The Nipple

please observe

2006-09-18T22:50:00.000+10:00

In my entire married existence I have NEVER suspected my husband of lying to me. Or cheating. Or anything else any wife dreads to think of.

But something has been eating away at me recently. I think it might be the hormones killing my lateral thinking system one cell at a time. I've been seriously lacking in the logic lately.

Out of the 100% of trust I have for Trevor, there's this 0.5% playing a game of Chinese Whispers inside my mind....telling the other trusting parts of me that he's been cheating on me. Because why would he want to have sex with his pregnant, increasingly cow-like wife? Why would he want to come home to me when the house is an absolute mess, the children do nothing but scream and demand attention, my cooking escapades result in this foul burnt smell lingering all over the walls, I am forever in my baggy-fit jeans and never wearing a bra?

Anyone in their right mind would take an attractive, fit, perky woman over that, I'm sure.

I guess it's because lately I just feel so damn lazy and unattractive that that 0.5% of anti-trust has piqued my attention is demanding I listen!

So I decide to confront him with my fear. I am nothing if not confrontational.

Please observe this conversation that happened between myself and my husband while we were wrapped up in blankets, snuggling in our bed this evening:

Me: I want to ask you something...

Him: Since when do you prompt an interrogation with a warning?

Me: Are you cheating on me?

Him: (Raising up on his elbows to look down over my face) What. The. Fuck?

Me: Are you having an affair? Are you fucking another man or woman? Are you lying to me about where you've been? Are you drinking from another neighbourhood's well? Are you-

Him: I know what you meant. What I don't understand is how you could even ask this question.

Me: You won't tell me why you've been away so much lately. You're secretive about things. You don't wake me up at 3am with an erection and try to put the moves on me anymore. What am I supposed to think?! Don't you love me anymore? Do you no longer find me attractive?

Him: Louise! You want to know where I've been the last few times I've been secretive?

Me: Uh, YES!

*Trevor gets up and retrieves an old wooden box he made when he was in high school. A box which is his own very personal collection of things. A box that is out of bounds and I would never go into without permission. He assumes his position next to me holding the box*

Me: What? You going to tell me you've taken up scrapbooking now?

Him: Don't be silly....you already knew about the scrapbooking. Why would I hide it? (Did I mention my husband is so feminine that you could easily mistake him for the biggest queen in the world?- and the scrapbooking thing is not a lie. That man could scrapbook any woman into the next century!)

Me: You should start your own reality show. Queer Eye For The Scrapbooking Guy.

Him: Shut up and look inside my box.

Me: Wow. That's something I usually say to you.

Him: Just look, idiot!

*I open the lid of the sacred Box 'O' Trev to reveal a solid silver bangle/cuff/bracelet he has so obviously been making for me (he is also very good at designing jewellery- I know!). It has a filigree pattern etched onto the sides and in the middle it says, engraved, 'Wife. Lover. Friend. Goddess. Bitch.' All five things that I am to him.*

Me: Boy. Boy, oh, boy. Wow, do I feel like a total arse!

Him: *putting the bangle/cuff/bracelet around my wrist and kissing my fingers* You're the only woman I have ever loved, and the only woman who could ever hold my undivided attention. I haven't been around much after work because I've been working on this for you. I haven't been touching you as much because I see how hard you work around here and with the kids always making you so tired... I just wanted to not pressure you into something you didn't want to do. I would never want you to feel like I am just another chore you have to accomplish. I love you so much. You know I adore the hell out of you, Lou.

Me: Oh, I really am a fat bastard of an arse, aren't I? I was thinking all these horrible things about you and here you are being a complete prince to me.

Him: I love you. You are sexy to me, cow udders or not.

He then proceeded to switch ends of the bed and perform the worlds longest and most wonderful foot massage on my poor swollen feet. He kissed my arches and told me all of the things he loves about me.

My life, were it not for my husband, would be completely irrelevant.

He is the most patient and beautiful man I could ever hope for. I want to wake up next to him and kiss his chiseled, stubble covered jaw for the rest of my life.

And right now, with my longest and best friend recovering in hospital with little to no memory of our entire friendship, I need him, and my children, more than ever.

And Happy Birthday to my little daughter, Lexy, who turned a whopping 5 years old the other day! I can't believe how quickly the time has passed. You're every bit as precious as the first day you pooped on your daddy's hand.

I love you.

loo-wheeze

split eggs

2006-07-30T11:03:00.000+10:00

I don't know if you can really call it a nightmare, because we're excited, but if you could... our nightmare has come true.

My husband and I are expecting another set of twins.

That will bring us to 5 children in total. From 1 child, to 3. From 3 children to 5 in a matter of months. I truly am a walking teat. I feel like a cow.

Considering I am not working at the moment, and my husband is doing freelance work whenever he can find it... we're kind of strapped for cash right now. Ok, that may be putting it into a lighter point of view... we're running on empty. Broke. And paying off a house. And trying to feed and clothe children. And preparing for more children on the way.

I think we should stop having sex now. For good.

No, I didn't mean that honey. It's ok. You stay on holidays with my father and I'll take care of EVERY SINGLE FUCKING THING AROUND HERE!

Will somebody please pick me up out of this rut I am in and make me see what a fantastic life I do have. Because I am starting to forget. Quickly.

I miss my mate. I wish he would come home from his holiday and hold me. Take me into his manly arms, hold me against his rippled washboard abs, let me feel his stubble against my cheek and breathe in that comforting scent of the cigarettes he doesn't think I know he smokes, his aftershave and sweat. Tell me all of the romantic things he says to me while my head is on his chest and I can hear his stomach gurgle. Take his children into his arms and rock them to sleep while he looks at me with that 'we are so unbelievably lucky to have 3 children that take after me and have my dimples' look. I miss his farting. His snoring. His energy. The way he gets the dishes to sparkle like new. His whiter than white washing. And the way he looks when he's naked, in the shower, yelping because he got shampoo in his eyes.

If you're reading this, Trev, let me put it simply for you: I miss you. I need you. And if you don't come home right now, I'm throwing out that stupid old brown leather chair you claim is 'my other wife'.

loo-wheeze

suicide spermicide

2006-06-10T11:11:00.000+10:00

I know I have taken far too long to update this blog but I have a good excuse. I have a four year old girl and 2 month old twins. And a husband who just thinks he's a toddler.

But wow do I have some news for you!

I am pregnant again. AGAIN. A G A I N ! ! !

I can get pregnant just by THINKING about sperm. It's quite annoying really.

I am over the moon, as is my husband, as we welcome any new addition to our clan no matter how unexpected and close together. It's just that we did not expect this SO SOON after giving birth to our fabulous twins.

I am away on holidays right now because my father is receiving a prestigious award for his line of work and it was all expenses paid. How could we resist? So our time spent away is almost at the end... and we're spending it in a panic.

What if we have another set of twins?!?!

No. Really. I'm overjoyed.

Sort of.

A little scared.

But overjoyed. Happy. Joyous.

Over. Joyed.

But scared. And a little apprehensive.

Overjoyed, though. Really.

Am I?

Fuck. FUCK!

loo-wheeze

why my life is kind to me

2006-04-03T22:29:00.000+10:00

It is 10:29pm in the House Of Wheeze and it's occuring to me how fucking wonderful my life has turned out.

Trevor has just finished giving me a massage. And not one of those shitty ones where you sit on the floor and someone rolls your shoulders a few times.

No way mate. This one involved body oil, incense, a full body muscle kneading and many special moments involving him telling me that no matter how many children I carry I will still look as beautiful and sexy as the day he met me.

That man loves every stretch mark, every wrinkle, every centimetre of dimpled flesh on my body. He is not afraid to tell me so each and every morning when I stare at the mirror and realise that gravity takes a strangle hold on my flesh and pulls it all down.

The place is quiet. There are no stirring children. No chores left undone. No nipples being pumped by gums that I swear can clamp down harder than any crocodile in this land.

So why am I not passed out in bed by my husbands side?

Because I felt the need to write this little entry just so the world knows that I am in love with my family and my whole life thus far.

It's ok to hate me. I would too.

loo-wheeze

the introduction

2006-04-02T11:39:00.000+10:00

My name is Louise. Some of you may know me as Slutty Sue. Either name is fitting.

I have just recently given birth to twins. A boy named Alastair and a girl named Willow. I also have a four year old daughter named Lexy.

My husband is a legend and his name is Trevor. He also goes by the alias 'Hunka Hunka Burnin' Love'. He's pleased to be known as either of those but the second one is to be said with a curled lip. It's the correct way to pronounce it.

I'm aged somewhere between young hippie and old hag.

I used to work in law but gave that up because I couldn't be me in the job. I then went on to be a secretary at an escort agency and met some very interesting people in that job. If you knock my choice of employment then I will have to ban you from visiting this site. Everyone needs to make the rent and feed their children some way. Don't hate the profession, hate the creepy old men who support it. I do.

Trevor works as a tattoo artist in the heart of the city of Sydney. He's smart when no one's looking and dumb as a cage full of Bush supporters when eyes are on him. He's caring, romantic, insatiable and willing to do just about anything twice.

I'm also best friends with the most amazing, beautiful and intelligent woman in the world: Lissa.

So between the feedings, the clothing, the baths, the bedtime stories and the making of happy families, I will try to find time to write this blog.

I'm sure I can think of many stories to make you all uncomfortable reading. It's what I live for.

I'm nothing but a walking teat right now and I hear the beggars calling.

loo-wheeze