tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78965292024-03-08T01:00:56.086+00:00 Mental excrementA weblog of diaretic (as opposed to diarrhetic) crap.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.comBlogger876125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-90956105231487354202013-10-25T21:41:00.001+00:002013-10-25T21:41:07.457+00:00Good Idea, Bad Idea<strong>Good Idea:</strong><br />
<br />
Giving your woefully sex-deprived husband a 30-minute, chocolate-covered blow job.<br />
<br />
<strong>Bad Idea:</strong><br />
<br />
Using so much chocolate fudge sauce that 2 minutes in, instead of looking like a wanton, buxom porn-star, you realize you look remarkably like Augustus Gloop in a Cadbury factory at Easter. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6S0YmnnwBABXGDJhpDSwNkcSvGGdqSkvly8BtHgp6LNWP2l0tRkolUKx86Pb3XToWaLo8VuGAIKDZoda3qnUH2TRSXAJ08oegxeJfRzHp9WtYLLO6huHksLKAQDl12jBK4M6ptQ/s1600/P6070088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6S0YmnnwBABXGDJhpDSwNkcSvGGdqSkvly8BtHgp6LNWP2l0tRkolUKx86Pb3XToWaLo8VuGAIKDZoda3qnUH2TRSXAJ08oegxeJfRzHp9WtYLLO6huHksLKAQDl12jBK4M6ptQ/s400/P6070088.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Not. Sexy.)</div>
Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-90169077066211901132013-10-20T19:42:00.004+00:002013-10-20T19:42:59.553+00:00We have moved!No longer stuck in the over-crowded, over-priced, overly-competitive middle class slum that is southwest London, Pirate and I are back in the west country. Woot! <br />
<br />
We lived in a neighborhood that was so sought-after, small 3-bed victorian semis with a meagre rear garden and none in front and no garage or off-street parking regularly sold for £750k. And this in a neighborhood where you couldn't get your kid into anything anyway becasuse the waiting lists for nurseries, swim lessons, and everything else was 18-24 months long. AND the traffic sucked. AND the trains sucked.<br />
<br />
<strong>Before</strong>, I had to listen to the 11-year-old kid in the house behind us play with his drum kit. (His parents had the sense to put the drums in the garden shed, rather than in the house, so it was quieter for them but noisier for all the neighbors. Clever people!) <strong>Now</strong>, I have owls.<br />
<br />
<strong>Before</strong>, I had a tiny back garden with no grass, no light, and a short gate that the Pirette could open, so it wasn't at all secure. Also, becasue our living room and kitchen were on the first floor, I couldn't see into the back garden while inside the house. So I couldn't let her play there. <br />
<br />
<strong>Now,</strong> I have an enormous garden carpeted with grass, leading back to a woodland of 60-ft-plus mature hardwood trees. The garden is secure, we are not overlooked, and the view is stunning. And there are owls.<br />
<br />
<strong>Before</strong>, I had a galley kitchen that was so small you had to step outside to change your mind.<br />
<br />
<strong>Now</strong>, I have a nice big kitchen (still too small for a breakfast table, but that's good, becasue I don't want all my dreams to come true at once) with a view into aforementioned enormous garden, twice the cupboard space and thrice the worktop space as before, AND a utility room for the pantry, cleaning crap, and appliances. Haaaaa-lleluja!<br />
<br />
<strong>Before</strong>, the only wildlife we got were pigeons, foxes, magpies, and feral parakeets. <strong>Now </strong>we've wildlife coming out our asses. And owls. Did I mention the owls?<br />
<br />
<strong>Previously,</strong> no one would make eye contact or smile as we walked down the street. Fucking urban anonymity. And it took more than a year to meet our neighbors. <strong>Now?</strong> We walk down the street and complete strangers smile, say hello, strike up a conversation, introduce themselves, talk about their kids, and invite us to birthday parties. (This <em>actually</em> happened, <em>4 days</em> after we moved in.)<br />
<br />
<br />
I took the Pirette today for an explore through the woods (she LOVES that), and we saw (get ready for this)... pinecones! and conkers! and acorns! and mushrooms! And all sorts of amazing things <em>she'd never seen before</em>, because she was being brought up in a concrete jungle. And she doesn't even miss the playgrounds. She's just as happy climbing logs and tree stumps. Finally I can give the kid a real childhood.<br />
<br />
And all this (plus a microscopic fourth bedroom) in a house worth less than half of what the previous one was worth on the open market. Madness. I maintain, there isn't a single thing you can get in London that you can't get elsewhere for half the money (or less), and servede with a smile. Why anyone would actually <em>want </em>to live in London is genuinely beyond me. <br />
<br />
Now if only the west country could do something about the vericose veins in my beef curtains and get the Pirate home from his oversees assignment, life would be near perfect. (Minus the breakfast table, of course.)Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-90068730497988776322013-09-22T14:06:00.000+00:002013-09-22T14:07:51.267+00:00I'm not ignoring you, I swear!After trying very hard to get back into the regular swing of posting, my computer blew up and rendered me webless for 2 weeks. Grrr. So here I am, starting over again.<br />
<br />
We are moving house in 1 week. Pirate gets the keys on Thursday, and Pirette and me arrive on Saturday, just 6 days away. YAY!!! I can't wait. The house we currently inhabit sucks dead donkey dicks and has been a daily misery for 2 years. I am looking forward to going about my day-to-day existence without a veil of constant anger and resentment shrouding my every thought, whilst I curse the very walls around me.<br />
<br />
Pirette is excited, too. She is eager to see the "brown door house" (which is the only interesting feature she could discern from Google street view), and understands that she will have a bigger room, it will be painted yellow and green, and all her toys are coming with her. She has seen photos of the back garden as well and is very pleased. She doesn't, of course, grasp the permanence of it all. I hope 3 months is enough time for her to settle in and be comfortable before I launch her baby sister.<br />
<br />
The only thing I dread is the moment that will probably come about a week after we've been in, when she looks at me and says "I want to go home now, mama." or "I want to go to nursery." That's when I'll really have to explain that we're never going back to the old house or her old nursery. Q the tears.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbCiY0F54akwMFLX9hXvsbZcB2Xjxz-KQEksyp7zcxULgCltruHgkJEQHnEWuRYaQzHUBO0fIJBnjznNHB0vBMnhbr3jg4daOFGR6hzIyeJMBJuPV3UF2VXztqNmV-dCD3yqmgg/s1600/IMG_5773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbCiY0F54akwMFLX9hXvsbZcB2Xjxz-KQEksyp7zcxULgCltruHgkJEQHnEWuRYaQzHUBO0fIJBnjznNHB0vBMnhbr3jg4daOFGR6hzIyeJMBJuPV3UF2VXztqNmV-dCD3yqmgg/s400/IMG_5773.JPG" width="265" /></a></div>
Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-42945647454343613542013-09-07T14:07:00.001+00:002013-09-07T14:12:15.791+00:00My fantasy:a space hopper with 3 handles.<br />
<br />
Think about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(Mind, at the moment I look like I'm <i>becoming</i> a space hopper. Or possibly have just eaten one.)Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-76795312922481662972013-08-30T08:35:00.001+00:002013-08-30T08:35:30.439+00:00Phoetus, or tapeworm?Symptoms of pregnancy include:<br />
<ul>
<li>nausea and vomitting</li>
<li>insomnia</li>
<li>fatigue </li>
<li>insatiable hunger</li>
<li>or loss of appetite</li>
<li>anemia </li>
<li>tummy bump </li>
</ul>
Symptoms of tapeworm include:<br />
<ul>
<li>nausea and vomitting</li>
<li>insomnia</li>
<li>fatigue </li>
<li>insatiable hunger</li>
<li>or loss of appetite</li>
<li>anemia (from drop in B12 in the blood)</li>
<li>bloated tummy </li>
</ul>
<br />
Something is sucking the life out of me. The question is, <i>is it a vertebrate? </i>Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-9744963200879535822013-08-27T09:03:00.000+00:002013-08-27T09:03:45.693+00:00Pastry PornIt's Bake-off Day!<br />
<br />
Tonight the 2nd episode in the 4th (?) series of The Great British Bake-off will air on BBC 2.*<br />
<br />
Pirate and I are properly addicted. I even applied to be on the 2nd season, and very nearly made it. They phoned me up the very day I submitted my application and spent almost an hour asking me questions. (Now whenever I watch it I think, <i>I coulda been... a contender</i>.)<br />
<br />
Did you read yesterday's post, about Pirate baking sourdough bread? Well, in honor of Bake-off day, here is a photo of the bread.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlK_nti2T7pZi4e-NhhqYBvKrh8zLdHKnfNDH7hKBFEtrqNdIxn39KtoUVgh6iE_Jieccbf233NmRXZwk0phkGM7F3ozEl73vbZ7CJ6rFEUDlsKzh0UFwpZGQieKze_oFQoqn3Q/s1600/IMG_5724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlK_nti2T7pZi4e-NhhqYBvKrh8zLdHKnfNDH7hKBFEtrqNdIxn39KtoUVgh6iE_Jieccbf233NmRXZwk0phkGM7F3ozEl73vbZ7CJ6rFEUDlsKzh0UFwpZGQieKze_oFQoqn3Q/s640/IMG_5724.JPG" width="425" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Eat yer heart out, Mary Berry. </div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I think it's on BBC2, I'm not really sure. I watch it on iPlayer.</span>Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-86246625812992994632013-08-26T15:50:00.001+00:002013-08-26T15:50:57.426+00:00A Note on IdentitySome of you (ha! I haven't had a hit for ages!) may be wondering if I, Moominmama, am the same person as Chaucer's Bitch, aka Mrs Chaucer's Pirate, and if so, why change?<br />
<br />
Firstly, yes, I am.<br />
<br />
Secondly, well, the old moniker just didn't fit me any more. Pirate and I are still very much together, but the whole Chaucer thing is feeling more and more like a past life. It just doesn't feel as relevant, or certainly not as dominant in my life any more. <br />
<br />
And it occurred to me, maybe that's why I've found it so difficult to blog ever since getting married. Marriage was a massive life change for both of us, and I just couldn't squeeze myself back into my old avatar anymore, as it were.<br />
<br />
Recently I've been struggling emotionally. The NHS has been surprisingly deft and supportive (maybe they take depressed people more seriously if they are pregnant, I dunno), but Pirate suggested that a return to blogging and hence, writing, would be therapeutic. He's not wrong.<br />
<br />
But to start again I needed to start over, just a bit. I didn't change URL or site name, becasue that would feel like jettisoning my old life, which is not what I want. All the old posts are still there, becasuse all the old stories are still a part of me, and I treasure them.<br />
<br />
Just the look, layout, and pseudonym are new.<br />
<br />
So, why Moominmama? She's my idol. I adore Moominmama; she is (almost) everthing to which I aspire. And I don't think that's aiming low, so please don't sit there thinking, "Oh Christ, another intelligent, ambitious woman who let her brain turn to porridge just becasue she had kids." No. No no no no no no.<br />
<br />
My brain is still here, and it still works (mostly), my priorities and the rhythm of my life have changed for a while. Motherhood is a full time occupation, period. If it doesn't consume your life, you're doing something wrong, frankly. I sill have ambitions, but they are on hold until the kids are a bit more independent and, quite honestly, in school full time. Until then, this is who I am.<br />
<br />
I will try not to turn this into a baby blog, becasue one of the things I need and crave is to think about something other than babies and potty training now and again. So there will be thougths of a politial and philosophical nature appearing now and again.<br />
<br />
That said, I am pregnant, and come the New Year, there will be a small(ish), squirming, pink, hungy, pongy parasite to deal with, so a few baby-related posts are inevitable. I will try to be funny. I make no guarantees.<br />
<br />
Do, please, visit often and leave your retorts in the comments box, becasue they make me feel loved. No, really.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-5255541396054166082013-08-26T12:47:00.001+00:002013-08-26T15:52:01.049+00:00Pirates are cute, tooI honestly don't know which is cuter:<br />
<br />
A. A full-grown Pirate playing ring-around-the-rosie with the Pirette <i>in front of all his cricket buddies</i>, or<br />
<br />
B. The Pirate teaching the Pirette how to bake homemade sourdough* bread, whilst she stands on a dining chair in the kitchen and sprinkles flour on the counter top as per his instructions. (Note to self: I must get them matching aprons for Christmas.)<br />
<br />
Votes in the comments box. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*We find that, disappointingly, Paul Hollywood's method yeields a better result than Hugh Fernley-Wittingstall's method. Sorry, Hugh.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-25144628072052594232013-08-24T10:02:00.000+00:002013-08-24T10:02:27.615+00:00A memo from the desk of TMII have vericose veins. On my...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
...<span style="font-size: x-small;">fanny flaps.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Apparently vulvar verices (as they are technically known) are common in around 10% of pregnancies (though that's considered to be a wild underestimate as it is believed the condition goes largely unreported), and appear most frequently in the fifth month (check) of a woman's second pregnancy (aaaaand check).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
God I have being unoriginal.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-31277717880580303582013-08-23T10:39:00.001+00:002013-08-23T10:41:34.935+00:00Feminist RantPirette is 2.5 years old. (Oh, and I'm up the duff again, if anyone cares.) We don't do the girly thing around here. For one thing, I find it cliche' and unoriginal. For another, the daily pink from head-to-toe look is just aesthetically gross. Add to that the assumption that girls must look/dress a certain was is just sexist. And finally, if Hull 2 is a boy, I want to re-use as many clothes as possible. So we keep it pretty straigtforward around here. ie, jeans, T-shirts, etc.<br />
<br />
Then the heat wave hit. We live in a baking hot corner of SW London (god help me), and our house is fucking oven. So in an attempt to minimize the Pirette's heat-related misery, I stuffed her in a sundress. (She has 4. They're ALL yellow, and covered in flowers and butterflies. That'll be my mother hitting last summer's end-of-season sales.)<br />
<br />
I couldn't believe how differently people treated her, just becuase she had on a dress.<br />
<br />
All this time the neighborhood mothers have been chiding me and grinning and saying stuff "I <i>tried </i>to dress Cutsie in trousers, but all she'll wear is dresses and skirts!" and "She'll decide pink is her favourite colour, just to rebel against you!" and my personal fav, "It really is what little girls want, you'll see!" Gag.<br />
<br />
And I <i>know</i> when she gets to school there will be huge social pressure to fit in, and she'll want pink and glitter becasue that's what ALL the other little girls have (and it's truly scary how ubiquitous the girly shit is). But I hope the phase will be short-lived before she comes to her senses.<br />
<br />
But boy, does the social conditioning start early.<br />
<br />
All those mothers who claimed that girls really <i>are</i> different and really <i>do</i> want to drown themselves in pinkprettytiaraprincessgitter crap made such a fuss over Pirette when they saw her in a dress. All day long, everywhere she went, she was fussed over and petted and told how pretty she looked. Even by complete effing strangers.<br />
<br />
Small wonder then that at the end of the day she cried <i>for the first time in her life at bedtime</i> because it was time to get her into her (dinosaur-themed) PJs. She didn't want to take her dress off. She wated to be pretty.<br />
<br />
And I found myself having to explain to a 30-month-old toddler that dresses aren't what make us pretty. That dresses are just a piece of clothing, but what makes us pretty is how nice we are to other people. TWO AND A HALF FUCKING YEARS OLD. I really didn't expect to need to have that talk for another, oh, 8 years or so. Jesus.<br />
<br />
There will be more on this subject later. Don't even get me <i>started</i> on "girls" toys. I tell you what, though. Raising a daughter in this society of incredibly narrow gender roles and their near universal adherence is going to be one hell of a challenge.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-P2sKf3wAkvJyxI7vmsTPZe5NfXZ6LWjPCxIF3K8CmWgfIIA7x5c96lgDerTfxG4FC3fW0SeSx4GARN6zf0P6UOIhFGwK-6O9vbJWFPqu9SmfsDIDYT3l2jNay1NPqbRUD4jOg/s1600/IMG_5554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ-P2sKf3wAkvJyxI7vmsTPZe5NfXZ6LWjPCxIF3K8CmWgfIIA7x5c96lgDerTfxG4FC3fW0SeSx4GARN6zf0P6UOIhFGwK-6O9vbJWFPqu9SmfsDIDYT3l2jNay1NPqbRUD4jOg/s400/IMG_5554.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
*Don't blame me for the shirt. My mother bought it. Besides, I do like rainbows.<br />
**Pirette was thrilled with the airplane ride at the fun-fair, because only the week previously she said to me, "Want to fwy hewicopter, be piwot, go up sky touch cwouds." Awesome awesome awesome.<br />
<br />
<br />Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-60887047661622772172013-01-29T20:12:00.006+00:002013-01-29T20:12:39.787+00:00DeterminationI told the Pirette after her nap that we needed to go to the shop around the corner (about 300m away) for some bananas for Pirate's lunchbox. She immediately went for her little shopping trolley.<br />
<br />
Now, this trolley was a Christmas gift, and it comes with us to the big supermarket, but I've never let her take it outside. It's fairly flimsy and I feared the bumpy pavement would rattle it to bits if I didn't end up carrying it 3/4 of the way. But the Pirette insisted and I though, fuck it, what are toys for?<br />
<br />
Well I'll be damnded if the determined little shit didn't push that thing all the way to the shop. AND BACK.<br />
<br />
Not only that, when we arrived she walked straight in, proudly pushing her little red, yellow, and blue trolley. I told her we needed bananas. She got bananas and put them in. I said we need oranges. She selected a bag of oranges. And an apple that we didn't need, but who cares.<br />
<br />
I told her that was all we needed and it was time to go to the till. She walked her trolley straight up to the till and very carefully put her items on the counter for the man to beep, I mean <i>scan</i>. With each item she had to stand on tiptoes and reach all the way up and declare "up there." She then moved her trolley to the other side of the till, and as the man beeped, um, <i>scanned</i> her items through she got up on tiptoes and took them down from the counter, one by one, and put them back in her trolley. She then took ther receipt, gave it to me, and walked out the door, pushing her load of fruit. She neither looked back nor waited for me to follow.<br />
<br />
She then walked all the way home, even lifting the trolley up to get it up a curb, refusing assistance.<br />
<br />
The whole expedition took the better part of an hour, but she never got distracted, she never gave up, got bored, lost focus, or threw a strop.<br />
<br />
I am convinced that if I had just handed her a fiver and told her to go to the shop on her own and buy mama some bananas, the little pisher would have done it. <i>And she's not even two yet!</i> This isn't normal. And there's more...Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-57212276762926395642013-01-21T15:01:00.000+00:002013-01-21T15:04:59.789+00:00Butterflies in my tummyHmm. It appears while I have been on indefinite hiatus blogger has changed its format. Now I'm going to have to re-learn how to operate the blasted thing. Ugh.<br />
<br />
Right, so, the main reason I haven't climbed back in the saddle as regularly as hoped is that the OCD part of me hates to leave gaps in a narrative, and there's far too much missing to catch you up on everything, ergo I've fallen too far behind to start up again. The mountain is insurmountable, or something.<br />
<br />
So I've just had the artistic, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, leaves-tea-cups-everywhere side of my brain beat the OCD side into temporary submission and put up a post. It would be nice to have some comments from the old gang, if any of you are still out there.<br />
<br />
I'm not even going to try to give you a summary of the past two years, I'm just going to start as though I'd never stopped, and maybe now and again fill in a bit of back story maybe.<br />
<br />
Yesterday Small Pirate, aka Pirette, did the most extraordinary thing. She was watching telly and playing with her magnadoodle (which hadly leaves her side). The man on TV was talking about butterflies. She scribbled on her magnadoodle for a moment, then waved wildly to get my attention from the kitchen. I turned around and she made the sign for butterfly (we do a lot of signing around here), then pointed at her magnadoodle. This is what I saw:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCv3fEdmZx2mHAFREJcvjfhqxzd60u92nMCzDNEZTpUGX0S0lIamy6NKI8jh2r4DOTosIA5txO0JVA8znPlp-ld-61VU1UGhXakHj1yVquNB0vBNE8vTm3cWqnaBtZYVItKh5xw/s1600/Kingston+upon+Thames-20130120-00055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYCv3fEdmZx2mHAFREJcvjfhqxzd60u92nMCzDNEZTpUGX0S0lIamy6NKI8jh2r4DOTosIA5txO0JVA8znPlp-ld-61VU1UGhXakHj1yVquNB0vBNE8vTm3cWqnaBtZYVItKh5xw/s400/Kingston+upon+Thames-20130120-00055.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
And she's not even 2 yet! My baby's a GYNIUS!Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-71657398239763719872011-05-25T10:35:00.006+00:002013-08-23T11:34:40.097+00:00The Pirette's Storyby: her mother<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlv5-lPZcgh7kX_OHvK-qP35DJx4L3TftKU2xLrovRC9GBbMxhebqxtHn2AryVyUV7oAx2EqOMEa9nMyigCa2UgJSH_mPaRk3i7vrPxvAy0R4Y4sAjdTDMhzMC0q9bjCsQhebZlg/s1600/IMG_3603.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610631559205096482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlv5-lPZcgh7kX_OHvK-qP35DJx4L3TftKU2xLrovRC9GBbMxhebqxtHn2AryVyUV7oAx2EqOMEa9nMyigCa2UgJSH_mPaRk3i7vrPxvAy0R4Y4sAjdTDMhzMC0q9bjCsQhebZlg/s400/IMG_3603.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>This is the story of the day you were born. You will be 14 weeks old tomorrow, and I want to write this story while the day is still fresh in my memory. I’d like to think that I’ll never forget a single detail, and maybe I won’t, but most likely my head will soon be full of potty training and temper tantrums and preschool and times tables and pierced ears and boyfriends, so I want to tell this story now, while it’s still fresh.<br />
<br />
<xml><w:worddocument><w:trackmoves><w:trackformatting><w:punctuationkerning><w:validateagainstschemas><w:donotpromoteqf><w:lidthemecomplexscript></w:lidthemecomplexscript> <w:compatibility><w:breakwrappedtables><w:snaptogridincell><w:wraptextwithpunct><w:useasianbreakrules><w:dontgrowautofit><w:splitpgbreakandparamark><w:dontvertaligncellwithsp><w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables><w:dontvertalignintxbx><w:word11kerningpairs><w:cachedcolbalance></w:cachedcolbalance><m:mathpr><m:mathfont val="Cambria Math"><m:brkbin val="before"><m:brkbinsub val=""><m:smallfrac val="off"><m:dispdef><m:lmargin val="0"><m:rmargin val="0"><m:defjc val="centerGroup"><m:wrapindent val="1440"><m:intlim val="subSup"><m:narylim val="undOvr"></m:narylim></m:intlim></m:wrapindent><!--[endif]--><!----><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" defpriority="99" defqformat="false" defsemihidden="true" defunhidewhenused="true" latentstylecount="267"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Normal" priority="0" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 1" priority="9" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 2" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 3" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 4" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 5" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 6" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 7" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 8" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="heading 9" priority="9" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 1" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 2" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 3" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 4" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 5" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 6" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 7" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 8" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="toc 9" priority="39"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="caption" priority="35" qformat="true"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Title" priority="10" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Default Paragraph Font" priority="1"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Subtitle" priority="11" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Strong" priority="22" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Emphasis" priority="20" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Table Grid" priority="59" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Placeholder Text" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="No Spacing" priority="1" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading Accent 1" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List Accent 1" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid Accent 1" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 1" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Revision" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="List Paragraph" priority="34" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Quote" priority="29" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Intense Quote" priority="30" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 1" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List Accent 1" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 1" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List Accent 1" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 1" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading Accent 2" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List Accent 2" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid Accent 2" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 2" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 2" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List Accent 2" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 2" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List Accent 2" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 2" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading Accent 3" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List Accent 3" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid Accent 3" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 3" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 3" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List Accent 3" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 3" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List Accent 3" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 3" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading Accent 4" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List Accent 4" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid Accent 4" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 4" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 4" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List Accent 4" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 4" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List Accent 4" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 4" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading Accent 5" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List Accent 5" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid Accent 5" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 5" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 5" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List Accent 5" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 5" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List Accent 5" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 5" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Shading Accent 6" priority="60" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light List Accent 6" priority="61" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Light Grid Accent 6" priority="62" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6" priority="63" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6" priority="64" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 1 Accent 6" priority="65" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium List 2 Accent 6" priority="66" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6" priority="67" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6" priority="68" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6" priority="69" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Dark List Accent 6" priority="70" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Shading Accent 6" priority="71" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6" priority="72" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Subtle Emphasis" priority="19" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Intense Emphasis" priority="21" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Subtle Reference" priority="31" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Intense Reference" priority="32" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Book Title" priority="33" qformat="true" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="Bibliography" priority="37"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" name="TOC Heading" priority="39" qformat="true"> </w:lsdexception> </w:lsdexception><!--[endif]--> </w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:lsdexception></w:latentstyles></xml></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></m:brkbinsub></m:brkbin></m:mathfont></m:mathpr></w:word11kerningpairs></w:dontvertalignintxbx></w:dontbreakconstrainedforcedtables></w:dontvertaligncellwithsp></w:splitpgbreakandparamark></w:dontgrowautofit></w:useasianbreakrules></w:wraptextwithpunct></w:snaptogridincell></w:breakwrappedtables></w:compatibility></w:donotpromoteqf></w:validateagainstschemas></w:punctuationkerning></w:trackformatting></w:trackmoves></w:worddocument></xml><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
You were six days late, according to the “experts,” but I think a baby comes when it’s damn well ready. I think you were exactly on time. When you went past your due date and they started talking about induction I was scared. I know that inducing labor before the baby has decided it’s ready is miserable for everyone.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But I didn’t have to be induced. I woke up at 8 am on the morning of Thursday, February 10<sup>th</sup>, 2011, went to the loo, and had a contraction. I was so excited I woke your father up by leaning over him an inch from his face and grinning like a hyena on Prozac. He went back to sleep for 2 more hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I started timing the contractions, and they were regular at 3 minute intervals, and lasted about 15-30 seconds. I recconned that was pretty good. I knew we’d have a baby by the end of the day.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Your dad wanted to go to the gym, but since he couldn’t take his mobile phone with him, I told him “no.” I didn’t want him out of my sight. He agreed reluctantly. But there was a tiny bit of blood spotting in my underwear, so I decided to phone the birth center and ask their advice, and about the timing of the contractions. They said not to be worried, and phone back with the contractions were closer. They said I might not even be in active labor, that it sounded like it was still in the latent phase, and that I should let your father go to the gym. I agreed reluctantly.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While your dad was at the gym I got hungry, so I walked to McDonald’s. I knew that I should keep on my feet and keep moving as much as possible, to keep things progressing. I noticed on the way that there were three daffodils blooming in front of our neighbor’s house, the very first daffodils of the spring. “That’s lovely,” I thought. “Pirette will be born on the day the first daffodils opened.” I knew the labor was active. I didn’t care what anyone else said. I knew you were coming.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I felt special as I walked to the roundabout where the McDonald’s is. I felt like I was hiding a great, wonderful secret. I knew something marvellous that no one around me knew. I knew you were coming.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The contractions were strong, but not painful. I got my favourite lunch (2 cheeseburgers and a strawberry shake) and ate while I walked back. I didn’t want the people in Mickey-D’s to see me doing my breathing exercises.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Your dad got back from the gym shortly after I got home from lunch. He wanted to go to McDonald’s for lunch. I said I would go with him; the walk would be good for me. So we set out together. I showed him the daffodils. He said he saw a cherry tree blooming on his way home from the gym.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Walking back from the restaurant the contractions were getting strong. I had to stop walking and lean on your dad for support. I said we should call the birth center when we got home. They told us to come on in. That was about one thirty in the afternoon.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We listened to the first movement of Beethoven’s 7th symphony on the way. I wanted your dad to hear it. I love that piece. The first time I heard it, it made my heart soar. It still does. It makes me think of horses charging across the open countryside. It’s rapturous.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When we arrived I could hear them filling the birthing pool. There was a midwife on duty I’d not met before. The contractions were hard enough that your dad had to help me through the breathing, but when the midwife examined me she said I was only one centimetre dilated and two centimetres effaced. She said things were moving slowly, and I was in for a long night. She wouldn’t let me stay in the birthing center. It was too hot in the room and I threw up 3 times. She sent us home. That was around two thirty.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the car the contractions were getting strong. During the 25-minute journey they lengthened, and by the time we got home again they were starting every two minutes and lasting a full minute. I laid on my side on the living room floor and clutched a pillow.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_b6teSvs8kGZhWINU3vc363l2gERZmNWUngPUats9PXFlH3ttpkvQMqKmAG0sA_bEtPvOZTZ8S3FpFijZmh0Dryu9Jv-SYxj3kdb_18oRcmc2kB0smt7DRZAls7leRrYh8GwHHA/s1600/IMG_3597.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610601996883255586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_b6teSvs8kGZhWINU3vc363l2gERZmNWUngPUats9PXFlH3ttpkvQMqKmAG0sA_bEtPvOZTZ8S3FpFijZmh0Dryu9Jv-SYxj3kdb_18oRcmc2kB0smt7DRZAls7leRrYh8GwHHA/s400/IMG_3597.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They gave me a TENS machine at the birthing center, and with the start of each contraction I pressed the button to increase the intensity. Your dad sat with a stopwatch and timed my contractions by watching me click the button on the machine. For two hours we sat there, me pressing the button on the TENS with each contraction, your dad pressing the buttons on the stopwatch. I vaguely wondered if our neighbours on the other side of our semi could hear me moaning and grunting.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Shortly after five I told your father to phone the birth centre back. I know it was after five because they are only staffed during the day. After hours you ring a different number and they get someone to phone you back. A few minutes later a midwife named Claire phoned us back. Your father took the call. I couldn’t talk.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I could tell there was a disagreement. I remember your father saying, “She’ll be devastated,” or something like that. I knew they didn’t want me back so soon. It was less than 3 hours since they’d sent us home. I shouted “We’re going in!” between groans. Your dad spoke for a few more minutes before hanging up. He said she agreed to meet us.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I transitioned in the car. By the time we got to the end of our road I was already pushing. Now it was a race between you and your father: could he drive faster than you could climb out?<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I had to hold myself off the seat by hanging from the handle over the window. Sitting felt wrong. I was pushing hard, and I was scared. Your dad kept saying, “This is good, this is what we want.” I didn’t have enough time or breath between contractions to explain that if I was pushing before I was fully dilated I could bruise my cervix and cause it to swell shut, and I knew that was a real possibility.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was dark, and it was raining. I told your dad we might not make it. I wondered if we should pull over and ring for an ambulance. He said we’d make it. We kept going.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
My water exploded.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
When we arrived your father dropped me at the door so he could go park the car. I stumbled in to the small community hospital and called for help. A small, dark-haired nurse, who had seen us leave earlier in the day, came running. She grabbed me up under the armpits and called for a wheel chair. A pump, grey-haired nurse (don’t ask me why I remember these things) came with a wheelchair that looked like it was made between the wars. I climbed on, but couldn’t sit.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They took me upstairs. We got off the elevator as your dad arrived at the top of the stairs with all the bags of Stuff. Bloody slow elevator.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Claire had only just arrived. I didn’t wait for an invitation. As soon as I was in the delivery room I took off my trousers and underwear. They were wet and dirty looking. It dimly registered that there must have been some meconium in the amniotic fluid, but I didn’t have enough brainpower left to be worried. If there was worrying to do, let someone else do it.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I climbed/fell/rolled onto the bed. I knew there was no time to fill the birthing pool. Claire looked at me. You were crowning. Immediately she turned away, grabbed a nearby phone and said, “Get another midwife here. I don’t care who, send whoever is closest. Get someone here now.”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I knew then you were close. It’s the policy of the birthing center to have two midwives attend every birth, one midwife to deal with the mother, and a second to deal with the baby. That way if things get messy there are enough hands to go around. It was clear they didn’t expect to need two midwives so soon. They didn’t think you were coming, but I knew better.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
This is where your story loses some cohesion. All I remember is sensations, disconnected feelings. I remember I wanted to sit up more, to be propped up more on the bed. They raised the back of the bed for me.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember it was hard to keep my legs apart. Claire didn’t talk much, but she did keep telling me to keep my legs open. It’s counterintuitive, that. When you have pain between your legs, you want to close them. That was hard, keeping my legs apart.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember there was no place to put my feet. They seemed to be floating in air.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then Claire told me to push in short, controlled bursts. Control? What control? My uterus had a mind of its own. I was just along for the ride by that point. I had no say in how I pushed.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I remember crying. It was hard work. It stung.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
They told me your head was out. That heartened me. I knew it wouldn’t be long. I knew I only needed one or two more good pushes to get your shoulders through.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And then Claire said “Time!” and your father looked at his watch. He started calling out intervals of 10 or 20 seconds. I found out later why.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And there you were, not all blue and goopy like they’d told me to expect, but pink and surprisingly clean. Not squalling, either, just sort of whimpering a bit, and only for a minute or so.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I lifted my T-shirt (an Empire Strikes Back T-shirt I’d had since high school) and held you right against my chest. And of course you were perfect. Everything about you was perfectly circular: your head, your dark, dark grey eyes, your (warning: cliche’ imminent) rosebud little mouth.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Claire said you were wonderful and healthy, and then explained that I had some tearing. Your arm had been pinned to the side of your head by the umbilical cord, which was wrapped around your neck. (That was why she asked your father to keep track of the time. She needed to know how long after you emerged the cord was on your neck. But your arm, which made you a damned funny shape to push out, was good for you: it kept the cord from being too tight around your windpipe.)<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While I was holding you, mezmerized by this mysterious, tiny creature, another woman walked into the room. “I see I’ve missed all the fun,” she said. Her name was Janie. She was the second midwife. </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
She said, “Sorry to barge in on you.” (My knees were in different time zones, and I was facing the door.) “I know it’s not very dignified.”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I said, “Don’t worry about it. I have no dignity left.”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Claire said I needed to get stitched up quite quickly, but she couldn’t begin until the placenta had been delivered, and would I consent to a shot of some drug that would speed it up and minimize the bleeding. I had read about it before so I knew what it was. I agreed.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
If anyone ever tells you that once the baby is born all the hard work is over and you barely even notice the placenta coming out, hit them in the mouth.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then the nitty-gritty started. I handed you to your father. He took off his shirt and held you against his chest. Claire and Janie tried to find the stirrups to attach to the bed. That took a while. They were very familiar with delivering babies, but not very familiar with the cupboards in this particular birthing center. I remember there was a lot of bumping around and improvising. I said it felt like camping.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
The two midwives had known and worked with each other for almost thirty years. They had some great banter. There was a lot of laughter in that room.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Janie had to do an internal examination to find out how bad the tearing was. Neither woman was qualified to sew third degree tearing, and Janie said it looked bad. If I had torn all the way to my rectum it would have meant a transfer by ambulance to the hospital. That would have been miserable, but Janie said it was as bad as it could have been while still being second degree. Good news, of a sort.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Janie had grey hair in a bun and silver-rimmed glasses. She looked like the sort of woman who did a lot of needlework. I was glad she was doing the stitching.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I didn’t use any pain relief while in labor, but for the stitching I took the entonox. It didn’t do any good, but it was nice to have something to bite down on.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It seemed to take a long time. I was freezing cold. I shivered. Claire brought me blankets and a cup of tea appeared from somewhere. (You have to love the English. There’s a medical crisis: quick, make tea!)<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
While Janie was sewing, Claire took you and your dad in the other room to take your measurements. I could hear you complaining, loudly and lustily. You didn’t like being weighed. Being naked when you’ve only just been born is cold and miserable. By the time your dad brought you back into the room with me you were quieter, but grizzling. I knew you were hungry. They wouldn’t let me feed you until I had been sewn back together. It was taking forever.</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Finally, the midwives took my feet out of the stirrups, dimmed the lights, and skedaddled. We got to be alone, the three of us, a family. I fed you straight away. You were hungry.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Claire came in briefly to check that I wasn’t having any difficulty feeding you, but we were doing fine. Your father stood next to the bed, proudly declaring that this is how a baby feeds when she hasn’t been born all drugged up on pain killers. He wasn’t wrong; you could suck crude oil from the ground.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Eventually we bothered to dress you (all the clothes we brought were too big), and then we called our parents. That was a couple hours after your entrance into the world. Your grandparents were ecstatic, and rather surprised. We had let them know earlier in the day that I was in labor, but no one expected news quite so soon. You surprised a lot of people. You surprised everyone but me.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Then someone said they had drawn a bath for me. That sounded nice. You were asleep. So was your dad. He had crashed out on the tile floor of the delivery room. I told him, “Go in the other room and lie down on one of the beds.” He seemed grateful for permission to leave.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I think someone took you and put you in a cot. I stumbled into the bathroom and slid into the tub. I was still bleeding, and the water quickly became gross, but I didn’t care. The tub was huge and warm and I could stretch out and really rest for the first time all day. It was almost ten at night.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Your dad came in and asked, “What do you want on your pizza?” Good man.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I needed help getting dressed. I couldn’t bend over (it pulled my stitches), but there was a string to pull to summon help. Your dad came and helped me.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I hobbled in to the “ward” (a bedroom with 2 beds, a small telly, and a kettle) where your dad was waiting with the pizza. There was some discussion as to whether I should stay the night there or go home and come back in the morning for an exam. It was decided it would be much easier (and save me some very uncomfortable car rides) if I just stayed put.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Your dad was shattered, so I sent him home to sleep and look after the cat and the fish. They put a rail on the side of one of the beds so I could keep you in bed with me. That was nice. It saved me having to get out of bed to check on you (it was really, really difficult to move), and meant that we could spend the whole night snuggled up together.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
It was hot in the ward. I was sweating until my hair was wet. You were bundled up in every article of clothing we’d brought, plus several blankets. Because of the meconium in the amniotic fluid they were worried you might have swallowed some, which can give you an infection. So they kept taking your temperature and it kept reading low, hence all the blankets. It turned out the thermometer didn’t work. Well done, the NHS.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
But that night was wonderful. Despite all the discomfort I just laid in bed in the dark room looking at your beautiful face by the light of the green night light. You spent a lot of time sucking on my pinkie finger. It was warm and quiet and peaceful, just the two of us in that room. There was a woman down the hall if I needed anything, but we were fine. You fussed whenever I got up to pee, but quieted down as soon as I was near again. You didn’t want to be alone, but you knew who I was and when I was close.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
Slowly the lilac curtains lightened. I drew them back and saw crocuses blooming around the tree by the car park. You were asleep. I ate the rest of the pizza for breakfast, and drank several more bottles of Lucozade. I’ve never been so thirsty in my life!<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
In the morning a breast-feeding counsellor came to see me feed you and make sure we were doing OK. She said we could teach master classes. Then a midwife came in to make sure I knew how to change your diapers and dress you properly. She said I must have lots of younger siblings, because no new mother is ever that confident handling a new baby. I loved putting your lovely, soft bamboo diapers on you. I felt so smug, like the best mother in the world because I’d found the best nappies that would be the most comfortable for you.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
I phoned your dad to come pick us up. I told him to go hire some special cushions first for me to sit on, because I wasn’t going to get in the car without one. He arrived with the fancy cushions (what a god-send they were!) and we put you in your snowsuit to take you home. (That was the beginning of your love-affair with your courduroy snowsuit. For 10 weeks you wouldn’t sleep without it.)</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
As we buckled you into your car seat you started to cry. Your father looked at you said, “You don’t really mean that. Now stop it.” And by god you did. That was the first and last time you ever did what your father told you.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
We went downstairs and the nurses who helped me through the door the previous night were on duty already. The dark-haired nurse spotted me and said, “Oh my goodness, I barely recognized you! You’re a different woman!” I was beaming ear to ear, a far cry from my state that last time she’d seen me.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
And on that sunny, mild, February morning we brought you home.<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipL5S5Zsh507iuNU1kEFFC2AdmgQfLktuEjUvZAD5dQHHwKHj-RBfT6YBJWYJRvj98RXudtIn26TfcQS-a3_AheapARD5McNYhdabKcHhNhiO61fTU-gvBU-orU9FH7uQMARuhRA/s1600/IMG_3650.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610602006863859858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipL5S5Zsh507iuNU1kEFFC2AdmgQfLktuEjUvZAD5dQHHwKHj-RBfT6YBJWYJRvj98RXudtIn26TfcQS-a3_AheapARD5McNYhdabKcHhNhiO61fTU-gvBU-orU9FH7uQMARuhRA/s400/IMG_3650.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-33549977013795753792011-03-30T12:52:00.002+00:002013-08-26T15:53:06.969+00:00Small Pirate pictures! Yay!<div style="text-align: center;">
There be mischief in those eyes, yarrh...</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4qCSzx2SiGxAho3EEgzMIsYo7G1A26LAUzE8xPPg2oetQUc_tmIyLCIPAd-iPjSIBIfh1i1WvTWYqmqxC4qfCHDrZuQJS6nWAWPFfpcWHeSIB6a6RxHDNiGyKybchdEW2o0rXQ/s1600/IMG_3296.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589857105239149650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4qCSzx2SiGxAho3EEgzMIsYo7G1A26LAUzE8xPPg2oetQUc_tmIyLCIPAd-iPjSIBIfh1i1WvTWYqmqxC4qfCHDrZuQJS6nWAWPFfpcWHeSIB6a6RxHDNiGyKybchdEW2o0rXQ/s400/IMG_3296.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Gerber baby can kiss my nappy!</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKjYeqetOcUcisjOQNFQsrPHWuchx7vAmz7D9IPdmsqWZMJXxbtOm6QxSgGIo1LPWiV9ZaIC57rNKewnS4bTxA3TMP-zDLXwg1jkpDfJ2FUBzs0OeF8Ru_7DbfSQAjt3VIW4wqg/s1600/IMG_3255.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589857097305679602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKjYeqetOcUcisjOQNFQsrPHWuchx7vAmz7D9IPdmsqWZMJXxbtOm6QxSgGIo1LPWiV9ZaIC57rNKewnS4bTxA3TMP-zDLXwg1jkpDfJ2FUBzs0OeF8Ru_7DbfSQAjt3VIW4wqg/s400/IMG_3255.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
My mom, my fuzzy beagle... What more could I want?</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBdID-YqgAomsojTjjB2WTm-A1LTAuni5pCWW4wICrzDEd_vp2rA9v0yrF8BaNful6qmyHhhjjpBPa4zdRan5psttpZFqY_tSWUjG2wdebnnQaq3pwSKDyadV9rIfX3TvokG2ww/s1600/IMG_3290.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589857100036116450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioBdID-YqgAomsojTjjB2WTm-A1LTAuni5pCWW4wICrzDEd_vp2rA9v0yrF8BaNful6qmyHhhjjpBPa4zdRan5psttpZFqY_tSWUjG2wdebnnQaq3pwSKDyadV9rIfX3TvokG2ww/s400/IMG_3290.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 266px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-75068347197438526822011-03-21T08:50:00.002+00:002011-03-21T08:54:17.973+00:00New Word<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkC8dU-ShjliX9RYOw2dRhUuwBs4Nf9JSMSzB3eUUUgMJ4YDf942kbqxx_hyv4zO_6PzEzv5JmdSuxTVEq63QtzMw05D29g5CE6QgFRV0XiIaW7I8r0m7TbUQ23bS8ZiomhNQhnA/s1600/IMG_3202.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkC8dU-ShjliX9RYOw2dRhUuwBs4Nf9JSMSzB3eUUUgMJ4YDf942kbqxx_hyv4zO_6PzEzv5JmdSuxTVEq63QtzMw05D29g5CE6QgFRV0XiIaW7I8r0m7TbUQ23bS8ZiomhNQhnA/s400/IMG_3202.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586453826204179522" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bjornable</span>, adj. An activity that can be accomplished while carrying Small Pirate in the Baby Bjorn because she absolutely, unequivocally, flatly refuses to be put down for any reason can be said to be "bjornable," as in "I'll refill the bird feeders today. That sounds bjornable."Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-53744656183239217992011-02-13T17:07:00.004+00:002011-02-13T17:22:38.976+00:00Introducing...<div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(102, 51, 102);"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:180%;" >Oona Mary Elizabeth Pirate!</span><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_w-d2znQ7XXgW2jC6JemL6M49ZAKcZ6Vj1VAXUJ02rWhqo7cQh6ARKcPq9jldR5IckVkaLoqajiuBEfMDmj7rmTABValUVl_U8mZRYNclONxJTgOaaXS9Hj6WgHz5nYjdFhftQ/s1600/P1010028.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_w-d2znQ7XXgW2jC6JemL6M49ZAKcZ6Vj1VAXUJ02rWhqo7cQh6ARKcPq9jldR5IckVkaLoqajiuBEfMDmj7rmTABValUVl_U8mZRYNclONxJTgOaaXS9Hj6WgHz5nYjdFhftQ/s400/P1010028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573222603338181266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br />Born on the day I saw the very first daffodils of spring (while walking to McDonald's for lunch while I was in labor!), and Pirate saw the first cherry blossoms (while walking home from work to take me to the birthing center).<br /><br />And yes, that is a Star Wars T-shirt I'm wearing. I used the Force. It helped.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQt1ylIjpVlltGiaURAji9JwMs-CAQk9s37W-hfkM0wr4OueXujJ2poyWJJXYaBCWdaNBeIC5ngCeWtMwQfBdjVCGOhZqg8AMGbrhdRgmdcuahcA1OOWoqXbpwsriiMa1zQ-fnHw/s1600/IMG_1762.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQt1ylIjpVlltGiaURAji9JwMs-CAQk9s37W-hfkM0wr4OueXujJ2poyWJJXYaBCWdaNBeIC5ngCeWtMwQfBdjVCGOhZqg8AMGbrhdRgmdcuahcA1OOWoqXbpwsriiMa1zQ-fnHw/s400/IMG_1762.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5573222596914189394" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">She weighed 8 lbs, 7.5 oz. Don't ask me how long she was, they don't do that measurement here so I have no idea.<br /><br />We didn't go to a hospital, we we went to a midwife-led birthing centre. It was marvelous and peaceful. I was the only mother there, and I was waited on hand and foot by two fantastic midwives who had been working as a team for 30 years, knew each other inside and out, and had great humor and bantor, and by a materinity assistant, who did all the non-medical stuff like make me tea and draw me a bath after. I couldn't have received better care if I'd been the queen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I stayed overnight with Oona in bed with me. They offered to let Pirate stay as well, since he was falling asleep on the tile floor of the delivery room. Poor wee Pirate; he was all pooped out after 11 hours of labor! *snort*<br /><br />I'll post the whole story with the gorey details later, if any of you maternal vultures are interested. Right now I have to put the bed together for my maternal pirate-in-law, who is coming to stay for a few days to lend a hand so Pirate can go back to swashbuckling.</span></span>Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-81684244230171835702011-02-07T11:04:00.003+00:002011-02-07T11:22:23.717+00:00WHY THE FUCK AM I STILL PREGNANT?!?!?!?!My due date was Friday. This is shit. This is NOT the German efficiency (and I'm 25% German, so that should count for something.)<br /><br />I'm huge. I can't sleep. I can't sit comfortably, stand comfortably, walk comfortably, or lie down comfortably. And I'm fed up with swapping one discomfort for another just for variety's sake.<br /><br />Also, I'm exhausted. I can't sleep. I have to pee every 45 minutes (until about 4 am by which time I'm sufficiently dehydrated that I can go about 2 hours between weeing. If only my uterus was as keen as my fucking kidneys.) And my <a href="http://www.rls.org/">RLS</a>* has become unbearable. I lie in bed at night jerking like a mule that's undergone army experimentation, thus guaranteeing that the Pirate isn't getting any meaningful sleep, either. (And he hasn't whinged about it once, bless his tighty whities.)<br /><br />We went to see Brendon Burns in Oxford on Thursday night, hoping to laugh the kid loose. Nearly worked, too. Had a couple contractions before the show began, and after 90 minutes of solid belly laughter I carried on contracting strongly, if erradically, until about 2 am. Then it all fizzled out and died and I've had nothing since. Bah.<br /><br />Tomorrow is my nephew's birthday. He'll be 1. Keep your fingers crossed that something kicks off tonight so the cousins can share a birthday. That would be cool.<br /><br /><br />*Don't laugh. It's real, and it SUCKS.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-293257799060048982011-02-02T13:30:00.001+00:002011-02-02T13:31:30.182+00:00I am California2 days from D-Day. Lots of little tremors, just sitting here waiting for The Big One.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-66379297475480762622011-01-20T11:20:00.003+00:002011-01-20T11:29:04.906+00:00Watch this space...I'm back.<br /><br />But that's not the big news. THIS is the big news:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJx7Xnc_B4NasUZZL-P6a4QXDloQRt3_OwA5ZKU9ZHTL6rEdyfa9Tl1TRfvRMiEdRrY5vqlBlJPfWiZIkBOZSYR5pITfgsMjrBoXdwhbZuq804WP_qA2nAhibErI-3PdmBFKo7g/s1600/IMG_2751.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJx7Xnc_B4NasUZZL-P6a4QXDloQRt3_OwA5ZKU9ZHTL6rEdyfa9Tl1TRfvRMiEdRrY5vqlBlJPfWiZIkBOZSYR5pITfgsMjrBoXdwhbZuq804WP_qA2nAhibErI-3PdmBFKo7g/s400/IMG_2751.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564226878815926082" border="0" /></a><br />And this photo is a couple months old already. I'm T minus 2 weeks, and boy am I ready to pop. My mom and doc don't think I'll make it to 40 weeks, which is good, because I'm SO FREAKIN' SICK OF BEING PREGNANT!!!! (I know I know, after I wanted to be pregnant soooooo badly. So I'm a hypocrite. Shoot me.)<br /><br />In other developments, Pirate and I no longer reside in sunny Cornwall. Now we're living in bloody Swindon. Thank fuck it's only temporary. We'll be out of here in July.<br /><br />So why the sudden return to blogging? You can thank First Nations for that. I saw that she was back on line again and it inspired me. That, and Pirate has been bugging me to get back in the blogging saddle for a while. He's scared I'll get hit with post-partum depression (a legit fear, with my family history and my own history of depression) and knows how supportive all my imaginary friends have been in the past, and figures one more safety net can't be a bad thing. Plus all kinds of zany crap keeps happening to us, and he's constantly saying shit like "this would make an awesome blog post." And he's right.<br /><br />So watch this space...Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-6585111412081680952010-04-05T20:36:00.003+00:002010-04-05T20:43:44.411+00:00Announcing Yakee Cakes!I finally did it! I have a business! A real one, with a website and everything. Check it out:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.yankeecakes.co.uk/">www.yankeecakes.co.uk</a><br /><br />Now, my technical advisor (Pirate) informs me that for my website to be known to search engines there have to be lots of links to it on other websites. I've created a couple business listings in places like yell.com, but it would really help if each of you would just whack a link to my business in your blog. It doesn't matter what continent you're on, there just need to be a ton of links out there in the ether.<br /><br />Pirate explained a new website is like a walled garden, and every link you create is gate in the wall. Make enough gates, and eventually Google will notice you exist.<br /><br />(For the techies who are now rolling their eyes, we've already done the meta data and keywords in the html code.)<br /><br />Now get linking and send me some business!<br /><br />(and if you know of any one in the soutwest who's getting married, point them my way.)Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-20426072037244424072010-02-19T13:27:00.004+00:002010-03-07T21:05:46.358+00:00StripperLast week the Pirate and I were given a load of second-hand furniture by the parents of some friends of ours. They are moving and downsizing from a 5K square foot house to a 2.2K square foot mansion flat. So, naturally, some furniture had to go. For the £130 we spent on van rental we made out like bandits.<br /><br />We are now the proud owners of a 7 foot-long sofa, 2 chests of drawers and matching beside tables from Habitat and accompanying mirror, 4 teak folding patio chairs, and two solid wood bedside tables.<br /><br />It's these latter bedside tables which are of interest. They were in the shed in the garden (the shed in this case being larger than our dining room) and we were told, "Oh you don't want those; they're awful and full of mold and woodworm. We're going to burn them." They were painted white and while plain and in need of some TLC, were discovered to be rather sturdily built.<br /><br />"Oh please let us have them!" we begged. Since they were marked for the woodpile we were told we welcome to them, but it was implied we were more than a little silly for wanting them.<br /><br />We got them home and went to work on them. It's amazing what you can do with a can of <a href="http://www.diy.com/diy/jsp/bq/nav.jsp?action=detail&fh_secondid=9254582&ecamp=trf-005&CAWELAID=266887939">Nitromors</a>, a pair of neoprene gloves, and a week of Olympic TV coverage.<br /><br />I should have the last bits of the decorative molding I'm adding on this afternoon, and then i'll put the pics up. I think you'll agree: I've got a new carreer cut out as a stripper.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-60950172969719565032010-02-04T11:24:00.003+00:002010-02-04T11:41:38.561+00:00Yay! Also, Oops.I've done it; I've started Kingfisher Cakes. The website will be online shortly. (I hope.)<br /><br />I'm extremely excited about this. I began this with the view that it would just be a little cottage industry, something to help me earn a little pin money. But looking at the way the website is shaping up (I'm making it in MS Publisher), it looks ruddy professional. Now I'm thinking, the sky's the limit. Who knows how far this could go? How far do I <span style="font-style: italic;">want</span> to take it? I don't even know, but I'm open to much bigger possibilities that I was a few months ago.<br /><br />I've also just realized that in telling y'all the name of the business you'll be able to go to my website and find the real me. Now all you cyber-crazies can find me in meat-space. Oops. Oh well. I'll have to take my chances. It never occured to me when I began discussing this with you that I was crossing over my real and virtual personalities. Now you know. Too late.<br /><br />And for your edification and delight, here are some photos of cakes I have made recently:<br /><br />First up is a double-chocolate, 10-inch square layer cake with chocolate buttercream frosting, decorated in a solar-system theme with hand-piped buttercream.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_MhQnJlpTnPmczIptiRnu0-KNouz5Rvvs9dLsJ3EeGwzFhC5opvB0RT4ANYsWeGF-6Zjtdh9IkMxUvfMjPwHnpa8MJSm5aiWWgFCanBIogQNEMKFWuxpW5yLNmR6_EteQOVz0w/s1600-h/connor+planets.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 355px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf_MhQnJlpTnPmczIptiRnu0-KNouz5Rvvs9dLsJ3EeGwzFhC5opvB0RT4ANYsWeGF-6Zjtdh9IkMxUvfMjPwHnpa8MJSm5aiWWgFCanBIogQNEMKFWuxpW5yLNmR6_EteQOVz0w/s400/connor+planets.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434348983676455426" border="0" /></a><br />Next is this awesome R2-D2 cake. Fully 18" across, the sponge is chocolate, covered with white buttercram frosting and decorated with hand-piped buttercream and silver sugar balls (which you can't really see in the photo but looked great in person).<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-x8FEgUAPiB1LcPAr6xXXbSu9kWTtwSGyAetDEgABVsDtlEWapiPXWQjPunurCIqWRIWtGc-VY3F0v55dcLAbCsRWxOdoNY_IkDzB7Dj9_hn228jNX4QqM5cX_YN0KY8xAJIzfg/s1600-h/R2-D2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-x8FEgUAPiB1LcPAr6xXXbSu9kWTtwSGyAetDEgABVsDtlEWapiPXWQjPunurCIqWRIWtGc-VY3F0v55dcLAbCsRWxOdoNY_IkDzB7Dj9_hn228jNX4QqM5cX_YN0KY8xAJIzfg/s400/R2-D2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434348989201587490" border="0" /></a><br />Lastly is my own wedding cake. Two tiers of lemon drizzle layer cake, 2 tiers of carrot layer cake, all covered with cream cheese frosting and decorated with real pansies and rose petals which had been crystallized by hand by yours truly, and all of which were completely edible.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDnPRwucQ3J8DfATtprEsVLtRvSAmLH7N86A8GaAXvah6KG0sxnTIXMO9TeHNzIc3sIUPUP4t5C7f8B348nY7wGGFsaRqgya8Rn3nXmR4kDxZiAnMmU37cz9Gpa7cPEsAWjF2aQ/s1600-h/4-tier+sword.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihDnPRwucQ3J8DfATtprEsVLtRvSAmLH7N86A8GaAXvah6KG0sxnTIXMO9TeHNzIc3sIUPUP4t5C7f8B348nY7wGGFsaRqgya8Rn3nXmR4kDxZiAnMmU37cz9Gpa7cPEsAWjF2aQ/s400/4-tier+sword.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434348978944179250" border="0" /></a><br />So whadda ya think? Would you pay money for one of my cakes? (Oh, and I have learned how to do marzipan and sugarpaste, so if that's the look you're going for, I can does that, too.)Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-52038615056647031852010-01-26T13:50:00.002+00:002010-01-26T14:46:09.520+00:00Once more unto the breach, dear friendsI'm eating leftover homemade spetzla with onion gravy for lunch and drinking Franziskaner, but that's not important right now. The key here is, what should I name my new bakery?<br /><br />I know I asked you this before, but I've narrowed it down to 3 finalists, so I'm going to smoke one more pole. I mean poll. Yeah. (And no, I am not so think as you drunk I am in the diddle of the may.)<br /><br />To give y'all my thoughts on the finalists, I'd like to construct a handy table, but blogger is not big on tables, so you'll just have to plow though the nicely laid-out text. Here goes.<br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">KINGFISHER CAKES</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cons:</span> What the fuck have fish got to do with cakes? We're not talking fish-flavoured cakes here, are we?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pros:</span> No we're bloody not. The kingfisher is a symbol of unspoilt countryside. It suggests beauty, purity, and a bit of sparkle. It's elusive, and therefore a bit magical. Cakes should be beautiful, sparkle, and be a little magical. You get it now?<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 153, 51);font-size:130%;" >CORONATION CAKES</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pros:</span> Suggests big, grand celebrations. Evokes images of big ball gowns and stuff covered in gold. Majestic, gradiose, <span style="font-style: italic;">royal.</span> Everything a cake should be.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cons:</span> The last coronation was in 1953. The word 'coronation' resurrects memories of stuffy, awful, 1950s cuisine, doilies, old women in clunky shoes, and chunks of chicken covered in gloopy, yellow mayonaise. And a god-awful, long-running soap opera.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);font-size:130%;" >CONFETTI CAKES</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pros:</span> Nothing says 'party' like confetti! Except maybe cakes. Cheerful, colorful, light, and whimsical. Everything a cake should be.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cons:</span> Not quite as distinctive as the other two. Harder to spell. (Is that one 'f' and two 'ts' or two 'fs' and one 't'?)<br /><br /><br />So what d'y'all think? Comments in the usual place, vote in the sidebar on the left.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-72423142331868565682010-01-24T10:46:00.005+00:002010-01-24T10:56:37.625+00:00The Golant Is Not EnoughI've gotten back in to rowing. Sculling, specifically, which is better for my back. I found a club near here (only an hour drive!), called Castle Dore Rowing Club, which is a recreational (ie, non-competitive) community fitness club, largely made up of middle-aged vets with busticated back. Perfect! (Or so I thought.)<br /><br />For the past month or so I've been going out with them on a Sunday afternnon. The river is lovely (when there's water in it). It's always a scratch crew, made up of whomever shows up: men, women, novice, vets, whatever; we all get lumped in together. I was really enjoying myself, just pissing about on the water, not having to think about upcoming events, split times, or whether stroke could <span style="font-style: italic;">possibly</span> go any faster up the fucking slide (Jesus Christ, Becky, it's <span style="font-style: italic;">not a race to the catch!</span>).<br /><br />And then something happened. I was in a crew with 3 blokes, all of them half-decent oarsmen. We set a rhythm. It wasn't shit. We pulled on it. The boat moved. We lifted the shell onto the surface of the river and heard the water bubbling cheerfully as we whizzed along. We moved. It felt fantastic.<br /><br />And I was done for. The adrenaline all came surging back in time with the surge of the boat. I felt my heart pounding. I heard my quads say to me, "Oh yeah, we remember this!" I fell in love again.<br /><br />The quiet, little, recreational club isn't enough any more. I want to go fast. I want to go fast <span style="font-style: italic;">now</span>. I'm too young to be an allakadoo. I'm too young to be this old. I'm getting back on the ergo. I'm setting training regime, and when Pirate and I move away from Cornwall sometime this spring, I'm joining a proper boat club again. I want to win shit.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7896529.post-34062302829695134872010-01-15T15:38:00.005+00:002010-01-15T16:02:59.560+00:00Wee Mighty PredatorThe small predator had a big day yesterday. In the eyes of the neighborhood moggies, he is now A Man.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcmVKhhEhqvzKhRJFKtxwhN7TtkhaaWrcXpcg3LPbyIFcAQKlCTXoY_8OBf002gR0QV-spWlsCsBPIrduAIeWSYLOGDvgwtZTM-d2JcYw5QUsKly7OvkwROSnrYB7NTH3FRaoDg/s1600-h/2009_04_27_0377.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwcmVKhhEhqvzKhRJFKtxwhN7TtkhaaWrcXpcg3LPbyIFcAQKlCTXoY_8OBf002gR0QV-spWlsCsBPIrduAIeWSYLOGDvgwtZTM-d2JcYw5QUsKly7OvkwROSnrYB7NTH3FRaoDg/s400/2009_04_27_0377.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426993426853012994" border="0" /></a>He caught his first mouse.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxXjmlrwliSP79Vcs646AJwkGgoCFUmIcR5tZvoCwRyu4tAcErxO__qEHuKPNYOjMVbe001z-CuGxIkTkYQI7SbANeeTqNYfsbqXflvcsa1UpjWZK3UYU2jpZhZzJf0mYwA5n4g/s1600-h/2009_02_22_0175.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxXjmlrwliSP79Vcs646AJwkGgoCFUmIcR5tZvoCwRyu4tAcErxO__qEHuKPNYOjMVbe001z-CuGxIkTkYQI7SbANeeTqNYfsbqXflvcsa1UpjWZK3UYU2jpZhZzJf0mYwA5n4g/s400/2009_02_22_0175.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426993422654390386" border="0" /></a><br />Before yesterday I wasn't sure if he was a hunter or not. After seeing his behavoir, I'm convinced that if he'd had a kill before now we'd have known all about it.<br /><br />I came home from the supermarket and found a dead mouse right in the middle of the front hall carpet, with Pai walking around it in circles around it, chest all puffed out, tail up, and saying to me "Look at me! Look what I did!*" He was so chuffed with himself I gave him a pat on the head to acknowledge his achievment, and then he did something I did not expect.<br /><br />Despite the mouse being well and truly dead (I checked), he clearly wasn't done with it. He put it someplace where I coudln't miss seeing it, but once I had seen it Pai wanted to continue playing with it. He picket it up in his mouth, threw it across the hall, and pounced on it. This he repeated several times until by accident he threw it in with the cardboard recycling. He tried to climb in after it, but the density of empty cereal boxes made this impossible.<br /><br />Not wanting it to rot and stink in there, I dug it out and carried it outside on the front porch, where I told Pai that he could keep it, but it was strictly an outdoor toy. He listened, bless him. He carried on playing with the mouse outside, but didn't bring it in the house again after that. Such a good kitty! I did get a huge kick out of watching him throw it straight up in the air and then bat it between his paws as it came back down, the fucked-up feline.<br /><br /><br /><br />*He was speaking Cat, naturally, but some things are so obvious they need no translation.Moominmamahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11750304448922417139noreply@blogger.com3