Tuesday, 24 July 2012

Drama and peace

Well hello and how do you do. I am on maternity leave! It is an extremely odd feeling. I have no children with me. The boys have been dispatched to mother's as of 2pm on Sunday and Bea is on various days out with her friend at art activity days and park trips etc. So, this is my maternity leave. It is an extremely odd sensation and whilst I miss the children I do not miss looking after them. Or tidying up after them. Or cooking for them. Obviously I am caring for Bea when she is here and making her food but she is marvellously amenable and will accept pasta as an evening meal almost every day. She even got her own breakfast and took the milk in and put it in the fridge whilst K and I slept this morning. I had a lie in til 8.15. It is quite extraordinary.

Not that I don't need a good rest. Sunday was ridiculously fraught. On Friday, my last day in sole charge of the children, we had friends over in the morning and then Bea had a Bugsy Malone party to go to in the afternoon. All fairly straight forward stuff for a pro like me. Then, I decided to go to the loo one more time before we left for the walk to the party and in the few seconds it took me to wee, Ted managed to fall over bea's scooter in the hallway. Again, no biggie, except he was screaming a lot and still lying on the floor when I got to him. He eventually got up and cuddled me but was screaming a lot and I assumed he was winded and shocked. After all, he had just tripped over a scooter. I managed to get him in the buggy but he cried all the way to the party and all the way back. I managed to calm him on the sofa where he fell asleep and I thought all was sorted. To cut a long story short he woke up in a better mood but still quite tricky and it wasn't until he had a bath and some Ibuprofen that he returned to 'normal'. He stayed that way throughout Saturday, only crying if he used his right hand to do anything strenuous like hit K and then he cried again, but other than that he had a great time in Essex with his Nana and seemed extremely happy and 'normal' all things considered. He did hold his hand in front of him and was using his left hand for most things but he could move his fingers of his right hand and hold things so I thought he just had a bad sprain after falling oddly on his hand.

Cut to an excitable Sunday morning where the boys were findng it hard to contain their joy about their trip to grandma's and Bea was beyond excited about becoming a temporary only child. We went over the road to thank the old folks who live there for the gifts they had dropped off for the children, when Ted tried to climb on to a wall and I grabbed his outstretched hand to steady him. As I grabbed his right hand, he screamed, I heard a click and all hell broke loose. I kept saying shit, Ted was screaming, the old folks couldn't understand what was going on and why I was over reacting quite so badly about holding his hand and were trying to talk to me. I ignored them and the other children, ran back across the road, told K to get the other two (he was unkeen as he was in his pyjamas and the bottoms have an inappropriately placed hole but thankfully he could see my hysteria and he did as he was told), Ted had begun shivering with the shock and I couldn't stop crying at his obvious pain. We tried to offer him something cold for his hand/arm but he wouldn't let us go anywhere near it or administer medicine and so we decided to take him to hospital and get it checked out. He cried all the way there but He calmed down when we got to A and E as there were revolving doors which he thought were pretty exciting (we really don't get out much) and after quite a wait in the children's dept and some ibuprofen he seemed back to his old self and I was vaguely hopeful that I was over reacting. Miserably, after a hideous episode in X-Ray for which K had to be in sole charge of as I wasn't allowed anywhere near due to the pregnancy, a considerable fracture across his wrist was finally confirmed and the immense guilt hit me full on. He had to have a cast put on from above his elbow all the way down to his fingers. He was screaming so much as I took him in to the room to get the cast put on, I had little hope of them getting anything done - he was convinced they going to inject him or do something else totally barbaric. Luckily two amazingly lovely nurses were in charge of the procedure and Bea was on hand to draw on a whiteboard to keep him distracted so he quickly calmed down and they were able to poaster him up. In the end he was quite enjoying all the attention and thanking the lovely nurses for helping make his 'owie' better.

Finally, I thought we would be free to go after one final debacle in the x ray dept to double check that the cast was in the right place and there was no other damage to the bone, but unfortunately the doctor then called me in to a room for a 'chat'. I instinctively knew what was coming. She looked nervous. She asked me why it took me so long to come in and seek treatment for Ted. My stomach sunk. I was obviously feeling bad enough about the whoe thing as my face was make up free and still tear stained. I told her it was because he had only tripped over in our hallway and I was on my own and in charge of three children and heavily pregnant and it didn't really occur to me that he might have broken a bone. She went on to say she believed that the swelling on his wrist was quite obvious to anyone and she would have expected me to come in sooner. I explained that he was running around and happy and fighting with his brother and no one one had ever broken their bones before (except my toe) but I was pretty sure that people with broken bones didn't act like that. She said that in cases of this type and where there has been a delay in seeking medical treatment they have to refer the case. She went on to Say that someone would be calling at my house to check that 'all was well' and that they don't use the words social services, they say it is a health visitor. I was obviously very British about the whole thing and said absolutely, I understand, she was also very British, started being very apologetic and saying she wasn't accusing me and was sure it was all fine but it was standard procedure. I became flustered and said 'yes absolutely, you must double check I'm not a child molester'. I was flustered and tired so I got the wrong word, I meant abuser obviously. I then went on to ask if it would look even worse if Ted wasn't actually there when the 'visitor' came by as I was still thinking of sending him off to my mum's in Suffolk for the week. Again, she must have thought I was mad.

Anyway, she ignored my 'molester' comment and agreed that Ted would be fine with my mother as long as she knew to keep the cast out of water and look for swollen fingers but did say we would have to wait to be officially discharged by a senior doctor who wouldn't be around for about half an hour. The children at this time had already been there for two and a half hours and I was vaguely concerned that she was actually holding me there for the police or something and I did not want them to witness me being led away by the police so I asked if ted actually needed to be there to be discharged or if the x rays would be enough. Mercifully it was agreed they could all go if I stayed. So, relieved, I waited and waited for the police and or Doctor to see me. Luckily I was over reacting at that point and forty minutes later it was just the doctor, who was actually very nice in the end and obviously just doing her job, told me I could leave.

So, a health visitor who will not announce herself as being from social services will be calling at my house to check I am not regularly beating my children. I'm not sure how they can tell. I am unlikely, if I were the type of person who beat children, to do it in front of a woman who was there to judge me on my parenting abilities. Also, from my experiences last week in the MAU at King's and the children's waiting room at Lewisham at the weekend, it is a tad ironic that I am having someone visit me. I never once fed them coke, threatened to beat them if they moved, grabbed them harshly by their clothing and pulled them about or uttered the fabulous line 'stop crying or I'll really give you something to cry about' etc etc. Still, as I mumbled to the doctor, it is a good sign that these procedures are in place to help children who really are in need of help so I am refusing to take it personally. Well not totally.

As we returned home I was then faced with a horrible decision as to whether I still sent the boys on their merry way to Suffolk. It was early afternoon but K couldn't take any time off work to do the journey during the week so I had to decide there and then if they were still going, cast and all. The decision became decidedly easier when Ted started running around and hitting K and G with his new 'weapon' or cast. So, they were all ready and at the door when I finally realised that mum wasn't using her 'concerned' voice on the phone it was her 'ill' voice. She then admitted that she was in fact feeling quite ill and had been on the sofa for most of the day. What with my already heightened hormonal state and extreme tiredness from the exhaustion of the day and night that far, I was a little floored. At mother's insistence that she would be fine and with the boys chomping at the bit to go I just gave in and sent them regardless of all the 'signs' that I should not. I waved off my broken baby to be delivered to an ill pensioner. And K on yet another long return journey. His weekend involved seven hours of driving all in all. I was particularly tearful about the whole situation. Still, after K's safe return, a good night's sleep and a great day of rest yesterday I feel a lot Better about the situation. Mum is well, Ted is not letting anything get in the way of him having fun and was on the trampoline the minute they arrived and mum has been wrapping his arm in Cling film and plastic bags so that he can enjoy the water a little bit in the heat. He is so happy, he answered the phone to me this morning with the words '(sigh) what is it mum?'. Nice. He may not be missing me but I keep sporadically bursting in to tears over him. G is fine, he doesn't even want to speak to me over the phone, but this is the longest I have ever been away from Ted and he is still my baby until the new one finally makes an appearance so I am finding his absence a bit tricky.

But, the stress of the weekend is slowly subsiding and I am beginning to get everything sorted in the house and have commenced operation 'entice the baby out'. I am off for acupuncture shortly, I have reflexology booked for Thursday and if all else fails I am getting the midwife to come and give me a sweep on Friday. I am doing everything I can to get this thing out. The sooner it's out the sooner I get to see Ted so I am now extremely determined. Ted was so good when I was pregnant with him - he came on the exact day I had said he could and had planned around - the 1st September. He was due 3 days earlier but I was not having him being the youngest in the year so I spent the three days knitting his blanket and lying in bed so that nothing could accidentally start off the labour. At 5am on the 1st, things started to kick off and he was born 3.5 hours later in a very efficient manner. I just hope the newbie is aware that I take being born on a day I have not sanctioned appropriate, as a display of gross disobedience and will be dealt with accordingly.

I have nothing else to tell you. Unless there is an extremely long wait for the baby, this is likely to be my final post before the birth. It is very fortuitous that this is also my 100th post so it feels like a great place to go on official maternity leave from this too. I won't bore you with how big I am, how tiring it is or how hot I am now that Summer is finally here - it is best that you are spared all the dull details. I shall miss Sprautumn immensely. It was great while it lasted.

I shall hopefully return when I am two people and not just one monster mountain of hot sweaty flesh. My lovely friend pointed out that she wishes I hadn't told her I am having it on Friday as every time she hears about the 'opening ceremony' she has a very different mental image to the Olympic stadium in all its glory. This has kept me considerably amused. I am very pleased to have stolen a small portion of the Olympics' big day. Even if it is only in the mind of one person. So, with any luck there will be two dramatic openings on Friday and I will finally be released from my pregnancy prison. I will let you know.....

Until then! Xxxxxx

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Things that annoy me

I am in fairly good spirits mentally so it seems an odd time to write about things that are annoying me but the list has become quite long and I need to vent my spleen. Apart from being deceptively uncomfortable physically I really am quite a happy soul. I promise.
1. PPI adverts. They are constantly on Sky. They have overtaken 'have you been in an accident that wasn't your fault' or when we first got Sky, the repetitive adverts for loans. They are constantly appearing on the children's channels too which is ridiculous as they are not old enough to have taken out a loan or mortgage so it upsets me that they are subjected to the incessant questioning. I wish I had taken out PPI so I could make a claim and use the money to carry out some urgent home repairs but I really don't think I ever have which is terrifically annoying considering how many loans and credit cards I have taken out during my time.

2. 'She's made a full recovery' thin celebrity pictures. It appears that no matter how ill they were and how bad the addiction was, as long as they have had their hair done and are incredibly thin they are deemed 'fully recovered'. Is it just me on the fat side of the fence wondering why being skeletal is a sign of good health? Sarah Harding is the latest but I'll take any of them, Mischa Barton, Lindsay Lohan even Kerry katona. Let's examine the evidence. Drug addiction usually makes you quite thin anyway - a dramatic loss in appetite is the only thing i have ever been able to discern as a possible 'pro' to drug use. So why, upon their triumphant return to the limelight, post rehab do the press have to use their weight as a sign of well being. Surely it should be the reverse? We should start saying 'ooh she's put on a stone and had her hair done, she is clearly off the coke/meth/heroine'. It is just a thought.

3. Facebook updates. Moaning, incessant updates about how hard someone works or how much their job sucks or how many hours they have spent in the fricking office are getting on my wick. Here is a news flash. We just do not care after the first few. In the beginning there is sympathy. It isn't that nice being stuck at work at all hours of the day and night but after the millionth update we really dont give a flying rickety f*** about how hard you work. If you want to become an official martyr please go and work for a charity or something worthwhile. If your job is for a corporation only intent on making more and more profit then please don't even for a minute think that anyone gives a damn - you are a cog in a wheel - suck it up. The week before my wedding I was working until 10pm every night; at 6 months pregnant I worked until midnight and had to be back in the office for 8am the following day - and these were not unusual hours and yet did I take to FB to moan? No. Of course I didn't. It hadn't been invented yet.
The same is true for ridiculously over indulgent emotional outpourings of someone's love for another. GET A ROOM. Or better still, use the technology you are currently gushing to the world on and instead ring, text or even email the person you are sickeningly in love with and, here's an idea, tell them. You could even be very old fashioned and write it in a card. You know that I don't 'do' public emotions. I don't expect everyone to be like me and only tell their partner they love him if he brings me food in bed or he gives me money - I understand there are people out there who say it to each other at the end of every sentence but for god's sake stop involving other people in your gushing affairs. In fact I can include Twitter on here too. I do hate to agree with my mother but the use of the word 'love' has been undermined by its overuse. Gok Wan professes his love for strangers almost constantly. It is ridiculous. How can you possibly love someone with whom you have only ever exchanged a few tweets with via the internet? I like Sarah Beeney and her husband who never even use the word love. It is genius. They actually are in love. They don't need to start shouting about how they feel to the world. I mean it's just not bloody British. So, from now on I would urge you to encourage the repeat offenders of work moaners and gushing lovies to stop. Let's stamp it out now. I would like to add here that I am more than fine with people being happy, sad, ill, annoyed etc etc. I am not trying to erase all emotion, just make people think about other FB users before they press 'post'. A simple thought process of 'is this update the same as the ones I have written for weeks on end about how hard I work or how much I hate my job?' or 'is this post likely to make someone gag or vomit slightly in their mouth due to it's gushing nature?' if the answer to either is 'yes' then it would be kinder for everyone if it wasn't written. It will only take a few minutes of time and could save an awful lot of upset.

4. The Olympics. I am not trying to piss on anyone's parade but the sooner this bloody farce is over the better. I tolerated it for a while. I even became excited last year when I thought we might be able to rent out our home for ridiculous amounts of money due to our relative proximity to the games(I was quickly disillusioned of this fact) but now, everywhere we look there are signs asking us to politely 'bog off' whilst the games are on. The tube stations are awash with requests for us to 'make alternative arrangements', roads tell us not to use them during the games - my favourite just writes off the whole of Central London, telling us not to venture in whilst the games are on and if you do defy the sign, there are specific roads only to be used by people involved in the games which would result in a £100 fine if you accidentally used them and were not 'official'. companies have been told to make people work from home or relocate entirely for the duration of the games - the list of inconveniences goes on and on. My mother taught me not to bite the hand that feeds and I can't help but feel the whole vibe is a tad ungrateful. We are here all year round, for years and years and years, paying our taxes, being squashed on the tube, tutting to ourselves in queues, waiting for delayed trains, sitting in untold number of traffic jams, enduring hose pipe bans, rubbish not being collected, irritating tourists, surly bus drivers, foxes, dog shit, rats et all and now, all of a sudden it's 'thanks for everything but could you just piss off and not make any trouble'. It is just blatant rudeness. And do not get me started on the endless torch passing. It is dull now. Enough already. Also the constant and faintly ridiculous 'official sponsors' of the games. I have yet to see an official condom sponsor but there must be one - every other conceivable product or service has become officially linked to the bloody games. I can wash clothes in official powder, eat official fast food before opening my official chocolate bar or cereal bar, in my official energy supplier to the games heated house, send parcels, wash myself, etc etc It is so common place now that once again, the very honour it is meant to bestow is undermined. There are so many 'suppliers' 'supporters' 'sponsors' etc that i would now actively seek to use a company that has not wasted their money paying for the Olympics. I cannot be bothered to wade in on the security debacle - although that has helped me feel better. However bad my body aches and I want to sleep I keep thinking - at least I am not anyone senior at G4S. And finally on the subject, the bloody Olympic song that G and Bea sang in their end of year 'assemberlees' caused me to cry. I know! I hate showing emotion in public and crying is the very worst. I totally wasn't expecting it. I mean it is a song about the Olympics; but seeing G standing there with all his little friends singing his heart out about hope, hearing their voices, being the future, looking in their eyes etc etc I just couldn't help myself. Proper tears began to fall down my face. Noticeable ones. It must be the hormones. Then Bea sang it again today in her Leavers's assembly and I thought I was hardened against it, being prepared this time, but no, yet again I welled up. Nothing else got to me. How? How is it possible that a song about something that I find intensely irritating caused me to cry? Hormones are also on my list of annoyances. I shall be most pleased when they bugger off.

5. The recorder. Somebody somewhere, probably a recorder teacher with a vendetta against parents who failed to make their children practise, decided to adapt poor George Gerswhin's wonderful 'Summertime' for the recorder. The unimaginable pain of listening to an inexperienced recorder player playing a top E for what feels like years on end is a form of sophisticated torture. Added to that, due to her relative inexperience and our wrong assumption that she was going to play it in the end of year assembly, means that I have had to endure the sound since the 31st of March. It is hard for you to imagine if you have never encountered a top E played badly but it got to a point where I made her wait until I was upstairs and well away from the back of the kitchen where she practises, before I allowed her to Even begin playing it. I cannot describe the relief when she went for her final lesson and I managed to establish afterwards that no recorders were playing in the assembly, so that was that. No more summertime. Although miserably she now enjoys playing it as she is now note oerfect, so won't stop. I will be 'losing' both recorders very soon....at least until G's insistence to learn becomes unbearable and I cave in and let him. Until then, from September my school mornings will now only contain the bickering, whining and screaming sound of children and no fricking recorder. Bliss.

6. 'Hilarious' people asking me if i'm sure there is 'only one in there'. Yes, my stomach is large. No, I do not believe an entire extra person has somehow been 'missed' during my three scans. Anyone under the age of 60 saying this should be shot.

7. Clothing. Due to my stomach size and swollen feet I am now down to a maxi dress, one pair of leggings with a hole in, one pair of leggings without a hole, a pair of impossibly large maternity jeans, a few tent tops, a pair of flip flops and wellies. This means that if the sun shines I am in the maxi and flip flops and if it rains I am in jeans, tent top and Wellies. In the unpredictable Sprautumn weather I am not always able to get the combination correct and I wore flip flops on Saturday which caused me to skid rather embarrassingly in front of Sainsbury's and fall to my knees. Mercifully i had Bea with me to pull me up so i didnt have to embarrass myself further with offers of help from strangers. The jeans are large sized maternity and are full on 'over the bump' style which basically means thhere is the most amazing amount of denim you will have ever seen. Added to that I bought them 8 years ago, in a sale. They were hideous then and are even more so now. Big, boot cut, light blue denim hideousness with elasticised pockets and enough material to build a tent from. Oh and a round paint stain on the arse where I sat on a paint lid heavily pregnant with Bea. But, they fit and are comfortable and can be kept up by tying something through the belt loops, so I am wearing them. (belts are very out, they don't come in this size so I have resorted to keeping the jeans up with a bit of material that tied around an old M &S mac I actually returned, but clearly forgot about the belt part). As you can imagine I am looking HOT. So, if I had it my way I would spend the next week or so totally naked, either in bed or the bath where I find some comfort. I am very over clothing.

8. The cat. He has decided to abandon us for a house 6 doors down. They are 'animal' people. We are not. He has clearly worked this out. We have managed to persuade him back for a few minuts here or there with lots of food but essentially he has moved out. The very reason we have him is to keep the mice away. If he leaves, the mice come back and then I leave. Tres annoying.

That will do you for now. I have more annoyances but I don't want to over burden you. High blood pressure features quite highly - it sent me back to the bloody hospital on Friday evening and you KNOW how much I love it there. I spent 2.5 hours in a corridor being forgotten whilst counselling a poor woman who had been sent there from her GP after they failed to find a fetal heartbeat at 19weeks. Her mother and brother's girlfriend turned up to help me comfort her but the mother was quite drunk and not a massive help. She did say that she wished she could give her daughter a spliff to calm her down as she was quite sure every thing was ok - this was actually hilarious and did calm us both down. It turns out the mother was right and actually her drunk behaviour managed to distract her daughter enough to stop her crying for the nearly two hour wait she had to endure in order to find out that all was well. So, on the one hand I want to put the NHS on my list of annoyances, but on the other hand, on Saturday morning my NHS funded midwife popped round to take my blood pressure and check in on me so that I didn't have to return to hell and the emergency out of hours NHS GP let me diagnose G's ear infection over the phone and faxed through his prescription to Sainsbury's so we didn't have to spend hours waiting to be seen or find a convenient pharmacy. I just picked up his prescription whilst shopping. Genius. For those reasons King's Maternal Assessment Unit has escaped my vitriol for today.

So, in other news, the children break up from school tomorrow, the boys are being shipped off to my mum's at the weekend and I am going to spend the following week doing my very best to get this baby out to coincide with the opening ceremony of the Olympics so that I can direct my anger and screaming at the tv not K. I shall keep you posted.

I shall be in touch. Even if it is just to moan again. You lucky people.
Until then. Xxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday, 8 July 2012

Nothing much

I have accidentally just caught ten minutes of the shopping channel. I now feel with every fibre of my being that I need a slicer dicer plus from JML. They are right, I AM wondering how I have managed to live this long with just a Knife and a chopping board. My life is shit. Every time I go in to my kitchen from now on I shall know there is a special spot that could be housing a life changing bit of plastic. It is £50 though which stops me ordering it straight away. I have never before realised the magic of shopping tv. It has thus far, just been a few moments of accidental viewing whilst i look for something else to watch and one desperate evening when K and I discovered price drop tv and we got addicted to the drama of it all. Usually I see them trying to flog a steamer or gym equipment or hideous kaftan-esque clothing or my favourite, the truly gross jewellery but today I have finally realised that shopping tv is amazing. It could literally be changing my life if I just had £50. It seems so little to keep me from a life epiphany.

So, where were we and what was happening. Hmmm. Nothing much. Still pretty much the same.


I am sweating, even in the cooler Sprautumn weather I am finding it hard to control and I am so hot at night I have to sleep with the window open come rain or shine. K is under a double duvet and I am perspiring with the rain pouring down outside the open window. I don't know why this particular baby is making me so hot and swollen. My feet have started swelling up in the evenings and my fingers have become chubby and fat. Also so has my face but I'm assuming that is actual fat, not swelling.

It has been a week of people telling me their secrets. I am doing my level best to keep them all. Everyone seems to be pregnant. I don't know if it is my age and this is when it all happens or everyone looks at me and thinks, by golly I wanna get me a bit of that perspiration problem, but it is post war baby boom time within my small section of the world. Someone is emigrating as well. It's like everyone is doing something. Lots of people from the children's school seem to be leaving London for 'the good life' elsewhere or having their houses totally renovated. It is just ALL happening. Or it just seems that way because I am huge and immobile and spending too much time on the sofa so anyone doing anything seems life changing. Not as much as a JML slicer dicer plus obviously. Even emigrating can't out life change that little baby's slicing capabilities.

My small world is still revolving around the newbie's imminent arrival, naturally. The midwife came for the official birth chat today. I am pretty sure of myself and the facts when it comes to all the birth protocol but I still like the chat. I am very fond of my lovely midwife. She has been coming to the house on and off for the last seven years so it is just a chat really. Although she does have to officially inform me that I can't receive an epidural or cesarean section at home - it concerns me that there are geniuses out there who were surprised to learn this after it was too late and subsequently complained, therefore making it now obligatory for these poor women to point it out at the birth talk. Even with my newly hoovered lampshades and skirting boards I would be reticent to let a midwife cut through my abdomen on my bed - the washing for one thing would be hideous and my knives are really not sharp enough. Anyhoo, her arrival today signals the dawning of a new era as from now on I am deemed 'term' (37 weeks) and therefore am able to have the baby at home, so, baring all medical emergencies I should be able to avoid my most detested of places to give birth. I have rushed out to purchase a tarpaulin in celebration.

In other gripping news I have switched my ice cream allegiance from Phish food to Caramel Chew Chew. It is all change here. And My new soundtrack to life is Fun's 'We are Young' (featuring Janelle Monae) - it is not a particularly suitable soundtrack as the sentiment couldn't be further removed from my current life, but I am finding it totally irresistible. I went through a brief Ed Sheeran phase recently but stopped listening to the album in the car when I realised one of the lyrics was about f'ing in a lift. I managed to miss it for quite a number of weeks of listening pleasure until all three children were in the car and it came through very loud and clear. I hoped they had missed it and hadn't connected me shrieking and turning the music off abruptly, with the rudeness of the lyrics, until Bea leaned in to G and said 'you know that word we just heard, never say it, it's very rude'. She misses nothing.

I am also worrying about mushrooms. It has recently occurred to me that I never give the children mushrooms to eat. Is this something I should be rectifying? Should I worry about it? Should I sneak them in to their spaghetti bolognese or just front it out and present them on a plate one day and act very nonchalant when questioned? Who knows. Should I buy the slicer dicer plus, get them excited about slicing mushrooms and work it in that way therefore killing two birds with one life changing instrument? My mind is in overdrive. I shall let you know when I decide. Try not to lose sleep over it.

Ooh my nesting excitement has turned to my hideous bedroom. I can't remember if I have ever thrilled you with this before but in an act of pure selflessness, a few years ago K and I swapped the large (relative obviously) master bedroom for the smaller one which had previously been Bea's so that her and G could share a large room and house all of their toys as well as a bed each and still have room to play. (I reasoned that K and I didn't need space to play and we only needed to accommodate a bed and two wardrobes so it seemed silly to have the bigger room - it did take months to convince K of the same but as with most things he eventually gave in and moved us). Ted was moved in to G's old room and out of my bed and eventually learnt to sleep without me. All was good. Except that our new bedroom came complete with drawings, blu tack and holes in the walls, nail varnish and cheap make up on the carpet, pink walls and barely enough room to walk around our king size bed. However, I was so pleased to get some space from the baby Ted that I put up with it. Until now. Now I want a lovely bedroom, complete with feature wall paper, new carpet, clean walls et all. So far K and I have discussed the colour choice. We have been quite radical and gone for an epically exciting white. However in order to shake it up a bit I want a duck egg blue, spotty wallpaper. If you see one or know of one please let me know instantly. I have looked in home base and on cath kidston online and haven't found one so have given up. I have however, purchased some new duck egg blue bedside lampshades which were a homebase bargain and I am exceptionally pleased with my first steps to bedroom boudoir luxury. I am also hoping that once the baby is out I will once again be able to access K's side of the room which at the moment is only possible if I throw myself on the bed and roll to it as I cannot physically fit through the space between the bed and the wall.

Enough of all my Exciting life - your adrenalin must be pumping so much now you need to calm down so I shall move on to the rest of the family.

Still not managing to make the sound 'tr' and still using 'f' to replace it. K finds it increasingly hilarious and asks him repeatedly to say 'truck mummy'. I must remember not to point out that he also misses off the 'g' of grape. I hope we never see a big truck carrying grapes at any point before he grows out of it. It would be desperately hard to explain away his home life if anyone were to overhear him point out a big grape truck. It is bad enough that he and G were merrily walking around singing 'I'll get drunk again, I'll get, drunk again' thanks to the irresponsible Ed Sheeran but at least that is slightly more socially acceptable.

Due to the imminent end of term, Ted and I only have 8 more days left of just me and him. I am oddly emotional about this fact. We have become very used to dropping the big two off and then getting on with our own thing (increasingly that is just coming home and sorting the washing/watching tv/eating/napping) but still, I shall miss it. From now on, minus the odd day here and there, it will never be just me and Ted again. Luckily he doesn't fully comprehend what is about to occur so he is particularly detached from my emotional turmoil. I was greatly relieved to notice that he got upset at the Punch and Judy show we saw yesterday when Punch mistreated the baby in the classic sketch. I am vaguely hopeful that Ted will not take a rolling pin to the newbie in retaliation for stealing the limelight and muscling in on our one on one time. I was worried I might have to find a 'lid' for the crib to keep it safe but now, thanks to Punch, I think that kind of precaution might not be necessary. Fingers crossed anyway.


G is Going through some kind of primal scream therapy at the moment. Whilst usually quite happy and easy to please his temper erupts from almost nowhere and he then walks around screaming ridiculously loudly, stomping and slamming doors with clenched fists until he has calmed down. It is very odd. I admire it a bit because I would like to scream when things all get too much but it is incredibly annoying to live through when it takes place.

He has also had an odd 'we need to talk about Kevin' type weekend where he has been ridiculously strange. He has refused to see sense, been either hideously clingy or horribly rude and difficult to get through to, suddenly stopped being able to hear and then at 7am this morning he took the scissors to his hair and cut off huge chunks of it, mostly from his fringe which now has a very distinctive look and style and an inverted peak. The hearing loss in particular is disconcerting. It is hard to work out if he is suffering from a dramatic and sudden loss of hearing or if he is deliberately ignoring us or he is so involved in whatever he is thinking that he is not able to 'let sound in'. I am hopeful that all bizarre behaviour can be put down to it being the end of the school year and he will magically improve once the holidays commence. I am putting a lot of faith in to the end of term and arrival of the baby. All will be well, the sun will suddenly shine, the rain will cease and the existing children will be happy and well behaved. It is literally going to be magic.


Excessively excited about the new baby and is planning to raise it single handedly. I am sceptical over her continued enthusiasm in the face of an angry, screaming baby and it annoying her during her televisual watching pleasure, but for now her newborn doll is being lavished with an intense amount of attention and affection in preparation.

She is finally at the end of her three school trip extravaganza, each and every one a crushing disappointment due to the level of walking required. Bea's undoudtedly lovely teacher has incredibly long legs as he is over 6 foot and clearly forgets that his charges have to take three strides to his one, so after each and every anticipated day out of school, I picked up Bea and the extra child who almost fell out of the classroom and collapsed with the exhaustion and complained of leg/foot ache. After one trip up to the local museum which meant a long walk up a steep hill, Bea was outraged to discover that one girl from another class had been allowed to take a taxi there and back and therefore avoid the unforgiving hill and mile long walk. Upon further delving I realised she was referring to the girl who has to use a walking frame to get around and has a wheelchair for when her legs become too tired from the frame. Bea was unrepentant with her outrage even in The face of clear and medical evidence. Hence forth she will only be going on school trips if a bus is laid on to ship them around. She really is a chip off the old block.


Wants a PS3. I have said no. Repeatedly.

So, I think that brings you mainly up to date. I shan't bore you with details of the school And scout fairs from last weekend. They were good, enjoyable and expensive with three children in tow - standard stuff. Ted didn't want to buy any of our discarded playroom stuff back and settled for some halloween spider decorations and a ladybird game. Phew. I won a bottle of wine at the scout fair and Bea won a coconut. We were ludicrously and unnecessarily excited over our success.

You now know all there is to know, or all that I am permitted to tell, of any relevance. I am off to enjoy Thelma's gypsy girls. After donating to the gypsy cause at the weekend at yet another fair, I have even more of an interest in the gypsy world. £2.50 for one go for one child on a ride/bouncy castle. These people are frickin geniuses. K did not agree. The children did not understand. It did not make for an easy time.

I may well be in touch soon. Until then my life changing friends, until then.