Family Values

Again it’s been a while… but this time I’ve got a really good excuse!

Ari has joined us… in fact, he is nearly 11 weeks old! There’s lots of changes to reflect upon and even more to do… The list is ever longer (washing, cooking, working, playing) but, as always, time seems to diminish in inverse proportion!

Anyway… first things first! ‘How was the birth?’ everyone asks…

Well I’ve distilled it into a pithy summary… it started really well and ended beautifully… with a brief interlude in the middle for an emergency caesarean…

If you're interested in the blow-by-blow, check out the blog of my gorgeous independent midwife, Lisa... www.homebirth.net.au

It was so different to my previous caesar experience. Labouring at home, rocking on an exercise ball or wallowing in the birth pool, surrounded by a beautiful group of people I love; knowing that the transfer to hospital was utterly necessary (Ari’s heart-rate was dangerously low and I was bleeding). My unerring faith in Lisa gave me great strength and I discovered within myself a certainty that ‘no matter what, everything would work out fine’. There was a surreal moment as I was loaded into the ambulance (refusing to lie down!) when I seemed to be outside my body looking down at the whole scene…‘That’d be right!’ I thought ‘Plan a water-birth and end up with a more dramatic caesar than first time round!’. It was a thought flavoured with humour, not bitterness and I felt the spirit of the little guy I was soon to meet…

Emerging from a general anaesthetic, someone laid my naked baby on my bare chest... Much to my surprise I felt tears flooding down my cheeks as I recognised the perfect little person I'd been carrying around inside.

Later, buzzing with happiness in a hospital bed, a 'helpful' nurse informed me of the so-called 'risks' of co-sleeping and I calmly informed her that I had done some research on the subject and felt comfortable with my ability to feed, cuddle and sleep with my new baby...

‘You go Girl!’ comments the little self that hovers on my shoulder, normally so verbose with constructive criticisms…

Big sister was disappointed to have missed the moment when Ari entered the world but was glad to have the first cuddle. Within weeks she would be proclaiming other ‘firsts’ and currently holds the record for making Ari smile (27 in a row).

We only stayed in hospital for a day and a half… I was so glad to escape… after all hospital can’t really offer comparable pleasures to watching your daughter and midwife making placenta prints on the lounge-room floor!!
My fairy-family kicked into play straight away with slaves a-plenty making cups of tea and toast... camping on the edge of the bed as Ari and I inhabited a battered old lounge chair re-dubbed the 'feeding' chair.

Every parent in Rosie's school yard stops to cluck and coo... endless queries about the babies sleep and feeding patterns... ‘is he good?’ (as if a baby can be ‘good’ or ‘bad’). It strikes me how utterly ‘normal’ it all is - nobody asks how he was conceived. Donor M’s mum even gets flowers from a woman at work to congratulate her on becoming a grandma for the first time.

There are aspects of all this conventional ‘nuclear family’ stuff that I still find unsettling, because it’s not a true reflection of our reality… But I’ve also arrived at a place where it just doesn’t matter right now. I’m willing (and proud) to get into the real complexity of it all, but only when there’s time and an appropriate space…

What matters is that Nan and Gramps are both charmed by his face-cracker of a smile and my sister can’t get enough cuddles. Whilst part of me wonders what story she’ll tell her kids about where Ari came from, the rest of me is so happy about how ‘our mob’ has come together, that I just don’t care whether or not anyone really understands or approves.

The challenges I face now are not dissimilar to those faced by any other mum - how to juggle work and study with house-cleaning and the very different needs of two kids. Lots hasn’t changed - there’s still not enough hours in a day; R’s dad still picks fights at every available opportunity despite over 5 years of mediation; there are still crack-pot religious homophobes on too many street corners…

What has changed very profoundly, very deeply for me is… I finally get it! So much past sadness is healing… as I re-visit each baby milestone, the journey gets re-written with new tales. At eight days old R had brain surgery; at nine days she started screaming every time I offered her my breast; at three months I finally stopped milking myself every three hours; at five months a baby-care nurse reported me to social services because I’d rated off the scale on a post-natal depression questionnaire. Soon after we moved back to Adelaide from Sydney… I was a fragile shell of my former self; I remember pushing a pram around a massive shopping complex, feeling like poor white trash, ashamed when I had to ask a cafe to heat the baby’s bottle.

I wonder whether a large part of my depression was, in fact, an identity crisis. I’d been an out-and-proud baby dyke, then reluctantly bi… then, when I had a baby, I became invisible. No sexuality = No spirit. Just a tired young mum struggling to hold together a bad relationship. I was pretty sure my baby didn’t like me and I was always surprised when other people admired her.
I pause and celebrate how much I love this little baby and my big girl. I can't wait for Ari to grow into a crawler then a toddler then a big kid... and I love that I get to remain myself whilst sharing this whole journey with R and the family we have worked so hard to create. Not to say there aren't bad days, but I won't let them overwhelm me... because this time I know who I am.

And the bad days are just like that… I don’t need to fix them or dwell upon what caused them. I’m managing to get through work and feel like I’m doing a good job on a variety of projects; I have good relationships with a variety of people. I can’t wait to start my PhD. One day soon I’m thinking I might even find myself capable of falling in love again… not in any desperate hurry though ; ) Too busy enjoying being just the way we are!!

Woke up in the middle of the night last night, as the baby kicks and lodges himself yet further into my pelvis, thinking… Omigod! I can’t go into labour yet… I haven’t done a blog update!

It seems I’ve been putting it off or placing it at the bottom of the list for the longest time now… and I wonder why? Today, I think I’ve worked it out… It’s about feeling like I have to be careful what I write… imagining all the possible reactions of every possible person, both those who know me well and those I’ve never met… What will they think? Will I unintentionally cause offence?

Otherwise known as self-censure… Today I’ve woken up feeling blessed… I’ve burnt my fears and I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore! I can’t control other people’s judgments and, in any case, all I have to offer is who I am…

I'm so lucky to have so many loved and precious people who've come along on the ride with R and me. And, finally, I trust them... They know me, warts and all, and they like me regardless! Which is a good thing - given they may soon witness some of my less-than-glorious qualities… being in intense pain and/or suffering from advanced sleep deprivation has a tendency to reveal even the most well-concealed cracks ; )

Anyway, enough with self-reflection! The main thing I wanted to express in this post is a heartfelt ‘thank-you’ to my fellow-travellers …alongside some thoughts on the power of rituals…

This baby should, by now, be feeling very wanted… very welcome to make his entrance… Not counting the many, many affirming conversations I’ve had about children, pregnancy and birth, there have been THREE separate celebrations in preparation - a semi-traditional ‘work girls’ baby shower; a combined birthday party/baby blessing for R and her ’sibling-to-be’; and a mother blessing…

Well, you may ask… isn’t that overkill? To which I respond, have you been to a wedding recently?

Whilst I myself find many of our western christian rituals around marriage fundamentally hollow and driven by consumerism, I respect our human desire to mark transitions in our lives with some pomp and ceremony. When else do we have opportunity to make deep connections with others and to really reflect upon the purpose of our existence here on earth?

For those of us without clearly defined culture or faith (and/or banished from mainstream institutions like marriage as punishment for our sexual preference or our choices to form alternate family structures)... there's nothing for it but to invent our own rituals!

R and I made bracelets for our fairy god parents (three hematite beads strung on thin wire - representing ‘past-present-future’ and ‘you-us-and our extended chosen family’. The FGP’s, in turn, offered up a symbolic bead for R, baby and I… we’ll all wear our bracelets and necklaces as I’m labouring to remind us of our connections to one another… maybe even to unify our psychic energy as a new spirit enters the world ; )

The mother blessing was even more intense and spiritual… very woman-centred and a source of great delight to R… combining crystals, candles, fresh flowers, feathers, tea ceremony and the burning of fears. Everything a 7 year old self-proclaimed Buddhist and Dragon-rider/Fairy-friend could wish for!

And for me? An opportunity to mark this fleeting moment in time… to let go (as I’ll need to in birthing) and surrender to the energy of the birth space (our sun-filled lounge-room) and birth companions (mother, daughter, donor, trusted friends - old and new). Some precious memories shared… and captured on film, inevitably ; )

And I do feel truly blessed… reading old diary entries recently I realised just how different it all is this time around… it hasn’t been easy getting here but so many of the lessons I’ve learned (painful as they were) have equipped me with the strength to trust, the courage to be vulnerable… the optimism to walk this path again, knowing that the adventure this time will be so different, in many ways, all new…

I hope to update the blog a little more frequently than the two or three times I’ve managed in the last 10 months (shame, shame!!) but for those of you who are travelling with me here, I thank you too… sometimes a response from a friend or stranger is just the thing to help lift one’s eyes from the cobblestones… allowing contemplation of the sometimes strange and foreign lands through which we are all walking on our fundamentally solitary journeys!

The belly is swelling and, at 27 weeks now, R can finally feel the baby kicking 'from the outside'. She's very excited about the prospect of having a little brother and adds new names to the list almost every day... the latest is 'Cous-Cous' which, even she accepts, may be best reserved for special nick-name status.

The ultrasound (at around 22 weeks) was an exciting turning point for all of us. M and R both attended and I'm sure we looked just like every other excited nuclear family. However, the presence of the inevitable video camera gave me license to explain that we wanted to film because 'our family is a little different‘. Nobody cared much but it was important to me that M wasn’t addressed as ‘my husband’ and we all got to be true to our happy selves.

The baby put on a good show, especially in response to R blowing raspberries on my belly, and we saw lots of kicking and stretching action. The sonographer was thorough in checking out the baby’s brain, hoping to eliminate ‘macrocephalus’ which R was born with; a ‘birth defect’ that led to brain surgery at 8 days old and a prognosis of ’severe disability’… fortunately they were overly pessimistic and R is as ‘normal’ as can be!

All seems well with the new bundle... but, let's face it, despite professing not to care, it was an interpretation of what's between the legs that everyone was awaiting with bated breath... And when we finally got a flash of his little willy... we were all delighted! R stated this is because ‘Well I’m a tom-boy… and anyway, boys are just more interesting!‘.

I was pleased because, even though I know it’s all going to be different this time around, ‘boy’ is like a definitive line in the sand. Henceforth, nothing will be the same. Obviously, despite my ongoing railing against ‘biological essentialism’, deep down I must think that parenting a boy will provide new challenges to those I’ve faced with a girl… surely the difference is mostly in the social construction of gender… and the individual personality of each child? That’s what I’d like to believe but I guess we’ll see ; )

Over the last few months I've been having lots of discussions with fairy godparents around 'expectations'. Some of it has been very confronting and hard to hear. A close friend put it something like this: ‘It’s not exactly ‘what’s in it for me?’ but I need to know exactly what you expect and what you’re thinking you’ll give in return… friendship is a two way street you know…’ Further digging revealed, whilst I thought I was making a generous and open-hearted invitation to be part of our family, others had interpreted this as typical of me ‘looking out for myself’. The worst character description was ’self-consumed’… which really stung.

This launched me upon a long period of soul-searching and reflection. Obviously ’self-consumed’ is a criticism that could be levelled at anyone with a BLOG (I mean, really, posting your diary entries in a public space? What makes you think anyone actually cares?). But I started thinking… fundamentally, at the end of the day, aren’t we all motivated primarily by selfish hopes, dreams and desires? Even when we think we’re being generous there’s obviously something in it for us… that warm-fuzzy feeling? Isn’t that a self-sustaining pay-off?

And what’s the difference between being self-reliant (read ’selfish’) and independent? We pay lip service to the importance of ‘looking after ourselves’ and ‘knowing when to ask for help’ but it seems, underneath it all, that might be a bad thing. Then I started thinking maybe it’s about balance… about how much one gives back. I have this notion of myself as being a loyal and good friend… sure, there are times when I take on too many commitments and am not around as often as I maybe should be… but I’m still passionate, ‘in the moment’ and honest, right?

Sometimes, after negotiating the emotional tight-ropes of relationships with daughter, angry-ex, unwell mum, and disapproving sister… I don’t feel like spending the hour between getting child to bed and collapsing into bed myself, making ‘how’re you going’ phone calls. Sometimes I consider myself lucky to strike a balance between ‘working to pay the rent’ and getting the dishes done and clothes washed… When I start making lists of what I’m responsible for I start hearing a familiar little bleating refrain… ‘I’m a single mum… no-one looks after my emotional needs… at least you lot have got someone to give you a snuggle at night!’.
I refuse to feel sorry for myself because this is the path I’ve chosen… but I guess I kind of assumed maybe the rest of the world would cut me a bit of slack. Especially my fairy godparents… #$%^!$!! How much worse is it going to be when I add a sleepless baby to the juggle. Now I’m thinking twice before asking anyone for any kind of support… it’s not exactly the utopian ideal I undertook in constructing the perfect ‘happy family’.

A naive awakening… everyone has expectations and the more people you add to the mix, the more people you need to discuss these expectations with. I thought the only good thing about being single was being unfettered by melodrama… Hmmph!

It seems there’s always strings attached but I guess, at the end of the day, despite everything, it’s a puppet show worth dancing in…

I must admit that I’m surprised by the number of people who’ve chastised me about my lack of regular blog updates - it’s really nice to know people care and I have no REAL excuse …but, in my defence, it has been a busy couple of months ; ) Trying to get my family and local community to a place where they will be ‘OK’ with this baby-to-be…

First of all, and most importantly I AM STILL PREGNANT!
14 weeks to be precise. After debating pros and cons for a little while I've decided to employ an independent midwife (the gorgeous Lisa!) and prepare for a homebirth. To be honest, my biggest concerns were about how I could persuade friends and family that this was a safe and sensible option (especially given that Rosie was born by caesar). I did some ‘defensive’ research, before finally experiencing a ‘lightbulb’ moment… ‘It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks because this is my decision!’. It’s very liberating to remember that, this time, I get to do it all on my terms… Scary too, because, by nature I’m a ‘consult and collaborate’ kind of person… and I still keep coming up against this desperate need, deep within, to be liked, accepted, approved of… which leads me to the next part of my tale…

An unfortunate disagreement
A few weeks after telling my family that I was finally pregnant, I made a date to go and have a chat with my sister about it all (on camera, inevitably). Her boys are often here at Mum and Dad’s (in the other half of the house) and I’d been trying to avoid contact between Rosie and them because I figured Rosie, in her excitement, would blurt the news… Out of respect for J&G I thought they should have the first opportunity to explain to their kids (in whatever manner they saw fit) so I was wanting to know when and how they were going to tell.

Turns out they already had, and that the news was received without so much as a raised eyebrow (apparently the next question after the announcement was ‘Could you pass the sauce please?). We laughed together and I was relieved… however as the conversation unfolded I realised all was not well…

J admitted they do limit contact between me and the boys ‘for fear of what I might say’. I was shocked! I asked what I could possibly say that could damage them in any way? I admitted my new resolve to live more openly and honestly could mean that, if it came up, I WOULD acknowledge that I am ‘gay’ and that our new baby was conceived with the help of a sperm donor. Is that a problem? Apparently so…
Things started to get a bit heated at about this point and I said I didn't think that they were really demonstrating tolerance, let alone love. She disagrees.

I'm struggling here, because in saying to their kids ‘Aunty Son is choosing to have a baby outside marriage, but WE don’t think that’s what God wants for US’, they’re clearly making me wrong and them right. Not great for me, Rosie or the new baby…

I asked whether they would ever consider coming to see a Pastor of a same-sex friendly parish with me, hoping that they might see that it IS possible to reconcile Christian Faith with acceptance of diverse sexualities. She was disdainful: ‘We would NEVER go and see a HOMOSEXUAL Pastor!’. We agreed to disagree and both committed to ‘trying to make it work’… but I must admit that I walked away from this encounter wondering whether, we as an extended family, are really are going to ‘make it’.

I mean, god forbid, what would happen if I actually had a girlfriend? Obviously we wouldn’t be welcome at family events… and I wonder whether a ‘do not cross’ line would be drawn between Mum’s house and mine (difficult when we’re under the same roof and the boys are drawn magnetically to my backyard and Rosie’s cubby-house).

You’ll go to Hell!
As a kind of epilogue to this story: Rosie, the boys and I are sitting down at Mum and Dad’s table to share the weekend favourite, ‘chicken and chips’. The middle cousin (nearly 5) says Rosie has to pray before eating and I respond (quietly, calmly) that she doesn’t. ‘How come?’. ‘Because we don’t believe in God’. Quick as a flash: ‘You’ll go to hell!’.

What can one say, other than (gritted teeth): ‘Actually, WE don’t believe in hell’?

Wins and Losses
Rosie’s class were doing a unit on ‘families’ and it was an opportunity I couldn’t resist. I plucked up my courage and made an appointment with the Principal and Vice-Principal. To my delight they were happy to include the ‘Rainbow Family Readers’ http://www.hotkey.net.au/~learn_to_include/ as part of a curriculum inclusive of diverse family structures.
Of course, I HAD to push it a bit more and asked if they’d allow us to film a little scene of me reading the books to the kids. The Principal cleared it with the Department of Education and we agreed that the easiest approach would be for me to ’shoulder tap’ a couple of sympathetic parents, and get permission for their kids to be involved in a small ’set-up’ group for filming. This meant phone calls, written notes and laborious explanations - I chose people I thought of as friends even if I wasn’t entirely ‘out’ to them all. It wasn’t an easy week, explaining it all over and over, unsure of the reaction at the other end of the phone.

To my horror I had 3 ‘no thanks’ out of 11. One dad said ‘it doesn’t sit well with our personal values’. Another rang the school to ask why they weren’t informed that ‘these materials’ were being utilised in the classroom without parents being notified. The Principal backed me up and put the whole thing in context (I wasn’t going to be discussing procreation and conception just re-reading age-appropriate picture books that were part of a diverse and inclusive curriculum).

Some would say 3 negatives was actually pretty good (and I DID get lots of positive feedback: ‘Good on you! I think what you’re doing is great!) but I have to emphasise that I had thought of ALL of these people as my friends - I didn’t even approach those that I thought might be a little more on the ‘conservative’ end of the spectrum! It felt like a kick in the guts at the time… but it was also another ‘call to action!’

That’s so Gay!
I set off for a conference in Sydney, called ‘That’s so Gay! : addressing homophobia and celebrating diversity in educational settings’. We filmed a stack of interviews and I got to meet Vicki, Brenna and Jackie, the family behind the Rainbow Family readers and the more recent ‘Playschool Fiasco’. For those that don’t remember: a few years ago there was an innocuous ‘through the widow’ segment on ‘Playschool’ that generated a huge media backlash and national moral panic.

Vicki and Jackie were filmed taking Brenna and her friend to a fun-fair. Brenna’s voice-over announced ‘This is me and my 2 mums’… In response John Howard denounced the ABC for pushing gay agendas onto children. Affrica Taylor spoke at the conference giving an excellent keynote analysis of this incident and others in which the innocence of children is foregrounded in order to disguise and generate homophobic hysteria.

I was utterly inspired by the commitment and courage of so many educators, students, parents, activists and policy-makers… maybe there IS a possibility of weeding out insidious homophobia, roots and all… imagine my chagrine (and I must admit, amusement) when the headline in the Daily Tele the next day trumpets ‘Mum and Gay Ban - gay bid to change behaviour in class’. The push of the article framed the NSW Director-General of Education, Michael Coutts-Trotter as leader of a campaign to suppress usage of terms like ‘boyfriend’, ‘girlfriend’, ‘mum’, ‘dad’ in favour of the more gender neutral ‘partner’ and ‘parent’.

Never have I been so closely involved with something so distorted by spin… NOTHING along these lines was ever said… and more to the point, if the journo had actually attended the conference, he would have had time to reflect upon the homophobic impact of running such hysterical smear-campaigns… Guess he must have missed the speakers who elaborated on the high numbers of ’same-sex attracted’ youth experiencing depression, homelessness, drug abuse and suicide attempts.

So that's about all for now... the photos are from a Pink Parents camping trip at McLaren Vale recently. Fairy Godparent Claire gives Rosie a skating lesson... There's something about the 'gearing up for battle' that I empathise with... And, no matter how many times she stumbles and falls, Rosie's tenacity inspires me... I share her triumph when she succeeds.

Yay! for our little queer family, bring it on!
And BTW, the doco is going to be called
‘Bent Not Broken’…

Apparently I’m pregnant!

Already so different to last time. After recovering from a bout of mild gastro (courtesy of Rosie) I was still tired and nauseous. And overdue. But I couldn’t do the test until I organised somebody to film it (thank god for K!)
Then, almost because we’re filming it and because I had to tell somebody other than the camera, it seems natural to tell Rosie and mum, all at once.

Rosie was beside herself with excitement (she’s planning to save her pocket money for a cot! WTF?) and Mum was bemused…

I hadn't quite thought through the inevitable reality that Rosie would tell absolutely EVERYBODY at school... I had a moment of panic thinking 'God! I'll have a lot of talking to do should this not last...' swept aside by Rosie's enthusiasm and my utter relief at finally being able to talk about it, finally...
Oodles of opportunities to out myself and lots of gleeful moments witnessing people's reactions.

The best was a school dad, delighted that I'd obviously found a new partner. When I explained about my old friend and sperm donor, he made a quick recovery: ‘Guess you don’t need us fellas anymore!’
I’m still processing my reaction. Is M not a fella because he’s gay? Am I some weird new species because I intend to raise a child without a ‘husband’… just as I have done as a single mum? ‘Yes!’ I hear him say ‘But that was an accidental failure of a (nice, normal) heterosexual relationship!’

As I reacquaint myself with the waves of anxiety that I remember from last time (what if I miscarry? what if the baby’s not healthy?) I’m also bathing in a sea of calm (hormones?) because there’s nothing I can do about anything…
There’s such gorgeous inevitability in pregnancy and birth, whereas the uncertainty around endless conception attempts was starting to wear me down…

It still feels a bit surreal and I guess it will for a while (another 36 weeks?) but at least Mum’s starting to get her head into it. She’s announced that it really won’t do to house the baby in a walk-in-robe, even temporarily… and will I be getting rid of the water bed? I mentioned that I’d like to investigate the possibility of a home/hospital mid-wife and she took a deep disapproving breath.

Here the journey begins… new stages of relationships with mother, daughter, donor-dad… I can’t believe it! Bring it on!

Yep… we’re still trying!

We’ve gotten so casual with the awkward logistics of insemination attempts that the latest encounter took place in a caravan! After all, why interrupt holiday plans? We sat around in the annex for a bit drinking and chatting… M visited the toilet block and returned with warm syringe clutched in hand. I retreated to my half of the van (a bed shared with sleeping Rosie) had a quiet orgasm and texted the boys, giving them the all-clear to return.

The weirdest aspect of the whole thing? M whispering ‘Night Son’ from their bed, less than 3 metres away!
H & T, so generous in lending us their van, were stoked to think that this might be the unborn child’s conception story!

Anyone else got some good ones they’d like to share? ; )

R finally won her campaign to have pierced ears in the lead up to Christmas. I think the thing that won me over was her newfound desire ‘to be a rock chick when I grow up!’ (better than a ballerina of a Bratz doll anyday!). So now she has short hair with pink streaks and ONE pierced ear. ‘It’s cool to be different to the other girls, and when someone loses one earring they’ll know just who to give the left over one to!’. My heart swells with pride…

So M bought her the jewellery and I paid for the piercing (a ‘proper one’ with a piercing specialist who, as it happens, is housed within a tattoo gallery). Hmm… I thought, is this us stepping out for the first time, as our ‘family of the future?’

A thought that was soon echoed by the piercer. Charmed by R’s erudite chat, she said ‘You must be very proud!’… presumably referring to M and me as R’s parents. Later R made a comment that revealed her Dad had a girlfriend (and she clearly wasn’t talking about M or me). I could almost see the cogs turning in the woman’s head… and I wondered how many jigsaw pieces she would put in to place. Would she work out that M and I were both gay?

Somehow, in that environment, it didn't really matter... I'm sure she's seen more than a few unconventional relationship configurations… whereas, if a similar conversation had come up in the school yard with people I’ll be running into frequently throughout a prospective (and inexplicable?) pregnancy - I’d like to find a way to clarify. ‘Yes, we are proud, but M’s not her Dad, he’s the donor for R’s yet-to-be conceived sibling…’
Ludicrous? Unnecessary? Or just plain funny?

I guess all that remains ahead of us… anyone else got any ‘coming out for the kids’ stories?

I used to wonder what 2ww meant… but it didn’t take long hanging around blog communities to get it… especially the ones that I’m attracted to.

The average ‘lesbian trying to get pregnant’ blog, charts a fairly typical journey through the angst of finding a donor, the trials and tribulations of ‘fessing up to families-of-origin’… the drama and/or relief when they’re either cool with it or completely over-the-top ‘end of civilisation as we know it’ homophobes. And then of course, the hope and disappointment cycle as one organises inseminations, candles, magical incantations or reckless drunkenness, followed by THE TWO WEEK WAIT.

It’s a great comfort to know I’m not the only one undertaking this peculiar quest.

So, I just got visited by ‘Auntie Flo’ (is that the polite old-fashioned euphemism?) AGAIN!

I was so hopeful this time round… several auspicious indicators - a full moon in Gemini and MUCH more importantly, election fever followed by euphoria… so interesting that a change of government could mean so many things to so many people! At the FEAST Picnic (wrap up of Adelaide Gay and Lesbian Cultural Festival) on post-election Sunday, there was a feeling of such optimism and camaraderie… even as we held our collective breath waiting to see who would have balance of power in the Senate… That night I drove home, precious cargo keeping warm in a jar between my legs, thinking this could be it!

IMAGINE! Being able to say you were conceived at such a historic juncture in Australian history… I remember being heavily pregnant with Rosie, unable to sleep, watching late night TV, channel flicking and wondering what mock-u-drama event was featuring planes flying into tall buildings in the US? Behold how the world has changed!

However, it seems, not ‘meant to be’. No rhyme or reason to it… only try, try again. And endless other cliches. This picture of Rosie, pinned up by my bed, keeps me inspired. Even back then, just shy of 2, she seemed to understand ‘go with the flow’.

In other breaking news... I've optimistically re-newed my membership on 'The Pink Sofa'. However, the fact that I struggle to find the enthusiasm to reply to 'smiles' (let alone send my own) makes me question the authenticity of my desire to re-acquaint myself with love. Would a spark of sexual interest be too much to ask for? How about a puppy-love crush? I must confess… I do have ONE date lined up that I’m trying to not get too excited about… so, like everything else, we’ll see ; )

I seem to have done a lot of waiting and wishing this year… so I’m wondering if the Christmas Fairy might bring me something from my list, in no particular order?

…a bill of good health for my Mum …a baby …true love …production funding for a doco and web-site …amicable co-parenting of the gorgeous child that I already have…

And maybe the only thing that matters? The capacity to find peace in the status quo… the talent of being in the moment… thereby ending ALL waiting including the 2ww once and for all!

My little girl went back to her Dad’s tonight.

For the last 10 weeks or so she's been with me almost full time. We got on one another's nerves a lot, but tonight, when I look at her empty bed, tears well up and I feel the familiar splintering of my heart... A part of me screams ‘It’s not fair!’ whilst the other soothes with calm rational logic… ‘She’s OK with her Dad’ and ‘It’s good for you to have some time to yourself’.

Times like these I need a cuddle and I notice the empty half of my bed. One voice pipes up with ‘It’s just sex… that’s ALL you’re missing out on, and BTW don’t forget all the muddle; the emotional complications (all the things your friend’s whinge about!)’
The other voice, weaned on fairy stories and princesses that awake from deep slumber, wonders whether ‘You’ve just never experienced true love!’. Maybe there’s more to it than sharing a cup of tea and the paper on the weekend… maybe there really is such a thing as a ‘perfect fit’? A puzzle piece that might plug the gap and make peace of my eternal disquiet?

Then I pull myself together, remembering that lovers do not necessarily good nurturers make. What I need is a Mum. And again I’m overwhelmed with longing, fear, grief…

Last month we found out Mum has bowel cancer; this week she started chemo. In forcing myself to imagine the possibility of her not being with us forever, I start to list all the things that I wish were different between us.

I crave a closeness we haven’t shared for a long, long time. I know she loves me but, being me, I want more. I want her to accept my sexuality; my non-existent girlfriend; my yet-to-be-conceived baby… I want her to really ‘get me’… to come on the adventure with me (even if she secretly thinks the way I’m going about it is ‘a recipe for disaster’).

But, in articulating all this, I realise, once again, I'm making it all about me. So %$#!! self-indulgent! AND I want her to talk through the whole thing with me ON CAMERA!

I hope I never have a child like me!

Or maybe… maybe I’m pushing it in an effort to make our relationship the best that it can be. With my family, so adept at shoving things under the carpet, conversations on camera seem to have more depth and insight than many of the superficial ‘in transit’ ones we have every day… that’s why I’m doing it… so we can connect… captured for time immemorial on a tiny flip-out monitor.

Maybe then I won’t feel so alone. And, if I can help my family get it, get me… GET US… then maybe, slowly the ripples will spread, slowly, slowly, the world will change…

And my little girl won’t have to grow up feeling alone, like she doesn’t fit… I hope that she has no need to hide who she really is, or where she came from or whom she loves…

M and I had our first ‘go’ last week… I waited overhead in my bedroom, then we had a slightly awkward exchange of specimen jar at the bottom of the stairs. I peeked around the curtain to see his boyfriend J rolling camera, capturing our nervous hug and my giggled ‘thanks for this very special gift!’.

I think, unconsciously, I was hoping that filming the event (or parts of!) would provide ritual that would somehow reveal to us how we were supposed to act… but it was one of those situations, unlike just about any other I can think of, where we had absolutely no frame of reference… nothing to go by…

Even when I had sex for the first time (both gay and straight!) I had some idea of how to act… a combination of friends whispered confessions; descriptions in teen novels; stolen glimpses of pornos and of course Hollywood - muddled influences no doubt, but at least they served as reference points for someone else’s idea of a ‘code of conduct’… this, however, was just bizarre.

The second night was easier… we watched TV and talked politics. With the one night safely behind us and a new ritual established, I had a shower and was casually scrolling through e:mails when I heard M at the bottom of the stairs, sotto vocce… ‘Psst! It’s ready…’

So now we wait, we wait, for a very important date... and I mull over the fine points of difference between this and a slightly more romantic (and sexual!) encounter. I was surprised at first when I heard somebody else observe 'you guys really do love one another don’t you?’

I cringed a bit, hearing ‘lesbian lesson 101′ echo in my head (thou shalt not pass for straight… something about eating cake and heterosexual privilege?!)

… and now, slowly, I’ve come to terms with it. It’s not scary anymore… unconventional maybe, and not without it’s emotional risks, but tell me something worth having that doesn’t lay a claim on the heart?

Endless discussion has affirmed M and I are on the same page… writing a new story, inventing a new ‘family’… and waiting…

haven’t posted for quite a while
been feeling thwarted; frustrated…
so many ‘negotiations’ to make a baby
a roller-coaster ride
trying to convince each would-be actor
to take a role in the family I’m writing
our story to tell
and always
a world to change

still, bit by bit, there’s action…
not urgent, but inevitable?

next week M & I will be having our first try...
a 'tryst' defined by contracts
blood tests, couriers
and of course, the inevitable 'before' and 'after' interview ; )

to my blood ties - notice has been served of my intentions
and invitations issued

my cautious, conservative christian clan
open-minded
but struggling to come to terms with
bridging the gap between
moral convictions and social reality
a conversation started, to be continued…

R has take on Mum’s conversion
I overhear her chirruping
‘when we have our baby will you help with…?’
insert A to Z tasks, all involving baby ‘cuteness’
She mentioned just this morning
‘I haven’t asked Grampy yet
whether he’d mind having another grandchild…
but I intend to…‘

Is she 6 or 60?

My reluctant X who, after all, has heard
all my inspirational 'let's be a family' dreams before
he witnessed the crash and burn
now I must persuade him
the possibility of new growth from ashes
this will have an impact on our daughter, and you will always be her Dad…
therefore, in some weird way
you too are part of this new journey
you could choose to enjoy the ride…
or keep fighting fires…