"Tumble Out Of Bed and Stumble To The Kitchen"

♫ Pour myself a cup of ambition

And yawn and stretch and try to come to life

Jump in the shower and the blood starts pumping

Out on the street the traffic starts jumping

With folks like me on the job from nine to five

Working nine to five what a way to make a living ♫
~ Dolly Parton

This post is dedicated to working mums. For your strength, your determination, your devotion and most especially, your sacrifice.

I'm a part time working mum. I need to not want to. I'd rather be a Stay At Home Mum. I envy those who are. Being a mother is a full time job. Period. Add another to the mix and it becomes psychosis. (I thought IF made me crazy, but this is ridiculous)

Fuck I need some sleep. No matter what help I get from Shooter and other family members I still need just a  little smidgen of extra time to scratch my arse. I can do it on the train to or from work, but that weird smelly looking guy with pirate eye patch is giving me the looky. I can do it at work under my desk, but it looks strange to my co-worker who is sitting close by wondering why I'm chucking a funny fart face. And then when I'm finally at home, I must remember to wash my hands when preparing dinner after scratch-fest.

I'm constantly trying to remember things.

Life is in motion All. The. Fucking. Time: Working, Washing, Hanging, Changing, Feeding, Shopping, Rooting, Eating, Talking, Typing, Playing, Joking, Laughing, Scrubbing, Cleaning, Arguing, Replying, Exercising, Walking, Transporting, Watching, .....

I work because I have to. Shooter supports most of our financial position, my part time hours make ends meet and affords us some luxuries in life. I'm not one of those wives who forces her husband to work 2 or more jobs just so the woman stays at home. I believe in equal parenting and partnership. I may be shot down for this, nevertheless this is my opinion. If I could afford to stay at home because Shooter earns a better living, then that is what I would do. But I do not believe that the husband/partner has to sacrifice his time with his children just to work several hours a day and including weekends and then gets rewarded with fucking socks for Father's Day.

That's not a family.

I know several women in my life who do just that to their men. And I can easily say with no reservation that their children are suffering. If there is a choice to have the father at home then all options need to be considered to ensure he enjoys his children too. Shooter is from a single-parent family who was tossed around from parent to parent, however his parents did the best for him regardless of their situation. I'm from a migrant family whereby both my parents worked equally and my sister and I enjoyed them both until my father fell ill and my mother had to work more hours. She had no choice, but we survived as a family. Although I wish she was around more for me when I was younger. Present day, whilst I work she enjoys looking after Callum. Redemption.

According to the Institute of Family Studies, statistics show that 42 per cent of mothers with children aged newborn to four are employed in some capacity. So I work. I save. I spend. My luxury is sweet smelling expensive soap for my arse, because I've earned it.

I take my hat off to women in general. I salute mothers. But I shout out to the world that working mothers fucking rule!

Thank god I enjoy my job. Who wouldn't want to work here?

Pool anyone?



Not in the photo - Fooz ball, PS 2 & 3, Wii & a Cafe with a Capuccino machine



BFF

Best Friends Forever Fart in front of each other.

I've known D since we were 3.

We're so different from each other.

She's tall I'm short.

She's fertile I'm not.

She has luxury I have acid reflux.

She's thin I have a kangaroo pouch.

She's hairy I am so certainly not!

But one thing we do have in common is that we make each other laugh.... A lot.

What more could a girl ask for?

New Blog Friday

Today my blog gets featured on Aly’s New Blog Friday over at The Infertility Overachievers. Aly helps out bloggers by transcending their wee blogs to astronomical proportions. Think Charlie Sheen popularity. OK, a bit of an exaggeration, but nonetheless some undie exposure to this gorgeous blogging community.

Aly recently accomplished a Big Fat Positive on her IVF attempt. In a few months time her son, London will be a big brother. A big belly rub for a peaceful pregnancy and the safe arrival of your baby (or babies!) Aly. Thank you for all your support since I joined the blogging community and especially for my new and improved blog design.

Welcome new readers. Please have a read of My IF Journey and be inspired by other stories on Journeys of Success. I'm still drafting My Pregnancy Journey - it was a wicked time filled with fear, stress and anxiety. READ: Constant itching, bleeding and a dislocated rib. One day I'll build the courage to re-live it and write it down.

Here's an extra smidgen of info about me for you lovely newcomers and current followers who might appreciate another sticky beak into my world:

My greatest triumph in life is undoubtedly Callum, although I can French braid my own hair, which  falls down to my waist. I started to get grey hair, hmm Jeez, about 2 years into my IF experience. No fucking surprises there.

My personality is a cross between The Sopranos meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

Speaking of weddings I yelled 'fucking hell' whilst walking down the aisle in the Greek Orthodox Church when I was getting married because I stumbled on my own feet. I can't wear heels! My dad who was holding my arm, cracked up laughing and giggled throughout the whole ceremony.

Shooter and I - Prettier Daze Before Fat Bum & Double Chin

My parenting style is full of humour and mistakes. Callum is not wrapped up in cotton wool because my parents already have a whole yarn knitted around him and spoil him rotten. He is their first grandchild and likely to be their only.

Callum @ 18 months old

Thanks for stopping by my blog! If you would like to participate in New Blog Friday, please click on the link.

Wordless Wednesday

Baby Led Weaning is A Crock of Shit



International Women's Day + Cake

~ 8th March 1973 ~

Who knew that 38 years later, I would be celebrating my birthday on the same day as International Women's Day. I feel so honoured and cool.

It took my mum 8 hours to squeeze me out. I arrived at 12.10pm. My dad was waiting outside the birthing room, because back then men couldn't hold their wives hand and be a support person during labour. I was born in a private hospital on Crown St, Sydney. Years later, ironically, I would walk it's corridors to meet up with a client as the building had been converted to a homeless refuge for youth in crisis. My mum had an epidural for her pain and till this day her back where the injection was inserted continues to hurt.

My mum thinks I was a result of Clomid. At 21 years old, a migrant from Greece, she didn't have an education let alone any knowledge of infertility or treatments. She just wanted a child. She tried and tried. Her sister, who accompanied her to Australia was already pregnant with her second. Many other relatives and friends had snotty cheeky kids running around too. She went to a doctor, he gave her injections and pills and here I am today.

I love being a woman. The best achievement of my life was to carry a child and give birth to him. I'm also proud to be a working mum. I'm relentlessly involved in my Union. I have the right to vote. I can sit in a pub, with men and drink beer. I wear jeans. I shave my legs if I feel like it. I can do any type of job I want. I have an education. I chose the man I loved and married. I say 'fuck' a lot - I'm no lady, but I don't care. I have my own opinion.

So on this day, I raise my glass and celebrate my birth. I raise my glass and celebrate being a free and independent woman. I raise my glass to my fellow sisterhood.

Us women still have a relentless journey to tackle, but one day girls we will rule the world.

I stick my middle finger up to those who dare oppose me.

So for now, I will break my diet, blow my candles and eat cake.

I am woman hear me roar.

Happy International Women's Day and Happy Birthday to me.

My beautiful mother and I - aged 4