The worst kind of taco.

So, last night we were all hanging out in the front room, Madam was running around with Himself and Dude was lounging in my lap where he'd just taken a nap. We kept getting whiffs of a bad smell, and Himself mentioned it was something in the park, that he'd been smelling it for a couple of days. I assumed that's what it was as we had the windows open, but kept catching waves of this noxious reek and finally decided to check Dude's butt.

Yeah, it wasn't the park.

Himself got the cushion ready in the floor, got the nappy and wipes in place, and I handed Dude down. That's where shit got real. Himself merrily whipped Dude's trousers off.

Flinging.

Poo.

Everywhere.

It was all down his leg, up his back, everywhere. Then, due to the trouser whipping, it was all over Himself, all over the cushion, all over the floor. Everywhere. I had to carry Dude upstairs taco'd in the cushion, strip down the rest of him, deposit his pooey self in the tub and use the showerhead to blast the remnants down the drain. Several soapings later, he smelled significantly more boychild and less open cesspit.

We are glamorous, no?

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Lazy weekend.

Bliss. Sun, moglets, sun, loads of good food, sun, and Himself. Good combo, let me tell you. We let the moggies out sans leads for the first time on Thursday (sporting their new collars and tags, and freshly dosed with flea drops), just for about an hour to see how they handled it. Both of them tore headlong into the flowerbeds in search of new smells and the occasional bug to eat. On Friday I left the back doors of the conservatory flung open to let the seriously amazing weather in and the felines out. This turned into me sitting in the conservatory for longer than I'd care to admit, book discarded to one side because watching them chase bees, butterflies and each other was more amusing. Saturday morning dawned clear and sunny, so I hied myself down to the conservatory (as I woke up around half six and thought Himself might rather sleep a LITTLE longer...) for a bowl of muesli, a cup of peppermint tea, some reading and yet more book neglecting as I watched the lunatics conti

The real deal.

So, I thought I'd been having cravings for the last couple of weeks because I've been eating loads of tuna and pasta, seemed like that was all I wanted to eat. Tuna sandwiches with a cup of tomato soup to dip them in, and egg noodle pasta for some reason. That is, until Monday night. Monday night, Himself called me on his way home from work as usual and asked if we needed anything (again, as usual). I said no, that I'd already been to the store but I wasn't really hungry anyway, and that I'd see him when he got home. I settled in with the cats on the couch and started flicking channels, getting the girlie TV out of the way so that Himself wouldn't have to suffer through it when he got home... Half an hour later, it struck. All of a sudden, out of the blue, I was starving. It wasn't the usual "go rifle through the kitchen until I happen upon something that looks edible" hunger. It was specific, overpowering, CRAVING hunger. What did I want,

Sprogging.

That's right, folks. The Browns are up the duff. *grin* Shocked? That's okay, so are we. Seems I'm actually related to my mother (who got pregnant while on the pill more than once). Apparently I'm four or five weeks, which may seem like jumping the gun announcement-wise, but I think it'll be interesting to catalogue the changes to my body for future reference... you know, in case in a year or two I forget how miserable I was and decide we need another, I'll have a reminder of what it was like the first time... Heh, just kidding. At least, for now. Physical symptoms aren't too bad at the moment. I've not had any morning sickness (touch wood), but my appetite is very odd. Half the time I'm starving to death, half the time I'm not hungry at all (like now, while Paul is eating lunch and I'm having a glass of orange and peach juice). I've got low level cramps pretty constantly, and it feels like there's a fishhook in my belly but

Random ramblings from the Texan in London.

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