The joy of puking for 9 months

I was recently pondering the possibility that I could be pregnant with baby #4. Me feelings could be summed up as follows: AAAAARGHHHHHHHHH!!!!! Fortunately for myself (and everyone who has to live with me) that was not the case.

I do hope to have another baby one day, but not for a couple of years when I don't already have three pre-school age children, and hopefully when we are rich enough to experiment with possible cures for morning sickness, e.g. acupuncture, expensive anti-nausea medication, or a nanny....a surrogate...at the very least, sufficient funds to cover my daily requirements of hot chips.
(This was our plan for the last two- to have a little more money, and that didn't happen, so, fingers crossed for next time!!)

I am waffling. My point is, as I contemplated the world crashing down around me, having three kids destroying the house for the next nine months while I lie on the couch in the foetal position, or with my head over the toilet, crying about how miserable pregnancy is and how incredibly annoyed I am that I have to pay for food I will no doubt vomit up anyway, I remembered last time I was faced this this situation.

I lived in Perth and had literally just finished becoming a qualified personal trainer, maybe a week or two before. I was pretty sure almost immediately that I was pregnant and was merely waiting it out until I could actually check. I was doing a bunch of errands at Joondalup shopping centre and I was pushing around a trolley with Jack and Isabel playing and screaming and crying and jumping in and out, all frazzled and dishevelled, and we entered the pharmacy where I found a pregnancy test. I remember the overwhelming embarrassment I felt walking to the front counter as people turned to look at all the racket coming from my kids while I attempted to threaten or distract them, and then placing the box on the counter while I deliberately avoided the saleslady's gaze. Ohhhhh the humiliation. Young out of control mum with psycho kids buying a pregnancy test, don't you just feel sympathy hearing about it? It's like, Oh, the crazy cat lady is getting another cat, cool.

At some point I took the test, it was positive, and i don't even remember any of this or telling my husband or anything, you see this is how frequently I get knocked up, I can't even separate different pregnancies any more! We also moved two hours away to a smaller town (city? It feels like a small town) halfway through the pregnancy so that wasn't all that much fun. I got huge, like with the other pregnancies, so I was very used to questions about if I had my dates right, and was I sure it wasn't twins. My favourite was at the gym, this guy said to me,"Not long to go now, huh?" I was three and a half months pregnant. SIX months left. At the end of my pregnancy, I recall someone walking past me saying WOW.

Now I have my baby, Sophia Adele. She is almost one now, standing up by herself and trying to walk. Eep! I am absolutely in love with her. I love all my children, of course, but Sophia is still little enough that I am her favourite person, and that feels very, very nice. She smiles and laughs and buries her face in my chest and puts her arms around my neck tightly. Plus she is very cute (says her Mum). But it does make it worth it to go through all the ickiness of pregnancy and then have a beautiful child. LUCKILY.

Is it just my kids?

One of my current challenges with Jack and Isabel is regarding the appropriate use of the toilet. No Jack, it does not double as washing machine. Isabel, your Eeyore probably doesn't need to sit on the toilet. (Not that it matters now anyway since she has him in nappies. And yes you thought right, Eeyore is a donkey.)

This kind of thing is not really the problem. The problem is that they don't use the toilet when they actually should have. Jack has realized he has the ability to pee anywhere, and Isabel is young and impressionable and if Jack does it, that's good enough for her. This, combined with accidents and bedwetting, means that a large percentage of my life is spent washing sheets, clothing that was peed on, airing out Jack's mattress, scrubbing carpets and laying down old towels on the tiles.

Jack somehow got an idea in his head that any hole, anywhere, counts as a toilet. This includes the drain on the bathroom floor, a hole he has dug outside, or his 'outside toilet'. He actually made a special place outside to pee. We have a toilet!! Two toilets, to be clear! Why does he insist on going outside? And to make this situation even better, Isabel has started copying him. I'll catch her squatting on the lawn (and she's doing number twos). The neighbours must love what they hear from my backyard. "Isabel...what are you- argh!! No!! Isabel! That's what the toilet is for!" followed by "Mummy, why are there flies?"

And let's not forget the indoor incidents. Think same thing, but on the carpet. Randomly pulling her pants down, squatting, and pooing on the floor. It's like she is actually choosing the comfort of her own lounge room! Lounge room, or next to the shower, when I am in the shower...

I think today Jack exceeded all of my expectations as I picked him up from kindy. He was playing on the playground and I started to head over, as I noticed he had dropped his pants and was peeing, midstream, in front of children, parents, EVERYONE, at pick up time. Realizing I was already too late, I hid. I needed to preserve doubt that it was my kid (again). When he pulled his pants back up, I peeked my head out from behind the slide and whispered loudly,"Jack! Come here!" I waited for him to come and then we hurried off and escaped.

So, my question would be- is it just my kids?