On Babies

PLEASE READ CAREFULLY BEFORE GOING FURTHER:

What follows is mostly the On Writing Blog that I planned for this week.  Those of you who know me well and know what has happened this week may feel what follows is inappropriate.  Fair enough.  What follows is extremely personal. Writing it, and completing it the way I have, has been part of dealing with my own issues.  No doubt reading it will not be for everyone.

Firstly, please understand that most of the initial drafts of the post, except the Post Script, was written before this week.  Hence, the first portion is written in a very light-hearted manner. Some may find this somewhat tasteless.  But, like Steve Hindalong once said, “There’s something funny about a lot of sad things”.

Secondly, I did discuss this with my dear, precious wife.  When I asked her if she thought I should post it or keep it to myself she said yes I should.  When i asked why, she simply said “I like how you write”.  So perhaps it is part of both of our coping.

If you’re not sure whether or not to read on, do both yourself and I a favour - skip this week.  It’s OK.  Come back to the On Writing Blog next week.  I’ll try my best to make it worth your while.

----~|~----

“Baby baby, I’m taken with the notion

To love you with the sweetest of devotion...

...And ever since the day you put my heart in motion

Baby I realize that there’s just no getting over you”

~ ‘Baby Baby’, by Amy Grant & Keith Thomas

from the Amy Grant album “Heart In Motion”, 1991

I had a day off one perfectly pleasant Monday in late March this year, and spent the early morning snuggled in bed as no pressing concerns demanded my attention.  My wife, my amazing WonderWoman, was up before me and emerged from the en suite bathroom with a warm grin and dancing eyes.  She had apparently just spent a few moments peeing on a little stick, whose double lines confirmed the news we had been hoping and praying for for some months:  She was carrying our first child.  I think those little sticks must be magic.

We had spent the best part of a year trying to conceive, and while the trying was quite an enjoyable experience, we had begun to wonder if it was ever going to happen for us.  We had gone so far as to procure a pathology request slip with which the agility and motility of my ‘little swimmers’ could be ascertained.  I was not actually present at the appointment with the doctor who provided the request, so I was unable to enquire as to the logistics of such a test.  Did one produce the ‘sample’ at the pathology office, or transport it from home?  After several mildly embarrassing phone calls  (several because the pathology company had recently moved premises and changed phone numbers, so it took multiple avenues of inquiry to track them down), I found out what I needed to know to organise the ‘sample’.  I procrastinated a bit, until that day the lines appeared on the magic stick, whereby the swimmers were saved from scrutiny and I was relieved.

No doubt you find your head filled with images you neither wanted nor knew you were to receive today.  I’ll move right along shall I?

The first priority we had was to work out when exactly our lives were to be turned upside down.  There was, I was told, a simple way of working out the approximate due date.  WonderWoman launched into what sounded like an overly complex algorithm of dates and calculations and I was quickly lost.  She came upon a date.

“Is that correct?” I asked, in a mild haze.

“I think so. Mostly” she replied.

Maybe it was the hour and the lingering sleep I had only recently emerged from, but surely, surely, something like giving birth, an activity that humans have been quietly attending to since humans first existed would be fairly well defined by now.

I tried working it out myself.  The start point is apparently the first day of the woman’s last period.  I was immediately stumped.  My understanding of human biology was sufficient enough to know that at this time, and likely the next fortnight, was clearly a period when you are definitively not pregnant.  When I ventured some thought to the idea of 40 weeks of pregnancy that woman experience, I also realised that this did not equate to the 9 months I had equally been led to believe was the appropriate gestation period.

I applied the relevant calculations and decided that our baby was due either this November, last November, Stardate 7412.6, or sometime in the late 1960’s. 

What I needed to do, I decided, was to consult the considered writing of experts, of studied and learned individuals who longed to pass on their hard earned knowledge to us. We had an appropriately weighty book on pregnancy and babies and suchlike on the bookshelf.  I turned to a page that described the various weeks of development of the foetus.  Under a heading entitled WEEK 5 (which I was told we were up to) it stated boldly “Your baby is now 3 weeks old”.

No help at all from the experts then.

We’ve been debating baby names for a while now, and we have not quite reached a consensus.  The names WonderWoman loves I’m only cool on.  The names I adore she simply can’t stand.  After protracted discussions, we have rejected the names Wednesday, Adelaide, Chardonnay, 99, Zeus, Mongo, Buster, Buddy, Geraldo, Maximillian, Blackbeard, Frodo, Tiberius, Cosmo, Luigi, Optimus Prime, Apple, Wall*E, Adolf, Willis, Fozzy, Darth, Captain America, and The Admiral.  Mind you, they are only rejected if it’s a girl.

In the meantime, while in utero, the baby has been given the name Jellybean.

It’s going to be a ride, no doubt. An exciting one, and I will not hesitate in regaling you with tales of nausea, doctor’s appointments, ill-fitting clothes, naming rights debates, and bloating.  I will bore you and you will pretend that what I am saying doesn’t fit into the category of ‘too much information’.  Exciting times!

----~|~----

Post Script:

Many will already be aware that as of right now, this story, sadly, does not end well.

On Monday evening, 25th of April, my wife discovered some blood spots after going to the toilet.  We consulted a doctor late that night at an all-night bulk billing clinic that was open on due to a public holiday.  He ran some cursory tests and told us to visit our regular doctor as soon as we could to organise an ultrasound.  He smiled encouragingly as we left.  He said that it was not necessarily worst case scenario we were dreading, but it was best to be sure.  We went to our trusted GP shortly after and he organised the relevant scans.

A thoroughly professional and sympathetic sonographer, whose name I missed in the stressful anxiety of the day, confirmed what we feared.  We had lost our Jellybean.

God willing, WonderWoman and I will have another chance at parenthood soon.  I very much look forward to sharing with you when that time comes.

On Predictions, part 2

“I can see clearly now the rain has gone

I can see all obstacles in my way

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind

It’s gonna be a bright, bright sun-shiny day”

~ ‘I Can See Clearly Now’ by Johnny Nash

from his album “I Can See Clearly Now”, 1972*

Last week, I wrote about an article I read late last year, where several supposed ‘experts’ made certain predictions about what may be ahead of us in 2011 (and once again, the original article can be found at http://tinyurl.com/6dnpfqs , and once again, I really don’t recommend you bother - I’ll put direct quotes in parentheses and italics for the sake of clarity).  I can only hope that reasonable minds found my take on their predictions more grounded in reality that the drivel they spewed.

So, where were we?  I believe the next individual quoted is a clairvoyant.

Spiritual mediums and clairvoyants are perhaps the most criminal of our ‘experts’.  It takes so little effort to disabuse yourself of the belief that the fundamentals of who they are and what they do is nothing more than quackery.  If I found myself suddenly endowed with the ‘gifts’ clairvoyants claim to have, I’d get myself in a room with Sir Paul McCartney, summon John Lennon, make a few quick million dollars and retire in quick fashion.  If Sir Paul was otherwise engaged, there’s always the lottery.

Man alive, why is it that clairvoyants have any followers brick-stupid enough to give them money for what they do?  I am powerless to speculate.

Wild predictions of matrimony, babies and adoptions in the lives of several celebrities follow.  First reactions are ‘why the heck would we care?’, but then I remember the intellectually bereft Today Tonight viewers and their propensity for buying tabloid-trash magazines aimed at women (and for the love of Pete, don’t get me started on those vile little rags).  The problem with these predictions is that no one is going to be bothered bailing up this charlatan in 12 months and ask her how she got things so badly wrong.

Of course, some of her scattershot projections are likely to be correct via a well educated and lucky guess and she’d no doubt claim that she was mostly right, wasn’t she? And no-one gets everything perfect every time, right?  I may well at this point ask this white-collar crook why she was entirely incapable of predicting Yasi, devastating floods in both Queensland and Victoria, massive earthquakes in Christchurch and Japan, the Fukushima nuclear crisis, and Charlie ‘Tiger’s Blood’ Sheen.

I have read several pieces of well considered writing by so-called futurists, enough to feel like their potential predictions are worth casting thought over, if not agreeing with whole-heartedly.  But the young man quoted in the article is just that - young.  Like many of today’s youth, he seems to see the shiny gleam of the future rather than the fair chance that we will see much of the same as we’ve seen in most every single day of human experience; greed, corruption, hate, and selfishness.  By-and-large, we’ll just see it with better tech.

I can’t really blame this youngster for not having the cynicism that comes with age, but I would suggest that his predictions of the rise and development of social media and mobile computing is possibly more past than future.  This whipper-snapper is not telling me when I can expect my flying car and personal rocket pack, so I will leave him to his “micro-patronage”-funded exercises and his pimple cream.

The only soul quoted in the article who really escapes any criticism from your scribe is the demographer.  For a start, his field of work is one that is being exercised following years of learning and research.  Hard work and a degree of intelligence gets you kudos here, yes sir.  Unlike our futurist, he also suggests a less than rosy future, based on availability of housing, an aging population, labour availability and the demands of wage inflation.  But what I like most is that he does not fall into the trap of popular disrespect of us Gen X’ers.  He suggests that hope is there, available for us to reach out to.  Even if this prediction is found to not eventuate, at least it was because we didn’t do well enough to achieve it rather than because it was a lot of hooey. 

My own personal goal for the coming year, without sounding too high-minded, is to not allow myself to become one of the sheep that chooses the path of least resistance when it comes to thought, words and actions.  And my prediction for 2011 is that Pluto is going to skip merrily over Capricorn, causing songstress Susan Boyle to marry Oprah Winfrey while dressed in a camel playsuit, and then Tweet about it.  I’m guessing the availability of affordable housing won’t be too much of an issue for them though.

*(Special thanks to John Skinner for the song quote suggestion, and also to Paul Tero, Don Fouché, Erini Thompson, Colin Rayner, Jess Merrett, Tim Lokot, and Kirsty Ploeg for their input)

On Predictions, part 1

“Well I'm heavenly blessed and worldly wise,

I'm a peeping-tom techie with X-Ray eyes,

Things are going great, and they're only getting better,

I'm doing all right, getting good grades,

The future's so bright, I gotta wear shades”

~ ‘The Future’s So Bright I Gotta Wear Shades’ by Pat McDonald

from the Timbuk3 album “Welcome To Timbuk3”, 1986

I tend more towards cynicism than critique.  It takes far more effort to present an argument that allows you to be measured, intelligent and knowing than to roll your eyes with indifference.  Arguing with those you feel are wrong is, in my experience, rarely a successful exercise and I find little comfort or enjoyment in confrontation.  And besides, other than the nature of opinion being highly individual, who on Earth am I anyway?  My opinion is not nearly as valuable as I would hope it is.  Neither is most other peoples.  I write this to offer context to what follows.  I take no pride in being critical of other’s work, and my motives are the selfish fun I find in attempting to eviscerate something that is just plain dumb.

Between Christmas and New Year’s 2010 I read a laugh-out-loud article from a lift-out magazine in a weekend newspaper (and while it can be found at http://tinyurl.com/6dnpfqs , I really don’t recommend you bother - I’ll put direct quotes in parentheses and italics for the sake of clarity).  It purported to predict some of the trends and events of the coming year by those whose opinions are apparently worth listening to.  The apparently high value of their statements has a lot more to do with the gullibility and propensity for people to not engage their brains when they really ought.  Those that believe that the bulk of these prognosticators have anything of substance to add to society must be the same folk who believe that A Current Affair and Today Tonight have anything more than a passing resemblance to hard-hitting journalism.  It pains me to know that they are out there.

I find that I can’t lay the blame completely at the feet at the ‘experts’ quoted here.  They may very well be bright and learned individuals, albeit people whose personal ethics (or lack thereof) allows them to take advantage of others.  I prefer to lay blame at the writer and editors who not only decided it wise to garner the opinions found in the article, but to publish them as well.  To be fair, there is a lot of disposable, ‘junk’, filler content in many periodicals over the holiday period, as it is with TV.  I imagine that these kind of articles are not much more than an attempt to fill pages that not many are likely to read, let alone care about.  I can easily imagine a writer weighing up the deadline pressure against spending Christmas time not working and opting for the latter.  I’ve been there.

I shall proceed regardless.  Names are withheld to protect the moronic.

The first nuffer out of the gates is an astrologer.  Astrologers are those who believe that celestial bodies moved about by forces easily explained by basic physics, millions of kilometers from human beings, somehow have a bearing on activities here on Earth.  That they even have an effect on our personalities and futures.  Despite the dark ages being a fair while behind us and education being well more common than not, people still think these are viable opinions.  We are told that the “shift of Uranus into Aries” and the “continuing drama of Pluto in Capricorn” means that people will dress in more vibrant colours, wear their hair longer, and that it is a good time to be a female artist.  I was hereto ignorant of the dramas being experienced by Pluto.  I suppose its demotion from planet to planetoid is having more of an effect than NASA ever dreamt.  

I would like to suggest that the increasing expected transparency from governments predicted by our astrologer has less to do with the “Uranus/Aries relationship” and more to do with Julian Assange.  Furthermore, while I think a “mass spiritual awakening” is a lofty goal, I would settle for idiots being given less attention by popular media.  The belief of the astrologer that “2011 marks the real beginning of the 21st century” merely makes me want to give the poor lass a calendar and an abacus.

Onwards we go.  I can think of few bigger insults than to be called a fashionista, in no small part because the world of fashion seems to me to become increasingly indulgent, excessive, and shallow with the passage of time.  I’m absolutely in favour of the arts in all forms, even that which often can be viewed as controversial or offensive or difficult for me to understand.  However, I’m mildly offended by those in the fashion ‘industry’ who believe their more ridiculous ‘creations’ are things of intrinsic value.

The second of our ‘experts’ is a university-employed member of the fashion industry.  This person feels a trend towards “investment dressing”.  That is “buying less and making our purchases count”.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but is this not more akin to common sense?  Why aren’t people doing this already?  Are they going to stop shopping for clothes like idiots?  Can we expect A Current Affair’s ratings to drop in equal measure?  Where she really loses me is at the suggestion of “overalls, jumpsuits and playsuits”.  Playsuits?  I must have been away from school the day they explained the value of whatever the heck that is.  And no, I will not be wearing “head-to-toe camel”.  By the way, camel is a four-legged desert-wandering animal, not a colour, you vacuous twit.

That’s quite enough for now.  I will simmer down a bit now.  Next week, I’ll delve further into the nonsense that I found in this pointless article.

On Bucket Lists

“Hey everyone

I got nowhere to go

The grave is lazy

He takes our body slow”

~ ‘Learning How To Die’, by Jon Foreman

from his album “Winter”,  2008

For those who are not familiar with the term, a ‘bucket list’ is a list of actions or achievements one wants to try and complete before ‘kicking the bucket’.  Since I seem to be failing to get younger with the passage of time, I thought maybe a bucket list of my own was in order. 

The problem with putting this kind of list out as a ‘New Year’s Resolution’ is that once it’s public, people will generally know if you’ve done it or not, and will hold you appropriately accountable.  One of the beauties of a Bucket List is that it’s quite OK to not fulfill it this year.  Or next year.  Just sometime.  The endgame is nebulous.  And of course, once you’re dead (or actively dying, for that matter), no-one’s going to bail you up and ask when you’re expecting to do that skydive.

Bucket Lists seem to be reasonably popular little devices.  A cursory glance through Google search results reveals innumerable internet sites dedicated to the publishing of Bucket Lists from members of the public at large.  You can publish your own list, follow the lists of others, get hints on writing your list, basically organise it all to within an inch of its life.  One site (http://celestinechua.com/blog/whats-on-your-bucket-list-101-things-to-do-before-you-die/) suggests it is akin to “planning ahead all the highlights you want for YOUR whole life”, which to me seems a bit extreme.  Many of my highlights are behind me and I’m most certain that I’ll have many highlights that are unpredictable in their arriving.  No, I prefer it to be a list of some of the stuff I think is achievable for me, without getting into the realms of the ridiculous.

The following list can by no means be considered finite.  There are a couple of things I’ll keep for me just now.

My Bucket List

1. Walk the Kokoda track.

A pilgrimage for many Australians, due to it’s involvement in battles between the armies of Australia and Japan during World War II.  It’s 96 kilometres of harsh trekking through the Owen Stanley Range in Eastern Papua New Guinea, reaching heights of 2,190 metres above sea level, which also gives it an element of physical challenge as well as the obvious historic significance.

2. Get another Tattoo.

I’ve got three at present.  I’d like to get at least one more and have several ideas.

I know some of the more conservative elements of my nearest and dearest have expressed a lack of understanding of the reasons one may want to alter their body on a more or less permanent manner.  It’s even been suggested to me that having tattoos is even something I ought be ashamed of.  I can’t seem to bring myself to that, so I guess that I’m not ashamed is for others to reconcile for themselves.

I followed some basic rules in my body art to reduce the chance of regretting my tattoos at a later age - firstly, I waited till after I was 30 years old, and secondly chose elements that to me are of some permanence.  Each of my current pieces of body art have some significance to me and are reasonably unique.  The next ones will be likewise.

3. Visit New Orleans, particularly the French Quarter.

One of the most intriguing places on Earth would have to be the the ‘Big Easy’, the ‘City Beneath The Sea’, so called due to it being one of the few major cities of the world largely located below sea level.  This fact was one of the reason it suffered such immense destruction at the hands of both Hurricane Katrina and a neglectful George W. Bush.  It was also one of the birthplaces in the early part of the 1900’s of one of the most wonderful and mysterious of music genres - that is Jazz.

I would like to visit this place that birthed something of great beauty through many of its forefathers that found their origins there, legends of the genre like Buddy Bolden, Jelly Role Morton, ‘King’ Oliver, and Satchmo himself, Louis Armstrong.  I’d love a chance to breath the air of the place, immerse myself for a while in its music and magic.

4. Run a marathon.

I started running about 6 years ago, and while I haven’t been doing as much recently as I have in previous years, the ability and desire remains.  I ran a half-marathon a few years ago and the experience was wonderful to the point of giddiness.  I’ve never been, nor will I ever be, an athlete of any description, but crossing the finish line of that particular run in a faster time than I could have hoped for, demolishing a few PB’s along the way, was exhilarating. 

I want to go the next step.  Later this year, after I turn 35, would seem like a neat time for it.

5. See the Western Bulldogs win an AFL Premiership.  

Completely out of my hands, but if I thought wearing my lucky undies would help, I’d do it without hesitation.

Also worth noting is that I’ve changed this particular item from “Captaining the Western Bulldogs to a Premiership” as I am now too old and haven’t played competitive footy since I was 12.  And even then, let’s be frank, not very well.

6. Finish the damned boat.

I started building a wooden kit boat (a scale model of the HMS Endeavour) a few years ago, and it is one of the unfinished projects that one accumulates that remains unfinished.  It looks pretty good so far too.  It waits for a few uncrowded, lazy weekends.

  ----~~:~~-----

I could go on, and goodness knows I probably will, but that seems like a nice place to leave it for now.  Perhaps with a little time and inspiration, the list may grow a little.  Of course, the flip side to the notion of bucket lists is that they are predicated on the notion that this current life is the only one worth living for.  A legacy beyond the temporal would seem to be a far loftier goal.  So in the end, I guess my bucket list is less prescriptive and more about what’s fun.