One Hot Night in Bali

Once upon a time long before marriage, children, the responsibilities of family life, and at a time when dinosaurs still roamed the earth; hubby & I used to date. These were the good Ol’ days where we’d lay in bed together until noon, dine at fancy restaurants, and converse in all things important to us. (Wait, does anyone actually know what normal people without kids talk about?? Before potty training, sleep cycles & consulting the Bristol stool chart to rate your toddler’s poo took over normal, polite conversation? The arts? Politics?? Current world events?? Our likes & dislikes?? I seriously can’t remember… but if you do- let me know!) Anyhoo, my point is we were once young, in love, footloose, fancy free & drunk on freedom (and possibly vodka).

Roughly 4 months into our newfound relationship the stars aligned & we managed to wrangle an entire week off from shift work together. We decided to celebrate by taking a spontaneous & romantic trip to Bali. And since everything was brand-spanking new & all rose-tinted I decided I needed to up the ante. After all, I was really fond of my new toyboy & my ovaries weren’t getting any younger. I had to pull out the ‘big guns’ so with that in mind there was only ever one way to go from here- La Perla or bust. (For those of you who haven’t had the experience of lingerie shopping for La Perla yet, take out a secret second credit card or re-mortgage your home… that shit’s eye wateringly expensive & you’re gonna need the extra funds to pay for a single pair of knickers).
Now long before Cuddles saw his ‘favourite pub burn down to the ground’ (his euphemism for me giving birth) we were once incredibly private people behind closed doors. I always used the bathroom with the taps running & music blaring just in case he heard me **gasp** tinkling into the toilet. The very thought of women having a period/ bowel movements/ bodily secretions of any kind sent my incredibly delicate toyboy into a head spin. And boy did I indulge him! Any inkling of using the toilet & id come out fresh as a daisy, perfectly spritzed with perfume, with hair & teeth brushed (well why not since I was already there??). I was literally the ‘magical unicorn’ of the girlfriend world until one sneaky prawn ruined it all.
So back in Bali, we decided to take a break from the endless sun, sand, surf & sex & go on a sunset tour through the mountains, topping it off with dinner. We were bustled into seaside restaurant with its seafood sitting proudly on ice. My Lonely Planet guide warned me of places like this but I let apprehension dissolve away as there were plenty of tourists there. I must admit I got pretty swept up in the flowing wine, candlelight, singers & gazing into my lover’s eyes as I downed an entire kilo of prawns to myself. Prawns that were, in all likelihood, basking in the hot Indonesian sun for 6 hours before taking their final resting place upon a bed of contaminated Indonesian icy water. Excellent!
Fast forward a few hours & Cuddles & I had retired for the night. Those La Perla’s had worked their magic & I was pretty chuffed with myself for being the glamorous, toned, sex-pot that I was. But as they say, ‘all good things must come to an end’ & holy shit-stain batman, they did. Only moments after we’d closed our eyes did I feel the rumbling down below. Being the uber-glam unicorn girlfriend that I was, I politely excused myself & glided out of bed like a gazelle only to fasten my ass to that toilet seat & unleash the fiery pits of hell. No biggie. I wasn’t going to let one liquid shit ruin the rest of my night. So I showered, spritzed myself with perfume, straightened my hair & glided straight back into bed & into my lover’s arms. Ten minutes later I felt that all-familiar gut-gurgling & excused myself again. This time I parked my ass on the loo & had the waste-paper bin clutched tight between my legs as I sprayed a delightful combo of bacteria-laden-prawns & wine out both ends. But no, you can’t keep a good girl down so once again I showered, fixed myself up, doused myself in perfume & glided back on into bed with a fixed smile & flick of the hair.
I ended up excusing myself to go ‘powder my nose’ about half a dozen times until around 2am. It was in the wee hours of the morning with nothing left to purge & in sheer exhaustion I decided to just ignore the constant bubbling & go to sleep. Right? WRONG. Feverishly dripping in sweat & borderline hallucinating, I had succumbed to a fitful sleep when the absolute horror of what was about to unfold snapped me from my slumber. With one almighty roar my guts decided they couldn’t withstand the sheer volume of LS (liquid shit) accumulating in my bowels & the unthinkable happened. I immediately sprung out of bed, cupped my ass faster than lightning & pursed my ring-stinger tighter than Queen Elizabeth pursing her lips after mentioning Diana- but it was too late. It was like 1 million tiny little worms had weaved their way out of my ass & through the fabric of those perfect La Perla’s. Yes my friends, in the mad dash to the bathroom not only had I shit my pants, I had also shit the bed. My fall from grace had been magnificent. The perfect unicorn-girlfriend illusion had not only been smashed, but shit on & doused on fire. It was well & truly over.
With nothing left to lose I retreated to the bathroom & unleashed hell. Except this time there was no running water, loud music or spritzed perfume to save me. Just the sounds of a half-woman, half-possessed wilderbeast moaning about like they were on their deathbed. I had blocked the loo, overflowed the purge bucket & released a mushroom cloud of stench that even the dingiest of nursing homes would be proud of. There was no coming back from this.
I dragged my downtrodden, limp & pale self back into the bedroom expecting Cuddles’s bags to be packed & to see the man running off into the distance. However, in a turn of events he had stripped the bed & was waiting for me. I sheepishly met his gaze as he muttered three of the simplest, reassuring & incredibly beautiful words every woman longs to hear after a night of restless purging… ‘I’ll call housekeeping.’
He totally loved me. Hook, line & sinker- I knew there & then that this kid wasn’t going anywhere. There were no declarations necessary. If he hasn’t bolted after seeing you projectile-shit through your $350 panties & over your crisp white sheets then ladies, he’s a keeper.
And as for those knickers? I gave them the best Balinese-rinse out under the shower that I could muster before wrapping them in a plastic bag & shoving them at the bottom of my luggage. Four weeks & an unholy stench later I found them. They smelt like a combo of hot prawn, sweat & the tears of a thousand dead unicorns. Regardless, I kept them (they were $350 for frig’s sake!!?) but haven’t brought myself to wear them since. But every time I take a peek inside my undie drawer I’m reminded of my one hot night in Bali. And how much my Cuddles loves me….

The Unlikely Mummy

So like, once upon a time there was a little girl who had very different dreams.  When all the other little girls were playing with their dolly’s, dreaming of a life with Prince Charming & creating their happily ever after; here I was chopping off Barbie’s locks, tying her up behind my bike & tearing off into the sunset in a blaze of Barbie-bashing glory.  And while I had nothing against the sisterhood & her quest for marriage, babies & white picket fences; even at an early age I just knew it wasn’t for me.

Fast forward 20- odd years & nothing much had changed.  My friends had found their Prince Charming’s, settled down & were starting their picture perfect families.  And I wasn’t too different.  Except my ‘white picket fence’ was a white apartment in the big city, my ‘Prince Charming’ was the ‘charming enough’ random guy I’d be stumbling out of a nightclub with hand-in-hand at 3am; and the thought of pushing a watermelon out of my perfectly coiffed coochy made my uterus recoil.

I’d like to say that I was too busy breaking through glass ceilings, getting lost in wanderlust or just a raging lesbian, but I wasn’t.  I was never going to be the Florence Nightingale of my profession (sorry to the Nurses & Feminists everywhere); I’m not the intrepid traveller & sadly, not a lesbian (yet) but I am due for a midlife crisis soon #hotgirlscomeatme.  I was just happy shirking all types of long-term responsibility, enjoying long lunches & boozy nights, and taking care of the biggest child of all: me.

But all that changed the day a flame-haired ginger named ‘Cuddles’ answered my booty-call and came knocking at my door.  Now maybe it was his boyish charm (he’s 5 years my junior), his youthful smile, or the promise of his Police-issued handcuffs swinging around my bedpost, but boy-oh-boy, Cuddles made my ovaries tingle.  In the words of Salt-N-Pepa’s ‘Whatta Man’, “Yo that shit is crazy, I think I wanna have your baby..” And I did, adding 2 kids to the world’s ginger population and destroying my perky tits forever #itwasworthit.

‘The Diva’ is my first child.  At 2 years of age she’s fierce, bold, sassy, strong-willed and equally short-tempered.  Basically everything a mother wishes for in a child, but only once they’ve flown the coup.  This kid is going places.  She’ll be the highly strung CEO of her wildly successful enterprise one day & hopefully not the ring leader of some organised crime syndicate.  We have high hopes at least.

Fresh-out-of-the-uterus is my latest kid, my ‘zen’ child and cleft-cutie (5 months).  He’s the calm to my wild and the yin to my yang.  This perfect, chilled little man has been sent to me to challenge everything I’ve ever thought about myself.  He’s the type of baby every mother wishes for & every baby book writes about.  He makes motherhood seem easy.  If I’d had him first I’d probably have popped out 6 more kids by now in celebration.  Luckily ‘the diva’ kicks that pipe-dream in the testicles daily.

And who am I?  I’m a woman who never saw a life with a husband or children on the horizon but has been blessed nonetheless. I’m just your regular sleep-deprived, nagging, sarcasm-loving, saggy-titted woman trying to navigate through this minefield that is motherhood.

I’m a friend.  A lover.  A wife.  Mother of two.

Just kidding..  I’m wired (on caffeine).  I’m sassy.  Sarcastic.  Chronically tired.  Avoiding sex (look where’s it’s got me).  And managing motherhood the best way I can.

I am Helenka-  The Unlikely Mummy.