Part I: An explanation

Welcome to Part I of my first two-part post. It is in two parts for a few reasons. Mostly, because it's long. (It deals with the female psyche and body image and I take my hat off to anyone who can wrap their head around that little gem in just one post.) There are also some complicating factors. For one thing, I wrote Part II more than a year ago. And, confusingly, Part II was actually published on Mamamia a few weeks ago.

I've been blogging for almost a year and this is the first time I have felt a little apprehensive about sharing something. Writing it was easy. Pressing publish feels less so because it deals with a fraught topic and is quite revealing. So before unveiling these particular inner demons I wanted to explain why I am. 

A few Mamamia readers were well and truly over the topic of post-baby bodies. They said talking about it just puts more pressure on women and that we'd all be better off if we just got over it. A few were grateful to have read someone else struggled with the adjustment too. Comments from both camps crystallised why I want to have this conversation.

In a nutshell my experience was this. My body grew, delivered and nourished the most delightful baby girl I am privileged to mother. Despite all the gratitude and love in the world for that life-affirming opportunity and baby girl, I didn't enjoy not recognising my body afterwards. To be honest I quite disliked it.

If you're tempted to read that as self-indulgent or self-absorbed, you're not alone. That was precisely why my experience maddened me. How could something as trivial as extra weight truly bother me? It didn't make me more or less kind; it didn't make me more or less interesting; it didn't make me a better or worse mother, wife, daughter or friend; really it didn't make me any different in any way that really mattered.

And yet, it did. Despite all of the rational reasoning in the world, my changed shape affected the way I felt about myself. It literally weighed heavily on my mind and was an adjustment I had to navigate.
I figure if I felt this way others must have too and others will in the future.

I'm not evangelical about much but one thing I do totter close to that crazily-committed line is honesty. It's not that I think we all need to sit on Dr Phil's couch and share every insecurity and doubt with the entire world. It's more that I think if we are going to sit on Dr Phil's couch, or open up to the people around us, or publish a blog, it's better to give a real, unedited version rather than an air-brushed veneer. I certainly don't begrudge anyone who is private or discrete (though I do find you beguiling and fascinating) but because I'm neither, I'm going to tell you the truth.

Even at the risk of seeming shallow and vain. Stay tuned for Part II.

Reality defeats the dream

A few weeks before Christmas I was reminded of the vast expanse that occupies the space between fantasy and reality. And I'm not referring to anything untoward.

My fantasy was an early dinner out with Mr G and Miss I. There is a pizza restaurant that I love in Bondi called Pompei's. It has been a favourite for a long time and if you know me and live in Sydney chances are I've dragged you there. Several times. Anyway, we didn't have plans for Saturday night and as I left work on Friday afternoon I thought to myself 'Wouldn't it be lovely to head to Pompei's for a 6pm dinner tomorrow night?' I texted Mr G who agreed.

Luckily – or unluckily – he shared my optimism. In my head I imagined it would be a relaxed affair. We'd sit outside, eat pizza, sip white wine, enjoy a balmy summery night, bask in our delightful daughter and engage in some meaningful conversation before retiring home at 7.30pm to pop Miss I into bed and watch a DVD.

Reality elbowed its way into my dinner and let me tell you it wasn't as I had imagined. At all. For a start, we were running a bit late which meant Miss I was already hungry when we arrived. This also meant the car ride - although short – wasn't altogether relaxing. By this I mean Miss I was crying so naturally Mr G and I channelled our frustrations into some constructive bickering about where the best spot to find a park might be. Fun times. Already!

Before we were even seated I ordered a pasta dish for Miss I and two glasses of wine that were not for Miss I. Sadly neither of these arrived soon enough. Did I mention that Miss I was grumpy and hungry? And she wasn't alone. We weren't the only deluded parents who thought an early dinner at Pompei's was a good idea. The restaurant was filled with families like ours. With children as hungry, grumpy and vocal as ours. And the thing is even if they don't belong to you, listening to other small children bang tables, swipe cutlery to the floor, cry and yell in unison with your own, is acutely stressful. Wine, please, waiter!

Eventually we were all fed and watered but needless to say there was no basking in the joys of family life and certainly no meaningful conversation exchanged. That is until we were driving home and Mr G and I were united. What were we thinking??? And why, oh, why didn't we get a babysitter???

PS. I'm embarrassed to say the very next afternoon delusions once again interfered with my better judgement. The three of us went Christmas shopping. Together. To Westfield on a wet Sunday afternoon in December. Never again.

How are you??

You know how sometimes you see a friend lots but you haven't asked them a question and been able to listen to the answer in full? It's quite common when the catch up involves little people but equally it happens in rooms full of big people. When you sit at the other end of the table from them at a dinner or see them at a busy party or the park but can't engage properly. You say hi but barely get past 'How are you?' before someone else joins in or a small person calls you away or the waiter takes the order? I know you'll know what I mean. At least I hope you do. Otherwise I might be the only rude person to whom this happens??

Anyway that's how I'm feeling about this blog. Like we're seeing each other once a week but we're not sitting down, pouring a vino or sipping a latte, and really getting in to the nitty gritty of our lives. We know the big things but not all the little details.

When I started this blog it unravelled in real time. If something interesting happened in my life on a Monday (highly improbable but bear with me) you were likely to read about it on Tuesday. It's not that I blogged every day but I wrote frequently enough that if we were friends In Real Life and we caught up and you had read my blog (which no friend IRL is obligated to do*) theoretically we wouldn't need to discuss what I'd been up to. We could get straight into more interesting things. Like what you've been up to.

Now, as much as a month passes between time of writing and time of publishing. So even friends who read my blog are required, theoretically at least, to enquire about my life. Of course this time lag doesn't really matter. There is no one policing it and now that I think about it, there is no one madly pestering me to write more. Except, err, me.

I still remember – and miss - the time when my blog lived in the moment. I liked that I could write in anticipation about a thrilling event and follow it up with a comprehensive debrief a few days later. Yes, there were only two truly thrilling events to which this applied, but still. (You can read about them here and here).

I mention this because a few things have happened in the last few months (yes, months!!) that would once have provide plentiful fodder for posts but instead sit unwritten in my head. And where's the fun in that?? I could have devoted some holiday time to writing them but I declared myself a technology-free-zone. So. To get you up to speed I'll list a few notable happenings. By notable, I don't mean world affairs or anything life changing. I mean notable in terms of a blog that is comprised of the everyday details. (For world affairs I'd recommend a news site like SMH.com.au or ABC.com.au)
- I went on an overnight trip for work. I stayed at a hotel. By myself!
- Mr G had Miss I in Wagga for a week. A guest post from the man himself may eventuate soon. (More likely, you will hear how this unfolded from my perspective.)
- Miss I spent a weekend with my parents. Mr G and I went to the beach in the middle of the day without an umbrella!
- Miss I spent 4 days in the care of my parents whilst Mr G and I gallivanted around the Southern Highlands. By gallivant, I mean slept in, enjoyed uninterrupted coffees, played tennis, watched movies and enjoyed (truly!) a few long drives.
- We had dinner with some English friends who actually *know* my favourite Royals. Truly!
- I had a meltdown at work when researching a story with some pertinent application to my life.

I feel like I'm missing some other things but that's enough about me. More importantly how are you??? What big or little things have happened since we last caught up here???

*Of course I favour those who do but it's not mandatory. It's only mandatory, and strictly so, for blood relations.

Expressions of harm

On Friday night I was watching the tennis when the cameras shot to the stands and the commentators spotted Julia Gillard in the VIP box along with former tennis champion Margaret Court. Having read a column she wrote for The Herald Sun the day before, I was genuinely upset to see her in the presence of the Prime Minister. I tweeted as much and the responses I got were varied. Several agreed but others didn't. Some said I was being hypocritical and intolerant. They argued Margaret Court is entitled to her opinion and just because I disagree with it doesn't mean she shouldn't be allowed to be in the VIP box or in the presence of the PM.

I didn't say that she can't hold her views - as much as I wish she didn't. And I didn't say she shouldn't be allowed to be there. I said I felt genuinely uncomfortable seeing her occupy that prestigious position in the stands. Not because I thought over the duration of a gruelling tennis match she would or could influence the PM's policy or opinion. That's ridiculous. But simply being in that public position, in close quarters with the PM, lends a degree of credibility to her views that is undue. Credibility to views that should be ignored, not bolstered.

To be honest, until last week, I'd never heard of Margaret Court. To be even more honest, I wish I still hadn't. What I've learned is that her stance on homosexuality is unequivocal. 'It' shouldn't be allowed and 'it' is undermining the fabric of Australian culture, as if 'it' is a choice individuals make. As if 'it' is the single biggest issue confronting Australians. What disturbed me most about her words, and what continues to upset me, is her unwavering lack of compassion for the individuals she condemns. There wasn't a scintilla of understanding for the real people affected by her words.

Like gender and race, sexual orientation is not a personal choice. It is among those qualities divined upon us at birth. Condemning a man because he is attracted to another man, is as useful, archaic and merciless as condemning a woman for being a woman. Or an Aboriginal for being Aboriginal. We all know that for centuries those denunciations prevailed. But thankfully progress and compassion eventually intervened.

There was once a time when supporting slavery in the United States was acceptable for a President. Just as it was to deny women the right to vote. It was only after a few bold individuals questioned the wisdom of those entrenched beliefs, and momentum developed as groups of people started to open their minds and fight for change, that we got to be where we are now. In a place where the current President shares his race with those enslaved for centuries. In a place where no political leader could survive denying women the right to vote. There are still many individuals who cling to a time when prejudiced rebukes on the basis of gender or race were tolerated. But the point is they aren't tolerated anymore. Certainly not in any public forum.

We are at a point where discrimination on the basis of sexuality needs to be dismantled. As far as homosexuality goes, it is time for acceptance to reign. There will always be people, like Margaret Court, who believe homosexuals should not be entitled to marry. Just as there will always be men (and women) who believe women shouldn't work outside the home, or occupy board seats, or lead countries. It is unrealistic – albeit optimistic – to expect otherwise. It is more realistic, however, in a country committed to affording its citizens equality, to expect beliefs repugnant to that right, be denounced.

I don't deny Margaret Court, or anyone else, the right to have views that are different to mine. But I can and will deny her my admiration. I can and will express my disapproval of the prejudice in her views. I will question the judgment in publishing an opinion that openly promotes and encourages discrimination against a group of individuals. (Individuals, who, in many cases, are vulnerable precisely because of that very intolerance). And I will object to celebrating a person so unwilling to afford other human beings understanding.

Freedom of speech is often the catch-cry, fiercely wielded, as the defence whenever someone promotes a view that others hope to silence. In Australia I'm proud to say freedom of speech is not an absolute right. Freedom of speech, here, is not an excuse to harm others. Our laws limit speech. Those limits exist because our laws deem that an individual's right to have their integrity intact, or their right not to be vilified for their culture, ethnicity or background, supersedes the right for another to insult them. That's the litmus test that applies to most of Australia's legislation and case law. We are a democracy that values personal liberties. But one person's personal liberties extend only to the point where they harm another. At that point, the law intervenes. We are free to hurt ourselves, but we are not free to hurt others.

And the words of Margaret Court do hurt others. Any notion that a person who is homosexual is not as right, or as good, or as equal, as a heterosexual hurts thousands of Australians – and their families and friends – every single day. It really, really, hurts them. A quick glance at the rate of suicide among young gay men in this country, and around the world, is more than proof of that. Yet I can't see any single person who is actually hurt by extending the right to marry to all consenting adults.

The harm in Margaret Court's words is aggravated because she is a celebrated public figure and because her views are given an audience not afforded to everyone. I live in hope for the day that a column like Margaret Court's isn't published. A day when views like hers simply aren't sanctioned on a national stage.

Failing to accept a person for a choice they didn't make is inhumane. Publically punishing them is even worse. I hope the Mayor of New York was right when he said recently of legalising gay marriage –"It's not a question of if, it's a question of when". Until that day I will express my disappointment in individuals who fail to afford other citizens that simple act of human decency. Tolerance.

He’s ba-ack

Well, my dear readers, it is a happy week indeed here at NABM homequarters. Having generously reluctantly donated Mr G* to Wagga Wagga for three months I have now taken back possession and my three-piece family puzzle is complete once more. Halleluiah.

We coped, none of us suffered any major traumas and we even had some fun along the way. While I wouldn't go so far as to agree with my cheeky friend who observed on the weekend "Wow those three months went by so fast!", I have to admit it was better – and easier – than I'd expected. For me the time certainly didn't fly by the way it might have for, say, other lucky people not living in this house for the duration. But it also wasn't the eternity I envisioned.

Polling with passion

I'm not overtly political. I read the paper, I watch the news, I vaguely understand our parliamentary system, I loved The West Wing and I follow what's happening in Canberra with varying degrees of interest but a political expert, I'm certainly not. Which is why over the years I've questioned my scepticism of polls.

I've often wondered whether there is some great purpose, to which I am not privy, of taking the electorate's temperature every thirty seconds when we only elect a new party, say, every few years. I struggle to see the point.

2012

So. 2012. Here we are! I hope you’re well, rested and ready to conquer the year?!? I will be just as soon as I transition from beach goer to work doer. I’m at the end of my Yamba holiday and am coming to terms with the fact that tomorrow I will resume urban life. I missed NABM but feel good for having abandoned technology for a few weeks.