SCANITY

I’m in the waiting room. This is it! I’ll find out what’s going on. Am I really preggers? Why an I spotting/bleeding? I’m amazed at people who get pregnant so easily without all the IVF kerfuffle. Or women who are pregnant in some remote village somewhere and they till the lands till the day they give birth. Then there’s me. Pregnant through IVF/ICSI and then spotting and all sorts of other unpleasantness. I doubt those farming ladies get given “bed rest” or whatever.

I’ve got Chimamanda with me to distract me till its my turn. Thank goodness.

The room has gotten full. There are four other women waiting for scans. I guess we are all living in our own personal anxiety. But for each of us, our anxiety is the worst. Nurses are hovering. Starting to take files. I feel sick.

I’m next. Feel teary but will look silly if I cry. This is it. I'm being called...

Half of a Yellow Sun

Arrived safe and sound. Terrified out of my mind with what tomorrow’s scan appointment will reveal. It’s been a nerve-wracking month! Am I pregnant? Am I not? Why am I spotting? Is this normal? What was that twinge? Was it a fart? Or a need to poo? Is that a cramp?  Am I having a miscarriage? What does Google say? Oh my God, why did I check Google? I might be dying!

 The only good thing about today being the last night before I know what’s what is that I brought a really really good book along with me. I’m reading a fabulous book that has me enthralled. “Half of a Yellow Sun” by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie really is well worth the read. Never judge a book by its cover. I thought it was going to be lame and boring, one of those political snore galore books. Was I ever wrong! The book had me captivated from the first page. Read it if you haven’t read it yet!

Thoughts of finishing the book tonight is making me more worried than any of my other woes because if I finish it now, the whole night will loom ahead of me with ceiling-staring, blanket throwing and lots of sighs of despair. Thank you Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Your book is keeping me sane during this long night of infertility/IVF/ICSI woes. Whatever tomorrow’s outcome, I’ll always remember your book.

Plus I need something to read whilst I’m waiting for my scan tomorrow. I just can’t read the magazines with all the baby stuff. It’s like tempting fate. Maybe I should just go and finish designing my cabin bedroom.
 I started in the bus but I’m not getting how I go from the sitting room to the bedroom. And what about the bathroom? Is it ensuite? Because if it is then all my six dinner guests get to traipse through my cosy cabin bedroom. That doesn’t feel right. And if it’s not ensuite, it can’t be too near the kitchen. That’s just gross having a toilet and kitchen leading into each other. But the cabin is miniscule. Hmmm...

No. I need to put Chimamanda’s book aside till tomorrow and climb into bed (I brought my so-heavy-you-cant-lift-it-with-your-feet blanket with me because it is frigid out here!); close my eyes and figure out my cabin bedroom and bathroom.
Night night!

Log Cabin Fantasies

Left early this morning. The sun wasn't even up. I napped along the way. Even had a dream. It was freeeeezing cold so I had on all my winter warmers. It was overcast too, made it feel sort of cosy- as long as I was in the warm bus. Which is my ultimate nearly-orgasmic  pleasure. Let me explain.

Jar and I can only sleep in a freezing cold room, with a blanket so heavy you can’t lift it with your feet. I blame him. This all happened once I married him. In summer we have the air-conditioning  on all night long at 16°C; and in winter we open our bedroom sliding door leading to the outside patio, shut the trellis door locked and sleep with the outside temperatures of  4 or 5°C wafting into our bedroom. Freezing delicious!

Whenever I sleep I always go back to my old daydream/fantasy where I'm living in the freezing Arctic, somewhere remote, and for some reason  (haven't decided on the reason yet) I'm needed there for some urgent work (I'm rubbish at science so it  can't be that). And I'm given this tiny little cabin. Miniscule. And in my fantasy/daydream it's warm and cosy. I usually fall asleep to me designing or decorating it.

It used to be that my warm cosy abode was on a ship in the middle of a frozen ocean (I'm rubbish at geography so I never figured out where I was); but then there were issues with the loo. Like, where would they dispose of everyone's poo on a frozen ocean? Would they throw it out and it would be cubes of frozen poo falling on a frozen ocean surface? That sort of chipped away at some of my pleasure. Then I read this article about how toilets really stink on cruise ships, even  luxury ones. So what chance would we have on a (scientific?) mission ship??? So I abandoned the ship ides and decided on a mini cabin idea somewhere in the remote Arctic. In a gated complex so there are no rogue bears or tigers or serial killers. Whatever I am doing there it's really important because my virtual cabin is super cute!

In fact, it's sort of given me an idea to maybe look into designing singles bachelor pads exactly like my cabin. And maybe get a loan to build three or four of these and rent them out to singles. It sounds crazy but I think it would work. I must tell Jar of my idea. Bet he’ll think it’s ridiculous- until I start a craze and everyone gets on the fantasy cabin wagon. By which point I’ll sell my cabins and reinvest my money elsewhere.

Picture this: very small functional cabin. You enter and there is a tiny sitting room. (I think it should  be furnished). Just a double sofa facing the wall to your left with a small coffee table (more like a chest so you can store things in there for functionality). On the wall is a flat screen TV. Of course. Wherever we are, in this remote neck of the Arctic woods, we have strong satellite signal.

You go past the sitting room and immediately you have a small counter which acts as a room divider cum kitchen table. And get this: to save space, there are two foldable bar stools that hang on the wall adjacent to the counter. On the side of the counter is another two foldable bar stools. That way you get to have dinner parties for up to four people including you. Of if you’re  like me, use the sofa too and have six people over. It would be awfully tight though.

Then go around the counter to the tiny kitchen and you have a sink (single, because space is a problem), with space for a microwave on the far right (yes even in the Arctic the cabins have microwaves. We obviously are connected to the electricity grid.  Or maybe, we are so secretive that we have our own grid). There’s a small stove and oven on the left hand wall and loads of cupboard space adjacent to the sink. I even thought about putting a hanging rack above the counter for pots and pans – because it’s just miniscule and every space must be utilised. I’m talking even magnetic strips for knives because it’s all about space, space, space!

I had imagined a tiny little fireplace nook between the sitting room and kitchen on the left wall  because it’s obviously freezing. With hooks to the side for the thingies you use to poke the wood. Oh and a little nook in the wall for wood (which would be delivered every two days – who do I work for??? I love my virtual bosses already!)
That’s as far as I got. I’ll try to draw my cabin but I’m rubbish at art. The vision remains in my head. So whilst most people go to sleep dreaming of holidays they want to take, or romances they wish to engage in, I fall asleep designing my cute and cosy cabin. Every single sleep. Three and a half hours left to arrive at my destination! I think I’ll have a nap and start on the bedroom details. Yawwwn!

IVF fun

So imperfect am I that it's taken me five years to write the next blog. Five years! Luckily for me I'm so OCD that I have only 3 possible passwords for any of my accounts. Which is how I managed to get back on this old one-post blog. Phew!

Update: my miracle ivf/icsi twins are now 5 years old. Actually, on precisely eight days they will be six. (They really are miraculous- they were conceived using spermatid and not sperm! Msg me for more info. It's a looooong story!)

Hubs, who I have taken to calling Jar over the years- it's a play on his name. He loves it - and I decided to try for a last time for more kids.

We have our miracles so I wasn't too stressed as I was the first time round. But it's still nerve-wracking.
We started the whole ICSI/IVF process in April. We are now in June. Two months. And the Clear Blue test says pregnant 1-2 weeks! The word "pregnant" only stays for 24 hours and I did the test two nights ago. I really should throw it away. But I can't.  Because it once said "pregnant". Although now it's just blank. But i know it once said pregnant 😏 According to the package insert this means I am 3-4 weeks along. Apparently with IVF you have to add two weeks to the implantation date. But it's still terrifying.
I don't think I really believe that I'm pregnant. I don't feel any differently. No nausea. No sore boobs.  The only thing is that I don't need to suck in my belly in because I'm "pregnant"...though technically I wouldn't start to show till 4 months or so. Haha! But I do feel very bloated. I read online that it's from all the Progesterone pessaries I have to take.

 I think im also not believing it because I've been spotting. I didn't spot like this last time. So I'm making the cross-border drive to my fertility clinic tomorrow. It's a long journey. Eight hours, with a stop halfway through, to see my mum before I actually cross the border. There they'll do all the necessary blood tests and perhaps a scan. Why don't I just do everything in my home town, you may wonder? Because bitter experience has taught me that whatever you do, don't get sick or need a doctor here. The word "butchers" comes to mind.

I'm terrified out of my mind. But I need to know that everything is OK. I don't want to even go to the loo because I can't bear to see any red. I don't even want to fart! So I need to just know. Although today when I phoned the clinic to tell them I am spotting and worried, the nurse told me to start putting the pessaries in my bum. Joy! Just when I thought it couldn't get any more charming.

I'm not going with Jar because the kids have school and Jar has work. It's only me and a driver. We'll be travelling in my bus though...lots of stretching room. I'll be lying down most of the time reading my book and napping. With lots of snacks. I somehow feel better going on my own. Much as I love Jar, I'll be tripping over him if he were to come with me. No, best he stay at home and man the fort.

CUPCAKES

I always went around feeling like a fake domestic goddess. When people would ask me if I knew how to bake, my answer was always, "Of course I can! Huh! What a silly question!" Because the truth is, I can only bake if I read a recipe from a book. I'm not one of those who dont measure ingredients, or can make brownies in their minds eye. Not me. For me it's a science experiment. The measuring cups, the scales, the google converter on my phone to help me to calculate between pounds and grams. But I must say, I have managed to bake cakes without too many problems. I suppose it's because I stick to the one or two recipes I repeat ad nauseum, and maybe also something to do with the fact that I dont actually get around to baking very often. Once every...three months. Maybe.

So when I had hung out with one of my perfect friends one too many times (you know, the sort that makes you want to go home and beat yourself with a belt for being a lazy cow) I decided it was time I started to bake more often. At least so that when people come over there would be pretty yummy things to offer, other than store-bought biscuits. And I decided to make cupcakes so that my infant twins could enjoy a cupcake or two with their milk. So like a scientist, I prepared my counter, organised my ingredients, discovered that I didnt have unsalted butter or a paddle attachment fpr my cake mixer, and got cracking. How difficult could it be to make cupcakes?

It was ridiculously astonishing to discover that I had never actually made any cupcakes. I had eaten plenty, and never thought about how much work went into making them fluffy, or vanilla-tasting. I took out my recipe book, and found a relatively easy recipe. Makes 12. Nope. I want 24, I thought to myself. Then my babies and I (and hubby) can have them all week long. So I decided to double everything.

With the precision of an embryologist sifting through cells, I measured everything using my measuring cups, weighed what didnt have "cup" values on my new electronic scale, measured butter to the last gram, and generally made a big mess of the kitchen. And so, I put the batter for 24 cupcakes into the little paper cups. I stuck everything in the oven and prepared to wait for 15 minutes. I lovingly peered into the oven every few minutes or so and was delighted to see that everything was going swimmingly. And then, at about 8 minutes, I noticed that there was giant crater in every single one of the cupcakes! I decided to ignore that, and wait the entire 15 minutes before opening the oven. When I finally did, what came out were rock hard crater-indented cupcakes. Like gimmicks in a store needing to display something. I was gutted!

The paper stuck to them like glue, and they could seriously concuss if thrown at someone's head. Not wanting to give in, I made a cup of tea and ate stone cupcake in front of my hubby. Being the trooper he is, he asked for a cuppa as well, and oohed and aahed over the taste of the cupcakes. He had two, bless him. 3 down, 21 to go.

The next morning I decided to try them out on my twins. I handed one to each of them, not worrying about crumbs, since everything was rock hard solid, and compacted. Nothing to crumble. They took them in their pudgy little hands, and examined them briefly. My son Billy gave his a tentative lick, and then proceeded to throw it at his sister, Izzy, who took a knock on her arm and promptly started wailing. I scurried off to work, leaving my screaming tots in the care of their nannies. I didnt give up with them though. That afternoon, I arrived home and decided to be wily. My twins had recently taken to imitating the dog and cat. The preferred to eat off the floor like the Jack Russel (named...Jacque. I just couldnt think of a name! And when it came to me and I realised it was so lame, I thought I would french it up), and I had caught my son licking his arms like the cat (named Gloves, for his white paws on a black body). I gingerly placed the rock hard cupcakes on the floor in front of the twins. The walked over to them, crouched down to peer at them, and with a sniff, both rose and started to pulling each other's hair. I gave in and threw all 21 into the bin.

But Im not a quitter! I decided to try again. Although the butter was still salted, and the recipe called for unsalted, I figured it couldnt be a big problem. I decided to stick to the quantity specified. Somehow the logic that doubling everything will make double the amount just doesnt hold. At least not with me when it comes to baking. So 12 cupcakes it was going to be. I happened to have glossed over the fact that my hubby had accidentally bought bread flour instead of cake flour, and my housekeeper had mixed it up with another tupperware of cake flour. Cant be a big deal, I thought. Flour is flour.

I followed the recipe to the tee. My only dismay came when the recipe (another one, by the way), called for me to use a paddle attachment, as opposed to the regular mixing attachment. I panicked and pulled out my manual from my box of manuals (which I keep in an untidy pantry, holding manuals for items that have long since stopped working, including the manual for the Trojan gym machine which now sits outside and is used to dry delicates that cannot be placed in the dryer), and discovered that my cake mixer did not have a paddle attachment. It was a wedding gift from five years ago. I must have gotten the old version. Oh well, I had gone too far to quit now. The butter was softened and already mixed with eggs and sugar, and I would have to plough along.

I completed the recipe and placed them in paper cups and this time what resulted was brownies. The "cupcakes" were just too heavy. They had also spread all over and looked like little pizzas. Fat little pizzas. I was distraught. At least they had not sunken, but they were flat. I pretended to the nannies that I had made something I called "Vanilla Brownies" trying to make an oxymoron of it, which totally went over their heads, by the way, and invited them to have as many as they wanted. They seemed to enjoy them, because when I got home that evening, there were only 4 left. Great! At least I didnt have to throw them out.

There had to be a baker in me somehwere. I was not going to give up. I decided to try again, this time using regular cake flour, which I bought and stored in a labelled bin, and informed the housekeeper not to mix with anything else that was white. Using yet another cupcake recipe, I mixed and splattered batter all over the kitchen counter, and when it looked like it was ready, I spooned the mixture into the paper cups which this time I had remembered to place into a muffin tray. On a whim I decided to sprinkle the cupcakes with Hundreds and Thousands, and with little candy coated chocolate balls, which said were for cupcakes. I stuck the batch in the oven. To my delight, the cupcakes started smelling great, filling the kitchen with a lovely warmth and sweet vanilla scent that filled the entire kitchen and living room space. I removed them from the oven, and was pleased to see that they were springy! Although the candy covered balls had melted leaving a somewhat rainbow design over the cupcakes. No matter, my boos each ate half a cupcake and my hubby ate his without oohing and aahing, letting me know that they were indeed alright tasting.

Satisified, I decided to try yet again, this time with the intention of icing them when I was done. I bought a whole range of sprinkles of all colours and shapes, ones that I knew would delight my babies, and would make me out to be a somewhat domestic goddess. I envisioned them actually turning out like in the pictures in the recipe books. I made the next batch last night, and this time, I left them as they were, plain. While they sat cooling on the rack, I began to make my icing. I have never been proficient with icing. I have never been able to use the icing thingies to make rosettes and cute decorations. But I had them all. I even bought an icing thingy that was so elaborate it came in a box with drawers (drawers I tell you!), and was so fancy that I have never been able to use it simply because it is so complicated, they lost me at the first page of the manual: setting up the thing so that it can be connected to the plug (electronic!). And so it sits in my pantry, looking pretty so that my perfect friends can see that I have all the tools, and therefore must be doing something.

I mixed the icing, and feeling giddy on the springiness of the cupcakes that were now almost completely cool, I decided I would be clever and divide the icing into batches so that I could have different colours. Blue, pink, yellow and green. I iced the cupcakes, sprinkled them with the sprinkles, inlcuding the candy-coated chocolate balls, which I realise in hindsight, was meant to be sprinkled onto icing, and not onto batter that is to be placed in a hot oven. What was I thinking? Then I placed them in the fridge, with instructions to my hubby not to touch any of them. My babies got first pick. In the morning, my babies had awoken early and I rushed eagerly to them, to hug and kiss them, and then take them to the kitchen to have a little treat from mummy. Billy grabbed at one of the cupcakes, delighted with the colour and the sprinkles (ironically he chose the one with the candy coated chocolate balls) and proceeded to lick all the icing off the cupcake, leaving my pyjamas with blue icing, and a couple of sticky candy coated chocolate balls. He then flung the now bare cupcake at his sister, Izzy, who was busy sticking her finger into the icing on her cupcake and painting the floor. Sticky, I rushed off to the shower, satisfied that I had done it! I had made cupcakes at long last and they had turned out alright!

So what have I learnt from this?
Just because you can read does not mean you can bake. Its like gardening and the green thumb. Baking and the buttery thumb.
Paddle attachments are not necessary. I dont even know what a paddle attachment is.
Dont bake cake with bread flower.
It's nice to have a good kitchen scale which makes you feel like a techno freak because its so modern. Oh and it measures too.
Dont put candy coated chocolate sprinkles on batter and be surprised that the chocolate melts in the oven.
Use a muffin tray to place the cupcakes in. Otherwise it all spreads out and there is a potential that you could end up with an unrolled spring roll.
It's ok if your kids dont eat your cupcakes. They are probably full.
Just because my hubby didn't criticize me for having to try four times to get it right, I should probably keep baking for him.
It's ok to hate your perfect friend who makes soft spongy cupcakes from the top of her head. Not really hate, but you know, wish for her to have split ends or something. Just to take away from the perfection.
I'm pretty messy in the kitchen. Luckily I have a housekeeper.
I no longer have to buy cupcakes from the lady who sells them for ten bucks a pop! I can make my own! Hooray!!!