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Two.

Today has not gone smoothly. It could have something to do with the stunt Madam pulled on the way up the street to the chiropractor's office. Having strapped on her brother, grabbed my bag and coffee and (lastly, of course) freed her from the carseat, she decided walking wasn't something she chose to do right that second. Given the fact that we'd been stuck in rush hour traffic on the way there and had roughly thirty seconds to make our appointment, that wasn't really an option. I appealed to her logical side, reminding her that she likes going to see Gail, Gail lets her play with the bits on her desk while she waits for New Kid and myself to be adjusted... her response to said logic? Spaghetti Baby. On the street. I had to put my coffee on a stranger's car to secure New Kid to my front with one hand while I used the other to haul her butt off the pavement. Upon second collapse, I had to wrestle her under my "free" arm, collect my belongings and w

Like Mama, like Madam.

My kid is weird. Kid Mach 1, that is. Kid Mach 2 is too young to show his true colours. He might still be "normal" like Himself... you know, my ninja accountant husband. Exhibit One. I present for your appraisal the following picture. That hat? Her choice, both as a purchase last winter (hence the jauntily perched angle on her melon, it's too small now) and as a wardrobe choice today (when it was really too warm to need a hat, but her stubbornness knows no bounds). Exhibit Two. This morning while I was sorting her breakfast in the kitchen, New Kid started kicking off on the sofa. I asked Madam to go see if she could make him happy as I was up to my elbows in jammy toast. She said "okay" in her piping little voice and hied herself to the front room to cheer him up. How did she do this, you ask? She got about six inches away from his face and shouted "HAPPY!!!"... When that didn't work (insert shocked disbelief here) she came back

Ode to Boy.

My son is six weeks old today. That's right, my SON. How surreal. We won't mention how he's the size of a three month old. Fee, fi, fo fum. I feel like I should record some of the details, because let's face it, my memory isn't one of my most stellar qualities. It's not helping that the six weeks he's been on the outside seem to have literally flown past. One second he was a newborn, I had a lapse in judgement and blinked momentarily, and now he's six weeks old. He smiles. A lot. Sometimes he laughs in his sleep, which is doubly hilarious because he hasn't laughed while conscious yet. He has angry legs when he's thwarted. Same goes for his arms, he thumps me well and truly when I'm slow giving in to his demands for breastage. He'd rather I went topless and stayed on the couch with him in my lap for easy access 24/7. When he's sad, his sad face is the saddest sad face anyone ever had. Ever. Most of the time I'm

Plus one.

That's right, folks. New Kid finally deigned to exit my ovarian Bastille, and we are now a family of four. Things they don't tell you about adding a human to your already populated household: 1. 1+1 does not equal 2. 1+1, in Toddler/Newborn Math, is actually more like 5. The constant threat of random violence (intentional or no) from Toddler toward Newborn puts you on permanent alert, there's always a nose that needs wiping just as you've gotten Newborn to latch on for a feed, or Toddler decides they're starving TO DEATH while you're up to your eyes in Newborn Poo (so completely warrants the capital letters...). 2. It doesn't just take twice as long to leave the house. Add in a buffer of half an hour to however long you think it's going to take you to walk out the door. Someone will poo and require a change. Or will dump the half a coffee you never managed to drink down themselves and will require new clothes. Or will fall over because th

Boys are lazy.

I'm not even going to apologise for how long it's been this time. *lol* I have a toddler, I'm really pregnant, and I need no further excuse. That's right folks, I've gone over, despite all the assurances from chiropractors/doctors/midwives that I wouldn't make it to the 5th. The "water breaking on my due date" luck I had with The Brat seems to have failed me this go around, and I'm now ONE WHOLE DAY OVERDUE. (None of you are allowed to castigate me for dramatic overstatement, I don't care if you went two weeks over, this is about ME, as everything is. So there.) We had a little scare yesterday, New Kid is normally so active that it's borderline painful (sometimes not so borderline, if I'm honest) and he didn't move yesterday. Like, at all. I drank a Coke, I poked and prodded... nuffink. So I called the midwives at the hospital and they had me come in so they could monitor him. I waited until Himself got home to keep Mada

You wouldn't like her when she's angry.

So, the She-Beast has made a return to our 'appy 'ome... Lately, Madam has taken to waking somewhere between half five and six o'clock in the morning. Not for a drink, not for a quick stir... for the day. Which means that even if New Kid kept me up until eleven with acid reflux or simply his own reenactment of The Karate Kid, I'm up somewhere between half five and six o'clock in the morning. For the day. On its own, I could deal with this situation. However, by eight in the morning she's getting tired, and for Madam, tired isn't a good enough reason to sleep. Her FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) simply won't allow a graceful slide into unconsciousness, so instead she starts to whine... then cry... then scream and flail. For somewhere around two hours. Every morning. The only thing that stops the flailing is singing, and let me tell you, I'm running out of songs. Somewhere around the half-hour mark my already flagging voice (thanks to the cold

Aggression in a decidedly non passive sense.

I've had a funny sort of day. Madam woke at quarter to six as per her usual these days, so she had a shower with Himself and we proceeded about our morning business. We decided to revisit a music playgroup we tried last week with a friend (which was met with a resounding positive result) and hopped in the car. Normal careful driving procedure ensued, and when we got to the end of our road we got trapped behind a singularly special person that had obviously decided stopping to chat with a friend on the pavement was more important than making sure the cars behind them could get through. As I waited, patiently I might add, to have room to continue our journey, all of a sudden I heard a loud bang on the back of the car. For a split second I thought in a panicky jumbled way "have I hit something?!" only to remember that I was sitting still. I looked behind me to see a mother and her three children crossing the road behind the car, and realised that her eldest son (maybe

Life as we know it.

It's been a crazy couple of months. We found out that New Kid has junk, which Himself is very smug about. I got food poisoning for the second time this pregnancy on Easter Sunday, which lasted for a week instead of the usual few days. That's the fun of my body protecting New Kid instead of focusing on healing itself. By the end (after a night in the ER on IV fluids and anti-nausea meds) I wished he could have gotten a slight case just so he'd feel too bad to keep trying to kick his way out from the inside. Bratface spent that week hanging out with her Nannie (Himself's mum was here for the week, coincidentally) and then spent the next two weeks getting re-accustomed to rules and the world not always revolving around herself. She didn't appreciate the lesson. Himself turned 33 this week. We didn't do presents for him, the man wants for nothing save sleep (and short of resorting to Benadryl, Madam isn't helping with matters), so we made him a cake. I

A family of four.

As you all know by now, we're up the duff again. I won't go into my typical rantings about how the pill is a joke... *grin* Anyway, we were obviously meant to have two children, thus it shall be so. Of course, Himself is having a little nip and tuck after the second one deigns to exit my ovarian Bastille. "No More Unexpected Babies" is our philosophy for life from this point forward. I'm equally as sick as I was with Madam, if not a little more. I won't go into major detail here either, Sister Three has a tricky tummy and I wouldn't want to make her join me in empathetic pukeage, but let's just say it doesn't take much to set me off. Add to this the fact that Madam is teething again (think majorly rotten nappies) and I'm holding my breath a lot. A lot. I'm experimenting with various food combinations, the main issue there is that something will work once or twice, and then the next time I go to eat it, no dice. *lol* For three d

Drama mama.

Despite (or perhaps because of?) my no more drama policy for 2013, I find myself embroiled in yet another online battle with a silly little girl. I'm on the fence with this one. You see, I'm sick to death of hearing/talking about it, but I'm also physically unsettled by the speed of escalation and the depth to which it plummeted. Forgive me for beating a dead horse, but I'd like to put a couple of things out into the universe. If you publicly lambast a friend of mine over a minor misunderstanding, I'm going to take offense. If you let your friend call me or my friends scumbags without stepping in, I'm going to take offense. If you then go on to email other friends of mine to tell them how horrible I am, I'm going to take offense. Call me crazy. Also, if you post something on Facebook, it's not "private". Venting is not the purpose of Facebook. If you want to vent privately, buy a journal. If you want to vent publicly, start a blog.

Ode to Himself.

Christmas over and done with, Himself had to return to the UK to work on the 2nd January, while Iz and I spent a little more time with family. In the week between his return and our return, he was a busy little bee, and those activities are detailed below. * He hoovered the entire house, sofas included. * He steam cleaned the wood and tile floors. * He cleaned the bathroom, and I mean CLEANED. * He did a shop so we'd have food the first few days back, and bought the expensive avocados. * He left me with a full tank of petrol in the car. * And since our return, he's done all the dishes every night. Amazing. Three cheers for Himself, people! HUZZAH! HUZZAH! HUZZAH!