It has been a while, indeed. I gave myself a lovely bloggy break over Christmas and New Year and if I'm completely honest I Loved the time off. See that? Capital L, Loved. I adore blogging but I also really enjoyed living in the moment without the constant ticking over of my brain thinking "I could totally blog the crap outta this". It was all Zen and shit.
But how exactly does one come back from an extended blog break? And yes, I consider a month extended because the blogosphere moves so damn quick if you blink you've missed 300,000 posts and your Google Reader is bursting at the seams.
There are just so many strings of stories running through my head from the last month that they're all jumbling up together and looking like a failed Cat's Cradle that is in dire need of being cut off your fingers because they're starting to turn purple.
Maybe I should tell you about the pest inspector man who came and out of nowhere started banging on about how religious people were ruining the world and how I should really start hitting Tricks if I wanted him to grow up right? What, right like you, pal? Errmmm no.
Or maybe I should mention that on Boxing Day we went out to Map Guy's Aunty and Uncle's farm and we all got to have a go in a gigantic bloody harvester? I could even tell you how we actually had to jump-start it from the Land Cruiser first because it had a flat battery and how I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined jump starting a machine that could have cut us all up so fast it would put Dexter to shame.
But that just won't do. Even a giant mofo harvester is not big enough to break a blog break.
So instead, I'll cut to the chase and mention that I've been really sick. I've been spending a lot of time in bed over the last month and even more time with my head hung over a toilet bowl calling for Ruth. Because I'm in The John Hurt Way again.
Yep, my friends, that is how you come back from a blog break with a bang.
Spawn2.0 is currently taking up prime uterine real estate at this very moment and causing this Mama to be sucking back on Maxolon like they're orange flavoured Tic Tacs. Sadly they've done almost nothing for me and I spend most of my days wallowing in self pity and complaining to Map Guy that it is cruel and unusual punishment to be starving hungry and aversive to food all at the same time all the while clutching my spew bucket. Classy.
Cletus the Fetus has already managed to give us a scare with a suspected ectopic, on my bloody birthday no less (yeah remember that appendix thing on Facebook? Yeah, that was a fabulous night). On a side note, you go straight to the front of the triage list and personally escorted to a private nook of the emergency room and filled with tubes if you rock up preggers with a pain in your side, a previous ectopic on your file and only one fallopian tube.
We were going to wait until the obligatory 12/13 weeks but I am terrible at keeping my own secrets (tell me yours and I'll take 'em to the grave, but mine? BLABBERMOUTH!). It turns out Map Guy is terrible at keeping secrets too, because at work when he announced it on Friday half the office knew already after he'd blurted it out after a few drinks at the office Christmas party.
It truly has been the worst kept secret. Half the Perth Blogging scene had a suspicion when I wasn't drinking at the W.O.M.B.A.T. Chrissie shin dig because hello, free drinks. I had to tell my work early on because it's caused my chronic pain condition to flare uncontrollably and I'm unable to stand up for a whole shift any more without the need for major drugs and a weeklong stay in bed.
But despite my body not doing the whole hormone thing too well, I'm happy. And when Tricks rubs my belly and leans in to kiss the baby I'm deliriously happy. He says it's a boy and it's name should be Spotty Dog or Tractor.
So it does appear that 2013 will be a big year. I can't wait and I'm shit scared at the same time.