Random ramblings from the Texan in London.

Immature choice of words, accurate sentiment. Norma died. I know those of you Brit-side have no idea who I'm on about, but Norma was... well, she was awesome. She was officially a cousin several times removed, but I grew up thinking of her as sort of an honorary grandmother/aunt/person who spoiled me rotten. She kept me while I was a baby, and taught me to swear (when I was two, I said "well hell, I thought we were going to the damn store" to my mother... NOT AMUSED) and to play king-in-the-corner and solitaire while my great grandmother thought we were sleeping. She sang like an angel and whistled like a bird, baked the most sinful cakes (chocolate cake with white between layers and fudge icing, anyone?) and laughed like a loon. She's also the reason I can't eat fudge... *lol* When I was wee, she handed me a plate and let me go to town, which led to several days of sugar induced yuk. Haven't been able to touch the stuff since, which to my way of thinki...

So, it's eleven at night. I should be asleep. This, of course, means I'm blogging instead. Sleep and I aren't the fast friends we used to be. We're in a bit of a dry spell. Where I used to rush headlong into the waiting arms of Hypnos, now he and I hesitantly circle each other like junior high kids at a school dance. I am referring, of course, to the necessary evil of sleeping on my side. It hurts. My hips hate me. If I were physically able to ignore the severe discomfort of sleeping on my stomach as I used to so enjoy, I'd be constantly aware that I was squishing the baby. On occasion, I wake up with a start in the night lying flat on my back. This leads to the panic of "I've cut off my superior vena cava and JB will be born retarded!!!"... Hey, you can laugh, but my darker imagination is taking over these days. I'm certain that every little twinge down below means that something's terribly wrong, and today while standing on a chair...

Here I sit, tucked up in bed (which by the way, has clean sheets due to my fit of productivity on my way out the door for work this morning) resting against a mound of pillows, watching my heart beat through my belly. Pregnancy is super weird, it's doing odd things to my body (my right ankle is swollen just at the front, not my toes, not both feet, just the front of my right ankle) and I'm having seriously dirty thoughts about Himself randomly throughout the day. Bloody hormones. He seems to be an even mixture of embarrassed and gratified by the trend my thoughts are taking, which is pretty cute. Things have been crazier than I intended them to be over the last few weeks. The job with OM has been super flexible, but damned if it doesn't make it hard to walk out the office door when leaving means cutting down on the paycheque for that week! *lol* That said, my earnings this week meant that I didn't have to put my new glasses on my credit card as I'd previously ...

Here I sit, in Granddaddy's chair with my feet up, laptop precariously balanced on what's left of my lap. I've eaten Chipotle at least six times since I got to Texas. For those of you not in the know, Chipotle does burritos. Heavenly, droolworthy burritos. I get mine with cilantro rice, black beans, sauteed onions and bell peppers, pico de gallo, corn salsa, lettuce and guacamole. When it's filled and rolled up, it's a little larger than the size of a can of Coke. Massive. Deee-licious. JB is a big fan. I will point out however, that Chipotle habit aside, I've actually lost weight in the last month. Going vegan cut out most of my caloric intake, and my body is thanking me. Himself was concerned about the health ramifications, but I had actually checked with my doctor before I left the UK and he assured me that I had plenty of weight to spare. *grin* I've lucked into a great job for while I'm home, OtherMother called me about a week after I got...