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Category Archives: Dear Diary

2016 in 12 lines

January: I got married, and went to the Ikea afterwards. 

February: finally maternity leave, so I could get stuff ready, except I was too big to do much. 

March: I became a mother to a baby girl. 

April: don’t know, breastfeeding and nappies. 

May: happiest month: recovered and free. 

June: joined the ranks of the working mothers. 

July: lots of pumping and something to do with 400 patient files. 

August: a baby dedication

September: big nappies at work, little ones at home. 

October: why does TDH’s bike suck so much?

November: our first weekend trip as a family, ending in a feverish baby. 

December: I am tired. 

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Posted by on December 31, 2016 in Dear Diary

 

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Happy Mother’s Day 

To all fellow mothers: I hope all of you had nothing but kindness. 

My first Mother’s Day was spent with the in laws. My own mother is abroad at the moment and TDH didn’t think to make a gesture in Busy Baby’s name. Then muttered something about commercialism. Gestures can be free. 

Anyhow. I perhaps haven’t been a mum for long enough, I don’t feel like it fully applies to me yet. 

Busy baby behaved like a champ while we were there and she pooped on me for Mother’s Day. I took a bath with her, she started furiously searching for the nipple and TDH said to let her drink because she enjoys it so much. My objection was the poop risk. 

Oh well. I will wash my hair tomorrow then….

 
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Posted by on May 8, 2016 in Busy Baby, Dear Diary

 

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So here we go, then.

June 8, 2015

We decided to ‘go for it’ about a month ago, perhaps a bit more. I think TDH was very decisive on it about a week after I told one of my best friends I wanted to get pregnant accidentally because I couldn’t imagine planning for something like that.

So here I am, planning for it.

TDH did not make the decision alone, of course.

It’s all really exciting, and somewhat scary.

I’m going to go off meds somehow, and considering it may just as well be sooner rather than later, I decided to ‘practice’ going on without it. I’ve had varying results, let’s just leave it at that.

I’m going to see a gynaecologist this week about the meds and a possible pregnancy. An option would be Effexor, except I don’t see how that should work for me given my sometimes scary results on antidepressants. And I don’t see how I’d want the baby’s first experience in life to be coming off one of the hardest antidepressants to come off of. Poor kid!

I’m taking folic acid and vitamin D, I’m eating more fruit and I’m not worrying about a kilo or two I may have gained for no real reason apart form bad choices: baby food!

We’ve sort of already stopped using contraception, but I’m not pregnant because I just had my period.

I want to talk about it all the time, but at the same time I want it to be a secret. (So I’m drafting this, posting it only AFTER announcing a pregnancy!)

 

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Surprise!

Surprise!

We went to Croatia for a holiday and it was lovely. Just a week, but we saw so much! We went to Split, stayed in Podstrana, went to the Krka national park and went diving at Vela Luka. 

   
    
    
 
While diving we had a photographer with us, who at some point insisted he wanted to take photos of us. (Might add them later). After that the dive master showed us a clam. TDH kneeled and picked it up. 

I gestured he should put it down. 

He started opening it. 

I started fervently gesturing and screaming through my regulator. I didn’t want the clam to die! 

He showed that opened clam to me. 

I thought: do you really want me to watch it die?

I hesitantly looked. 

There was a ring in it. 

I nodded and signalled OK! 

We’re engaged!

The ring wasn’t the real ring. It was the one he practiced on. 

The what?

TDH went to ask my parents three months earlier, and went to my parents place every week to make the ring himself. My mum’s a goldsmith. 

He never did anything like this before. 

Definitely yes. 

   
 

 

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First speeding ticket!

First speeding ticket!

 I’m such a speed freak! A real lead foot I am! 

I got a ticket for 53 euros for going 80km/h where I was only allowed 70…. Subtracting correction (no idea for what, but if it lowers my fine I am game) that means I went a full 7km/h too fast. 

Yup. Real dangerous. 

The police took a nice pic of my car’s boot(y) without me noticing. 

My main concern is that I drive 80 when I get the chance and I hope I won’t be getting a fine for every work day between the 8th of June and last Friday! 

 
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Posted by on June 23, 2015 in Dear Diary

 

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My 8-year-old self

Inspired by this post by Melissa. A reflective question: what would your 8-year-old self think of your life today? I started responding as a comment, but then decided to hijack it because…

My Lord, how different my life is than I could have imagined. I never tried to imagine it…

My 8-year-old self didn’t have much concept of a future. Her idea of the future was wearing a white dress to the grade 7 ‘prom’ which we had in South-Africa. I can remember how it looked in my fantasy: off-white, with tied spaghetti straps and simple and sweet. She just went to school, did art and drama, wore glasses, did Voortrekkers (like scouting but SA style) and read too many books. I had read all the Secret Seven and Famous Five books by the time I was 8, along with most of Saartjie and Trompie… (Afrikaans children’s books). I’d even read Oliver Twist when I was 8 or 9… I was a curious girl who knew a lot and learned even more. I loved planes after I went on one, thought it would be amazing to be a pilot but knew it wasn’t for people with glasses. If people asked me what I wanted to be I said a professor like my dad -not that I really knew what he did, it just sounded interesting- or a teacher like my mum. The latter was the least favourite option because I had teachers myself and it wasn’t very cool to be one. I hadn’t thought about it, really. (I only thought about it when I had to apply for university!)

My 8-year-old self didn’t know I’d be a C-cup when I was 13, making the spaghetti straps a bit more complicated if you’re the only one who can’t get away without a bra any more.
I suppose my 8-year-old self saw herself pretty much going along with the groove of life, growing up, going to uni, getting married, getting a job, having babies… She didn’t really think of happiness, happiness isn’t something given much attention where she grew up. She expected to grow up into the wind and grind of adulthood she saw around her, perhaps she imagined a sort of importance. She was taught to work hard, and that she needed to take care of her family one day so she needed to do well in school to get a good job. My 8-year-old self was fascinated by stories about children elsewhere, but never imagined she’d be one of them.

I don’t know what she’d think of my current life. I think it would open a whole new world for her, to be honest. She was raised in a very Christian world. I’m not sure what she’d think of me living together ‘in sin’ and possibly having a baby out of wedlock even some day. I’m living together with a non-believer. When I was 8, I thought everyone believed in God. I think that would have been a bit tough for her to grasp. Also interesting: he’s Tall, Dark and Handsome. And Spanish.. Sounds a bit like a prince from a fairy tale! (Except that his white horse is a broken white bicycle and his castle is an apartment, but we can still hold the ‘happily ever after’ option open).

She would be thrilled to know I’m no longer cross-eyed and don’t need glasses!! Also she would be happy to know she was more or less right about her hair turning brown when she grew up. She’d be really devastated about missing out on the grade 7 dance though. We moved to Holland just before I turned 12.She’d hate Holland. Too cold.

I am also not sure what she’d think of me not being thrilled about my job all the time. “But you’re a DOCTOR”. Yes, it’s not all that you think it is. It’s what I do, and not who I am. I help people, yes, and I can pay my half of his mortgage with it. I am more than my job, my life is more than my job. I think, if I went back in time and I told her this, she’d make different choices throughout her life.

My 8-year-old self could never imagine growing up into the current me.

Yet, if she knew, I could never imagine what she’d make out of my life.

 
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Posted by on May 31, 2015 in Dear Diary, I believe

 

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Toad rage

Toad rage

Given that I drive a Nissan Micra named Padda (frog, remember…) I’m not going to correct the typo in the title…. I’ve driven beyond the first 1000 miles and then stopped counting because I had someone else drive my car for half of the trip to the Ardennes. I’ve gotten more confident behind the wheel and I love my car. Seriously, I want to hug it, but it’s not that small.  Padda got his first serious damage, a lady in a red Twingo had some trouble parking next to him. Her insurance is supposed to pay for the repairs, so I wait, but the side damage doesn’t influence the functionality at all. After a wash I still have red Twingo paint on my car. (And turns out it’s worse than I thought..)

I decided early on to just relax while driving and I am noticing that I am more and more relaxed while doing so. Traffic jam? No problem. Hopefully there’s something good on the radio. Stressing out about it is not going to make it go faster. Sometimes I’m still a bit nervous, but I remind myself to just relax. And it works, unless TDH is sitting next to me, going on about something I did 5 minutes ago. (For the time being he’s driving when we have to go anywhere together, being lectured about something I did or did not a kilometre earlier is not going to improve my driving skills but does contribute to my stress levels).

Anyhow.

Some people do make me mad though.

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Dear impatient driver,

Apparently I irritate you very much by, I don’t know, not doing things as fast as you (think you) do them Apparently you were a perfect driver right from the moment you got your licence. In your mind, at least. In your mind you apparently also have the right to have an opinion about those around you. Based on the colour of your hair, you’ve had about my entire life at least to gain experience on the road. Based on your fairly new Ford, Audi, Volvo or BMW you’re also doing fairly well for yourself at that job that requires that neatly ironed shirt. I find it funny how you’re very often male. Not sure how you can be a good driver if you have that little control over your Y chromosome’s influence, you know. I sometimes wonder if you just hate small cars.

Just because I slow down for a few seconds to make sure the truck in the lane next to me doesn’t slam in to me does not give you a reason to become impatient, it gives you a reason to watch where you’re going.

If you’re merging in behind me, you’re supposed to start merging when the car fits in the gap, not hoot at me because I’m going too slow for you and now suddenly your Merc is too close to my bumper for your comfort. I’m going slow because the three cars in front of me are going equally slow. If you hit me, it’s your fault. Simple as that.

Do not cut in line, do not use on ramps and off ramps to cut in front of traffic jams. You don’t have to show off having a small wee wee like that. I know your ego is big, but get over it. Also, don’t overtake me when I’m accellerating a bit slower than your car can, it’s an 80hp Micra. If you want to go faster, fine, stay in the left lane for a bit, but please don’t cut in front of me again because, well, I was accelerating and am now going a bit faster than when you were still behind me.

Get the hell off my tail. Tailgating will not make me go faster, it will just make you liable in case of accident. Tailgating makes me consider going even slower… Yes, I know your car packs more horsepower than 80hp Padda, but that does not give you more ownership of the road and the same speed limit applies to you. I’m not intimidated by the logo on your car’s nose.

Don’t hoot if I take one second to realise the light is green. We all have slow moments. Not a reason to overtake me either, especially not if I have to overtake you then.

Also, when I keep some distance from a slow car in front of me because there’s no gap in the left lane so I can overtake, it does not mean I’m the slow car. Thanks for using my prospective gap to overtake me, and good luck with the slow car. Now if you don’t mind, there’s another gap now, see you later.

And dear sir in the black Audi who got pissed when I wanted to park my car: if I brake and put my blinker on next to an empty spot, it means I intend to park. You can either wait patiently or calmly pass me. I actually wait a second before proceeding to give you the chance to pass while I gauge the distances. See, my car doesn’t park itself, and not everybody is super-quick when parallel parking. (I did it in one go, mind you, took me a few seconds!). Your aggressive hooting and then making a big drama out of overtaking me was really uncalled for. It’s a residential street, people park, doesn’t matter if you like it or not. Get over it.

I can go on for a while, but you get the point. Look, I know I’m relatively inexperienced, but I’m doing my best here. My skills are improving every day, remember, and you too were in my position once. Regardless of me and my driving experience, you’re an asshole and you tell me how that’s improving!

Just chill out for a sec, will you? All that rage is probably bad for your heart anyway.

And to the person in the green Toyota Starlet: did you actually try to outrun me on the highway? Let’s just consider this for a moment. You must have forgotten that it’s a Starlet…

Yours,

BD

 
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Posted by on May 4, 2015 in Dear Diary, society

 

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