Tax: done. Finally. Such a relief. I loathe it so much. I usually go to H&R Block but last year I thought they were particularly crap so I went to a guy recommened by The Brownie. He got me a refund - not much, but enough for a few Bonds GrowSuits and a boppy pillow or two. Perhaps.
Cot: When we got home Thieu proudly revealed that he had assembled the Ikea cot. The friend I bought it from warned me that it was very difficult to put together so I was very impressed. Unfortunately it has no mattress, but it's a start. Funny how different a room can look with a cot in it.
Kids' Books: I think I may have, possibly, finished revising the drafts of the three manuscripts I've been desperately trying to get finished before I finish work. My editor is away but I might send them through anyway. I'm sure that there will be things to change but I'm hoping that I'm close at least. It feels like a monumental achievement, actually. When I decided to take them on I wasn't at all sure I'd be able to get through them, so I'm very happy that it looks like I might have done it after all. Hopefully my editor doesn't throw up her hands in horror when she sees them. That would be bad.
Sleeping Eh, not going so well. Lots of getting up and staggering off to the toilet then coming back and keeping Thieu awake as I wriggle around, trying to find a position that doesn't feel uncomfortable. I don't think there are any. Last night he did the night shift and I slept on the sofa and slept better there than in the bed. I think having the back of the sofa there as support helped. It's closer to the toilet, too.
September 22. If I'm due on October 22 I suppose that makes me eight months pregnant. How bizarre. Even more bizarre to think that this time next month we might have a baby. Hopefully we'll have a mattress for the cot by then.
I was waiting at the tram stop the other night and a young guy came up and pushed the button - the one that activates the recorded message telling you when all the trams are coming. I hate it when people press this, especially as there is now an electronic display that has exactly the same information. I'm prepared to concede it might be necessary if the person is blind, of course, or illiterate but I suspect this is rarely the case. They push the button then wander off, forcing me to listen to the endless list of trams coming in 15 minutes, 7 minutes, never. So I glared at the guy, because this is the sort of unfriendly person I am. But he completely misinterpreted my frostiness.
'You look like a St Kilda girl,' he said, brightly. 'Will the number 16 take me to Acland St?' I'm not entirely sure what made me look like a St Kilda kind of girl. Surely not being heavily pregnant? Perhaps the attitude. Do you have to live in St Kilda to be a St Kilda kind of girl? Thieu and I used to joke about living in 'soft' St Kilda - east of the main hub, deep in suburbia. 'Yes,' I said. 'It will. It's the last stop, I think.'
He came and sat next to me. 'I'm going to St Kilda to have one drink. I've had such a day. My friend asked me to go to the airport to try and convince the love of his life to stay. She was supposed to be arriving this evening before heading off somewhere else. So I waited all day. He wasn't sure what time she was arriving. Then, just before he called me to say that she wasn't even on the plane today so I could go home.' 'It was nice of you to do that,' I said. He shrugged. 'People here don't usually do things like that. Not like India. If someone in India wants to win a girl's heart the whole village will help him.' 'I guess I'd always imagined Indians were a little more prosaic about relationships than that,' I said. 'You know, making a good match and all that.' 'Oh no. They are crazy for love,' he said, shaking his head. 'Not that I've ever been to India. But that's what Bollywood is all about.'
My tram arrived. 'Good luck,' I said. 'I hope your friend wins back the girl.' 'Thanks,' he said.
Somehow I convinced Thieu to travel to one of those Logoland complexes out in the depths of the Eastern suburbs to look at washing machines yesterday. He hated it. I hated it. But we need a washing machine. We have an opportunity to purchase a Miele through a friend for a 40% discount and I'm all for it, especially because everyone says they last for 15 to 20 years and the idea of not having to go washing machine shopping again for a long time is very, very appealing.
But Thieu is a big believer in shopping around, despite his dislike of shopping centres so he alternated between railing against the consumer society and despising our fellow shoppers and saying things like 'Oooh, this one is marked down from $1000 to $500.' He has strict criteria that our future washing machine must fit - it can't be made in China or the USA (an admirable political stance which unfortunately rules out most brands). Must have a good energy rating (at least 3.5 stars). Must also have good water rating. So now we're tossing up between the Miele and some brand called Andi which is apparently made in Italy. But who knows? Personally, I don't care. I just want something that will wash the nappies. It could be the Miele, the Andi or Thieu.
On the way home we went past a yoga studio. A girl in a black top with a very pale face stood underneath the 'O' of yoga that was stuck on the window, sipping tea. She looked like a daytime ghost. A flexible one.
The Room of Fear is now ominously clear of belongings except for a collection of tennis racquets and a baby gym, shaped like a giant, beige bear. The door is slightly ajar, but I might close it this evening.