BabyGirl - arrived on 29 August, 9 weeks too early, weighing just 3lb 11oz (1.68 kg).
She's doing well in the neonatal unit so far; but we do still have some way to go.
Blogging has been a lot of fun, but at the moment, real life has to come first.
xxWe did it - managed to move house at 6 days' notice! The Boy and I spent 11 days living in a caravan whilst The Husband sorted out the very worst aspects of our new house and made it safe and somewhat less stinky.
It's a great space - decoratively speaking, everything in it has got to come out and be replaced, but that's long-term thinking. We're dealing with fag-ash riddled carpets and curtains and some very dodgy electrics and heating just now...
The Boy loves it - so much more space for streaking around stark naked after his bath, and playing in the garden - the neighbours are greeted every morning by his little voice saying 'Daddy get the dog poo...'.
Still, we're in, we're happy, and we're knackered. Normal service will resume as soon as I am not surrounded by cardboard boxes.
Yes, I am still alive, have not dropped off the earth, or drowned in a sea of morning sickness (although I did come close on that one...)
I've been mostly running around swearing about estate agents, solicitors, house sellers and house buyers. This culminated in a phone call from our solicitors yesterday asking if we would like to move house on Monday. In 6 days time. We're not even exchanged contracts yet, never mind booked a removal firm or started packing...anyway, we said yes. It's insane, but it has to be done.
So, my life currently resembles the opening scene of Four Weddings and a Funeral - everyone running around saying 'fuck' a lot; although I'm just hoping that if my toddler repeats what he heard a few times yesterday, people will kindly pretend to believe that we were baking 'Fairycakes'
Will be back to rebuild this now sorry excuse for a blog at some point when the dust has settled.
In the meantime, I will be living in a caravan, reading a lot and trying to get some rest!
16 weeks pregnant now, and I've finally stopped being sick, am eating normally again, and generally feeling much better.
OK, so the week I just spent by beautiful Coniston Water in the Lake District probably helped - it's not all that far from where I grew up; I still get all misty-eyed at the sight of a good dry stone wall...
Whilst the holiday was great, it did sort out my views about some of the technology and gadgets we have grown used to in our 21st century everyday lives. I've reached an age now where I've become considerably less tolerant of new gadgets; if I've survived this long without one, then the chances are that I will happily continue to do so.
It's not that I'm a technophobe, far from it; just that I believe the maxim 'just because you can, doesn't mean you should' is particularly relevant where technology is concerned.
When I was younger and single, I owned a car that looked a lot like this. It was crap, but we had lots of fun together.
Preparation for a long journey involved the following essential tasks:
1. Throw my favourite music tapes in.
2. Spend 10 minutes looking at the map, write down all road numbers, junctions and directions on an index card, and prop up on dashboard.
3. Put map in car, just in case...
4. Pack and go.
Fast forward 8 years, forget about the nightmare which is packing to take a toddler away for a week, and we have the following scenario.
1. Husband spends 2 hours faffing about on iTunes and creating special journey playlists on the iPod, containing a random shuffle of fairly selected tracks from our favourite CDs.
2. Husband spends a further 2 hours programming a variety of journey routes into satellite navigation system.
3. Rest of packing completed by me, much swearing ensues...
Lets start with the iPod. Normally, I wouldn't be without it, but for a long car journey I'm prepared to make an exception. Trying to listen to my beautiful new birthday present CD of Carlos Mena singing Vivaldi's Nisi Dominus for the first time, on random shuffle, interspersed with songs by Porcupine Tree is well...try to imagine ripping out the pages from your favourite literary classic, throwing them in the air along with the same number of pages from something by John Grisham, and then trying to read the collected result.
If the literary analogy doesn't do it for you, then please imagine how it would feel to be offered a dish of your very favourite meal, personally cooked for you by Gordon Ramsay, and then told that you must eat it with a toothpick, washing down each mouthful with a shot of vinegar, and you're somewhere close. Ipod, I say No.
And then there's the SatNav/GPS/bossy little box that sits on your dashboard and directs you to your destination. Those things irritate the hell out of me. Maybe it's just a man thing, but why on earth is it necessary to have the thing switched on, giving you orders and bleeping away at you for the entirety of a 300 mile journey, when it's only the last 25 miles that you don't already know!
Madam Bossy Boots SatNav does have one or two slight advantages over the old 'wife with a map' routine. She doesn't get carsick after about three minutes of looking at her map, and she doesn't shout at the driver. Originally, I thought that her presence would reduce the number of car rows we had, but now we just argue about whether or not she is going to get us home, or deposit us, cackling with spite, on top of some godforsaken fell, populated only by a herd of large and extremely self-assured sheep.
At least my eyes can tell the difference between a road and a bridleway, without recourse to a map. Of course by this point we were so thoroughly lost as to be unable to locate ourselves on the perfectly good paper map that I will be sticking with from now on.
I can't help it - I'm just an old-fashioned girl. Technology has its rightful place in our lives, but a holiday in the back of beyond isn't one of them.
In other news - we are quickly moving towards exchanging contracts on the new house (please keep everything crossed for us) and our vet says that the dog is too fat and has to lose 2 kilos. I'm actually quite embarrassed by that last one.
There's a reason I've been off the blogs recently.
Same reason I've been off my food and drink too. The reason I've been spending my mornings throwing up down the loo, and my lunch break whilst the boy sleeps sitting on my backside with a nice cup of tea instead of catching up with what is happening in Blogworld.
Baby number 2 is making its presence known.
Some women, like the one shown, look and feel great during pregnancy. The hormones give them a healthy glow, they feel empowered and fincredibly feminine, and they only get bigger in the place generally known as the bump. In short, they just bloom.
I am not one of these lucky women.
When I am pregnant, I feel like this...
...which is why there may now be a short interlude.
I'm 13 weeks at the moment - apparently, and from what I remember from last time, I can expect to start feeling a bit better at some point in the next two or three weeks.
I will back at such a point; however, in the interests of quality control, it's probably best if I leave my blog alone for now. I am a hormonally addled cranky old witch, and am only likely to post acerbic rants which I might regret later on.
Mind you, last time around I was still shouting at strangers and threatening to piss on their feet at 7 months...
We will have to see how it goes.
Wish me luck!
It's been a while since I saw an ad that made me go all Gordon Ramsay - swearing and cursing at the screen, howling with derision at the idiots who produced it and the even bigger idiots who will doubtless be influenced by it. But this one left me temporarily speechless.
It's for a new 'Super Premium' sexed-up range of fabric conditioner, by Procter and Gamble, marketed under their familiar Lenor brand. The product steps right away from the usual Spring Meadow Summer Fresh type of fragrance that we're all used to, and brings out the dark sensuousness of wash day with delights such as Black Diamond & Lotus Flower, Ruby Jasmine, Amethyst Rose and Sapphire Violet.
Leaving aside the fact that three of those names sound like something that a Spice Girl might name their baby daughter - if the advert is to be believed, using these products will turn us all into irresistable, seductive temptresses, to be found dressed in slinky black nightgowns and writhing in orgasmic frenzy on our clean sheets.
P&G are very proud of their innovation. Their Trade Communications Manager, Paul Lettice would like us to know that
"We are confident the launch of Lenor Infusions will help to make the task of washing a more glamorous, invigorating experience for consumers with the 'infusion' of premium fragrances and sumptuous softness of Lenor.
In answering consumer demands for environmentally friendly products, the Infusions range not only invigorates and softens clothes to the highest Lenor standards, but is also more sustainable, using up to 70% less packaging per wash when compared to regular Lenor, which in turn means fewer lorry loads on the road. Lenor Infusions is a great opportunity for retailers to boost their laundry profits and drive incremental value.”
Oh fuck off.
Only the most deluded corporate bullshit merchant could contrive to weave a sentence which runs seamlessly from 'the task of washing' to 'a more glamorous, invigorating experience'. I note that he is also a man, but I'm not going any further with that one - draw your own conclusions.
As far as I can ascertain, the only way you could possibly combine those two wildly disparate concepts is to dress up in your best lingerie, set the washing machine to spin and...
...but as this isn't that sort of blog, I'd suggest coming to one's own conclusions with that one too.
This is a laundry product. There is nothing glamorous about laundry. Unless P&G can come up with a product which transports me to a place where I get to share a hot tub on my own terms with 5 inhabitants of my choosing from the Lost island, after they've actually done my laundry for me, I will not allow any further talk of washing and sensuousness.
And if you're likely to find yourself swayed by the environmental credentials of this product, please don't. Go out and buy some Dryer Balls instead. If you don't believe in tumble drying, I suspect they could also double up as a serviceable sex toy.
Reduce, Re-use, Recycle. And all that.
Whilst we're on the subject of minority instruments and those who play them...
The Husband is a big fan of Jean Michel Jarre. I don't really understand why, something to do with innovation, and being the first to bring certain electronic sounds and instruments into the mainstream, that sort of thing. Not my cup of tea, but it keeps him happy.
He recently forked out £75 to hear Jarre play live at the Royal Albert Hall, and was sadly disappointed to find out that the Grand Master of popular electronic music is, in fact, completely rubbish when it comes to live performance.
One of the innovative electronic instruments that he uses on his albums is the theremin. This is a bizarre, antenna-based instrument, invented in the early twentieth century. I can't explain how it works, because I don't do physics, but to cut a long story short, the performer stands between two antennae, and waves their hands around in the air to create the music.
The Husband had been looking forward to seeing one played live. You don't see them around much, unless you're seriously into avant-garde music.
I suspect that when he sees this, he will agree that he might have been better off saving his money, and spending the evening on YouTube instead.
I have been very ill all week with a flu-like thing which just won't go away. There are some areas of life where my approach tends to be much more masculine than one might expect. Shopping for clothes is one of them. Interest in celebrities and the details of their lives is another.
Having a bad cold is probably the finest. It's been 8 days and I'm still a rancid bag of snot and misery. I'm already reduced to posting videos of cats being amusing instead of real bloggage. If I'm not better by the middle of next week, then I'll have no option but to post a picture of my arse.
Wish me well, for all our sakes...
