I'm sitting in the hospital cafeteria, waiting. The buzzer is next to my phone and I keep glancing at it just in case it goes off and I miss it. Hudson is in surgery.

It has been a crazy, emotional, exhausting, enriching, inspiring week. More than ever we have realised the importance of having a community entangled in our lives, not just to share the good stuff but the hard times too. We have had meals delivered, gardens landscaped, boxes packed, kids taken care of, house cleaned and hands held by a community that has really pulled together for us at this difficult time.

Tuesday was the curette for me. Amazingly, my recovery has been very smooth with almost no pain, so the packing for Saturday has been able to continue. Emotionally, we feel more adjusted to the reality that our family numbers four, for now. Physically, I am reveling in not feeling pregnant for no reason anymore and being able to get up easily in the morning and not struggle to keep food down. Our time will come again, but a little break will be well appreciated!

Hudson has had an epic week. On Sunday he finally learnt how to crawl, he is now pulling up to standing and rolling over in his bed. He has learnt to use the potty for number twos, is having his first operation and will move into our new house tomorrow! He has been a different person, so determined, focused and happy. More and more I realise he is very similar to me and I gain a greater empathy for him.

This morning was hard. Holding onto a screaming baby who hasn't eaten or drunk anything for over 12 hours sucks at the best of times, but a kid who loves his food as much as Hudson (!), nightmare. I held him in my arms as they put him to sleep and barely managed to hold it together. The feeling as you say goodbye and leave your baby lying on a surgical table with strangers, very tough. That and the combination of being in the exact same place with the same smells as Tuesday also made things difficult.

Even though this week has been intense, I feel as if we are feeling life more keenly, the pain and the joy, and turning less to distractions to numb ourselves. Faith is becoming more crucial, less theoretical. Friends are becoming closer and relationships deepening. We are blessed.

There goes that buzzer.

In a previous post I alluded to the fact that we were pregnant with our third child.

On Monday I went along to a scheduled dating ultrasound, nine weeks along. I had never been to one of these before, having simply waited for the 12 week scan. Having felt pretty fatigued and sick for the past 7 weeks, I assured Dave that he didn't have to come as it was his peak busy time of year at school.

I could see pretty quickly from the technician's face that something wasn't right. She informed me that she could see a pregnancy sac but no baby. She would need to do an internal ultrasound. I went to get dressed in the navy hospital gown, trying very hard not to panic. There must be some mistake, I thought, she will surely find the baby soon.

I lay back down on the table but there was no good news to be shared. Apparently, I have a blighted ovum, so my body still (even now) thinks I'm pregnant. The lady kept asking if I was OK, and I kept numbly replying that I was. I managed to hold in my tears until I was hidden in the bathroom to change back into my clothes. Back in the waiting room I checked my messages with a tear stained face. Dave had left a few excited texts asking how it was going. I responded with the outcome and waited to see the doctor.

As soon as I was back in the car I called Dave but he hadn't seen the message. When he found out the story he left school immediately to come home. We wept and sat there numbly. As the kids were at Pat's house I decided that I would try and get my mind off the news by crossing some things off my to do list.

I kissed Dave goodbye and headed to the shops. It was pouring with rain. After dropping off some letters in the post box I got back in the car. The next thing I remember is wondering why two lines of cars were turning right in front of me. Too late I realised that I was running a red light. I swerved and braked but it was pointless. The impact came and I felt the tire blow. I skidded to a halt and shakily got out into the rain. The car I hit pulled up behind me. The inhabitants were pretty angry.

I apologised over and over and affirmed it was all my fault. I shared that I had just heard bad news and her demeanor changed. She told me to hop into the back seat so we could exchange details. The next little while was a blur of phone calls, talking to the police, standing in the rain and cursing to myself about my stupidity. The Senior Constable was very kind and didn't even give me a lecture, despite the clear infringement.

Ironically, I've paid for comprehensive car insurance for the past ten years, but two months ago we changed it to third party to save some money. So now, we are stuck with a useless car wreck two weeks before we are set to move.

Last night Dave and I opened an expensive bottle of wine to commemorate the short life that has impacted us so much. We don't know whether the baby lived for hours, weeks or minutes, but in our minds they had already become part of our future. Goodbye Frankie, we will remember you forever.

Gotta love those times in life when you get squeezed so hard that your true colors show. Unfortunately, my colors were less Van Gogh, more Picasso.

After Thursday night I was already struggling, having battled through a tough day with Hudson and a mammoth hernia related sleep stand off until 1:30am. (And by battled I mean I fumed in bed while Dave did all the hard work!) Hudson has these times, about once a week for the past month now, where he screams hysterically up to 2 hours, then vomits. I took him to the doctors and was redirected to Monash emergency department. Pat was amazing, meeting me at the doctors and taking Eli off my hands for the anticipated long wait at the hospital. We met with the doctor and now have an appointment for Wednesday to meet with the surgeons.

I don't deal well with the unexpected. And realising more and more I have almost zero ability to control my son's grumpiness is throwing me big time. I have some hope that this grumpy patch is related to pain, but if it is just personality I'm going to have to adjust to that.

I had a sleepover at Mum and Dad's last night that was organised by Dave. It is safe to say that my emotional energy had hit an all time low! Dave shipped me off and manned the fort alone, even whipped up some pancakes for the boys in the morning.

During the escape I had a few realisations. Firstly, I have 'Emotional Amnesia'. If anything has been going on for a while, like this grumpiness, I literally cannot recall a time when it wasn't like that. Now, if things are going well, the condition is amazing! But, like recently, when things are tough, my outlook becomes catastrophic.

Secondly, when I woke to a peaceful sun filled morning and a hot Milo in bed brought by mum, I leisurely checked Facebook and saw an article '13 things mentally strong people don't do'. Well, it turns out that I had been doing at least half the things on that list! Things like not stewing over the realities that you can't control, not making the same mistakes over and over...That threw me because I consider myself at least somewhat mentally strong.

Needless to say, the combination of realisations has helped me get back on track a little. That, and the ever present blessing of family having your back at every step.

Is it acceptable to be a good mum most (maybe make that, some) of the time? At the moment I feel that the majority of the day I'm OK, we manage the ebbs and flows with a degree of grace and everything is fine, until something happens to press my buttons and I'm off. I never knew I was a yeller. Now, usually when Eli intentionally causes a mess or hurts Hudson, I let loose.

I apologize, of course, and explain to Eli that sometimes mummy makes mistakes, but I  wonder how long it will take before he starts to question why the same mistakes happen over and over.

Lately, it seems as if we are trapped back in the Hudson nightmare as well. He will spend most of the day whinging, and only be satisfied with an activity for about 4 minutes. I am close to breaking point. Instead of any measure of sympathy, the sound of him whining instantly makes me irritated and then I feel bad for not being a responsive mother. At the moment, I really feel as if I'm simply not equipped to meet his needs.

Today he has slept a grand total of 2.5 hours since 6:30am (it is now 9:20pm). He is currently screaming again as I write this post. What can I do? I'm so exhausted and emotional and honestly don't have anything left to give. That plus the thought in my mind that in 7 months there is going to be three kids. If I feel like this with two, how the hell can I cope with three?

Thank God for an amazing husband and family, but even with the support, I'm still not sure how this one will play out. Any ideas, God?

Is it normal to constantly question your identity and wonder why you are the way that you are? Our house has been a lot quieter recently and the walls seem to echo with these questions. It may help I'm having a break from alcohol at the moment, so the thoughts are much more successful at breaking through.

I was saying today to Dave that stay at home mothers must either end up a little crazy or very well adjusted in the search for meaning. When I worked, even for two days a week, it was so easy to stop the questioning at 'this is my job title, therefore I am'. Stripped of the label and easy way to classify my time I do find it more difficult to articulate self definition.

My youngest sister is someone that I really admire (and not just because she reads this blog :p). To me it seems that she lives life largely indifferent to what those around her think, obviously not completely because that would be impossible. If she disagrees with you, she tells you, but is also open to being challenged on her assumptions. I'm not like that at all. If I disagree with someone, even family or close friends sometimes, often I will smile a small tight smile and nod, hoping the conversation will quickly shift to other topics.

Why do I care so much about what other people think? I mostly find it refreshing when someone disagrees with me, so what is so scary about putting my contrary view out there? Either that or (if sufficiently provoked) I'll lose all sense of filter and unleash the inner Emma on exactly what I think and leave little remains. Just talk to our (now ex) housemates who had the unfortunate experience of two house 'meetings' in which this beast was let loose.

Dave is also the opposite to me. If something needs to be said, he says it, even if the truth will initially smart a bit. I admire his courage even if I squirm a little in the moment that he unleashes his views.

One of the biggest challenges about being a mum is seeing your faults reflected back at you in your children. Often it can cause the most inner discord, viewing in plain sight the things you desperately don't want others to know about yourself. I guess you can either turn to 'dullers' like alcohol or food, or bravely gulp down your fears and face it head on. For now at least, I'm trying to choose the latter.

It has only taken a mere ten months before I have felt that I am remotely ready to tackle the topic of Hudson's entry into the world...

It all started around 37 weeks. We went swimming at Casey Race and the cool water worked wonders for my lethargy. I felt weightless despite my residence in the toddler pool's few inches of water. 'How good would it be to go early', I thought, 'surely this time will be easier than the last...' When we got home, I realised that my belly had dropped fairly significantly and I made the mistake of consulting 'What to expect when you're expecting' which had the oh so helpful prediction that a baby engaged in a second pregnancy is as good as born. It wasn't.

Expectations. If only I had realised back then the poison I was injecting into myself by thinking that it would be easy, quick and smoother than last time. 'Eli's birth was terrible', I told myself. 'Surely it can't be that bad again'. Boy, was I wrong.

My due date came and went with little fanfare. Christmas day was a little more eventful with minor cramping, but I at least had the temerity to hope that any labour would be deferred until the morrow. As the days wore on, however, I began to lose faith and all perspective.

Around 28 December 2012 I began to experience minor contractions. I had a 'sign' that things were starting to move, but contractions never stabilised. Just like last time, they would intensify at night and taper off during the day.

Two days into the craziness I had got down to contractions four minutes apart and one minute duration, but the hospital staff informed me that this was simply not intense enough.

After three days of sleeplessness and constant pain I was pretty much at my wits end. Despite my inner cringe at the display of emotion, I called Casey Hospital a number of times pleading to be induced but to no avail. To me, without the comfort of being at least checked over by hospital staff I was petrified that I was the only one looking out for my baby, and therefore convinced that something might go wrong on my watch without me having any idea.

On 31 December we visited my mum, contractions still in constant focus. I took a bath around 4pm to try and alleviate the pain, and the contractions were in full swing 5-7 mins apart. We left Eli at mum's and headed home, determined to ride out the tidal wave and get to the other side. We watched the Spiderman as I inhaled icypoles and bit down on the stick to distract myself each time the wave of pain assaulted me (a coping mechanism that was abruptly questioned by the charming midwife assigned to me later on).

Around 11pm we decided to try rest, New Year's Eve the very last thing on our minds. I did my best to conk out but the constant 5 minute wake up call made it difficult. At 1:00am in the new year I awoke to the loud pop of my waters breaking...while others were no doubt still popping champagne corks. We finally began to hope that the groundhog day we had been experiencing was about to come to an end.

We arrived at the hospital and were tolerated by a middle aged midwife who was clearly not happy to be working the new years eve shift. She gave me sage advice about 'fatigue being the greatest enemy of natural labour' and talked extensively about her five labours instead of taking note of mine. Despite me throwing up, crying, constant contractions and being barely able to walk, she thought it would be a good idea for me to go home.

The walk to the car was the longest of my life. I collapsed against a pole outside Emergency and truly thought I had zero energy for what was about to happen. We just made it in the front door before I was convinced we needed to return.

The same charming midwife awaited us and took her sweet time doing paperwork and refused me any pain medication until she was finished. I was throwing up, exhausted and completely over it but even after the paperwork she refused to turn up the gas. Defeated I begged for an epidural. She gave me a lecture about how she would need to call the anaesthetist from home but I was beyond caring. After she finally agreed to turn up the gas I realised I could cope, but he had already been called. Dave tried his best to keep me focused but the midwife's constant chatter did little to help. I have hazy memories of her chatting to Dave about her kids while I was writhing in mid contraction agony.

All I can say is thank God her shift ended, and the replacement midwife was amazing! Caring, focused and empathetic, she carried me through the next few hours with grace and more than made up for the previous person's lack. I progressed fairly quickly and within a few hours of being (finally) admitted, had finally given birth to Hudson Patrick Hughes.

What I say next has absolutely no bearing on Hudson as a person but simply expresses my emotional and exhausted state. I remember them handing a baby to me and I felt nothing. Then he started to deteriorate. I couldn't even muster up enough energy to care. He was taken to the special care nursery and I was just relieved that people were taking care of him. I lay almost comatose while being stitched up. I remember confessing to Dave that this was my favorite part of labour, sucking away on the gas and trying to forget everything.

When we got back to the ward, I tried to sleep but despite four days without any rest I could not switch off. I just wept as I relived every moment.

Looking back, I reckon that almost every trigger point I possessed was pressed during that experience. Foolishly wanting to be in control of the timing and nature if the birth completely did me in. My reluctance to accept help was tested as I didn't even have the energy to open my eyes in those last few days, let alone take care of Eli. My deathly fear of appearing weak or vulnerable was made a laughing stock as I begged without shame for an end to the pain and exhaustion. I wanted to be seen as strong and have 'done labour well' but instead had to experience a midwife scoff at me and judge me to be an emotional and fragile woman. For a while, I couldn't even think of her face without tearing up a little.

As for Hudson, I did treasure the eye of the storm that we experienced together, just me and him staying in special care for the first week. When the fog of exhaustion lifted, I was able to enjoy him and get to know him properly (when I wasn't constantly trying to wake him up for feeds, that is, apparently four days being stuck in a birth canal was not that leisurely for him either).

Despite all the drama, and I sincerely hope that I never have to experience a repeat in subsequent labors, we survived and I am lucky enough that we both emerged without any lasting damage, either physically or emotionally. Others have not been so lucky and that sobering thought brings with it infinite perspective.

I think I'm suffering from the opposite of anticipation,...anti-anticipation?

Last night I had a one hour relaxation massage booked in at Endota Spa (thanks to my work friends!). You would think that, given the fact I was about to experience ultimate bliss, my patience levels for putting kids to bed would be better than average... not so. As soon as Hudson irked me by drinking a grand total of 5ml of formula, I repaid him by reading his stories in my best monotone voice and singing tunelessly the obligatory lullabies before plonking him in his cot and switching off the light.

I've realized that this isn't an isolated event. The day before school holidays I hit my absolute low point in parenting Eli. He spent the better part of two hours screaming and throwing tantrums, and I eventually gave up, chucked on Peppa Pig and sobbed on the bed behind him. Usually these low points happen when I completely run out of patience and give flat, no nonsense/emotional answers. World War III ensues predictably as he responds in kind.

Then, looking back to the weeks before Hudson, I realise I handled things pretty poorly. My expectations were clearly not met in terms of the labour timing or experience.  Eventually I basically gave up, emotionally defeated... not the best zone in which to welcome any baby, let alone what turned out to be a considerably trying one!

Now, with the prospect of complete control over my living space, I see the remaining days stretched before me like decades. I take petty things personally and romanticize the notions of 'my kitchen' and keeping everything perpetually tidy and in place. In the process I'm missing out on the present: the remaining imaginary bus trips Chase and Eli will take to Dan Murphy's or the play center, the chaotic meal times where adults try in vain to talk civilly over the din of 'roars' and spoons being used as drumsticks. Also, the amazing conveniences of being able to duck out for gelato/coffee after the kids are in bed because there are always a plethora of babysitters, only having to vacuum and mop once a fortnight and cooking a mere three times a week! I've also lost sight of the fact that motherhood can be very lonely, or isolating if you don't have people to share it with.

The results of our social experiment are still yet to be realised completely, but in the meantime, I commit to seeing the last ten days out with eyes half closed to the petty/messy and fully open to the good. Better than realising its value too late, I guess...