Happy Mothers Day to everyone out there in blogland. Dont feel sad for me cause here I am blogging on Mothers Day morning. We've been up since sparrow's fart and I've had a lovely breakfast with my mum who lives and next door. The kids made us croissants and coffee and now everyone is either out or watching Beverly Hills Chiuaha (sic) and I have some lovely moments to myself to ponder how this whole mother hood thing started.
In order to tell the story in all its glory I have to start with how my husband and I met. I was 25 and getting really sick of the young single party girl thing (sick or what?). I remember one day working out the numbers and realising that if I met someone that day, went out for 2 years, got engaged for 1 year, got married and lived as a couple for say 2 years, tried to get pregnant for 1 year, was pregnant for 1 year I would be almost 40 by the time I heard the pitter patter of little feet. Hell man, I was clucky and that was a seriously disappointing amount of time for a really impatient girl of 25. I had just broken up with a seriously crap boyfriend, was toying around with a toy boy, just flicked the crap job, landed the job from heaven and who should be sitting next to me but this suave, sophisticated, cultured, clean, professional and far too nice for me, Latino boy. There were a few young ones in our office and we all hung out together. Latino Boy was off limits - he'd had a girl friend for 7 years, they lived on Castlreagh Street (smack bang in the middle of the city) and he was just too well paid and too mature and too unlike all of the other losers I went out with so I kept my distance. But we all had fun together. Latino Boy didnt smoke or drink so we only hung out at lunch time but we all got along well. I had never even considered he would be interested in me so he got the full version of Shaggs on Steroids - the smoking, the drinking in the office (Friday Beer O Clock etc), the filthy stories from the weekend, the swearing and blah blah blah. I really didnt think I'd be able to pick up a bikie.
So it came to be that one week all of the young ones except me and Latino Boy were in Melbourne working so it was just us for lunch that day. I dragged Latino Boy around the shops to buy cheap jeans and he had to carry my bags and he even carried them to the train station for me and not once did my alarm bells ring.
That was Friday and on Monday it was just us again and we were off to get a coffee for morning tea and Latino Boy seemed a little troubled. He had slept badly on the weekend he said and I was all very sympathetic asking why and was everything OK (couldnt believe I was seeing another side to Latino Boy) he continued his story saying he couldnt sleep because he was thinking about me......
Yes I nearly fell over! What!???? Now as an Aussie Sheila I find it very hard to cope with overt displays of such emotion but I have to say I think I did ok. We wondered around the city for a long time that day trying to work up the courage (without the use of alcohol) to discuss what was going to happen with this revelation. Latino Boy decides he should break up with old girlfriend and I agreed we could give it a go but I wasnt going to promise anything and if it didnt work then Que Sera.
So Latino Boy broke up with old girlfriend that night and the next morning there was a bunch of red roses on my desk bigger than my parents dining room table (unextended). The next day there was a bottle of my favourite expensive perfume in my desk drawer (and yes it was in a limited edition bottle and it was Eau de expensive Parfum and beautifully wrapped from David Jones), the next day was November Lillies and it just went on from there. We sent filthy messages to each other all week via NetSend messaging (very early MSN via a linked network - he was a network engineer) and finally Friday night came and we went out for dinner to a Spanish restaurant. He ordered in beautiful, fluent orgasmic Spanish (second only to beautiful, fluent network engineer lingo) and I drank copious amounts of Sangria (of course, finally alcohol to help me deal with this crazy scenario) and before I knew I was waking up in a thick bath robe eating chocolate croissants and fresh orange juice overlooking the QVB and Darling Harbour - exuisite!!! It was like Pretty Woman without the exchange of cash (just dinner and the apartment was like a hotel oh and breakfast - lucky little westie that I am!)
So what has all of this first date stuff got to do with Mothers Day??? Well, everything. You see it was that night, after a week of truly filthy messaging, flowers, parfums, Spanish, food, his beautiful apartment on Castlereagh Street etc etc we both caved in and went ahead without adequate (or any) protection. I knew my cycle and believed it was a calculated risk but what I didnt calculate was the effect of all this wooing on my hormones making me ovulate early and wham bam thank you mam two weeks later I realise I am "late" and yep, I got pregnant on the first date! We know it was the first date because after that night we were vigilant about contraception and that was the only time the troops went in without a helmet.
So we had been together for two weeks and I was four weeks pregnant (pregnancy is counted from the start of your last period). Let me say it didnt go down well amongst his family who all believed we must have had something going while he was still with the last girlfriend ( who was still a friend to the family and the poor woman scorned) He also comes from a long line of women scorned and left by men. I urged him to leave me before anyone found out. We had a good few months before I would start to show and by then the baby could technically be anyones and he didnt have to look like the deserting baby daddy. But he was keen to stay (I really think now he wishes he had of run) and I looked like the seducer who trapped the poor Latino Boy.
So we got married when I was 11 weeks pregnant ( I just couldnt handle having a baby with a different name from mine and we'd already toyed with the idea of getting married before the baby thing was discovered). I just wanted to have a registry wedding and go to Doyles for seafood lunch but my mother thought it was rude to ask people to go to Doyles so she made us have a "reception" (and I use the word loosely) in her backyard. We had a pig on a spit and some coleslaw and potato salad out of huge plastic boxes, I had a fight with my sister, my brother had a fight with my father, I went with my new husband to pick up his old grandma and by the time we got back there was my mothers western suburbs back yard with South Americans on one side and Aussies on the other and no one knew who the f%^& anyone was and if they were even in the right place. I then (bitterly) watched everyone but me get pissed and then I went with my husband to take his old grandma home and by the time I got back it was over and everyone had gone home and we didnt cut the cake (a running tradition in my life). We should have just left it at Doyles. Did I mention I wore a maternity dress? I had gained about 15kg in the first 3 months of pregnancy.
So, by the time I had known my husband for a year (and I mean to the day) my daughter was born. Just the sweetest, blue eyed, blond haired gorgeous little cherub. We were total lunatic first time parents and did everything wrong but she's turned out surprisingly well balanced under the circumstances. And yes, no one believed my husband was the father because she is so very fair and even less so when baby number two turned out darker than her father even. People still ask if they're both mine and I always answer yes and that they both have the same father just so no one gets uncomfortable (or rude) and has to ask. Funny thing is, number one looks like his family but has my colouring and number two looks like my family but has his colouring and number three is the Devil's Spawn so we're still not sure who he looks like.
So that was all nearly eleven years ago and we're still here to tell the story. I'm not the size 10 beauty queen anymore (I gained 40kgs in that first year and I'm still trying to get rid of it) and he's not the sweet Latino Boy who showers me with affection and gifts anymore but then, thats life. I dragged him out to the burbs to live near my family just while the baby was little and of course we're still here. He can sometimes be seen in unironed Target clothes and even has a pair of jeans from Big W that I never got around to taking up so are frayed on the bottom. I know a little part of him has died in order to accomodate me and father hood but then, I think we're better now than we were then. And Devils Spawn and all - I wouldnt change thing.