A contemplation of happiness

Happiness is for the weak.

It's a sign that you're settling for something, rather than striving and pushing for more. The strong people fight battles to reach a point, and when they get there they keep on pushing to the next. No sitting back, no time for rest, there's too much to be achieved.

Happiness is a wishy-washy feeling.

I truly believed that.

*

I used to love doing mosaics.

My favourite is a wrought iron table that I decorated after finding inspiration in some old flooring in Pompeii.

I remember the day we were there, just a couple of tourists wandering around laughing and feeling great about being in Italy. It was only as we spotted the remains of the people who died at Pompeii that we stopped and took some time to realise how devastating this disaster had been.

A suffering so devastating that even 2,000 years later their faces and bodies are contorted with pain.

Weird how seeing that can inspire happiness in someone.

Putting a mosaic together was therapeutic, an act of taking something that's perfectly perfect and smashing it apart. And then carefully setting the pieces in another way, patiently finding the next piece to fit perfectly. Trial and error. And when that right piece is found it's stuck down to become a permanent piece of the picture.

*

Happiness isn't weak, as it turns out.

What it means is that someone has searched and tried different pieces and they've finally found one worth sticking into place. Among all the wrong pieces, happiness is the almost elusive one that brings all the others together, transforming them from random pieces of nothing to a real picture.

Happiness is far from settling. It only happens after having the strength to discard the pieces that don't fit, or might fit okay but aren't quite perfect.

And it only exists between the past and the search for the next piece that's just right.

Happiness is having the strength to enjoy the moment as it lasts. It's finding the ability to bask in the bliss despite the uncertainty of whether a right piece even exists for the next step.

It's one piece in an entire picture, and without that piece the image wouldn't be whole.

There's nothing weak about that.

A posh day out

Yesterday, my girl and I had a full day without plans. Such a thing is becoming a rare occurrence as I watch my diary fill with commitments for the two of us.

Things are happening to make me see how precious time is. Getting a notice about her four-year-old preschool hours, watching her try overarm strokes and diving at her swimming lessons. Seeing her try out new forms of independence, like asking to cross the road without holding hands. Her absolute understanding and patience of my pregnancy, and her faith that all will be good again afterwards: "When the baby's out you can run and jump and skip with me again, can't you Mum?" I can't wait to.

I've never felt sad about her growing up, but there's something (hello, hormones) making me really feel it right now. I've been tearing up at these little things, not with sadness, but with pride. I'm so proud of who she is and who she's growing into. (And yes, I just got teary even writing that.)

So yesterday we spent the day in the city together. Just because we had a whole day ahead of us and the sun was shining. It felt like spring and I wanted to celebrate that.

She had three requests. We visited Steve at work and had lunch with him. She had sushi for lunch. And then we played at the art gallery. When did kids get so posh?

This was in the garden by the Arts Centre, a celebration of the new Hamer Hall opening, but to me it was a reminder that time is passing quickly and spring is coming.

Spring this year is going to be something special.

We're both in training

In a month's time, my husband is going away for two weeks.

In a month's time, I'll be 33 weeks pregnant.

Put these two together and you might just see the thoughts that are occupying a large portion of my brain lately. This is a trip he's always wanted to do - hiking the Kokoda Track - and he booked it before we knew I was pregnant.

He's in full training mode now. And so am I...

Steve goes hiking most days or evenings, seeking the toughest inclines in the hills to train on. I'd actually love to join him, but my pregnant body has other ideas. So instead, I go running every day. That is, whenever there are dinner leftovers I run to put them away in the freezer before anyone can eat them. I very much anticipate that while he's away, by the end of a long day parenting by myself, it's likely I'd be resorting to beans on toast most nights. At least this way I can offer up something nutritious for Abbey and me.

He's reading and researching as much as he can get his hands on - books, magazines, websites, talking to others who have done the hike. I'm researching too, for a small getaway for me and my girl - not too far away and nothing strenuous (it won't be a camping trip!), just something for the two of us to do together for a few days. I'm hoping this will help distract her from missing her Dad, and give us some special time together before the baby comes.

He's busy buying the right clothing, making sure he has all the correct gear and testing it all out. I'm collecting things too: little toys and activities for Abbey, to have something up my sleeve in case we hit days where it all gets too much. (Hello, long winter days.)

Steve is practicing carrying weight on his back. He's done it before, of course, but each time it takes a little readjusting and getting used to. I'm carrying weight on my front - I've done it before, too, but this time it's different.

He is keeping himself as fit and healthy as he can, keen to not get sick or be injured in the coming weeks. Me too - I need to be as mobile as possible to keep up with Abbey while he's away, and the thought of being sick for those two weeks is enough to make me cry. Bring on lots of sleep and lots of veggies in preparation!

Steve's biggest strength - in hiking, as in life - is his mind. When he has his head in the right place, which is 99% of the time, nothing can stand in his way; he takes things in his (long, lopey) stride and gets where he wants to go. I'm determined to think this way, too. Just take the two weeks day by day, one step at a time. Then we'll all be fine.

It's all in the training.

Why are people leaving the workforce? Let's talk about that.

News today: Australians are dropping out of the workforce at a never before seen rate.

All the stats and figures are quoted in the article - but really, you just need to look at some real life examples to know why. And, by coincidence, two people who have dropped out of the traditional workforce happen to live in this house.

Take my husband, Steve. He worked for twelve years for an enormous, global organisation, starting there when he left school and working his way up to management level. For most of that time, the work was challenging, the hours were long and he loved it - and then came a downturn in business, thousands retrenched, and his role became filling in for those who had gone. He was bored, but willing to stick it out. Until an opportunity came along, to work as a contractor doing something completely different.

The only certainty about his income was that it would fluctuate hugely from month to month, and he had to take a huge drop in pay to begin with. It was a risk.

There were two big upsides. Firstly, I was still in my corporate job and earning good money, so I could support us while we figured out if this change would work for us. Secondly, we were planning to start a family soon, and we could see that the hours of this new work would be much better suited.

Years later, and he's still doing that work and enjoying it. The income still fluctuates - as is the case for contracting work - but we've learned to manage it. The hours fluctuate too - one week we won't see him much, the next he'll be home lots, one week he might be working nights, the next days.

Mostly, his hours consist of starting early - before Abbey and I are even awake - and finishing early, which means he can spend afternoons with us. If he was still in his office job, he'd be lucky to see Abbey for an hour each evening.

So, while he's still in the workforce, leaving the traditional office environment meant a better family life for us.

Then there's me. Nine years with one organisation, starting at the bottom and working my way up to management level - and happy to stay there into the future. I worked full-time, studied at nights to be qualified for the field I worked in, and I enjoyed my work. Then I fell pregnant, went on maternity leave, returned to work when my baby was eight months old, ready to continue working life as usual - only to be told that full-time was the only option. No flexibility. I said, No way. Not yet.

I left with no idea where I was headed, but a strong determination that I had to find something that was a better fit with my family. Spending just an hour or two with my daughter each day wasn't right. After a long search, I realised that answer didn't lie in the corporate world - even their ideas of flexible work just weren't in the best interests of me seeing my daughter much at all.

Now, I'm a freelance writer - I write when it fits, which can mean on the days Steve is home early, or at nights and weekends. And as I build that up, the potential to earn a good income from it is looking positive.

I love writing; I also loved my corporate work. But I don't intend to ever go back to full-time or even rigid part-time hours in an office.

Traditional work couldn't - sorry, wouldn't - give me the chance to work and have what I believe to be a strong family life (or life in general).

Two very loyal, hard-working employees who were happy to stay with organisations long-term. Two people who were given no choice but to explore new opportunities. Two businesses who are losing out on not just us, but many other good workers due to their lack of foresight and flexibility.

Still wondering why people are leaving the workforce?

Days for three

"Can I sit on your lap?"

I laugh. There isn't much of a lap there anymore. "Maybe sit next to me?" I suggest.

She sits as close as she can get, grabbing my arm and wrapping it around her little body and snuggling herself in.

Since she was a baby she has fought my cuddles, so I sit there for a moment just watching her.

"Mum! Start reading!" She gets impatient with me, and I want to tell her how special she is, how much I love her, and exactly how I'm feeling right now.

The words are there, but they sound too small. So I cuddle her in a little closer and I start reading the story.

Her little hand comes to rest on my stomach, so she can feel if the baby moves.

It does, and she presses a bit harder to feel the little rolls and kicks.

I keep thinking that our days won't be for two much longer. Soon they'll be for three. But in a sense, it's already that way.

The second trimester of the fastest pregnancy ever

28 weeks: my view of Abbey cuddling the baby

This may be the quickest pregnancy ever. I swear it's flying by so fast that my head can't keep up with the weeks. But just like that, it's the end of the second trimester and the beginning of the end.

The second trimester is known for its ease. I clearly remember getting a burst of energy during my first pregnancy - that was not to happen this time. These past weeks have been filled with all the nausea, exhaustion, cravings, fussiness, sleeplessness and pain that the first trimester brought.

My biggest frustration, though, has been the reminder that this is the stage where everyone feels the need to comment. I make no apologies for finding that annoying. Still, nothing can cut through the absolute joy I have in knowing that I'm growing a healthy baby in here.

The good news is that the pain has been easing. While this was the time it was at its worst when I was pregnant with Abbey - I could hardly move - this time it marks me being a bit more mobile. Which is a sign that I've found some good ways to manage it this time around.

There is one big similarity between this baby and Abbey: these are kids who squirm and move constantly. It's rare for me to go ten minutes without being kicked. I love it, that constant reminder that all is okay, and it always gets me thinking about what this little one will be like.

This is the pregnancy that sees no martyrdom. If I'm tired, I sleep; if I don't feel up to doing something, I don't do it. Simple as that. Those who know me know how reliable I usually am, how much I push myself - and they understand that I just can't be that person right now. I also have a support team around me: my Pilates instructor and massage therapist are amazing women who help me physically, and my friends and family - in particular Steve and my Mum - help me so much in letting me talk and whinge and vent and analyse and be lazy when I need to.

This may (!) be the last time I'm ever pregnant. While I'm the first to admit I don't love pregnancy and I can't help thinking ahead, I'm determined to make the best of this. We fought every step of the way to have our children, and this is part of the privilege that is parenting.

I can't help thinking how soon it will be that I'll be holding our baby in my arms. And for that, everything is worthwhile.

The challenge

Sometimes writing seems like the least important, most self-obsessed job in the world. And then it can turn around to seem like the best thing you could ever be doing.

This week I had an article I'd written on post-natal depression published on Essential Baby. I started writing one for them about prevention, but when I did the research I was hit with the knowledge of how close to home it really was. How bad I'd really been - and so I wrote down all the excuses I'd had for not acknowledging it before, and how my research had proved them all wrong.

I tweeted a link to it during the week. And then spent hours reading replies from women sharing their experiences.

Some said it took them several years to be diagnosed, others said I had described exactly how they had felt or do feel. Some know the feeling of the fog lifting, others are still in it. A few said they'd call their GPs the next day, because they now know what it is they're feeling. They know it's real.

When I wrote the piece, it was confronting. I cried - a lot. I talked about it to people around me - a lot. But I knew there was a bigger reason for pushing through it and getting it out there.

Because I'm warped, it reminds me of an old Jimeoin joke (insert funny Irish accent here). It's something like: "When you say you feel like crap, people always say, 'Yeah, it's going around'. But what if they didn't? What if they said, 'Oh. Well, you're the only one.'" From memory, he even had a song about it.

Sometimes it's like that when you share something like this - you think others might relate, but really, what if this time they just shrug and say, 'You're the only one.' (Although years of blogging have shown me that's rare, it still plays on my mind sometimes.)

The reaction this week showed, I'm far from alone. I felt overwhelmed by that, I felt sad that so many of us 'have to' go through it, and I felt proud for having spoken my reality. Most of all, I was amazed that I could use my voice to help other people - that's a real privilege.

As for preventing it all happening again - well, I consider it a challenge. And I'm sure not going to lose.