Do you know the names of all the band members that you listen to?
No. Shamefully. I know some, but am not great at this. I remember obscure actors well but musicians fall right out of my head.

52. Does a musician’s physical attractiveness play a role in the music that you listen to?
Haha oh god no. Really?

53. What famous musician do you want to marry?
Nick Cave? He marries practically everyone, right?

53. Favorite movie sound track?
Anything by Robert Rodriguez or Quentin Tarantino. Or The Little Mermaid.

55. Any musician pet peeves?
Don't be a douche. It's not that hard.

56. What do did your parents listen to?
My mother loves Tom Jones. My father loves the Andrews Sisters. They just went to see Dolly Parton at Rod Laver Arena. It is lucky I am as musically cool as I am, really.

57. What are you listening to right NOW?
Nothing. Chris just went to sleep.

58. Do you wear band etc T-shirts?
Not really. I would but they don't make them in fitted girl sizes much unless it's the Ramones. And no. (The Ramones are fine, just...no.)

59. Do you cook to music?
Not purposefully. Chris does.

60. Do you sing in the toilet?
Shower? Still, no.

$474
$ 70   (doctor visit)
$544

Last week one of my coworkers came down with chicken pox. Sucks to be him, of course, and we all got an email telling us to be careful of any symptoms. Before I even got to work that day, the HR person called me to tell me about it so I wouldn't freak out, and told me what could go wrong and what I could do and so on. Go team HR! Anyway, I called my father to see if I'd had chicken pox as a kid (he said "Ask your mother"), messaged my middle sister (she said "Ask [older sister]"), messaged my oldest sister (she said "Mum will know") and finally heard back from my mother (she said "I can't remember!" She is FIRED.) So that necessitated a trip to the doc to get a blood test to figure out if I'd had the pox or been immunised against it. Again, probably something you could do at a hospital, but this is quicker and easier, and also I got to hear my daughter's heartbeat again which blows my mind every time. So that was another $70 spent - I'm still at less than a thousand dollars at this point, though, and I'll get some back from Medicare. Yes, I should hook it up so the refund goes directly into my account. But doing things like that sets my anxiety off, so I'll ignore it for some stupid amount of time. Next scheduled visit is a trip to the hospital to check for gestational diabetes. I could probably say no, but I feel like my belly's enormous (and having GD makes for epic-sized babies) and I'm happy to check for it. I really should take a picture of my stomach. I'm obviously pregnant now, more customers are commenting on it. Still no groping strangers though, hooray! Lots of touchy coworkers though. The one who came down with the pox told me he has a little crush on me now that I'm pregnant. I think everyone at work wants to keep me safe and it's bringing out everyone's protective instincts. They yelled at me the other day when I chased a thief who ran out of the store. I was like, come on. It's not like I was ever going to win that race.

I was in a wedding on the weekend, as maid of honour. I was actually an everyday bridesmaid but the original maid of honour got kicked out for being a fucking pain in the ass, so that was great. I was really, honestly proud of the bride for doing it - and only two weeks before the wedding! - because she is the least dramazilla type out there and having someone make an unstressful event stressful and all about her is really just annoying. I mean, I don't buy into the "weddings are all about the bride" - obviously everyone's feelings are important - but the best part about being a bridesmaid is making someone you adore happy and helping them to throw an awesome party. It's really not that hard, and the other, good bridesmaid and I had no problems with it. It's all a bit overly complicated to explain but three cheers for my beloved Sarah anyway, currently swanning about somewhere in Prague with her husband. (Jealous.)

I was going to make this post about my year in general but my current lack of energy extends even to lying on the couch and typing. I had an hour-long nap this morning too. It is tiring just existing with a kicking and rolling 22.86cm, 770g being sticking out of your belly. Tomorrow? Tomorrow.