Finding The Happy

Looking for joy in all the right places


11 December 2010

Say cheese(y)

From memory, I think there’s only a single photo of my mum while she was heavily pregnant with me. It was in the seventies, she was wearing a very seventies top with very seventies glasses on. And I absolutely love it because it completely dates the moment, and she’s my mum so you’re not allowed to poke fun at her.

I know lots of women who take photos of their baby bellies at the end of each week. I should probably start at some point except right now, I think my belly is about 99% newfound gluttony, 1% Uterus and Baby. In other words, the expanding waistline just doesn’t feel all-baby yet, so I feel like such a cheater…

It used to be just wedding photos, and maybe some professional family snaps when your children are old enough to know how to grin on cue. Nowadays, there’s all the in-between stuff. The pregnancy professional photography for the formal announcement. The after-birth professional photography with the breastfeeding. On a related note – in the seven years I’ve lived in Canberra, I’ve seen more women’s boobs than I care to admit – thanks to Australia’s teeny-bopper fashion, the emerging trend of breastfeeding in the great outdoors, and a couple of pregnancy photo portfolios.  

My generation has definitely gone loud and proud – and native. We’re hanging it all out there. (Quite literally.) Frankly, I’m not sure what to make of it. Motherhood’s awesome and pregnancy isn’t a dirty word, yes yes. But ever since Demi Moore did that cover on Vanity Fair, I think we’ve all decided that pregnant should be sexy AND public. And lemme just say… the Pregnant You may knock the sox off your hubby, but I really don’t need to know.

Check out these awesomely awkward pregnancy announcement pics to get what I mean. And rest assured that I won’t ever do that to you.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas

I’m huge into Christmas. Or was anyway, until I got to Canberra and realised that it’s a lot like Kuala Lumpur, in that most people gear up to leave the place and spend Christmas somewhere else. Christmas in Canberra is about as exciting as a new pair of socks.

So in the six years we’ve been married and in the five we’ve lived in our home, we’ve never decorated. We have a money tree from our wedding that’s looking rather ratty, but it serves as our gift tree – so Valentines’ Day presents, anniversaries, birthdays and yes, Christmas gifts get left under its scant branches. And because there’s really only two of us, we don’t need anything bigger really.

But this year, I’m looking around and picturing Blob (proper baby, with proportionate head-to-body ratio, looking devastatingly cute at 5.5 months) and I’m thinking already that we’re sloppy parents and should make more of an effort, dangnammit.

So is this the start of that proverbial nesting period that mothers go through? Perhaps.

Blob got his or her first Christmas present this week!

Olivia the Owl crinkles, jingles, squeaks, reflects, and looks gormless to boot.

Tony’s colleague Katie got Olly the Owl for Blob. Which just makes it all that much real-ler. It’s one thing to grow a small paunch and get those bellybelt things to expand the waistband of your work pants (bellybelt RAWKS). It’s quite something else when another member of society openly acknowledges Blob’s humanity.

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