My Fur Covered Life. Now Featuring Baby Sick....

A normal Sunday

2011-04-24T12:24:00.000Z

The big girls are in their playroom. We converted the conservatory into a playroom for them so that I could attempt to hold back the plastic crap invasion and keep the rest of the house habitable. It's actually scary just how much crap small children accumulate.

Emily is jabbering away on her mobile phone. She was talking to me on it for a bit, from what I could tell, but now she is telling someone off whilst pacing the floor with Fee's roll along ducks. Every now and then she breaks off to yell "Bye bye Auntie Mabel!" at the planes flying overhead.

Sophia is simultaneously cooking lunch with the toy cooker and food, and using her baby laptop. She has learnt from the master as Mummy is busy blogging on her netbook whilst making some vegetable cous cous to go with lunch. Now she is walking there is no holding her back. She's up and down, back and forth running her little errands.

Georgia is asleep. She does occasionally consent to napping in the day, but it is a rare day she sleeps for more than an hour. She is having a growth spurt right now, so I suspect naptime will be over in favour of another mealtime pretty soon. Even in her sleep, she is smiling and laughing. She is by far the smiliest baby I've had and it is lovely. I confess it can be disconcerting when she starts giggling in her sleep, but charming nonetheless.

Daddy is working on the veg beds. It's time to plant out, but we don't have quite as much to plant out as we thought. A certain, and presumably hungry, little Sophia decided to have a snack on all the seedlings she could get her hands on, soil and all, so I don't think we will have quite the parsnip crop we were hoping for. Still, at least she likes her greens...

And on cue, the tiniest of the gang has woken up. I'm not entirely surprised - the girls could wake coma patients (but not the dog) with the racket they are making. Emily just dug the lightsabres out of the toy box and both girls are whacking each other shouting "Father! No!" at each other.

Time to hide in the kitchen.

Missing: one finger

2011-04-20T19:23:00.000Z

I have just been upstairs. Summoned by a very anxious Emily, who is convinced her finger is on the floor. It's always slightly surreal to be told that a body part is on the floor and that I MUST find it.

The astute amongst you will probably realise my little nutter has broken off part of her fingernail and dropped it. This is a recurring theme here - she will pick skin off her lip, flick it and tell me her lip has fallen off, or she will pick her nose, lose a bogey and have a tantrum of epic proportion. It makes me quite grateful that she hasn't yet pooed on the toilet....

Lurgylicious

2011-03-31T14:21:00.000Z

We are just emerging from the depths of the lurgy. I have had more bodily fluids dumped on me than a pub toilet at closing time, and my washing machine is probably a good year closer to packing in and moving to Silicon Heaven. It hasn't been pretty.

Emily was the first to be struck down and is a victim of the MMR jab. She spiked a scarily high temperature during naptime (I should have realised something was up when she actually went to sleep instead of her more usual screaming that she NEEDS to be downstairs, thank you very much Mummy). So I stripped her off, doped her up and cuddled her as suggested by the lovely nurse at NHS Direct.

Not ten minutes later, Fee had a nuclear explosion in her nappy. I'd never seen it drip from the top and the bottom at the same time, and I hope never to again. That required a change of clothes for both her and me, more doping up and lots more cuddles.

Georgia took this moment of mayhem to demand a feed, and showed her urgency by also filling her nappy in her rage. A change of clothes for her was next on my list. The washing machine was fed as well as the tiny ruler of the house.

The next day was worse. We awoke to find a very grey Fee sat in the remnants of another nuclear explosion, and Emily nappy-less and wet. Both were plunged in the bath and cleaned up, before the growingly familiar doping up and cuddling routine. The first load for the day went in the washing machine.

Fee went straight to the doctors and fell asleep. She was found to have an ear infection and a stomach bug, and was not allowed antibiotics until her stomach was better. So we bought more Calpol and Nurofen and went home to continue the drug regime.

Naptime came. It went very quickly when Emily had a nuclear explosion in bed. She doesn't wear a nappy at naptime so the mess was quite spectacular. Another bath was run, and the washing machine was given another load.

We realised Emily was more poorly than we thought when it was time to get out of the bath. This led to a tantrum of epic proportions (even bigger than the Great Bogey Incident), and lasted a good hour.

We lost interest in the tantrum when Fee threw up over me and the living room. She's never been sick before so her face was quite the picture. It was a cross between "well, that's never happened before" and "holy shit, what the hell just happened to me!". Being a brave girl, she just stood up, brushed it all over me and her father and threw up again.

This pattern was repeated every time she had a sip of water, and her sweet face went from gray to absolutely deathly. So after another chat to the lovely nurse at NHS Direct, we headed off to the triage clinic at the hospital to be checked over. Not before another nappy and outfit changed (for me and for her) was required, though. The washing machine was given another job whilst we we out. Shame it doesn't mop the floor as well....

They decided that Fee would be better at home than being admitted and since she'd finally kept one mouthful of water down she wasn't at imminent risk of problems. So, armed with some prescriptions and the urge to kill the rude doctor, we went home again to begin Operation Get Any Fluid into Fee. For a child that drinks like a fish, we thought this would be ok. Not so. She wasn't having any of it - no bottles, no beakers, no mugs or cups, no straws and definitely no syringes.

She fell asleep in my arms fairly fast, and we decided to just put her to bed with her water as normal. I planned on checking her when I fed Georgia in the night.

Of course, this was THE night. Georgia slept through and I didn't wake! She'd done that once a couple of weeks ago but the 12 week growth spurt had her feeding several times in the night so I hadn't even considered this would be a possibility. I should have known, though. So we rushed in the next morning to find a happy looking Fee and an empty bottle. What a relief! Emily was scarlet with fever and coughing like a smoker with a 40 a day habit, though. And she'd taken her bloody nappy off again so the bed was soaking. The washing machine was less than pleased to get more work.

The day passed in a blur of exploding nappies, medicines and changes of clothes. The house reeked of bodily fluids, and my bins were rapidly filling up with nappies, tissues and cans of Diet Coke - this was not the time to give up my one real vice. My lovely husband went out to get medical supplies (two girls can get through Calpol quite fast) and came back with extra Diet Coke and a McDonalds. It was a moment of bliss.

Today, Fee is reaping the benefits of antibiotics. She's rapidly returning to her sunshiney self - she was toddling across the room singing Knights of Cydonia and throwing her spaceman at the toy schoolhouse just before she went for a nap. Emily, on the other hand, is really struggling. She has a slight case of the measles as a result of her jab, but the cough she also has is quite a bugger. Hopefully, she will back to her slightly horrible two year old self soon, and then she can go see her three year old boyfriend at nursery.

Throughout this, Georgia has been a little angel. We had a lovely conversation late last night before she settled and went to sleep - she has quite the voice on her for 12 weeks, and she is my smiliest baby my far. What was so sweet was when Fee was at her most listless and sad and clingy, patting Georgia still brought a smile to both of their faces. They really do love each other!

And now, while they sleep, I have to make amends with my washing machine and give it a nice empty spin and clean.

Hi

2011-03-25T21:10:00.000Z

Right.

I'm back again. I have too many cute stories to keep to myself! Having a 2 year old guarantees that life cannot be dull, and I'm blessed to have a 1 year old and a 12 week old baby to grow into more mad toddlers so there is no way I can complain that I have nothing to say.

Just today, we had a doctors visit for the bigger girls to have some very overdue vaccinations. Fee bravely went first, and she had a little scream when the needle went in. However, we had supplies to deal with just that, and her little face went from total sadness to joy when she saw the bribery we had in hand. So whilst she shovelled her favourite treat (hula hoops), Em was skewered.

Poor Em had two injections, and she howled like a possessed banshee. I can't say that I blamed her, but she was not consoled by her treat (unlike her sister, who started laughing at Em's tears whilst still shoving her crisps in). She continued to sob whilst the nurse filled in the red books, and even a sticker failed to dry those tears.

Still crying, we said goodbye to the nurse, who apologised to Emily for upsetting her. Emily? Said goodbye and then very politely sobbed "thank you very much". She may be slightly mad, but she has manners!

Good and bad

2009-06-06T18:12:00.003Z

The good news:

I'm 21 weeks and 2 days. I had my scan on Thursday, and we are expecting another little girl. She's adorable and looks just like Big Girl (she can't be Little Lady anymore!). Big Girl is 10 months old and is so much fun!

The bad news:

I had to go to hospital on Friday because it looked like my waters were leaking. A bathroom mishap was ruled out, although I still cling to the hope that that was what it was. I have a couple of infections which are being treated, but I have to go back on Monday for a fluid volume scan. I'm shitting it - at this stage in pregnancy, it is NOT good to be losing fluid.

Little Chicken

2009-04-19T13:38:00.002Z

A fresh start

2009-04-05T09:37:00.004Z

It's been a while since I've been here. It isn't so much that I've not had anything to say - it's more of a case that I can never find a peaceful half hour to sit and post.

So where are we?

Right. Little Lady is getting on for nine months old. She is currently jumping in her jumperoo and screaming like a banshee. She does that a lot when happy.

She has hair (finally!) and two teeth. She can roll over and over and over and chases the dogs round the floor. She waves and shouts a lot. She is a thumb sucker.

We still have seven cats and two dogs. They have adjusted well to the changes in their lifestyle and are all very good about tolerating the interloper in a nappy.

The Baron is the Baron. He is growing tobacco again this year and is having a great time. He also has more homebrew on the go. I think he likes to hide in the garage so as not to listen to Little Lady practicing her velociraptor impersonations. There are days I'd like to join him.

We are also expecting another Little Chicken in October. That was a massive shock, since the Little Lady was only six months old when we found out. We didn't expect that it would happen so quickly, given how long it took the first time.

And that will have to do for now.

One year ago

2008-11-09T20:54:00.003Z

One year ago today, my life entirely changed.

I found out that after three long years of trying, I was finally pregnant.

This last year has been just incredible. I had a wonderful pregnancy, a fantastic labour and delivery and was blessed with the most beautiful and amazing daughter. My relationship with my husband has changed irrevocably for the better and we are so happy.

Just squeaking in...

2008-11-02T22:28:00.002Z

I wasn't sure I'd manage an entry today - the second day of the challenge. That would have been pathetic.

But in the interest of success, I took the plunge and found something interesting to write about.

Literally. I fell down the stairs this afternoon.

I have no idea how it happened. I was very tired after yet another bad night, and I went from thinking about the baby monitor whilst walking down the stairs, to free falling down wondering when I would hit the ground and how.

I landed with my right leg bent back, and my right knee smacked into the ground. I couldn't feel my leg let alone move it, so I crawled into the living room with the intention of calling the Baron and getting him to come home. However, the Little Lady had woken from her catnap (I'm so grateful that I wasn't carrying her at the time) and was howling.

The dogs saw me crawling and thought it was playtime. I shouted at them to sit down as opposed to leaping round like loons, and Zach Attack! promptly dropped on my right leg. I screamed, and Lila pushed him off and jumped on herself thinking this was part of the game.

I decided that calling the Baron would have to wait. I knew he'd freak however I broke the news, but calling with the Little Lady screaming like on trying to raise the dead would not help break that news.

So I calmed her and called him for help. As expected, he had a mini freak out and came home immediately. He took one look at me trying to walk, relieved me of Little Lady and carted me off to the hospital.

I won't bore you with details of the hospital (long wait, spooky x-ray room, pumping in the waiting room and then being given a cubicle and a mad old lady yowling from somewhere), but suffice to say that I have a damaged medial collateral ligament, a bruised ankle and a strained back. Somehow I have to stay off my feet, rest, and do bugger all.

Not sure how that is going to work...

November Challenge

2008-11-01T22:08:00.002Z

So I'm going to try and post something every day. That is going to be hard. If you look back at my last entry you'll probably see why. HInt - the Little Lady is in fact fourteen weeks old now.

It isn't that I don't have the time. I just don't have that much to say. There is only so much you can say about nappy changes, pumping, napping, pumping, medicines, crying and pumping before you feel you are repeating yourself.

Yes, I'm still pumping. I've made it to three months, and I'm thrilled about that. However, just as I got into a routine, we hit a new problem. My supply seems to be decreasing and I'm lucky to freeze anything at all. At least I can still produce enough for her to eat without supplementing.

The Little Lady is in the midst of another skin flare up. I suspect the bath stuff she was prescribed and the illicit Halloween chocolate I've had is to blame. The dribbling isn't helping - we have some definite movement in the toothypeg department now.

We still have our stray cat. We call him Wally Walter, and he is such an affectionate cat.

Of course, we still have six indoor cats and two insane dogs too. One of those insane dogs is cowering at my feet in response to the fireworks.

So let's see if we can keep this up!

10 weeks

2008-10-05T14:16:00.003Z

As usual, I'm a little behind on this. The Little Lady is now 10 weeks old, and has honed her Yoda impersonation to perfection. As you can see....

She smiles all day long now. She's such a little charmer - she smiles at me as soon as she wakes up in the morning and doesn't stop all day. She's not giggled properly yet, but I think she is working on it. We're blessed to have such a happy baby.

Of course, as I typed that, she woke up and started shrieking. I must remember to touch wood a bit more often!

She's reached the dizzy heights of 10lbs. I can feel the differnce in her weight from when she was first born. Those tiny newborn clothes look so small now. They are ready to go up in the loft should I find the time to actually go up there.

We had a small mishap out shopping this week. I dropped a boxed pork joint on her head. Accidentally, of course. My poor baby was fast asleep in her pushchair when she was suddenly woken by a piece of pig smacking her on the bounce. She woke with a silent scream, turned bright red and promptly fell asleep. She didn't make a sound.

I had to laugh.

Busy busy busy

2008-09-30T20:19:00.002Z

It's been a whirlwind here.

The Boy is getting ready to start secondary school. This involves viewing the local schools, lots of angst over where friends may be going and trying to understand catchment areas and entrance requirements.

He's coping with it all very well, and has finally decided on a school that he likes. I'm so proud of him - he has considered what he wants in a school and has looked for it without blindly wanting to go where his friends are going. As it turns out, the school he wants is one that few of his friends will be going to but specialises in subjects he enjoys and wants to pursue.

The Little Lady accompanied us on the tours. She was a real crowd pleaser, and taking her ensured we got to talk to all the teachers!

On top of that, we've all had colds. For the Baron and I, this is not a big deal. An annoyance, but nothing more. When it comes to Little Lady, however, it is a big deal. The poor little thing hasn't been able to sleep or eat properly and has been thoroughly miserable.

She's getting better now, and has done little more than eat and sleep today. Well, that and a couple of spectacularly bad nappies! I suspect that this was the real reason for her grizzliness last week, and not an issue with my milk. This cheers me up no end, and I'm pleased to say that she is enjoying 100% breast milk again.

I'm limiting dairy. I don't think it is a real culprit, but it won't hurt for me to eat less dairy anyway. Her skin has cleared up immensely, although it doesn't seem to take much to get it to flare again so we are watching it carefully.

And she's just rolled over for the first time! I just checked on her, and she is over! My little baby is definitely not so little anymore.

Crying over spilt milk

2008-09-26T15:52:00.002Z

I gave the Little Lady formula today.

It broke my heart to do it. She's refused breast milk all day, and screamed herself hoarse when I've offered. She was starting to show signs of dehydration and she's not slept for longer than 40 mins at a time.

Now she's in her cot cooing to herself and slowly going to sleep, and I'm sat crying with breasts full of milk she doesn't want or seem to tolerate. And the only way to get rid of it is to use the bloody pump.

I don't know what to do now. I've eliminated dairy from my diet, but I'm only on the second day of that. Do I continue to try and give her breast milk knowing that it may be making her ill and causing her distress, or do I formula feed for a few days and freeze the milk I continue to pump for when she is older?

Or do I give up? I was prepared to pump if I had to. I was prepared to eliminate food from my diet if I had to. I wasn't prepared for both, nor for her simply refusing it. How far do I want to go when formula is a viable option?

Overwhelmed

2008-09-23T18:58:00.002Z

I'm feeling a tad overwhelmed right now. To be honest, I think most of it stems from the pumping. I'm on the damn thing every two hours (when I can fit it in) in the day and at least twice during the night. I don't feel like I can give my best to the Little Lady by doing this for much longer - she's awake more in the day and pumping is not fun for her.

On top of that, the Little Lady has a recurrent skin infection that causes her pain when it flares. And she is starting to teeth. We also have her first round of jabs to look forward. All this means my previously content and happy baby is incredibly fractious.

My house is falling apart because I can't keep up with it being on the pump all day. I'm not being the pet owner I should either (and as you probably know, we have a stray that pretty much lives here now as well) and I barely get to see the Boy any more. He is on the verge of expulsion because he keeps escaping from school and I don't feel I'm helping him enough.

I go to a breastfeeding support group. I started crying in the middle of the meeting because everyone could breastfeed except me. I had to whip out my bottle instead. I'm scared I'll start to get annoyed with my own baby because she just won't latch on. There are some days I think I'm ok with it and can accept that I need to pump if I want her to have breast milk, and then clearly there are days that I am not. Today is a not and I cannot stomach the idea of giving her any formula.

I wanted to cloth nappy. I've managed one, and I've only just washed that. I just can't do much of anything if I want to keep up exclusively pumping. Which I do. I just wanted to cloth nappy as well.

And I go back to work in 8 weeks time. I don't want to, but we've had so many unexpected costs that I have to. We're now short on money as it is. We're not desperate, but we are shorter than we anticipated and so have to watch very carefully exactly what leaves our bank account.

Hadron

2008-09-18T17:24:00.004Z

It appears the LHC experiment had some unexpected results that the media have not been reporting on. The machine was switched on last Wednesday, and a definite black hole was been observed in our back garden.

The black hole is mounted on four legs, is covered in white flecked black fur and scabs, and appears with regularity whenever more food is required.

This handsome gentleman is absolutely ravenous (and is also very charming). He first found the Baron out in the garage (where he was working on his latest project). We keep our cat food out there - with six cats, we buy in bulk - and the Baron took pity on his starving companion.

He has been a permanent fixture ever since. The Baron is adamant that we aren't bringing him, yet every evening he feeds him and brings him in for a snuggle on the sofa. He says he just feels sorry for him....

He is a very trusting cat. He is clearly used to humans, as he wanders in the door whenever he gets the chance and makes himself very comfortable. He doesn't mind the dogs either (although they are terrified of him), and he has met several of our cats. Frankie seems to think Hadron is his reflection, but Frankie has never been the smartest of kitties. Ellie isn't impressed, but she hasn't tried to attack him yet.

The real test will be the other four cats. Those four have lived on the streets and bear the scars to prove it. If they accept him, we will have a new cat.

Seven weeks old!

2008-09-14T17:52:00.003Z

I've been dreadfully lax in keeping a record of the Little Lady's development. Finding the time is hard - between pumping, baby care, animal care, eating and just gazing at her I'm all but out of time. It makes me sad, because there is so much that I know I will forget and I don't want to forget any of it.

She's smiling a lot these days. She has the most beautiful smile that lights up her face, and lights up my heart. I can't believe she is here. A friend who also dealt with infertility was saying that it wasn't so much that she couldn't believe that her baby was hers, but that she couldn't believe that she was his. I completely understand what she means. I could love any baby that was placed in my arms, but I am Little Lady's and hers alone.

Her hair is really growing. Her head still feels like a soft fuzzy peach, but there is definite length at the nape of her sweet neck. I love just stroking her head and inhaling her scent. Sadly I can detect a faint whiff of maple syrup, which comes from the large amounts of fenugreek I'm taking for lactation support, but she has the most delectable baby smell.

She is currently battling a recurrent skin infection. We've just chased it out of her neck, but there are still a few spots behind her ears that look like they may flare again. I don't want to go down the antibiotic route again if we can help it because it was just so difficult getting them in to her.

We've even had a couple of giggles out of her. The Baron spends the evening dancing and singing for her, and she adores it. It makes me laugh too :)

She reached 9 lbs at her weight check on Thursday. I'm still exclusively pumping for her, and it was such a boost to see what progress we're making. Pumping is hard work. I'm proud to say that we've got 4 feeds in the fridge ready for her and there are approximately 80oz in the freezer now. It isn't a lot, but it is a start. I'm taking More Milk Plus, fenugreek, agnus castus and domperidone to help with supply. Sometimes I feel like I should rattle with all the tablets I take....

We still haven't moved to the cloth nappies. I really want to, but I can't find the time to wash our clothes as it is so I'm loathe to add even more to my washing pile. I suspect that I'll have to save cloth nappying until I wean or if we are lucky enough to have a second child.

I thought my period returned at 5 weeks. I'm not so sure - I think the pumping is not quite enough to suppress them totally, but enough to prevent a clear return. The next few months should be interesting! Neither of us mind conceiving again soon, but I would like a little more time to recover from pregnancy and enjoy my little newborn.

My pump is beckoning. Again.

One month old

2008-08-27T16:47:00.004Z

Time is flying by.

Little Lady is chunking up beautifully, and it is solely down to Mummy's Magical Milking Machine and the Boobie Juice. She has cheek and leg chub now!

I'm still pumping every two hours for her. I had a few days off for mental reasons and sore nipples, but I'm back on track. We have eight feeds in the fridge now, and today I froze my first bag of milk.

Bath time is a very popular time of day here. We always have bubbles, and today, we amused ourselves by giving her bubble hair and taking pictures.

She didn't care, as she likes nothing better than to lean back in the warm water and relax. She takes after her Mum there. The farting is all her Dad, however.

We're still waking every three to four hours in the night. I'm a little more used to it, and I find myself waking up just before she does. It gives me time to prepare her bottle and have a quick drink before she launches into full on crying. I've managed to get feeding her, changing her and settling her down to under half an hour now, which means I can then pump and be back in the Land of Nod in around an hour.

We went to our first breastfeeding support group. I didn't want to go, since I'm pumping and not actually breastfeeding, but my Health Visitor talked me into it. I'm glad we went - the ladies were really supportive of my decision to pump and it was nice to get out and about. Little Lady slept through most of it, and didn't seem particularly enamoured with the other babies. The little boy next to us seemed to like her, however....

She is so alert now. She tracks people across the room, and is starting to reach out for things that interest her. She loves her flashing star that plays music, and she likes her caterpillar rattle as well. She isn't so fond of the characters on her travel cot, but she watches them when the wind blows them.

I can hear stirrings from her cot. I feel a cuddle coming on....

Three weeks old!

2008-08-16T19:16:00.004Z

Little Lady is in the midst of a growing spurt. She was weighed yesterday by the Health Visitor, and came in at a whopping seven pounds and five ounces!

I'm still pumping. Whilst she doesn't reject my breast immediately, the best we've managed to date is one minute of breastfeeding in one go followed by some grizzling. It is an improvement on her spitting my nipple out immediately and screaming the house down, so I still have some hope that I can persuade her to take some meals from the tap. I don't mind if she takes some bottles, but I'd love to experience some breastfeeding.

The pumping is hard work. Right now, I'm pumping every two hours whilst awake and whenever she wakes in the night (thankfully she usually only wakes the once), and I've managed to get two feeds ahead of her since I got my new electric double pump.

I had been using a manual pump, which was working reasonably well but was hard work and time consuming. Now I can get more milk in half the time, so it was a worthwhile investment for me. I'm hoping I will be in a position to start creating a freezer stash of milk in the near future, but that will take some time given the amount she is eating right now.

She can hold her head up briefly already and rolls to her side with relative ease. She is a very content baby, and just loves to watch the world go by - more so from someone's arms, but she is quite happy in her cot as well.

The dogs love her. Both have to have a sniff and a lick of her in the morning when we come down, and Lila in particular watches over her. She sits next to her cot most of the day, and when Little Lady has a rare cry, Lila runs around crying herself until I've soothed the baby.

The Baron and I are really loving having her. Parenthood is everything we'd hoped it would be and we've never been happier.

Samson

2008-08-10T16:00:00.006Z

The birth of my daughter will forever be linked for my family with the early, and unexpected death of Samson.

Samson was my parent's rottweiler, and the uncle of my own Darth Lila. He was the most laid back dog in the world, although he was possibly also the most stubborn. Although he lived with my parent's, he was my dog just as much as theirs. I adored him. We all did.

He had been a little off colour that week. Zach and Lila were staying over, since we knew Little Lady would be arriving any time that week, and he didn't want to play with them. He preferred to sit away from them and watch.

On the Friday, he visited the vet. He had a small spot of blood in his eye and he was still out of sorts. The vet thought it was probably nothing to worry about and advised that he be kept quiet and not tear around with the other dogs.

We will never know exactly what happened that night. Sam appeared to have collapsed just as he got to his sleeping spot at the bottom of the stairs, and he died where he fell. My father came down to find his, and our, beloved pet dead where he usually greeted him.

The vet was contacted to collect his body. I was unable to leave the hospital to say goodbye to our first rottweiler, our pet of six and a half years, which is something I still can't come to terms with.

I got a phonecall from my sister shortly after I woke up, still radiant with the joy of finally having my long awaited daughter in my arms. I went from joy to despair with just two words. Samson died.

My parents house is so empty without its big stubborn occupant, and his "brother", Harry moons around with no-one to play with.

There is no need to split the toast crusts in half, or to split an apple core for them to share. There is no big black blob with a lolloping tongue and cocked ear stopping you getting in the house because he wants a fuss.

I'll always miss him, and I will always remember him.

Two weeks old!

2008-08-08T16:22:00.001Z

Little Lady is a little piggy! She is now 6 pounds 12 ounces!

She dropped to 6 pounds when she was 5 days old, and we were told that she should have regained her birth weight of 6 pounds 2 by today as she is 2 weeks old.

Well, she has been eating like the Hungry Caterpillar (I'm struggling with supply right now since I'm pumping and we've had to resort to a bottle of formula once a day - I just bought a Pump in Style to hopefully make my life easier since I'm currently pumping manually), and she was weighed today as the Health Visitor came round.

She's on the 9th centile for weight and the 25th for height - she was 49cm at birth and today she measured in at 51cm. So I guess the boobie juice is doing something good!

She also crapped on her Daddy today :)

One week old

2008-08-01T14:49:00.000Z

Little Lady is a whole week old!

It has been the most amazing and exhausting week of my life :) We both just spend hours gazing at her and wondering how we got so lucky as to have such a perfect little daughter. I could stroke that fuzzy little head of hers all day long.

We aren't breastfeeding. Emily will not suck, and will scream herself hoarse if I try to put her on. At the last count, we have had six midwives and two lactation consultants visit us to see if they can help, but so far nothing has. So I am exclusively pumping for her and she is enjoying her boobie milk in a bottle. We're both a lot calmer now we aren't struggling with the breast every feed.

I'm getting about 50-60ml every three hours right now which is nicely meeting her needs. She is feeding every couple of hours now so I'm working on boosting my supply to keep up with her, although I will supplement with formula if I absolutely have to.
I was a weepy mess the day my milk came in. I think I spent most of it sobbing in my bedroom. I was a little better the day after and I think I'm almost under control now, but I still feel like I could weep at the drop of a hat.

My stitches seem to be healing nicely. They were pretty sore to start with and I had a few incidents of getting up and down awkwardly that was pretty painful, but on the whole I've been really lucky with my healing. I still have a massive bruise from my drip (both the insertion point and the path of the needle down my vein when I was hanging onto the bed for dear life) and my epidural but otherwise I'm fine. The state of my pelvic floor scares me though!! I am doing a LOT of exercises.

The Baron is doing my raving nana :) He is such a doting dad, but he is very overprotective and is struggling with how he feels about all the animals with her in the house. He also lacks confidence in handling her as he wasn't that involved in the Boy's early life and hasn't dealt with newborns before.

What else? Her stump fell off today, which is fab. Oh, she was weighed two days ago and had only lost 2 ounces, taking her to a tiny 6 pounds even. None of her newborn clothes fit and my Mum and sister made an emergency shopping trip to buy her tiny baby clothes. Today she is in a first size dress and it swamps her. It is still bloody cute, though.

She sleeps very well and last night we got two separate stretches of 4 hour sleep out of her. I don't mind her crying anyway since she looks like a pissed off alien when she cries and she makes the funniest little noises when she gets pissed off.

I'm also back to my pre-pregnancy weight now, and am in all my old clothes. They are also getting a tad loose - it is scary how quickly the weight is coming off, but the pumping and not finding time to sit and eat is no doubt helping.

The animals are pretty much used to her now. Frankie alternates between rabid curiosity and sheer terror when he sees her, and Willow thinks she is her baby. The others don't care. I don't think Zach has even realised she is here, and Lila is being clingy and protective although she is very gentle when she is around.

Emily is delightful. She grows more alert with every day that passes. And of course, more beautiful.

We have a baby!

2008-07-27T15:12:00.003Z

This was one of the last pictures I took of my bump. Well, one of the last ones that I actually like. This was taken at about 38 weeks.

On the Monday night (the 21st) I had what I thought was a small leak of fluid. I did as I was told and put a pad on to see if it repeated, and it didn't. So I decided to leave it that night. A few hours later, I felt a pop in my belly and more fluid leaking. I was really excited, but since something similar had happened at 37 weeks and no baby had arrived, I decided to wait until morning before deciding what I should do.

The next morning, we went to the Maternal and Foetal Assessment unit to be checked - we decided that it would be better to be checked rather than risk leaving it. They couldn't find any evidence that my waters had gone, and I wasn't contracting so they gave me a sweep and sent me on my merry way.

The next day, I was not feeling any different. Until I stood up to get a drink and a absolutely gushed fluid. I made a huge puddle that sent the dogs running! I was so excited! We went to the midwives to check what was going on, and yet again they said there was no evidence that my waters had gone. They thought I might have just peed myself instead. Since I'd only been to the toilet 5 minutes before it had happened, I didn't think so, but the lack of any pooling liquor made them hesitate to note it as SROM.

However, they decided that they should as it was the second time in as many days that I'd thought my waters had gone, and I was given 24 hours to go into labour myself. I was given an induction date of the following day.

5AM on Thursday (the day of my induction) I woke up to strong and regular contractions at 9 minutes apart. I was so excited! We decided the best thing to do was to go to the hospital as planned and I could be checked over . If it looked like spontaneous labour then I could go home and have my home birth.

What they didn't tell us was that once we were checked in, we couldn't leave because of the deemed risk of infection. So once booked in, we were stuck there until I had her. Still, the other girls on the antenatal ward were lovely and we all got on well. Three of us were in for induction (two were 40+14) and I was SROM.

They also didn't tell us that there was a massive influx of women and the labour ward was full. No inductions were being done as there were no beds and no midwives for anything other than spontaneous labours. So I spent the Thursday contracting and stuck in hospital. It wasn't too bad, but the contractions started to pick up and I started to use my TENS machine for pain relief.

The highlight of that Thursday for me was the Baron. He stayed with me for nearly the whole day, only nipping home to pick something up I'd forgotten. In his optimism, he changed into a suit and shaved to ensure that he would look nice and smart for the delivery room photo's!

One of the induction girls went into labour in the early hours of the morning. She woke us up shrieking (her entire labour from start to finish was 41 mins and she was in the bed next to me for most of it - that had me scared!!) and that was when I realised how uncomfortable I was. The contractions weren't any more frequent but they were strong. I needed my TENS machine again to go back to sleep.

I was checked the next morning and was 2cm dilated. There were still no beds and the only pain relief offered was paracetamol. At this point, I'd been contracting fairly hard every 9 mins for 24 hours and I ended up yelling at the midwife to let me go home if there was no chance of anything being done. She ordered a scan to check fluid levels as she didn't believe my waters had gone and then she could send me home (and boot me off the induction list).

Somewhere in the next 15 minutes my contractions went from every 9 minutes to every 2 and really started to hurt. I managed to stay still during my scan, which showed I had no fluid left at all (I felt so vindicated at that point!). I was helped back to my bed, and the midwives ran me a bath to help with the pain.

Frankly, I didn't find the bath helpful at all so I got out and went back. The doctor checked me and said I was still 2cm but she wanted to monitor me. I couldn't cope with being on my back and kept rolling around and messing up the monitors. I kept ripping them off and moving to a more comfy position and ended up fighting with the new midwife (we called her Miss Trunchbull). I also kept running off to the toilet (both to cry and to try (and fail) to crap!)- a clear sign that in retrospect should have told me I was in real labour.

The Baron was great about rubbing my back on demand. I needed really hard counter pressure to even start to deal with the pain, and he was fantastic at providing that.

The doctor came back and checked me after 10 minutes of writhing on the bed and said I was now 4 cm. They rolled me some gas and air in whilst they got me a bed in labour ward. That stuff was fantastic - I was puffing away on it, then I'd fall asleep and forget and then have a massive contraction that I couldn't control! After that happened a few times, I got a bit better about not breathing on it constantly, but since everything hurt it was hard to take the advice to only breath on a pain seriously.

They finally came to take me round to labour ward and asked if I wanted any other pain relief. I yelled I was having an epidural NOW and they just laughed at me. I hadn't planned to have on, but the contractions were so coming so thick and fast that I didn't think I could take hours of them. I remember that I was having a contraction when they came to tell me I had a bed, and I simply couldn't move. I puffed on my gas and air and then I RAN for the labour ward as soon as my contraction ended so I could get to the gas and air in the labour ward in time for the next contraction. Enormously pregnant women can run when the need arises!

I went round to the labour ward and had a drip put in (I needed antibiotics since my waters had been broken more than 24 hours), and the anaethetist was ready and waiting. It took him around 45 minutes to get it in successfully, but I had my trusty gas and air and we made it through. The Baron was really great - he held me still and helped me breath through the pains. Once it was in (it was a mobile one) I told my midwife I was going to the loo. He offered me a catheter, and I told him where to stick it. It wasn't in me. He asked what I wanted to do, and when I said I didn't just need to pee, he said he would have to check me first.

My epidural hadn't even kicked in when he told me I was fully dilated! He said he'd give me an hour of passive so I could rest, but I got the urge to push on the next contraction and there was nothing I could do. It hurt more to fight it. So he checked me and gave me the all clear to start pushing when I wanted to.

Pushing was hard, and according to my notes was 45 minutes long. I had no idea how much time passed but it felt a lot shorter than that. The pressure was just incredible and I retreated into myself whilst pushing to cope. I thought I was fairly noisy, but apparently I barely made a sound until I was crowning. The baby had some decels towards the end and I had to really push to get her out. She also passed meconium.

At 19:39 our beautiful little daughter Emily May was born, weighing in at a diddly little 6 pounds 2 ounces. It was a beautiful moment for all of us.

In the end I ended up with a second degree tear which involved some nifty needle work. And the anaesthetic I had didn't take full effect so I felt most of the repair work. That was probably the worst bit, but I had my beloved gas and air back :) I console myself with the thought that I did just push a baby out and I didn't actually feel the tear (one of my biggest fears).

We had some skin to skin contact as soon as she was born (despite the fact that not only did she pass meconium, she crapped on me as soon as she was passed to me, and of course I may have had a little birth accident!), then the Baron cut her cord. I had the jab to bring on the placenta, and then the new Daddy had a nice long cuddle whilst I was stitched up.

As soon as I was stitched up, I reminded the midwife that I still needed the toilet. He offered a bedpan, but I was desperate to actually get up off the bed and so I decided I'd walk there instead. He was a tad surprised, but he offered me his arm and walked me round. It wasn't as painful as I feared at all, but the amount of blood did scare me.

We walked back, and he took me into the wrong delivery room. Thankfully, the couple in the room I wandered into had also had their baby and I didn't witness what I'd just been through!

The Baron was still holding Emily whilst I had my post birth tea and toast, and continued to hold her when I was wheeled through to have a much needed shower. It did make me laugh, because I'd just walked to and from the same room to use the toilet yet I had to be wheeled for a shower!

Little Lady did not take to the breast in the delivery room. She was very sleepy. I wish we'd tried a little harder at that point, but we were all tired and we were taken off to the post natal ward to get some much needed rest.

We ended up staying in for two nights, since we were under observations due to the meconuim and the length of time my waters were gone. We had some jaundice, feeding problems and temperature regulation problems, but these were resolved enough for us to go home on Sunday.

Growing ever larger and other things

2008-05-28T10:20:00.010Z

I'm not joking:

See?

I must explain that the Baron had said something very rude, hence the bizarre expression on my face. I don't routinely look like that! That picture was taken over two weeks ago, but it is my favourite and I don't have any really nice ones of my current size.

I've been signed off work with SPD. I have to admit it is a relief to be done, and the reduction in my driving and general wandering around clutching files has certainly helped to reduce the pain in my pelvis.

And for your viewing pleasure, a few other pictures I took:

A Paddington Bear quilt. We both adore Paddington, and the Baron had his own quilt set when he was young. I used to have Paddington Bear wallpaper, so this has special meaning to us both.

Every girl needs a pair of jelly shoes. 'Nuff said.

Teh cuteness!!

Part of the nappy stash. We decided to go for cloth nappies, and we decided that we didn't want to use all in one's because they don't hold up as well in the long term (since the whole nappy goes in the washer). Hopefully, we'll have other children to use these as well so it would be better if they lasted!

I couldn't resist. Zach Attack! was crying outside the room whilst I was taking pictures. He isn't actually allowed upstairs, but when this is downstairs:

you can understand his reluctance to be downstairs with her. Darth Lila has a skin infection and is wearing her lightshade to prevent her from removing her own face. She has my sympathy - after the issues I had in Jamaica last year, I fully understand how rotten she much feel, but I admit that that sympathy can become strained when she bangs her cone into my legs in an attempt to both get some love and to remove it.

And just to be fair to all the household critters:

That is what six cats on a bed looks like. To be honest, it is pretty rare that all six sleep together like that. Three or four is normal, five is not uncommon but all six? Incredible!

Musings from my hotel room

2008-05-06T17:25:00.002Z

I'm a few days shy of 30 weeks. How on earth did THAT happen?

I remember holding that test with a second line and being totally shocked. 26 weeks later, that shock hasn't entirely subsided.

I feel her moving every day. She gets the hiccups a fair bit at the moment, which always makes me laugh. I can sit for hours and watch the ripples of her movement across my belly. I've seen her on ultrasound and I've heard her beautiful heartbeat on every occasion that we've tried.

Yet I still can't quite believe that we'll be having a baby in around 10 weeks.

We have a whole room sorted now. She has a cot, a Moses basket, a wardrobe to be proud of, cloth nappies, bedding, toys, a swing, a pramette and a car seat. Most of which has been tested by a deranged black cat only too pleased to help out.

But it still doesn't feel real. I wonder when it will....

Heffalumping along

2008-04-30T14:33:00.001Z

Spot the baby bump

2008-04-09T19:34:00.000Z

More musical musings

2008-03-28T18:30:00.004Z

I was forced to learn the recorder when I was four. I was too disruptive in reading lessons as I was already a good reader, and the school dealt with that by sending me to play the recorder with the 10 year olds. I loved it. That was when I was first exposed to the piano.

When I was five, I decided that I wanted to learn the piano. I was adamant; however, my parents were not so sure that five was a good age to start. I badgered and badgered, and eventually. when I was six, they agreed I could start lessons.

My school at the time offered trial music lessons. They didn't have any space left on the piano session, but they did have on the violin. I had no interest in that, but I did it anyway because there was a piano in that room.

I barely remember that lesson. I remember standing on the other side of the room watching the teacher play the piano and thinking that is what I want to do. I don't remember touching the violin.

I do remember breaking my arm in two places the following day when I fell off the bars in gymnastics (another class my school offered).

I had surgery, I came home, and I remained in a full arm plaster for a whole year. Clearly, music lessons were out. I learned to knit instead, and I helped the babies with their reading in lunch breaks.

When my plaster came off, my arm was very weak. To this day, my right arm is marginally weaker than my left and I have residual tendon damage from where the tendons were damaged by the break. However, I immediately began asking for piano lessons again. By now I was seven.

My parents relented. My grandmother bought me my very own piano and I was finally off.

It was everything I had dreamed it would be. I loved it. I practiced diligently, played many concerts, and just had a great time playing. I would come home from school and throw myself into practice.

When I was nine, I had the chance to also learn the clarinet. That was when I realised what my true love was. I still enjoyed the piano, but the clarinet was an extension of me.

I carried on taking lessons in both - I took all my exams, played more concerts and even went on tour. And I dreamed of playing the clarinet professionally.

But it unravelled when I was 16. My beloved piano teacher was diagnosed with a brain tumour. He was a great guy, and I looked forward to my lessons every week. He really challenged me, and he understood my style of playing. But as he grew frailer, my lessons were cancelled with depressing frequency. He recommended a new teacher, and gave me suggestions as to who I might work well with. He died shortly after he gave me his list. I was devastated.

My next teacher wasn't a great fit. He was a really nice guy, but he didn't offer a challenge. I started to lose interest, for the first time. I had a very bad bout of food poisoning just after this, and wasn't able to leave my bed for a month. I was really quite unwell. Piano playing was impossible, let alone travelling to my lessons.

I stopped taking piano lessons at this point. It was months before I felt strong enough to do more than go to school and come home, and I decided to concentrate on the clarinet and on my school exams - at this point I had decided that I would like to try to get into medical school. Instead of piano lessons, I had additional tutoring in chemistry. I'd like to say it helped, but I'll just point out that I am a qualified accountant, not a doctor and leave you to draw your own conclusions!

So I continued with my clarinet studies. I still adored the instrument. However, I wasn't so enamoured with my teacher. I still had the same teacher I had when I started. She was a nice woman, but she didn't come close to being as good a teacher as my previous piano teacher. He encouraged me to explore the music, to find my own style and my own interpretation, and he worked with my style to find the best music for me. Whereas, with my clarinet teacher, I felt I was playing the music she loved in the style she thought it should be played in.

And then I discovered alcohol :)

I started to go out more with friends from school. As it happened, they were also in the same band that I played it, so when I went on tour, so did they. That was the last straw, as far as my clarinet playing went.

We were not permitted to buy duty free (which still existed in the EU at this time), despite being legally allowed to. We were not allowed to drink or smoke - both of which were legal in the country we visited, and the restrictions proved too alluring.

I left the band after our return, and I didn't see my teacher again. My teacher was disappointed in my behaviour and I was too angry with hers to want to continue.

So ended my musical career.

I do regret it.

I was very good. Not to sound arrogant, but I was good. If I had continued, I would have been able to attend music school. Instead, I drank my way through a biomedical science degree and then became an accountant.

I don't regret those decisions in the slightest as I enjoyed my time at university and I love my current job, but I often wonder what could have been. The only thing I regret is not continuing with my music. I still miss it.

I play the piano infrequently now. I'm not anywhere as good as I used to be, and I find that hard to listen too. Clearly the dogs do, since they don't like me playing. The cats aren't too fond of my clarinet playing either, and it isn't the same without accompaniment. I've been playing the bass guitar on and off for a couple of years as well. I can play along to the radio now, and that has been fun. But I miss just being able to sit down and lose myself in music the way I used to.

I hope Little Lady can find as much enjoyment in music as I used to. Even if it doesn't last!

Musical tastes

2008-03-21T20:32:00.001Z

I've been experimenting with music for the Little Lady. She seems to enjoy my normal car music (usually indie or rock) well enough given her kicking and wriggling but I don't see myself being able to calm her to sleep with that in the future :)

So I've been playing the piano to her. Beethoven, Mozart, Bach and Mendelsohn seem ok - she wriggles a bit, jazz gets no reaction at all (I'm glad because jazz is not my style) and baroque was met with a little kick.

However.....I found out after an afternoon of playing she adores the Maple Leaf Rag. Every single time I play it she goes crazy in there. However, I can't play the whole thing. I used to be able to, but it has been a while since I seriously practiced mainly because the dogs when puppies would howl and it pissed the neighbours off. Plus Darth Lila ate my copy of the Maple Leaf Rag...

She likes it when I play it on the computer, but if I play it on the piano you can actually see her moving in there! I guess I need to go buy the music again, and get practicing.

I don't think I'll play the clarinet to her. I'm not going to have enough time to start really practicing that as well!

So much for a holiday

2008-03-19T17:05:00.002Z

I have a stinking cold. I don't think it is the flu because other than yesterday I've not been so drained that I can't do anything. Yesterday was BAD.

I've not felt this bad since 1995 (ironically about a week after the Baron and I started to go out) when I got tonsillitis, a sinus infection and an ear infection all at once. That was dire. But this is pretty much on a par with that.

The main problem is that there is so little I can take right now to alleviate it. I can't sleep because I can't swallow and I can't breathe, so I toss and turn all night. Little Lady doesn't like that too much and kicks the shit out of me all night. That is a great feeling - don't get me wrong, but since I've also pulled all my stomach muscles from coughing so much it is also a little painful right now.

So I feel very sorry for myself. It's pathetic really.

Random stuff

2008-03-17T17:38:00.007Z

Just a few more pictures:

This is Little Lady's cot. It used to belong to the Boy, a fact of which he is very proud, but it was delivered here not too long ago. The mobile was also the Boy's, and he helped pick out the bedding set. Hanging on the end is a swaddling blanket with giraffes on.

I fell in love with that as soon as I saw it. It is so cute! The purple thing you can see is the bag that the Boy carried our wedding rings in when we got married - he was our Zombie Henchman.

The Boy picked out this top because he thought I'd like it. He was very right!

This is a party dress for Little Lady. I expect her first party will be the Boy's 10th birthday, which should be not long after her birth (less so if I go late - I was three weeks late myself so I'm not optimistic that I will go anywhere near my due date). I think she will look pretty cute in this.

We are planning a trip to Jamaica again next February, and we didn't think it would be too easy getting a swimming costume then. So we bought one today!

This is the mobile hanging over her changing mat. We bought that on our honeymoon in the Maldives for this very reason. It has been in storage a while!

Her changing mat. I suspect the cats will enjoy sleeping on there if they ever find the door open.

A ladybird rain mac. Every little girl needs one!

Two little bolero tops to go over baby grows. I have a lot of boy and gender neutral stuff so hopefully these will help show she is all girl.

Another cute pink outfit!

I was given this.

Just in case there was any doubt!

21w5d

2008-03-13T20:19:00.005Z

Time is just flying by. We had our scan yesterday. This was my favourite picture - it was the first thing we saw and it is just the cutest little yawn ever. The Baron and I were convinced that we saw boy bits. However, the tech took a peek between the legs, and confirmed that we can't read ultrasound scans at all and we are in fact going to have a little girl!

So say hello to Emily May:

Emily isn't the only one to have grown either:

That was taken at 17 weeks. Now look at this!

Food glorious food

2008-02-04T21:23:00.000Z

I'm eating for England. It is shocking how hungry I am these days, all the more so given my eight weeks of being completely repelled by food. I just can't get enough to eat.

I'm pleased to say that I'm still below my pre-pregnancy weight despite the constant scoffing, but it really is a matter of time before the scale starts creeping back up. I don't mind putting weight on at all, but I admit I would like to make sure the gain is reasonable and not because I have no self control in the face of overwhelming hunger!

The eating is doing something. My bump is growing nicely.

The less than prodigal blogger returns! Again! From yet another long absence!

2008-01-22T13:56:00.000Z

Hi.

When I wrote my last post I had no plans to stop blogging. However, I fell into somewhat of a funk that week and blogging was the last thing on my mind.

We'd had a great break in Paris, but things were difficult. It was hard to get back into the swing of work, our second wedding anniversary was fast approaching and along with it, the harsh reality that we still hadn't managed to conceive. And it was coming up to our deadline to go back to the doctor to have more infertility investigations.

And so I retreated into myself. I wasn't a very happy person, and I wasn't feeling too good.

I had been feeling somewhat peculiar for days. Tired, nauseous, and emotional. At this time, I had a crash on the motorway - my tyre had burst, forcing me to "drive" into the road-works to avoid a more serious accident. I put down feeling ill to the shock of that.

However, when I nearly fainted at work mid afternoon, and after I wanted to throw up after eating a plain omelette, I was beginning to wonder if in fact I should test. It didn't seem possible that feeling that ill should be related to a car crash.

Testing has always been stressful. The disappointment, month after month, of seeing that one lonely line builds up and makes what should be an exciting time a mere chore. With that in mind, I wondered whether I should bother, despite the strangeness of the symptoms. After all, I had been disappointed enough.

I was pondering whether I should test all the way home from that visit, and decided I would leave it up to fate. If I saw a car registration plate with EPT (early pregnancy test), HPT (home pregnancy test) or BFP (big fat positive), I would test.

Of course, I didn’t see any of those. What did I see? BFN (big fat negative). The story of my life so far. However, it made me laugh and I decided I would test anyway.

And test I did. I performed the test, and went downstairs to deal with the cats. And I forgot about the test. That is just how confident I was that it would be negative.

The Baron came home late that night, and asked in passing whether I had tested yet. I said that I had but I’d forgotten about it. I said I assumed it was negative based on my gut feeling and that my period would start in the next few days. He was disappointed, but resigned. After all, we’d been here many times.

I went to bed, and just before I turned the lamp out, I had a quick peek. And there was a faint line. Now, most people would probably get excited at that point, but since I’ve had evaporation lines before it wasn’t as exciting as it might have been to someone newer to the process. So I put the test away and went to sleep. I really and truly did not think that it meant anything.

I woke up early the next morning. Whilst I hadn’t been temping for the last few cycles, I decided that in light of the line last night I’d just see whether I had a high temperature or not. I did.

So I went to the bathroom, test in hand. I didn’t plan on wasting that test if my period had already started (I believe that the mere thought of testing can in fact bring a period on) so I peed in my special testing glass. Once I realised that my period hadn’t in fact started, I dipped the test and waited.

And to my intense shock, a second line appeared almost immediately! Words cannot express what I felt at that moment. It was sheer shock combined with disbelief combined with amazement combined with joy. I started crying and ran into the bedroom. Poor Baron had only had four hours sleep at this point (the curse of middle shift) but I shook him awake and told him to look. He managed to pry his eyes open and glance at it. He was wide awake immediately.

Of course, everyone dreams that their partner will immediately be over the moon, but the Baron’s first reaction was shock. Given my own level of surprise, it wasn’t exactly unexpected.

We decided that I should take another just to make sure it wasn’t a defective test. To be sure, I took another two – different brands. Those lines came immediately and were clear. No squinting, bright lights, tilting or other optical tricks were needed. They were as clear as day, and were simply the most beautiful sight.

I was pregnant. 3 weeks and 6 days, to be precise.

The plan was to hold off telling people until Christmas. It seemed like a sensible idea, but in reality I lasted all of two hours. I just couldn’t hold the news in. I’d waited so long for this that I had to share it. Our parents were excited, as were our friends and other family members. This news had been long in coming,

I tested again at 4 weeks. 4 weeks and 1 day. 4 weeks and 2 days. 4 weeks and 3 days. That second line brings an incredible smile to my face even now. Of course I still have all my tests. They are so precious.

I won't bore you with the details of the intervening weeks. I kept a journal for myself, but the main theme was my terror that the pregnancy would end. I struggled a lot with that fear, and since I had the misfortune to be away from home quite a lot in the early weeks, I found it very difficult to think of anything else.

However, a very wise woman told me to enjoy the pregnancy, however scared I felt. That I wouldn't feel any differently if the pregnancy ended and I'd spent it in fear than if I'd enjoyed it. And I think she was right. Realising that did help.

This helped immensely:

This beautiful picture was taken at 12w4d, and Spawn (as the Boy has taken to calling the baby) was measuring right on target.

Today I'm 14w3d. I'm feeling more relaxed now, and I think I felt my first flutter yesterday!

Snippets from my life in a suitcase

2007-10-17T20:55:00.000Z

Paris

Warm. Cloudless blue skies. Leaves of every colour gently floating to the ground.

The outdoor café at the Louvre. Stone angels gazing on as the sun shines on the glass pyramid. The sound of water fountains, coffee cups and quiet chatter. Good coffee and good chocolate. Utter contentment.

A leisurely stroll down the Champs Elysees. A drink by the Seine. Mass at Notre Dame. Candles. Chatting with the rugby fans. Meeting friends. Admiring the view from the Eiffel Tower. An open topped bus tour on a beautiful autumn day.

Margate

A long evening walk on the beach. The twinkling lights of the ships settling down for the night. The moon shining over a still sea. Breakfast on the cliffs.

Emergency medical treatment for a severe allergic reaction to an insect bite. Consolatory chocolate.

Lunch by the beach. An afternoon mocha and cake.

An evening drive through the countryside.

Hastings

A Georgian country house. Dinner in the garden room. Sunset over the trees. A solitary breakfast in the conservatory.

Tea and cake.

Hello

2007-10-07T10:41:00.001Z

Despite the best intentions I could muster, it appears that I haven't been in here in some time.

Looking back over my last post, I can still remember how crushed I was. I can also remember the sheer joy of getting a positive test a few days later, and I don't think I'll ever forget just how sad I was when I started bleeding a few hours later.

So here I am a month later. Still without child, and still surrounded by more animals than any sane person should be.

I'm off to Paris on Friday, so I may even have something interesting to talk about in a few days.

Hope. Vanquished.

2007-09-07T17:33:00.001Z

The last week was a glorious truimph for Hope.

I just knew I was pregnant. I've never been that certain. Granted, I had no proof of it, and I had no reason to hold such a conviction but it was there. And it was wonderful.

As my Hope grew, my chart looked prettier and prettier. My symptoms increased daily. But the Hope was there first, long before the body of evidence developed to give further body to the elusive dream.

Hope was vanquished this morning, but she didn't go quietly.

The sun was shining. I took a test. The lines came up immediately. I was shaking and crying, screaming and yelling and I was so happy. I was so happy I could taste it.

I told the Baron, I told friends in the computer. I was rejoicing in that simple truth shown on a small plastic stick.

However, something wasn't right. I could feel something was wrong but I didn't want to confront it.

The lines were horizontal across the stick.

It wasn't real.

It was a stupid fucking dream.

When I woke up, crying, it was foggy. The heartbreak of realising it wasn't real hadn't quite overtaken the sheer joy I had felt. I decided to test for real. Today was the day I had planned to.

The dream didn't come true.

Hi

2007-08-18T14:26:00.000Z

It goes without saying that I am a terrible blogger. To some degree, this hasn't been my fault. Our computer died again, and my replacement laptop wouldn't let me log in here, so even if I HAD had something to blog about, I wouldn't have been able to.

However, I have had nothing to blog about, so the above mentioned excuse isn't needed.

I am still not pregnant, and I have no new animals in the house. Of course, that changes temporarily next week, as we are dog sitting my parent's creatures. Samson, the uncle of Darth Lila, and Harry Plopper, the brother of Zach Attack!, will be staying with us for a week whilst the rest of my family plays dodge the hurricane. I have taken the week off work to ensure that there is minimal blood spillage and that the house stays reasonably intact.

I fear this is the final nail in the coffin of my sanity. Ten animals in one house.

Other than dealing with animal induced pyschosis, my plans for the week involve some light cleaning, some heavy alcohol consumption and I forgot what I was saying because the window just blew open and scared the crap out of me.

Oh yes, my plans for the week. The front garden is going to die. I am so annoyed that after the hard work we put into it, the bindweed has taken over. I plan on removing as much surface weed as I can, dousing the whole area in super strength weedkiller, and then covering the area with black bags to keep the light out. I've read that will help the weedkiller penetrate to the roots and kill it off more effectively. I've also read the complete opposite, but I like this idea since I don't have to look at the mess every day.

I think those three tasks will keep me out of mischief.

Haze

2007-07-01T19:14:00.000Z

This new job has me running all over the place. The last few weeks have seen me living out of a suitcase and wracking up some impressive mileage. I've not quite been the length and breadth of the country, but frankly, it's only a matter of time.

And as I sit here, with my faithful One Eyed Willy and my loyal Zach Attack!, I mentally start packing supplies for yet another week away from home. This week is the East and the North again.

I vaguely remember my husband and my pets. It's all getting very hazy now......

An average day

2007-06-20T18:40:00.000Z

I wake with a start. Frankie has landed on me and is determinedly head-butting my chin. He will wake me if it is the only thing he successfully achieves today.

I try to push him off, but I can’t. I manage to sit up enough to see that it is four thirty in the morning, and that the reason that my feet aren’t moving is because Ozzie and Willow are each sleeping on one.

I summon all my energy and push him off the bed. He bounces straight back up like a demented Tigger, and makes himself at home on my bladder.

Charlie, awoken by the thud of falling cat, also makes his appearance on the bed. He settles into the crook of my left arm, making sure that his whiskers are positioned straight up my nose.

Holly is pissed off that they got there before her, and starts swearing loudly.

Zach hears the commotion from downstairs and starts barking. He sounds startled, like he was suddenly snatched from a really good dream. There is a note of panic in his bark, which soon dies away as he drifts back to sleep.

The Baron’s snores continue unabated, as do Ellie’s.

Amazingly, despite the noise, and dead weight on my bladder, I drop back into slumber.

The alarm clock comes as a complete shock. Charlie leaps into the air in horror, and sends Willow and Frankie running for cover. Ozzie lifts his head, realises that requires more energy than he has, and goes back to sleep.

A now happy Holly jumps onto the spot that Charlie has made warm. Sadly, I don’t have time to snuggle for long, much as I want to, because my sorely abused bladder can’t last out much longer. I stroke her wonderfully soft fur for a few minutes and reluctantly leave the warmth and comfort of my bed and of my cat.

I stagger, zombie-like, into the bathroom, with Ellie winding herself round my ankles. I count the steps it takes to get there, because I have a bet with myself every morning as to how long it will take Zach to bark. He barked on step eleven. Yesterday it was step eight. He’s slacking.

With the help of my faithful feline friends, I manage to use the bathroom. They accompany back to the bedroom so I can get dressed. I pull on my dog walking clothes and prepare to face the next wave of animal mayhem.

Downstairs, Zach is very much awake. I can hear his cries as I scoop the litter tray and get fresh bowls out for the cats, who are all eagerly awaiting their breakfast. His cries get louder as he listens to me fill the kibble bowl and get the dog bowls ready.

The cats are eating. I watch them for a minute, enjoying the relative peace that will soon be shattered. Ellie is messy when eating. Oz gulps his food down like there is no tomorrow. Willow picks up each biscuit so daintily, hunched over the kibble so no-one can interrupt her. Charlie eyes the kitchen warily, and then starts to lick the jelly off the meat. Holly is on the other side of the kitchen with her private bowl.

Frankie is not eating. He is in the brace position by the living room door and is awaiting the arrival of his best friend.

I go into the living room. Zach is jumping up and down on the spot, unable to contain his excitement that it is a whole new day to spent in fun and mischief. He can’t walk for wagging his tail, and so flings himself in the general direction of the sofa.

Lila looks up from the sofa in the conservatory and yawns. Lazily, she stands up and stretches. She extends her back legs so thoroughly that I am amazed she doesn’t fall back down. Slowly, she walks over to the sofa where I am being licked and sniffed by Zach. Her little stump of a tail wags as she walks.

Incredibly, Zach’s tail wags even harder as Lila plods over. She sits between my knees and I stroke her head. Zach sits next to us and rolls around, flashing his bits. But Zach becomes jealous and starts bouncing from corner to corner, trying to get my attention. I turn to stroke him, and find that Lila has leapt up into my lap and is preventing me from doing anything but loving her.

After a few minutes, Lila removes herself and sits by the door. She wants her breakfast. Zach, who is still bounding with excitement, jumps around next to her. He couldn’t find a bone to bring me, and so he has the remote control in his mouth.

I open the door.

Lila makes for the kitchen and sits in front of the counter where her breakfast is waiting. She glares at Charlie, who is sniffing her bowl curiously, and waits for me to follow her.

Zach pays no attention to the food, and makes for Frankie. His green eyes light up as the door opens, and the two friends greet each other as though they haven’t seen each other in years.

Lots of sniffing and licking later, Zach is ready for breakfast. He leaps around as I pick up his bowl and fill it and dives straight in as soon as it is down. Lila watches me pick up her bowl and leaves the kitchen. I put it down and she races back in to start eating. She doesn’t like the sound her bowl makes when it touches the floor.

I sweep the floor. The dogs have shed enough fur overnight to create a new puppy. Frankie and Ellie sniff the fur with disdain and go back to watching the birds in the garden.

The dogs have finished their breakfast. Zach starts running around the living room in anticipation of his walk. Lila inspects both the bowls and then sits at the front door whilst I get my shoes on.

I clip their leads on and we set off.

We take the same route we take every morning, and we see the same people we always do. We are creatures of habit.

The children come to greet us, and Lila wets herself with excitement. Zach is tangled in the leads and wagging his tail. He tries to free himself and ends up rolling around in the mud, legs tied together. But his tail doesn’t stop wagging.

I free him, and we go home.

As soon as we get back, I put the dogs in the back garden with their favourite toys. They start chasing each other round and round. As I leave the room, I can see Zach nipping Lila’s legs and running away. I can hear her growl of response.

Holly is still in the kitchen eating her breakfast. She looks at me, and continues to eat. She likes to take her time.

I go upstairs and take a shower. I can see Charlie sat on the bathmat through the shower curtain, and watch Ellie climb into the sink. Her little face peers round the curtain and then disappears.

I get dressed, ready for work. Willow watches me from her vantage point on the end of the bed. I stroke her before going downstairs. She rubs her empty eye socket on my hand.

I empty the dishwasher and get my breakfast. A bowl of peach and pear segments with natural yoghurt and Weetabix, and a glass of semi skimmed milk.

I eat my breakfast in front of the computer. I visit my favourite sites and check the news and travel. I can see the dogs eyeing my breakfast up through the conservatory doors, and that is why I haven’t let them in.

I clean up and pack my lunch.

Zach is howling, and so I relent and let the dogs back in. Lila makes a beeline for her favourite bone, and I wrestle Zach to the ground. He has muddy paws and I don’t want to change again.

It is time to leave. I call work to tell them where I am going, pick up my bags and say goodbye to the pets.

I am on my way.

I set off down the road. The traffic from the road block is terrible and I am glad I am not going that way. The sun is shining over the fields, and there is a light but patchy fog. The horses are playing in their enclosure and I smile when I pass them.

I reach the motorway. As I speed up down the slip road, I turn my music up and get ready for a nice drive. I hit eighty five just as I move out into the middle lane, gliding past the endless parade of lorries on their way to London.

The M11 is fairly clear. I can see all the way to the City - the Gherkin is shining in the sun. I take the sharp turn into the M25 and see that the traffic is light.

The good traffic continues all the way past the bridge. I can see brake lights ahead of me, and I gently apply my own brakes, adding my lights to the sea of colour. The traffic is not moving.

My lunch is calling to me. I eat half a chicken sandwich. I rarely manage to get to work with my lunch intact. I wrap the rest up, and put it on the back seat out of reach.

I play the alphabet game to pass the time. I get to W before the traffic begins to move again. I pass a Jaguar with its engine completely caved in, and a little further down, a van with its boot caved in. There is a bored looking policeman standing next the van, writing something down.

I leave the motorway and drive the final couple of miles to today’s destination. I struggle to remember where I am going, and am heartened when I see a familiar parade of shops.

There is nowhere to park. I park in someone else’s space and sign myself in.

I find the office assigned to me and dump my belongings. My first port of call is the loo, followed immediately by the kitchen.

I rummage through the cupboard trying to find a clean mug to use, one that doesn’t clearly belong to someone else. I give up, and borrow a cup and saucer from the set used by the Board. I make my tea, scalding my hand in the process, and return to my office.

I find that someone, trying to be helpful, has turned the air conditioning on. The office resembles the interior of a walk in freezer. I turn the air conditioning off, and begin to unpack my work.

The day passes in a blur of meetings, phone calls, tea making, and file review. It is a relief when I see the clock reach four.

I pack up, making sure that I don’t accidentally take client paperwork away with me. That rarely goes down well.

I start the car and brace myself for the stop and start journey home.

I can hear Zach barking as soon as I open the car door. Lila knows I am home, and doesn’t bother to bark. Knowing her, she hasn’t bothered to move yet either.

Ellie is in the window waiting. As I open the front door, I can hear the sound of cats leaping from their sleeping places. Ozzie is the loudest, and vaults over Charlie and Frankie to streak down the stairs and into the kitchen first. He leaps onto the side and takes up his position by his bowl, crying piteously to remind me that I’ve not fed him in at least six hours.

I go through the morning feeding ritual again, and smile as I hear Zach’s cries getting more excited.

I open the door to the living room and greet my dogs. Lila is laying in a pool of sunshine in the conservatory. She leaps up as soon as she sees me and races over. Zach is already leaping around me creating a draft with his ever wagging tail, but is soon pushed out of the way by Lila. She sits at my feet and licks whatever part of me she can get to. I crouch down and cuddle her.

Zach settles on my left side and lets me rub under his chin. Lila doesn’t want to let him have any attention and wiggles round to block him out. I tell her to get down and show me her belly. She complies, and so does Zach. I rub both of their bellies, and tell them what good dogs they are.

As is her wont, Lila begins to roll around on the floor, stretching muscles and rubbing her back. Zach takes this as a signal that the games can start and leaps up. He jumps around her barking, and she rolls around barking.
With that, I leave them to it.

The cats have finished their meal and are waiting faithfully for me in my bedroom. I join them. Holly is on my pillow, where she likes to spend the day in peace. Willow is at the end of my bed and the boys are in one great heap of arms, legs and tails. Ellie, as ever, is winding between my feet and telling me all about her day.

I change out of my work clothes. I know I should hang them up, but instead I leave them in a crumpled pile, promising myself I will deal with them later. Deep down, I know I am lying to myself.

I pull on my favourite jeans, a new t-shirt I bought and pick up my boots. It is time to walk the dogs again, and they know it. I can hear them prancing around with excitement as I pull on my boots, and as I go back down the stairs I can see them waiting for me.

And so we set off, a labrador streaking ahead and a rottweiler lagging behind.

After the dog walk I start to think about my rumbling tummy. In a good week, I will have planned out dinners and will have made sure that whatever I need is defrosted and ready to cook.

This hasn’t been a good week, and so there is nothing ready to cook. This doesn’t deter me, and I rummage through the freezer looking for something that suits.

Whilst dinner is cooking, I visit my favourite forums. I join the ladies in chat (good friends all) and we natter. Sometimes we do cleaning in between chats, but today I don’t want to. Today is a lazy day, and the housework will just have to wait.

I eat dinner at the computer. This is a habit I would like to break, but when I am at home alone, cyber company is better than no company. I try not to drop food onto the keyboard, as this upsets the Baron but a few stray grains of rice end up stuck between the A and the S keys anyway. This will annoy the Baron because not only is there food in the keyboard, it will remind him that we still haven’t got any transfers for the keyboard. I can type, and the lack of letters on the keyboard doesn’t bother me. It bothers him.

I can hear Lila downstairs. She is trying to take Zach’s bone away from him, and he doesn’t want her to. She is quite persuasive, however, and I hear him cry and then flop on the sofa.

Ellie is sat next to my plate and is quietly licking the remains. I haven’t got the energy to push her away and pretend that I haven’t seen her.

I continue chatting with my friends. The sky grows dark and I put the light on.

Downstairs, the dogs are disturbed from their sleep by the sound of the front door opening. I look guiltily at the clock, and realise how late it is. The Baron is home.

I say goodbye to my friends, and go downstairs.

The Baron is tired and hungry. I make him some dinner whilst he walks the dogs and washes his hands. He slumps into his chair and gratefully takes his dinner. The dogs lay by his feet with a hopeful and expectant air. Ellie wanders in and sits directly opposite him.

We chat for a bit. The dogs look dejected when they realise there is no food for them, and Lila whimpers when Ellie gets a crafty lick of the plate. She is jealous.

The Baron goes and checks on his plants. His tobacco plants are coming on spectacularly, and the lawn he seeded is already in need of a mow.

I check that the animals all have food and water enough to survive the night. Ozzie and I disagree on the amount of food needed to last, and again he cries piteously as I fill the bowls.

With a final check that everything is out and off, we bid goodnight to the dogs and head upstairs.

The cats are all waiting for me on the bed. Frankie is laying on my pyjamas and refuses to get off. He is making happy feet on them, and doesn’t want to stop. I carefully pick him up and put him down on the floor. I change.

The Baron is now on his computer. He is lost for the night. I kiss him and head off to bed.

I crawl under the quilt, trying not to dislodge the cats scattered on its surface. Holly grumbles and moves to the right. Willow and Ozzie refuse to move and I gently ease my legs down and around them. Charlie moves over to the right and gets bopped by Holly. He leaps off the bed and lands on Frankie. They both run away.

I turn out the light.

Rough times

2007-06-15T12:42:00.001Z

Things haven’t been all that good this week, hence the silence.

In the space of a week, it has been intimated that my position as a non parent with the temerity to discuss child related issues is offensive, my words worthless, and on a kinder note by some more tender individuals, are just useless.

Then, to add insult to injury, I have been accused of wallowing in my bitterness (because I have the misfortune to suffer from dark thoughts at times in relation to my infertility and have said this), petty - because I thought maybe it would be a kind gesture for a poster to remove their children from their signature on the rare occasion I feel the need to ask for support in relation to my situation (not every time, mind, but those when I am in enough pain to need to ask for support), and unworthy of prayer because I wish ill on pregnant women.

Charming.

On top of that, no-one bothered to tell me that my cousin is pregnant. Not just a little bit pregnant, but 25 weeks along. Did they not think I would notice when I see her tonight? I know I am unobservant, but that was unlikely to just pass me by.

(I’m sure you can guess just how much I am looking forward to having to congratulate her (and yes, I am very happy for her and her husband. Of course, I probably don’t need to explain to the vast majority of normal and compassionate people that I can feel joy for her and sadness for me all at the same time, but of course we all know there are idiots out there, and that they tend to congregate in the same place), listen to all the pregnancy chat, and then undergo the third degree as to why I am the only one who doesn’t have children yet. Yes, I’m sure you can all appreciate just how much fun that is likely to be)

What else? Oh yes, another brief hope of pregnancy that went the way of the dodo. That was great too. There is definitely no chance of a baby Mouse appearing here before my 30th birthday, which is something I find very difficult to get past at this moment in time.

And the final straw is conducting a long review of anti social behaviour, in which the recurring theme is morons on benefits having children (twins, in a surprisingly high number of cases), assaulting each other whilst pregnant, assaulting the newborns in their mother’s arms and generally being shitty to each other.

I could do without this week.

Evaluation madness

2007-06-05T19:01:00.000Z

The evaluation was on Monday.

The quick version is that it was a complete waste of everyone's time.

The longer version goes something like this....

My sister (from now on known as Gargamel) was late because she couldn't find the place. Since she was driving the Boy, my mother (now known as Big Al because that is how she signs all her notes to me) and the Sperm Donor (also known as the Twat), this complicated the assessment.

I had to fill out his forms. These were mainly on his behavioural traits, and really, the therapist should have seen this as the first clue. Aunties should not be filling out these forms, making notes and generally completing paperwork for someone else's child.

So everyone turned up. The Boy made a beeline for a box of lego on the floor (I was hard pushed not to do the same) and the talking began.

The therapists wanted to discuss with the Boy how he felt about his parents breakup. Since this happened when he was 10 months, he didn't really have any feelings about it. They turned to the current custody arrangements - formally, and per the court agreement, Gargamel has full custody, they share parental rights and Sperm Donor has him every weekend.

In reality, Sperm Donor has him every other weekend and I have him the other. Big Al acts in loco parentis during the week and Gargamel does what she pleases.

Sperm Donor said that he had decided, for the sake of the Boy to cut down on the weekend visits because it was difficult with his new baby. To hear him paint the tale, it was a noble sacrifice on his part and was hurting him intensely.

He failed to mention the fact that the Boy had requested not to go anymore because he preferred to come to my house. When the Boy made the request it was because "Auntie and Uncle are mad and I get to do all sorts of fun stuff at their house. I want to be with them not you". No, he was being a good father and trying to balance the needs of his two boys.

Why didn't I speak up, you ask. Because the Sperm Donor started to CRY at this point, sending me into fits of stifled giggles. It was so fake it hurt, but sadly the therapist fell for it. The Boy didn't, and expressed great surprise at this unexpected show of emotion.

What is even funnier, but I didn't know at the time, was that just one hour before, Sperm Donor had told Gargamel and the Boy that he could no longer go there at weekends at all because he was far too busy and couldn't make time for him......

Anyway, the meeting degenerated from there. Both parents tried to outdo each other in the doting stakes, whilst the Boy happily played with the toys and told me exactly what he was doing.

The therapist only cottoned on at the end of the meeting, despite being told several times, that I have the Boy at weekends now. I think she thought I was there for the morning off work.

Anyway, to skip to the end and save you the tedious dialogue, she feels that all his problems stem from sibling rivalry. His new step brother is three months old. Never mind that these problems have been here for years, she opted for the nice and obvious label.

Personally, I think that's bollocks, but what would I know? I'm just a work shy auntie.

However, thanks to Sperm Donor and Gargamel, I now have full weekend rights. I wasn't asked, of course, but rather it was assumed that he would be coming here. All I can say is that it is a good thing I love him, because right now I would like to throttle his parents.

He has since asked if he can live here full time and have me as his mum, and his mum as his auntie.

If only.

Boy Woes

2007-05-26T17:16:00.000Z

I'm hiding away in our little bedroom right now. I thought about holing up with some beer and some munchies, but I haven't got long.

The Boy is here for the long weekend. In fairness, he is being really REALLY good right now and isn't causing immediate stress (he woke me up with a cup of tea this morning) but he knows that he is skating on some very thin ice right now.

He got a one day suspension from school on Thursday.

From what I understand, he got karate kicked in the chest when the teacher wasn't looking (the class bully egged one of the other boys on). No-one believed him, and he lost it. Just completely flipped and started to throw chairs around (and then pick them all back up again). I've not heard the other side (I've been away all week and haven't managed to go to his school yet) so I don't know how truthful his account of this is, but given the other stories he's told, it sounds about right.

So he got suspended. He isn't the first in his class by any means and his teacher said how sorry she was to do it (she really likes him), but some firm action needed to be taken to impress upon him just how unacceptable his behaviour was.

The problem is that the boys all pick on him. Whilst he gets on fine with adults (and girls), he has no clue how to relate to other boys and they pick up on that. They get into trouble for what they do to him, but sadly for the Boy, he seems to get caught more retaliating than they do.

He has been referred to a child mental health unit for an evaluation. It has since been brought forward after this little incident and it is a week on Monday. I will be attending (both his mother and his school have requested my presence) and I'm hoping that they will see through my sister's act. No doubt she will try to do her "I'm a fabulous Mum" routine, but I imagine they have seen that many times before.

I know he is very immature and has a real inability to control his emotions. I'm hoping that that is all that is wrong, because those will come eventually with time (and some help and practice).

But I fear that unless his mother sorts herself out, nothing will change.

The Boy believes that neither she or his father wants him. He isn't silly. He can see that their behaviour towards him is not the same as how other parents behaviour towards their children. He is here again, after all. It doesn't matter how much I want him here, or how much he wants to be here because he knows that he is here because Mummy won't be at home with him.

On Thursday, she threatened to send him to a children's home. I've not seen him cry that much in a long time. He truly believed that she would do it. I could have killed her for that, I really could have. Saying things like that does nothing for his belief that she doesn't want him.

(I promised that if she dared try it, I'd spring him out and we'd leave the country. We'd borrow a cross channel ferry (I'd ply the captain with some duty free and then sit on him, and the Boy would steer) and we'd set sail for the Caribbean. Nothing like a good plan!)

Daddy forcibly cut his hair last weekend. The Boy has wanted to grow it for a long time, and at eight I think he is well able to make that decision for himself. But Daddy, being a twat, thinks that he will be gay if he has anything less than a skinhead, and so shaved his head. If that wasn't bad enough, he did a piss poor job and left him with straggly bits all over his head.

No wonder the poor child is in a state.......

Let me look at you with my own eyes

2007-05-19T15:55:00.000Z

My first optician appointment was when I was four years old. I had trouble keeping my eyes in focus and it was clear even at that tender age that I was unable to see far into the distance.

By eleven, I wore glasses all the time. I went through a short phase where vanity won out over vision, which ended swiftly after multiple bruises, a wasted trip to the cinema and several headaches.

I flirted with contact lenses, but that affair was also brief.

Glasses it was. Until this week.

It's been little things that nudged me to this point. My last haircut, for example. I went from fifteen inches of hair to barely one, and was blind during most of the proceedings. I had no idea what he was doing because I just couldn't see.

Snorkelling. I missed a lot of fish that my party saw because anything more than five inches from my face was a colourful blur.

Not to mention the amount of time spent blindly fumbling for my glasses in the morning because a certain fat cat who shall remain nameless liked to knock them off my bedside table and bat them around.

So I got brave, and went for a lasik consultation.

My prescription wasn't that bad. I was -4.75 dioptres in my right eye and -5.25 dioptres in my left. Not great, but not so bad that lasik would be difficult. My pupils were deemed to be large, but not freakishly so. Everything else was fine.

I agreed to have the surgery. I put down a large deposit to make sure I didn't back out again (the thought of having my eyeball clamped, let alone sliced into has never appealed) and then immediately questioned my sanity.

Over the next few days I spent a lot of time researching the procedure in detail. Frankly, a lot of the sites I found were not encouraging, but I came to the realisation that people who are satisfied with their procedure don't tend to spend their time telling the world on various websites........probably too busy enjoying their new eyesight.

The day dawned and I was as nervous as hell.

There was a huge delay at the clinic, for reasons I still don't know, and by 11AM the 9AM patient was getting very nervous. I was the 9.30AM patient. The wait was doing nothing for my nerves either, and I was seriously contemplating going to the pub and waiting there. Then the 9AM patient was called. She turned a very funny green colour and slowly walked into the procedure room.

I had a quick chat with the surgeon who checked my eyes and cleared me for surgery. It was back to waiting again, but he promised it would be no more than fifteen minutes.

That was both a long and short fifteen minutes.

Eventually I was called.

The room was very stark and clinical. I lay down on the bed and had my head settled into the rest. Then I had my eyes cleaned and the anaesthetic drops put in. The nurses were very good about putting me at my ease, and they showed me the equipment to be used.

The surgeon came in and tested the equipment and gave my eyes a final check. Then he warned me that the first part of the procedures was the unpleasant past but it would be over quickly.

Before I had time to respond, the machinery was pulled over my face and trapped me in. It was probably not a second too soon because I probably would have bolted if I knew what was actually going to happen.

He asked me to look down. I did and he slipped a plastic clamp onto my eye. I thought to myself that it was uncomfortable but not painful and congratulated myself on getting through that bit.

Then he turned the suction on.

Wow.

I thought my eye was going to simultaneously burst, explode through the back of my head and pop out. It just felt so wrong. Everything went dim, then blurry and finally dark.

After what felt like an age, the suction ceased, and my vision came back. The flap had been created. I took a deep breath, because I had held it throughout the suction.

Then they switched eyes. I was surprised because I thought they would complete one eye before moving onto the other, and that gave me a few minutes before I had to endure that on my left eye.

But no, he inserted the clamp on my left eye and turned the suction on.

I have to admit that that was worse. Despite knowing what was going to happen, that was still a shock and on my left eye, the suction crossed from uncomfortable to downright painful. It wasn't helped by the fact I had very little vision in my right eye and was feeling quite scared about my newfound blindness.

Eventually it ended. They said I was doing really well, and I said that was only because I could cry even if I wanted to. One eye was clamped and the other was aching!

After the flaps were created, the surgery got interesting. I had another couple of anaesthetic drops and then the flaps were moved back to allow the laser to be used. That was amazing. I could see exactly what was going on.

The laser bit was fine. The put in a gentle clamp, which looks very much like a pair of eyelash curlers. I had to look at a red dot, and then the laser started. It clicks a lot, and it smells like burning hair as it reshapes the cornea. Given the amount of times Frankie has singed his whiskers it isn't an unfamiliar smell.

They put the flaps back and smoothed them down.

It was done.

I sat up, and immediately I could see a difference. It was exactly like looking under water, but underwater with perfect vision.

They had me sit in a dark room for a little while. I found that I got progressively more light sensitive at this time and that I could not keep my eyes open. I wasn't in any pain, but I just could not keep them open.

I had my post surgery check after half an hour. They had to hold my eyes open, because I couldn't, and I was cleared to go home.

The Baron was driving, and I spent the entire trip home with my eyes shut. I tried to open them every now and then, because I was getting really quite car sick travelling like that, but all I managed was a quick glimpse here and there.

We got home and I went straight to bed. The surgeon advised that, since the flap is healing at that point and keeping my eyes shut would help that along. So I popped on my sooper sexay sleeping goggles and went to bed.

After about an hour (I am not one for sleeping during the day) I got back up. Although it was still hard to keep my eyes open, there was a marked improvement in the quality of my vision. I was very impressed.

The next morning was just incredible. Everything was crystal clear. I had a large bruise in my eye (I thought I only had the one until I rolled my eyes and saw three more lurking under my lids) but my sight was just perfect.

I returned for my post op check, where they cleared me to drive. Just 24 hours after the surgery I had 20/16 vision (which is something like 115% of normal vision). I had no discomfort, and only mild photophobia.

I bought some seriously cool sunglasses. Something I've never been able to do before, since I had to have prescription sunglasses.

So here I sit now. No glasses. My vision seems better in the mornings, and deteriorates a little in the afternoon (even at that point it is better than 20/20) although of course, my eyes are still healing and settling. My ability to focus can be a little variable as well.

I have an extensive eye drop regime to follow, but so far I have had no problems. Well, the steroid drops taste absolutely foul and I cannot get the taste out of my mouth (and no, I am NOT drinking the drops), but other than that I have no complaints at all.

I just wish I had had this done sooner.

100 things about me (I hope)

2007-05-10T20:10:00.000Z

1. I have six cats.
2. I used to dislike cats a lot. Then along came Harvey and changed my mind.
3. I also have two dogs...
4. And a wonderful husband...
5. And a semi permanent resident nephew.
6. I am a second generation chartered accountant....
7. But I always hated numbers.
8. I got my nose pierced when I was 16 despite being told not to.
9. That is probably why I had it done.
10. Some of my work colleagues still haven't noticed.
11. I have very short hair.
12. I am going grey at my temples and I hate it.
13. I am currently undergoing infertility tests.
14. It sucks big hairy donkey balls.
15. I don't.
16. I play the bass guitar...
17. Badly.
18. I can't sing whilst I play.
19. I also play the piano and the clarinet.
20. I like knitting.
21. The only things I can knit so far are scarves and blankets.
22. I cannot sew.
23. I like gardening.
23. But we only grow edible crops.
24. I like beer.
25. A lot.
26. I go to France several times a year to stock up.
27. Sadly I usually run out long before the next trip.
28. I love the colour purple.
29. I think Brussel Sprouts are evil.
30. But I grow them because my mother loves them.
31. I am very close to my family.
32. I like to cook.
33. I can't eat cheese.
34. But sometimes I do.
35. I met my husband when I was 17.
36. We were both working in McDonalds.
37. He was 18.
38. We got married on the tenth anniversary of our first date.
39. We've been married 18 months.
40. He was my first and only boyfriend.
41. We lived together for five years before we got married.
42. He converted to me to a love of Star Wars.
43. Somehow I never saw it until I was 18.
44. I've been making up for time ever since.
45. I have a sneaking preference for the prequel trilogy.
46. But I won't admit that to the Baron.
47. I do not like anything to touch my throat.
48. I think I may have had my head chopped off in a previous life.
49. I am not ticklish.
50. I love reading.
51. I especially like reading about 18th and 19th century history.
52. I have a degree in biomedical science.
53. I attended a post mortem.
54. I used to work as a phlebotomist.
55. However, I have a phobia of needles when stuck in me.
56. I decided that the NHS was not for me.
57. And trained at the same accountancy firm that my father trained at.
58. I adore playing the Sims.
59. But my disk is scratched and it won't play.
60. I like killing people off.
61. I play Lego Star Wars a fair bit...
62. Despite being 29.
63. I post a lot at a Catholic forum.
64. I am not Catholic.
65. I don't want to be Catholic either.
66. I just like a lot of the people.
67. I also practice Natural Family Planning.
68. I say I, but clearly the Baron is involved in that one.
69. I don't see the point, since we appear to be as infertile as a dead rhinocerous.
70. I want to go back to Jamaica.
71. Despite the bad bugs that feast on my flesh.
72. I am addicted to diet coke.
73. I've made several attempt to give up.
74. But I always come back for more.
75. My favourite comedy is Black Books.
76. I am sad that there will be no more.
77. I detest Tony Blair.
78. I think he is a dangerous liar.
79. I think George W Bush is a very dangerous man.
80. I have a cat headbutting me right now.
81. I think One Eyed Willy is the most beautiful one eyed cat in the world.
82. I am going to have my own eyes lasered.
83. I am scared shitless.
84. But I am fed up of my crap eyesight.
85. I cannot see a thing without my glasses on.
86. I want to get a tattoo.
87. I want two semiquavers on my hip.
88. But I don't like needles.
89. I put it off thinking I would get pregnant and it would deform as I grew bigger.
90. I laugh in the face of my previously optimistic self.
91. I have a fear of frogs.
92. I can't sleep without ear plugs.
93. I love lime shower gel.
94. I want to learn how to fish.
95. I also want to learn how to ride a motorbike.
96. I have never ever been on one.
97. I never go on rollercoasters.
98. I look after the bags.
99. I am a bag whore.
100. I actually found 100 things to say!

Weekend work

2007-04-29T19:15:00.000Z

It's been a busy weekend. The Boy volunteered to come and help us, although frankly, despite the best will in the world (when he wasn't playing Lego Star Wars) he was more hindrance than help.

But if you want beer brought to you without even having to ask, he is your boy.

It has been fun. The Boy arrived on Friday and we had a barbeque. It was nice enough that we could eat outside, and we decided to have kebabs.

The Baron had lamb kebabs with peppers, the Boy had pork kebabs with celery (I was sceptical, but it was really rather good) and I had prawn kebabs with courgette and pepper. We all had salad and barbequed flatbreads with houmous.

The Boy was in charge of painting each kebab with secret sauce (so-called because I refused to tell the Boy what it was for years because he would have refused to eat it - all it is is good tomato ketchup with a generous splash of tobasco sauce) whilst I made the bread and houmous.

The Baron was in charge of the fire. Literally. As is his wont, he created a towering inferno. It is an impressive site, guaranteed to have Lila cowering behind the wheelbarrow, and the Boy is now convinced that all barbeques should be so dramatic. To the point that when he sees other people tending theirs, he shakes his head sadly and mutters that there isn't enough fire to cook anything.

Poor warped child.

The Boy was his little cooking sidekick, proudly insisting that he was being manly. I wasn't so impressed when he told me that since I was a woman I couldn't cook the food over the barbeque because it was a man's job, however, so after a brief discussion on equality he ran and got me another beer and a flower.

It was good enough for me.

The next day was gardening day. We nipped out to pick up a few bits and pieces, and because both the Boy and the Baron spent so long lusting over PC games when we went to look at a new keyboard, we ended up in Pizza Hut for lunch.

I may have mentioned before that the Baron and the Boy have a similar mental age.

So whilst I did the grown up thing of actually getting a table and menu, they were cajoling another waitress to let them have a handful of helium balloons. They must have really turned on the charm because they both strutted over with a couple of balloons apiece.

Last time the three of us went out, it was Christmas and the Baron inhaled helium and serenaded me with a squeaky rendition of a crappy Robbie Williams song. I don't really like Robbie Williams at the best of times, and his waste of space brother had Angels as the first wedding dance back in Ireland (something I could happily never think about again until the day I die) but the helium treatment certainly gave it something.

This time, he treated me to Grace Kelly by Mika. It was different. And completely hysterical. I recorded it on his mobile phone, so rest assured, I will be inflicting it upon you all very soon.

The Boy doesn't get inhaling helium. He lets the gas out in his mouth, but doesn't shut his mouth to suck down on the balloon. So it barely works. That doesn't stop him faking a very high pitched voice though........and for the record, he cannot sing. Not a note.

After more pizza than we probably should have eaten, we headed home to commence Operation Finish The Garden So Star Wars Lego (The Original Trilogy) Can Be Installed And Played.

I've previously mentioned the extreme change in our front garden. The heavy work is all done, and all that remained was for me to plant out the seedlings currently filling the conservatory.

This is what I planted out:

Tomatoes (five different varieties)
Peppers (two different varieties)
Carrots (two different varieties)
Runner beans
Dwarf green beans
Peas
Garlic
Sweetcorn
Pumpkin
Butternut squash
Courgettes
Mint
Basil
Rosemary
Strawberries
Lettuce (two varieties)
Cabbage
Parsnips
Winter greens
The Dreaded Brussel Sprouts (for my Mum)

I forgot about starting the leeks and artichokes off, but I still have time.

The Baron was working in the back garden.

Because, of course, we then decided to redo our dog destroyed back garden. Not content with a week of back breaking labour in the front garden, we hired a skip and did the same to the back.

The Boy desiginated himself as Team Captain. Because he got bored with digging after approximately two minutes and forty seconds, he took to whipping us with his deflated helium balloon and telling us we weren't putting our backs in to it.

However, he did have a benevolent streak. He allowed us to take five pretty much every ten minutes and kept us well hydrated with water, beer and diet coke.

It became clear that the two of us, with the hindrance of the Boy was not going to be enough to complete the heavy work over the weekend. So it was time to call in reinforcements.

We had a little Garden Breaking Party with the bribe of beer and a barbeque. However, the only people up for it were my computer obsessed (and therefore no help at all) mad mother and my hernia ridden father.

Still some help is always better than no help. We gratefull accepted and got on with it.

And we did it! We must have moved several tonnes of soil, dog crap and stones over the weekend, and we are all paying for it now (I walk like the newly created Darth Vader), but it is done!

We had a little celebration after, with lots of beer from my recent France trip and another nice barbeque (note to self - whilst the Baron goes overboard on coal, my father tends to the other direction. Sneak more on when he isn't looking otherwise the food will never cook).

Later this afternoon, once I get back from work, we will be buggering around with cement and laying the replacement slabs (many were broken because of the old pond). I'm quite looking forward to that.

I don't think the Baron is. He doesn't seem quite with it today. I just wandered into our bedroom to get a bottle of water, and I saw Frankie on the windowsill, sunning himself and admiring the bugs.

"Hey Stein! How are you doing, Mister FrankieCat?"

From the bed, I heard a distinct

"I'm fine. How are you?"

I think the heavy work has addled his brain to the point he thinks he is a cat.

New countdown

2007-04-19T20:08:00.000Z

I handed in my notice.

I just happen to have a new job.

The Front Garden

2007-04-17T16:38:00.000Z

The dogs have destroyed the back garden. We knew it would happen - they love chasing each other and wrestling each other (lots of noise and bared teeth, much to the amusement of the neighbours), and the end result is soil and stones everywhere.

Not, of course, to mention the pollution of our once great vegetable beds.

We were resigned to this from the day that Darth Lila came home. Zach Attack! was just the icing on the dog poo cake. Not a cake I particularly wish to eat, as it happens. We knew our days of veg growing were numbered.

Until I pruned the roses.

Once upon a time, roses festooned our garage. At some uncertain point in time, they got the arse and buggered off. In their place were thistles. Thistles with a mission to overtake our village. To achieve that, they joined forces with the ivy already growing over the wall and roof and set about their aim.

It had got to the point that just walking down our path was a dice with danger. If the wind was blowing, you ran the risk of getting whacked in the face by a rogue offshoot of the power seeking thistles.

Once blinded, you then were free to trip over the paving stones that were slowly shifting position. Our conifer was jealous of the expansion plans of the thistles and was staging its own little rebellion by reaching for the stars and for the North Sea. The roots were forcing our path up and out, and many is the time that I have been labrador propelled down the path and ended up on my arse outside the garage because I got poked in the eye by a thistle and then tripped over the damn paving stone.

(I'd like to say that is how I broke my toe for the fifth time. But it would be a steaming pile of hotspur)

So after my latest mishap I decided to prune the thistles. I'd been putting it off for a while, partly through idleitis, partly through shit weather and partly because the Baron had hidden the good tools from me.

But the sun was shining and I was feeling like a little gardening.

I like pruning. It feeds the destructive little monster that resides within me that has little outlet in real life. Readers, I got my revenge on those thistles.

In fact, it would be fair to say that I decimated the buggers. They are gone. Not just the thistles that were taking over the garage, but the thistles that had staked a claim under the conifer, the thistles under the huge tree that I am allergic to but have no idea what it is, and the thistles that were slowly strangling the compost bin.

All gone.

The problem was that once that was all cleared, the garden, or overgrown helllhole as we affectionately call it, looked very lopsided. The trees looked out of place. It just wasn't right.

A vision of what could be floated before my eyes. An endless row of beans and peas taking the place of the ivy. Pots of carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, peppers, sweetcorn, courgettes and spinach where human feet could not currently tread. Hanging baskets of strawberries instead of thistles. Herbs instead of dead leaves.

And the monster inside called for more.

So I began a more extensive deforestation programme. The conifer tree was the first victim, and was surprisingly easy to deal with, given that it was over eight feet tall and I am just over five feet two.

One spade + one pair of shears + one determined Mouse = one ex tree

The second tree was a little more complicated. The above equation was not going to work. But that led to a new problem.

The rules of our house are simple. They have been refined throughout our nearly twelve years together (seven of which have been under a shared roof):

The Baron must turn his socks out the right way before putting them in the washing basket.
The Baron must empty his pockets before putting dirty clothes in the washing basket.
The Baron must put the seat down.
The Baron must be dropped off at the hospital if a cat needs emergency vet treatment.
Mouse cannot play the guitar if the Baron is in the house.
Mouse may not light candles unless there is a power cut or the cats are held hostage in a separate locked room.
Mouse must never ever ever use power tools without adult supervision.

Reinforcement was clearly needed in order for the house rules to be obeyed.

The Baron was very shocked to get out of bed and find most of the front garden neatly piled in one corner. He was even more shocked to be presented with a bacon sandwich, the electric saw and a request to remove an entire tree.

Bless him, he ate up and did as he was told.

One Baron armed with power tools + one Mouse in a supervisory role = another ex tree

I won't bore you with the details of actually clearing the remains of our newly discovered garden. It involved a fuck off huge bonfire, a disagreement with the neighbours visitors over the aforementioned bonfire, some fun with the hosepipe putting out the aforementioned bonfire, multiple trips to the recycling centre, a lost pair of gloves and a lot of sneezing.

The garden was a blank canvas. The vision was a step closer to reality. We would grow vegetables again, oh yes, we would.

The final step was the hardest.

Digging is bloody knackering. The Baron was very dedicated and really put his back into it. On the other hand, I would dig for fifteen minutes, bugger off and enjoy a cold beer and then come back for another fifteen minutes. Naturally the pace slowed as the alcohol consumption increased. I am a lush, after all, and I have just discovered a new lager from Barbados that slid down a treat.

Hey, it WAS a hot day.

But there was a corner that neither of us wanted to touch.

Just over two years ago, we placed my soul cat in a small hole in the front garden. We had planned to leave that corner alone and let him rest in peace. Something the little bastard never extended to me in life.

But the root ball of another plant had grown in to that spot and needed to be removed. With heavy hearts, we set to it.

For the record, two years is not enough time to fully decompose one small fluffy and evil cat.

Additionally, for the record, the Baron is petrified of remains of any sort. Which meant he dug with his eyes shut and ran away when he felt a crunch, leaving me to see that he had put the spade through my special cats skull, which still, after two years had the one tooth in it that was due to be cleaned before he was killed.

It's bad enough that I had to put him in that hole, but to have to remove bits of him again and put him in the bin (nowhere else safe to put him) was too much. I don't think there is alcohol enough in the world to make that better.

However, it had to be done and I am glad that it was me that did it. It was not a job I could have in all good conscience asked someone else to do. He was my cat.

But the work is all finished. The front garden is now awaiting the Great Planting Event of 2007, scheduled to take place in a few weeks when my seedlings are a little hardier.

As Bob would say. Job done. For now.

Main players

2007-04-12T20:44:00.000Z

Since I have rehomed myself, I should reintroduce the cast of characters.

This is me. Mouse.

Not good enough? You mean I am supposed to show my face?

Fine. Is this better?

I am 29 now, and married to the Baron who is 30 (although acts more like he is 7):

We have no children, although it really isn't through lack of trying. We DO have a deranged 8 year old nephew, the Boy, who spends every other weekend with us (as well as every single Friday night) because according to him, we are more fun than Mum or Dad:

We live in a nice small village in the South of England. With us live the Monsters - six evil cats and two very deranged dogs.

There were three goldfish in the menagerie but they were relocated to the village pond.

I haven't seen them since, the little ingrates.

This is Frankie, the stupidest cat in the West. It is amazing he is still alive.

Smellie Ellie. Sweet, but certifiable.

This is Charlie. Don't be fooled by that sweet slumber. His other name is Agent Orange for a reason.

Eye eye! It's One Eyed Willy! She still likes to rub the empty socket on a willing nose. There just aren't all that many around.

This is Holly. Holly is a stroppy cat. See how she won't even look at me. She was sulking because I took a picture instead of stroked her.

This is Ozzie. He beat Charlie to the title of He Who Eats Enough To Power A Small Nuclear Power Station.

This is Darth Lila. Her nickname suits her. If she likes you, she pisses in your general direction. If she doesn't like you, she grumbles and pisses in your general direction.

This is Zach Attack! Note the resemblance to the above black cat? He has. He isn't sure whether he is a cat or a dog, but if it moves, he will hump it just to be sure.

Stupid doctor's appointment

2007-04-11T22:00:00.000Z

So my appointment was a complete waste of time.

The doctor (locum, not my usual) was somewhere in the region of 30,000 years old. My heart sank as I walked in.

He simply repeated "your results are normal" to everything I said. I told him of the latest research suggesting that TSH levels above 3 should be treated and that the ideal for a pregnancy achievement is 1.5-2.0. "Your results are normal".

I asked about the ratio of FSH to LH. "Your results are normal".

I asked what would come next. "Your results are normal, so there isn't much to do"

I said that since I am trying to get pregnant I would quite llike some help. "Well, on average it takes 18-24 months to get pregnant so why are you worried?"

What the fuck? I told him that wasn't the accepted average and I would like to start the process now, given that my thyroid was higher than it should be.

"Your results are normal. We have nothing to treat. You can't be referred to a gynae until your husband gives a semen analysis."

"What about the fact that my results indicate that there are problems with me too? Do I not warrant treatment just for my own health? Current research indicates that my thyroid result is not good"

"Your results are normal by the standards of this lab. I don't know what else to say."

Ad nauseum.

So that is the end. The Baron is simply not willing to give a sample because he won't go to the doctor. He thinks we should just keep on trying because it eventually worked for his parents. They tried for years to have his brother - and look how that turned out?

So no referral for me, and therefore no treatment or further investigation for me whether it be for fertilty or for just my own health. I'm at a dead end.

I'm going to see my usual doctor next week when she returns, but this will all be on my file. I don't have much confidence that she will do anything else.

And to add insult to injury, I got a fucking parking ticket whilst sitting through this shit.

Bloodwork results are in

2007-04-10T22:02:00.000Z

TSH - 3.50. Whilst the lab where I was tested consider this to be normal, new guidelines suggest that anything over 3 is indicative of hypothyroidism. For TTC purposes, 1.5-2 is recommended.

So I need to persuade my dr to treat that. Hopefully she will be ok about it.

My FSH is 3.1. My LH is 5.4. Apparently higher than a 1:1 ratio is not that brilliant and may be indicative of PCOS (thanks, Google!). However, when we did the test we thought I was pre ovulation in a wacky cycle. It turns out, of course, that I was 4 days away from an annovulatory bleed, and I don't know if that will affect those results.

So I guess I should find out a little bit more as to what those results are likely to mean.

Prolactin seems normal at 4.30.

Blood glucose isn't back yet, and I guess that the dr will want that in before really deciding what to do.

I have a starting point.

Odds and sods

2007-04-07T19:52:00.000Z

There is a full moon tonight, and as usual, the animals can sense it.

Ellie is walking around crying. She doesn't really seem to want anything but to hear the sound of her own voice. Zach snuck upstairs to see what was up and is now following her as she goes from room to room. He hasn't realised that I know he is up here.

I can't blame him. Lila's response to a full moon is predictable. She won't share her toys with Zach and she likes to try to eat his ears. She's downstairs alone watching America's Next Top Model, and barking at Miss J Alexander. I can't blame her - why the fuck does he call himself that?

The boy cats alternate between rampaging round my bedroom or sleeping. There is no middle ground for them. Holly and Willow watch disdainfully from my bed. They don't care what the moon is doing - it is welcome to do whatever it pleases as long as it doesn't disturb them.
And there is the first crash of the evening. Ellie has managed to get the ladder from the Boy's loftbed off.

I had my blood test yesterday. The Baron got a little stroppy because I wouldn't let him in the cubicle with me. I cope better alone, and I find that when he is trying to distract me, I am acutely aware that I am being distracted and will focus on why. Alone, I just watch the needle go in unfettered.

It was quite convenient since he had his follow up appointment with the surgeon who kindly de-appendicised him. He got the all clear and was told to bugger off and to not darken their doorway again. Well, they didn't say THAT, but they did say he didn't need to come back again.
Bloody good thing, really. I read today that Patientline, who provide the in hospital TV and phone service, are putting up their call charges by 160%. The greedy fuckers, already £80million in debt, spent £160million installing these new systems (that aren't that reliable) and want to recoup their investment. So they are targetting a vulnerable and captive audience in order to do so. What scum bags.

Anyway, I digress. I should get my results back on Tuesday and we can see if my thyroid malfunctions. My mother's does, and I fully expect mine to pack in service one of these days and retire to the Carribean. I wouldn't really blame it.

The Boy is currently on holiday with his Dad. I'm a bit lost without him, although the peace and quiet is nice. At least in theory. Zach is now crying along with Ellie. If it wasn't so damn annoying, it would be quite harmonious. The Boy...oh yes, he is in Cornwall. They went to the beach today, and the Boy's new (half) brother, aged ten weeks, got to put his feet in the sand for the first time. Apparently that gave him the giggles.

That will have to do for now. My cursor is dancing round the screen of its own accord and is frankly pissing me off. I'm off to drown my sorrows with a nice bottle of red.

Toodles.

Gone and done it now

2007-03-31T19:53:00.000Z

I've made a doctor's appointment to discuss the distinct lack of pregnancy achievement ongoing in this house.

Shit.

Now it is real.

Fertile land

2007-03-28T19:54:00.000Z

My village is extremely fertile.

Not only are the plants bursting forth from the land, and the trees blooming with the sweet scent of blossom, but the occupants are similarly blessed.

A new baby girl arrived home, being welcomed into the house behind mine. A baby girl is due to arrive in the house next to mine. A baby boy is expected in the house opposite mine.

The fertility boom did touch here briefly. My garden is choking with fast growing weeds.

Fucking apt, isn't it?

Nope

2007-03-22T19:54:00.000Z

Still not.

I'm getting well good at this. But does my one line look fat from over there?

Possibly the worst blogger in the world

2007-03-01T19:55:00.000Z

But I'm back, baby!

I am, in fact, back to:

- every day life after two weeks of sun drenched bliss in Jamaica (it was fabulous);

- wondering what possessed me to get two dogs, and whether it is too late to get a refund because they are defective;

- my diet. This time I have made a diet up all by myself, and today is day four. I've lost 2 pounds so far and I am really happy with what I am eating;

- trying to get knocked up. At this point, all I know is that I have ovulated. When is a mystery that even Scooby would struggle to solve, and the only pesky kid involved was a certain blonde haired boy who was attached to me like a limpet whilst on holiday; and

- debating what to do with my hair. Again.

All proof that life gets back to normal almost immediately the plane touches the runway.

Very lazy woman

2007-01-14T19:56:00.000Z

So it is half way through January, and I haven't managed to post even once in 2007 yet. The shame.

At this moment in time, I am sat on the floor of our little box room, using the laptop. Willow is sat nearby on her stuffed rottweiler looking every bit the little princess. Ellie is perched on top of the bookcase and is snoring. The others are skulking around because the Baron just brought the hoover upstairs.

What am I doing sat on the floor? Well, the chair is covered in paperwork that I should be filing. I bought a new bag for work today, since I had to throw my fantastic pink leather bag out. I left a satsuma in it the day that the Baron was rushed to hospital, and by the time he came home and I had more than twenty seconds to myself to go through the bag, it had rotted and completely ruined the interior. Anyway, the plan was to transfer all my stuff to the new bag and put the old bag away but I got sidetracked. Much like now, in fact.

So today has been fairly blah. The Baron and I had a very vocal disagreement this afternoon, which led to me storming out the house in a huff and setting off with all haste to the pub where I planned to enjoy a quiet pint.

Unfortunately I decided to walk. Not that walking is a bad thing, but when you live in the middle of nowhere it is fairly clear to the person you stomped out on that since you are on foot you aren't going far. So it was a matter of deciding which of the two pubs I had gone to, and meeting me there.

So much for a quiet pint.

Instead, we decided to not talk about our disagreement and have a spot of lunch. It was roast pork today, and very nice too. We came home and made a chocolate orange pavlova, which was lovely. What wasn't so lovely was leaving the cream out and finding a trail of greedy lactose intolerant cat vomit going up the stairs, which is ironically what I came upstairs to clean up before getting side tracked by the filing.

Right. I must go tackle the carpet. I can't think of anything else that I can get side tracked on...

Last post of 2006

2006-12-31T19:57:00.000Z

So it has been a little hectic here over the last few weeks.

Ozzie is now fine. Still fat, but fine. His new diet is agreeing with him, and his bladder seems to have come to a truce with the struvite crystals.

The Baron has recovered well after his minor disagreement with his appendix. Physically, he healed very quickly but he had a mini nervous breakdown. A few weeks on medication dealt with that, and the Baron is now back in fighting form.

The Boy has decided that he likes staying at our house, and has been here for the last three nights. The tooth fairy was forced to pay a visit a couple of nights ago, and I've been washing and drying his clothes each day like the nice auntie that I am. He is currently playing Star Wars Battlefront and trying to come up with a good screen name.

Tomorrow is the big Star Wars marathon. We've been looking forward to it, because we are very sad people, and we are going to work on my photo albums whilst watching the saga and eating obscene amounts of popcorn.

Happy New Year!

New house rules

2006-11-25T19:57:00.000Z

Whenever a cat takes ill, the Baron is to be dropped off at the nearest hospital immediately.

Ozzie had a bad UTI. His ureter was spasming and he couldn't pass urine. He is on a new diet regime and had a heavy course of antibiotics.

Not to be outdone, the Baron collapsed on Wednesday night. He is now in hospital recovering from a burst appendix.

Rememberance

2006-11-11T19:58:00.000Z

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)

Mixed bag

2006-11-08T20:00:00.000Z

Good:

I have a new washing machine. It works, which is a big improvement on the last. I have been without a working machine for six weeks.

My house is fairly tidy.
The dogs haven't destroyed much in the last few weeks.

I'm now a Cat Cuddler at the local cat rescue centre.

Bad:

I've double booked myself next week workwise. I have to do some juggling in order to get both jobs done AND keep everyone happy.

The one where I wax lyrical over the moon

2006-11-01T20:00:00.000Z

It is late. It's cold out, and the moon is casting a beautiful silvery light into my room. Occasionally, clouds scud across the sky, casting their night shadow on the walls.

I love the night sky.

I love taking late night walks in the winter though our village. There are no street lights here, and on a clear night, the sky is just incredible.

I love the night sky so much, that there are seven different pictures of the moon decorating my bedroom.

Tonight, the blinds are staying up. I will fall asleep dreaming of the stars.

Insert title here

2006-10-31T20:02:00.000Z

I really need to get back into the swing of this.

Bad bad blogger

2006-10-16T20:02:00.000Z

Not much has happened round here.

Charlie had his first bath after a nasty litter tray accident. He took it very well, and I didn't need too much in the way of medical attention afterwards.

Lila has a double ear infection and a new patch of wet ezcema. She tried to bite me this week when I tried to put cream on her sore bits, and given how much they are oozing, I don't really blame her for objecting.

She has decided that her various lotions and potions do, in fact, make her feel better, and so has come to the conclusion that I can treat her, but she will glare at me whilst I do so. And then lick me to death when I stop tormenting her.

She is currently sat next to me staring at me with her big brown eyes. Since I know she does get fed, she really is wasting her time with the "I'm starving and completely neglected" look. I think she is feeling a lot better now.

Zach is on my other side. He hasn't destroyed much in the last few days.

The Boy got 16 out of 16 on his spelling test. I am one proud auntie this evening.

Boy trouble

2006-10-01T20:01:00.000Z

The Boy was in trouble this week.

Apparently he was lifting the girls skirts to peek at their knickers.

Mini pervert.

Pity party

2006-09-20T20:05:00.000Z

We have been TTC for 390 fucking days.

Is it any wonder I am pissed off with everything right now?

I went shopping today, because the Baron had eaten my emergency stash of ice cream. Bastard. I was served by a pregnant girl. In front of me was a pregnant woman. Behind me was a pregnant woman.

And outside the fucking store were two women with their newborns.

You can see why I needed that damn ice-cream. I've clearly pissed off the universe today.

For Sale

2006-09-08T20:04:00.000Z

Item 1: One slightly damaged rottweiler (furless paws, electrical burn on tongue).
Aged 21 months, female. Enjoys bullying puppies, eating wires, and barking at the television. Very stroppy and prone to dribbling.

Item 2: One black labrador, good as new.
Aged 8 months, male. Believes he is a cat. Also enjoys eating electrical equipment. Has a history of knocking things over with his tail.

Item 3: One black cat, reasonable condition.
Aged nearly 4 years, male, incredibly stupid. He believes he is invisible. 'Nuff said.

Item 4: One tortoiseshell cat, excellent condition.
Aged three years, female. Very very very vocal. Enjoys headbutting, crying and winding up dogs. Scatters kibble over the entire kitchen.

Item 5: One fat orange cat, damaged ears, legs and bowels.
Age unknown, male. Grumpy. Enjoys sitting on the bath mat and laying in the sun.

Item 6: One tabby cat, damaged.
Age unknown, female. Missing one eye, several inches of tail and a lot of brain cells. Will watch food cook in the oven. Enjoys attacking quilts.

Item 7: One tabby cat, good condition.
Age unknown, but old. Female. Enjoys beating up cats, dogs and unsuspecting humans.

Item 8: One ginormous white cat, missing fur and teeth.
Age unknown, male. Will eat entire body weight in food on a daily basis if allowed.

Ex-ter-min-ate

2006-09-04T20:03:00.000Z

I was somewhat surprised to come downstairs this morning and find a remote controlled Dalek on top of the television. I am fairly sure it was not there when I went to bed.

I was also surprised to find that both Zach and Lila are very afraid of it.

That doesn't stop me sending it on patrol around the living room, though.

Scratch that last post

2006-08-27T20:10:00.000Z

If I go to prison, it won't be for blog reading.

It will be for husbandicide. I'm going to kill the fucker.

1. He broke my oven. In fairness, he was trying to clean in it, and took the wrong screws off. So I have no shelves in the oven, which makes cooking more than one thing impossible. It's a Bank Holiday weekend (of course) and so no-one can fix it until Tuesday at the earliest.

2. He refuses to walk the dogs together. Which means when he takes one, I'm left with the other. They get distressed, cry their heart out and pee on the damn floor....which I have to clean up.

3. He keeps asking if my mood is because I am pregnant. How the fuck he thinks that is likely is beyond me, but I swear, if he asks me again, I will not be responsible for what happens.

Kill kill kill.

Farewell

2006-08-22T20:10:00.000Z

I'm in trouble.

My nefarious activities have finally caught up with me, and I fully expect the police to arrive at any moment to take me away.

It is true. I read publicly accessible blogs and am therefore a stalker.

I ask you to remember me whilst I languish in my prison cell. Could someone please feed the animals for me?

Animal instinct

2006-08-17T20:09:00.000Z

The Monsters know that I am sad.

Lila wants have contact with me at all times. She is guarding my feet right now. I put my hand down to stroke her reassuringly solid head, and am rewarded with a warm lick.

Zach is on my other side, his weight firm against my leg. His tail thumps every time I look at him.

Both follow me everywhere. They stick close together, as if to reassure themselves that things are ok. Little and Large, although Little is not that little anymore.

Charlie, Frankie and Ozzie are my constant companions in bed. Charlie takes my left arm and shoulder, Ozzie the right, and Frankie takes my chest.

Since I am having some sleeping problems at the moment, this isn't as annoying as it sounds. It is calming to lay in the dark, hearing and feeling the purrs of my three contented boys. Their presence is soothing.

Willow lays next to my right leg. Holly grudgingly takes my left leg. She'd rather be on my left shoulder, but Charlie nearly always gets there first and doesn't fight with the nearby boys. Both purr quietly. Holly bops me when she senses I am awake and not talking to her.

Ellie doesn't like to be on the bed with the other cats, but she jumps up in the night to check that all is well on her way to her favourite windowsill spot. If the boys have moved, she will lay on my chest for a while whilst headbutting my hand.

I feel surrounded by furry love.

So sad

2006-08-15T20:08:00.000Z

It was a lazy day last summer, when the sun was beating down and the scent of warm strawberries filled the air, that I first realised something was missing.

A very small Lila was snoozing by my feet, and I was idly watching the butterflies in my herb patch. I was completely contented and yet not. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I sat and puzzled, trying to make sense of that strange feeling. And then it hit me.

It wasn’t something that was missing. It was someone.

That was the first time that I was hit by the strength of my desire to have children. The power of that feeling shocked me. I knew I wanted to have children eventually, but until that moment, I didn’t realise just how much I wanted to.

The garden looked lovely that day, with the plants growing almost in front of my eyes. But it would look even lovelier with a little child playing in a paddling pool. A little child with curly dark hair and light eyes, laughing and splashing the dog so carefully guarding the pool.

That was a year ago. I remember thinking on that day, a year ago, that by next summer that dream would be real. Next year seemed like a lifetime away, but it felt close enough to touch. I could almost see the paddling pool. I could certainly see the dog…

The Baron and I talked about it, of course, and we did try briefly. Of course, then we decided to get married, and plans were put on hold. We decided we would start trying again after our wedding.

We’ve tried, on and off. Things kept popping up that meant we had to put it off a month here, a month there. Out of eighteen cycles, we have managed to try on eight of them.

And now the Baron has cold feet. He doesn’t want to continue trying right now. He can’t explain why. He won't explain why.

It is another summer now. The harvest is in already. The heat wave has broken and now it is cold and raining. It doesn’t feel like we’ve moved forward at all. That dream seems just as far as away as it did last summer. There will be no small child playing in our back garden this year, or next.

I think you can imagine how I feel right now.

Who would have thought?

2006-08-14T20:07:00.000Z

…that such a small dog could hold such vast quantities of vomit?

Imagine my surprise shortly after breakfast this morning when I came across not one, not two, not three, but seven separate and large pools of dog sick, all in discreet spots around the ground floor. I should have realised that no puddles was a bad sign…
It turns out that Zach Attack! has been eating the small and very very sour apples that grow on our apple tree, and that they don’t really agree with him. He’s a very sweet, but very stupid dog.

It is hard not to feel sorry for Zach when you see his sad little face, with his big brown eyes and droopy ears. Even if the stupid bastard did bring it entirely on himself.

…that Darth Lila could be trusted around my breakfast?

Well, I did. I know, I know. I’m stupid too. I was just munching my toast and Zach threw up again by my foot. It didn’t stop him begging for my toast crust, of course, but it did put me off eating.

Rather than try to clean and eat at the same time, I put my slice of toast on the highest bookshelf in the conservatory. I could see Lila out of the corner of my eye just watching it. That wasn’t a surprise – she likes toast just as much as I do

What was a surprise was when she leapt up on the armchair, stood on the back of the seat and gracefully swiped my slice of toast from its resting place atop my battered copy of Birdsong. Zach merely watched in awe, and then threw up again.

…that a poorly dog would still find time to eat printer paper (in the whole thirty seconds that my back was turned)?

‘Nuff said. Git.

…that the Boy would make it to his 8th birthday in one piece?

I had my doubts, I have to admit. But so far the worst we’ve had is a couple of black eyes, some scabby knees and a handful of detentions for fighting. Happy Birthday to the ratbag!

He’s buggered off to Cornwall for two glorious weeks to visit his new stepmother’s parents. Or it could be her grandparents. I wasn’t actually listening when he told me, because we were in the middle of a thrilling Mario Kart race, where I had joined in after the Boy had completed two laps (he insists on a head start but surely two laps head start is taking the piss even for the second worst player in the world – my mother is the worst ever) and I was still winning. The shame.

…that the United in Fear Scaredy Cat Society meetings would take place in my conservatory? And that two of the three members were in fact dogs?

None of my pets like the hoover. True, none of them take it to the extreme of my parents rottweiler, who barks and bears his teeth at it, but it would be fair to say that all eight live in fear of the Coming of the Hoover.

I needed to hoover the stairs this weekend. I hate doing it, but Charlie and Ozzie had had a huge fight, and the stairs were coated in clumps of orange and white hair. They seem to get some enjoyment from chasing each other, then pinning each other down and headbutting each other. Whatever floats their boat…

The hoover lives upstairs in the back bedroom. Holly and Charlie hid as soon as they saw me pick it up. Charlie, bless his orange cotton socks, got all worked up and ran around trying frantically to hide. Holly dove under the bed.

Ozzie and Willow favour getting on the bed, and then fighting over who can lie where.
Frankie prefers the top of the kitchen counters, which is another story altogether, seeing as the stupid cat still has trouble getting back down.

And Ellie likes the conservatory.

If I had actually got round to hoovering the stairs, all would have been well. The cats would have sulked, the dogs would have cowered and my stairs would have looked a damn sight better.
But the computer was being temperamental. So the Baron had pulled the whole thing out and was busy trying to fix it. He decided he wanted to hoover the several dogs worth of fur out from behind the desk in the hopes that it would magically cure the problem.

So the hoover was in the living room. Ellie was sat on the sofa out in the conservatory trying to look cool and unconcerned (and failing miserably, I might add). The dogs took one look and shot out to join Ellie on the sofa.

All three of them looked petrified, and were trying to hide behind each other. Ellie had jumped on to the back of the sofa, and Zach was precariously balanced next to her, occasionally sniffing her face. Lila was sat in front of them, also trying to look brave (and failing. Her shaking was a bit of a giveaway).

The meeting commenced.

Lila put her huge head down next to Ellie’s little one, so that their noses were touching. Ellie responded with a silent hiss, which Lila ignored. Zach put his head down next to Lila. All three were touching.

Lila then licked Ellie all across her face. Ellie’s expression was priceless, and to be honest, she wasn’t all that impressed with the sheer amount of drool coating her fur. But she still didn’t pull away. Instead, she started to lick Lila’s nose.

Of course, by this time, Zach wanted to join in, and he started to lick Ellie too. Lila wasn’t having that, and bopped him across the head with her paw. He tried to bop her back, but missed and smacked Ellie instead. She glared at him, and bopped him between the eyes.

Meeting adjourned.

…that I am supposed to be writing a report right now?

Ummmmm.

Double fuck!

2006-08-10T20:06:00.000Z

I dyed my hair again. My roots were showing, my grey was showing, and I was bored.

According to the laws of my hair, any colour hair dye = fucking scarlet. It doesn't matter what the box says, my hair interprets dye in its own unqiue way. And that way is to turn a shade of red that rivals a post box.

Oh well.

Fuck!

2006-08-09T20:06:00.000Z

I completed a long and boring report this afternoon.

Just before I saved the fucker, there was a power surge.

Poof.

Just like moving

2006-08-01T20:05:00.000Z

But without the hassle or cost of removal men.

I spent the evening rearranging furniture in my living room and conservatory. I cannot believe:
a) Just how much more room we have now;
b) Just how many books I have downstairs (I'm not thinking about the ones upstairs);
c) How little help two dogs are when rearranging furniture; and
d) How much fun the cats had scooting round the newly arranged rooms.

To top things off, I finally found my long lost copy of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Which I am currently watching, whilst simulataneously relaxing after my exertions and trying to ignore the heartburn caused by excessive red onion consumption.

All in all, a productive evening.

Worst weekend ever

2006-07-23T20:14:00.000Z

I present the evidence.

1. My tyres were slashed by a fuckwit unknown. So were the tyres of eight of my neighbours.

2. The technican who put my spare on lost my wheel locking nut thingy, which means that my spare can't actually be taken off now. He has now replaced it, but I can't get a new tyre until tomorrow.

3. My spare is a space saver. My car looks like a pansy.

4. I walked into the patio door. I have broken both my nose and my glasses, and I have panda eyes.

5. I was not drunk at the time. I am now, however :)

Case closed.

Seriously pissed off

2006-07-18T20:14:00.000Z

Bloody bloody work.

I was asked to attend an evening meeting at one of my clients tonight. Fine. I don't usually attend such meetings, but my manager was unable to and asked me to cover. Not a problem.
He gave me the wrong bloody address. I remember clarifying exactly where it was to be held, because we joked about the logistics of holding it in a small office with no air conditioning, whilst in the midst of a heatwave. I laughed, and inwardly grimaced.

I turned up to find no-one there, save an out of hours contractor painting the offices.

Bloody great.

I called my sister and asked her to open my e-mail. Absolutely nothing. Nothing that would indicate just where the bloody meeting was.

So I feel like a complete tit.

Piss.

Peace and quiet

2006-07-15T20:13:00.000Z

It's mid-day. It's hot and sunny, and there is not a cloud in the sky. Butterflies are fluttering around the garden, gently alighting on my herb plants before taking to the skies. I can hear bird song, and the sounds of a distant garden party.

The Baron is asleep.

The dogs are sprawled on the floor, sleeping in pools of sunshine. I can feel Lila's hot breath on my foot, and the steady rise and fall of Zach's breathing against my leg. Zach is dreaming and gently whining in his sleep. Lila's ear is cocked in response, and she stirs.

The cats are snoozing in their favourite spots. Every now and then I can hear a little squabble as a sleeping cat is awoken by another seeking to swap places. I imagine by the time I go and check on them, all six will be laying in a heap on the spare bed. Paws, tails and heads entwined.
There is a book lying open in front of me, next to a cool glass of juice.

The peace is such that I am loathe to leave it.

I should go shopping. I ought to do some pruning in the garden. I need to put the washing away.

But I don't want to.

If you were a fly on my wall

2006-07-10T20:11:00.000Z

"Lila, don't eat Zach's tail"

"Frankie, stop headbutting the microwave"

"Lila, it's a broom. It won't hurt you"

"Zach, Frankie is not edible"

"Frankie, leave the bloody microwave alone!"

"Charlie, why are you eating Ozzie? He can't taste THAT good"

"Ellie, me sitting on the toilet is not an invitation for you to sit on my lap. Go away"

"Willow, stop attacking the quilt. It hasn't done anything wrong"

"Frankie, stop headbutting the toaster!"

"Zach, you DO NOT HUMP MY BACK!"

"Lila, it is a plastic bag. You are quite safe"

"Ellie. I am about to give you fresh food. You left that all night because you didn't want it. Why do you insist on starting to eat it as I go to empty your bowl AND THEN GLARE AT ME FOR TAKING YOUR BLOODY FOOD AWAY?!"

"Holly, stop hitting me. I mean it. I know you are there. It's hard not to notice when you have your claws embedded in my nipple"

"Zach, that skirt was clean. Stop jumping up!"

"Ozzie, if you don't let me groom you NOW, I will be forced to shave your entire bum to get rid of the mats. Do you want the other cats to laugh at you?"

"Lila, you are a girl. Why are you mounting Zach?"

"I hate you all. Leave home NOW"

Bad girl checking in

2006-07-06T20:11:00.000Z

Ok, so I was bored.

I'm not bored anymore. Thanks to the evil influence of my sister I have spent a small fortune on some new clothes and a whole new skin routine and I now kill much time in the bathroom buggering around with lotions and potions.

We have also booked a family holiday for February next year. We are all (and by all I mean myself, the Baron, my parents, my evil sister and deranged nephew, and my evil sister's best friend) going to JAMAICA!

We will be there for my 29th birthday and the Baron's 30th. The Boy chimed in that we will be there for his half birthday, but sadly we just miss my parents 30th wedding anniversary and my Dad's birthday. Not that that will stop us celebrating them whilst we are there :)

However, my main time waster these days is iSketch. It is tragic just how much time I spend playing that. Thankfully, the Baron is equally hooked and so we play each other into the wee hours of the morning, or until my eyes close with sleep.

Which is about now....

So bored

2006-06-27T20:17:00.000Z

I am so bored.

Someone entertain me!!

Fun while it lasted

2006-06-18T20:17:00.000Z

The second line held steadily faint yesterday, and then buggered off altogether this morning.

So that's a no, then.

On the edge of my seat

2006-06-16T20:16:00.000Z

I hate waiting. I am not a patient person by nature, and so the whole concept of "wait and see" is one I struggle with immensely.

I must wait a little longer. Until early tomorrow morning, to be precise.

Why, you might ask?

I shall tell you.

There is the faintest of the faintest echo of a second line.

Mememememememememe

2006-06-03T20:15:00.000Z

Ramona has tagged me, which gives me an excuse to talk about something other than my pets :)

Although I have just discovered just how fast a rottweiler propelled chair can go, and it is pretty damn impressive! And even better, Darth Lila is now sleeping off her exertions.....

5 Items in my fridge

I've just been shopping so thankfully there is actually some real food in there:
Pork chops. Ready for the BBQ tomorrow;
Freshly picked strawberries;
A half mauled packet of ham from the deli. I buy fresh ham for the cats whenever I shop, and they raid my shopping bags for it. All six cats come down for it, and the dogs sit and watch them scarf it;
Lots of salad. I'm on a diet; and
A Kit Kat. I'm not sticking all that well to said diet.

5 items in my wardrobe (I don't do closets):

My 14 eye DM boots;
My favourite Rock Goddess t shirt;
My work suits and shirts;
My collection of hand knitted (by me) scarves that I made whilst practicing knitting; and
A dress I bought to wear for my cousin's wedding. I decided to wear something else and I have no idea when I will wear the dress. It is chocolate brown, and has a spiral thread going round it made of seashells. It is really hard to describe, but it is a really cool dress.

5 items in my car

My car is packed to the gills with rubbish. I haven't emptied all the shopping out, so I know that there is a lot of cat and dog food still in the boot, as well as some drinks and toilet paper. I spend a lot of time in my car, so it tends to accumulate a lot of stuff:
The Half Blood Prince on CD. I'm re-listening to it, and have remembered just how far away next year is. I need to have that last book in my hands NOW!! I'm just not that patient;
My very well used road map of the UK;
Menthol chewing gum;
Several bottles of water, and most have some chewing gum stuck to them. I know it is disgusting, but I haven't anywhere else to stick it whilst driving, and I don't want to lob it out the window. Apart from being vile, I am scared that it will stick the car behind me who will then follow me and shout at me! That is probably further into my mind that you needed to go, really; and
A ton of hair. We took the dogs out for a drive last weekend, and I haven't had time to clean up after them. Thankfully, Lila doesn't get car sick anymore. Then I had to take three cats to the vets, and Charlie tried to escape from his carrier by moulting most of his body hair. As did Ozzie the Artic Cat and Holly the Foul Mouthed Old Lady Who Is Quite Sweet When She Wants Ham.

5 items in my purse

Are we talking purse or bag? I'm think I'm going with bag, because my actual purse is really boring:
Entrance passes for two of my clients. I was supposed to return both of them;
A collection of highlighters;
Nappy sacks, for the daily poo patrol;
An apple; and
Tea bags. I like a special brand of tea, and so I carry a few with me for an afternoon treat.

So there you have it.

Playing catch up

2006-05-29T20:21:00.000Z

God, I am so lazy at this these days. Not that anything exciting has been going on, mind, but that is no excuse.

So , you might ask, what have I been up to during my silence? Or you might not......

The succinct answer is not very much, in truth.

I mean, the pets keep me pretty busy. Feed, walk, clean, feed, play, clean, groom, clean, lather, rinse and repeat. Little Dog isn't so little anymore, and is the cutest boy in the whole world. Big Dog's toe is all better and she is simply wonderful. The Kitty Monsters are their normal, furry selves and are just purrfect.

Work is work. 'Nuff said.

The Boy has lost his front teeth. Now that he has mastered the art of text messaging (on his mother's phone) he keep sending me pictures of his gap with pointed reminders about the Tooth Fairy.

My cousin got married last weekend. They spent a fortune on the affair, and the Baron and I had a lot of fun dissecting the day and comparing it to our budget day. Naturally this was after I had recovered from my stunning hangover.....

I joined an online diet community. I have decided that I want to lose 36 pounds. So far, I haven't done that well at sticking to it, but I have managed to eat breakfast every day since I started. That, for me, is huge. But tomorrow is a whole new day.

My hair has grown long enough for me to put up. Currently I am wearing my hair in bunches, just because I can.

And I have a ticket to see Bon Jovi on the 11th! Woohoo!

Goodbye Nemo, Marlin and Bruce

2006-05-15T20:20:00.000Z

Algae and ivy were slowly choking the water. A spring invasion force of frogs had arrived, threatening to overrun the squalid pond.

A dark green film, dank and unloved, spread across the still surface, broken only by an impertinent frog. Sunlight was powerless to penetrate the gloom.

The ornamental cats, guardians of the pond, were slowly being strangled by the ever growing ivy. They stared impassively out over the murky waters.

The pond simply had to go.

Saturday saw myself and the Baron fishing in the back garden. Armed with a bucket and a fishing net, we began Operation Locate and Retrieve the Bloody Goldfish.

Back when we moved into this house, we arrived here just before the previous occupants had left. They were running late because they were having trouble catching the three goldfish that lived in the pond. In the end, keen to get on the road to their new house, they abandoned the attempt.

We became the proud owners of our house, and the three resident goldfish.

We've had some problems with the pond - it features very heavily in one of Frankie's worst moments and Zach too has had several unexpected dips, which led to his first, second and third bath in very quick succession.

More seriously, the dogs have been drinking from it when our backs are turned. Clearly, with the state of the water, this isn't good for them, and their naughtiness has been amply repaid with serious bouts of vomiting and diarrhoea.

First catch of the day was a large and glaring frog. I hate frogs. I don't know why, but they really give me the willies. It leapt out of the net and landed on my foot, before hopping away to hide.
Ten minutes later, my catch consisted of a pile of algae, a plant pot, a snail, the long lost Darth Vader water feature, two more frogs and half a ton of ivy. No fish.

The Baron took over. He thought he might be more successful.

Bollocks. He didn't even catch a plant pot.

So the fishing net was returned to my capable hands, and the next thing I knew, Bruce flopped into my net.

I owe Bruce an apology. I also caught another frog, and spent a good thirty seconds shrieking when it jumped at me before it dawned on me that poor Bruce could no longer breathe. Did I mention that I really really hate frogs?

Bruce was very quickly placed in his new home, a nice yellow bucket.

One down, two to go.

Nemo and Marlin, despite being much more golden than the rather pale, but distinctly fat Bruce, were still nowhere to be seen. On the other hand, a large collection of previously lost dog toys had found their way into my net.

Thanks to some well placed holes, the water level in the pond was dropping quickly. The frogs were retreating now, staking claims in the growing pile of algae. I gave them a very wide berth.
I hadn't seen the fish at all in days, and had a growing suspicion that Nemo and Marlin were now ex fish, frolicing in the Great GoldFish Bowl in the Sky. The Baron was convinced that they were very much alive, but were being stroppy.

Can fish be stroppy? Since Daddy keeps fish, I asked the Boy this question, hoping for some insight into the ways of goldfish, but all I got was a withering look and an offer to conduct a toilet side funeral. Perhaps Daddy wasn't as successful as we thought...

A very still and dead Nemo floated into my net.

It didn't seem right to put Nemo in with the very much alive (and now pissed off) Bruce. But neither of us had a clue as to what to do with Nemo, Deceased.

Just as I was about to take the Boy up on his offer to conduct a funeral, Nemo himself ended all the discussions by miraculously coming back to life, backflipping up and out and stupidly landing back in the net.

Clearly fish can be stroppy....

That just left Marlin.

I think he felt a little lost without Nemo and Bruce. And the approximate 100 gallons of fetid water that had now drained away, because he just swam lazily into the net.

Job done. Finally. Operation Locate and Retrieve the Bloody Goldfish was a complete success. Of course, we still had the pond to remove, and the large hole to fill, but that was a job for Sunday.
Now what to do with the fish...

Last summer, when the slugs and the snails were trying to decimate our vegetables, I could regularly be seen walking to the village green with a plant pot full of reprobate molluscs, plucked from the dewy plants I was working so hard to grow.

I couldn't being myself to actually kill them, so I merely relocated them. Much to the amusement of the village, who clearly had a more pragmatic approach to garden pests.
I couldn't just leave the fish to die, so the village was treated to the sight of the Baron and I wandering through with a very large yellow bucket, containing three confused goldfish. There is a large man-made pond at the far edge of the village, which was just perfect for our newly homeless fish.

So Bruce, Marlin and Nemo are now happily swimming in the village pond, having joined many other relocated goldfish.

The village pub just happens to be opposite the fishpond, and so we enjoyed a post fish removal pint and lunch.

All in all, it was a good Saturday.

When good weekends turn bad

2006-05-06T20:18:00.000Z

Friday started off much as any other day does here.

I fed the Monsters, and then I took the dogs out for their walk. Walking two dogs isn't as easy as I hoped it might be. Zach spends most of his time trying to climb on Lila's back for a ride, which Lila completely ignores in favour of holding both her lead and Zach's lead in her mouth.

So we were on the Green, enjoying the early morning sunshine. People were walking to the bus stop and shouting greetings across the street. Just a pleasant morning.

Zach was half on Lila, half dangling in mid air. Lila was carefully ignoring Zach and sniffing a particularly fascinating patch of ground. I, of course, was hopelessly entangled in two extendable dog leads.

I'm fairly good at getting things untangled......after Zach unravelled my last knitting project I spent hours sorting out the mess of wool that he left behind, and I managed to untangle and save nearly all of it.

So after a few minutes of going round, under, over and back round the dogs, I had us all free and ready to go.

That's when I fell over.

So Friday passed in a drug filled haze, as I took painkiller after painkiller to ease the pain of my throbbing ankle. It had only just healed properly from the time I took a tumble over Lila last year....

Today started off with a breakfast of milk and more painkillers for me, and half rations for the dogs. Someone (pointing no fingers at all) had failed to notice that the dog biscuits were nearly all gone.

That meant a trip to the supermarket, instead of the planned "do bugger all and rest the ankle" day. It's a good thing that I took yet more painkillers before I went to enable me to walk round, because I managed to break my toe by ramming my own trolley into my foot.

I am not going outside again this weekend. In fact, I might not move from the sofa at all.
It has GOT to be safer :)

Bloody clients

2006-05-02T20:18:00.000Z

Work is a complete disaster at the moment.

I just typed out the whole sorry saga, realised how depressing it is and how stressed it is making me, and deleted it so I don't have to look at it. Take my word for it......it has gone completely tits up.

And the sad thing is that on one level, I really don't give a damn. I'm tired.

Not physically, but mentally. The problems have been dragging on for a while and probably will carry on. It is a struggle to make myself get work done these days.

I need to get myself motivated to do a better job.

Question and answer

2006-04-25T20:25:00.000Z

1. Why are puppies so cute?

So you don't kill them when they eat:

Your house telephone;
The blanket you have been knitting for weeks;
Cat shit;
The piano stool;
The Darth Vader water feature that lives in your pond; and
The fish that live in your pond. OK, he didn't eat them, but he keeps getting in to sniff them.

2. Why do rottweilers have such thick necks?

So you can't strangle them when they help your puppy to eat the aforementioned items.

3. Where do all the Jaffa Cakes go?

In my tummy. I am a Jaffaholic.

4. How did Lila break her toe?

Fuck knows. That dog is a mystery.

5. Why am I such a lazy blogger?

Because I spend most of my time at home these days trying to stop the wave of destruction named Zach :)

Hell Hound

2006-04-22T20:24:00.000Z

We went back to the vets.

Given that her foot clearly was causing her pain, it was perhaps inevitable that she reacted badly to having it poked again. Personally, I would have expected growls and an attempted arm removal, but this vet was more optimistic than I.

I like this vet a lot as she is not just knowledgeable about cats and dogs, but is also very open to owner research and holistic medicine. However, I find holding a conversation whilst looking at her quite hard. She is crossed eyed. Perhaps she had trouble focusing on Lila's menacingly bared teeth....

After a swiftly terminated poke, a large muzzle was provided. Sadly, Lila is adept at removing them and the poking ceased almost as quickly as it commenced. Lila was simply not having her foot touched and that was that.

We decided that the best way to proceed was to knock her out. A large hammer was found and we repeatedly hit her on the head until she passed out.

I may have made that last bit up.

We made an appointment for the following day. Lila was duly starved and returned to the vets the next morning. She hopped out of the car with a surprising amount of glee for a dog at the vets again with a sore foot.

Things didn't start promisingly.

Lila refused to climb on the weighing scales. Last time she was weighed she was 37 kilos, but that was a little while ago and without an accurate weight, giving her anaesthetic would be problematic. It was decided to go ahead with a sedative and weight her later.

A puppy had been brought in as an emergency. She had constipation and was howling mournfully as she underwent repeated enema's.

Lila was supposed to be getting sleepy, but instead she was getting agitated by the puppy's cries. We were taken to an empty consulting room where I sat on the floor with her and helped her give in to the effects of the sedative.

The idea of the sedative was to relax her, weigh her, walk her through to the X Ray room and lightly anaesthetise her.

The best plans are those that work. This plan had a fundamental flaw which was very quickly discovered. Lila had been given a leeetttllleee too much sedative and was not going to be walking anywhere.

After crapping all over the floor, Lila fell into a deep slumber from which she was reluctant to stir. One well known problem with this sedative is that dogs can appear to be deeply asleep, but can come round extremely quickly, bite whoever is nearest in their confusion, and then drop off into another snooze. Sleeping Beauty was therefore muzzled again.

(I wish they had told me about that before her spay and hernia repair. That would have saved me some nice facial bruising.)

So Lila was carted off the the X Ray machine on a stretcher. No anaesthetic was given as she was so out of it. I picked her up no more than two hours after I left her.

She spent the rest of the day trying to stay awake and failing miserably. She would start to chew her bone (a bone that Zach covets and is not allowed) and fall asleep mid chew. Zach would pinch it with glee and sneak away for a quiet chew.

The upshot of all this drama?

The stupid bloody dog has a broken toe.

Situation normal

2006-04-18T20:23:00.000Z

So the Easter break went well.

Naturally, since the vets were shut, Lila felt the need to injure her leg. We think she twisted it whilst playing with Zach.

She won't put weight on it, she growls menacingly if you touch it and she randomly cries. Not like my big strapping girl at all.

So off to the emergency vet we went. They love us too. We spend a fair bit there as well.

Since they couldn't find anything wrong, they gave her some painkillers roughly the size of horse tablets and she has spent the last three days zonked out. She is still in pain, so back we go later.

I didn't even need to give my name on the phone.

Daft bugger

2006-04-09T20:23:00.000Z

The room was completely dark. I'd just nipped in to put a book away before I went to bed. I didn't want to trip over any sleeping cats/errant folders/cat vomit so I put the light on.

I was not expecting the scene that met my eyes. In fact, I nearly dropped the book in surprise.
Frankie, the daftest bugger in the world, was sat in my office swivel chair, green eyes wide open in amazement. The chair was swivelling at high speed, apparently of its own accord. He was hanging on for dear life, claws dug deep into the leather whilst his tail was wrapped around the arm rest.

I don't know whether he jumped on the chair (from either the ground or the bookcase where he hides when I have to use the hoover - Frankie is also a scaredy cat) and his impact caused it to spin. On the other paw, he might have worked it out all by himself. Although that is doubtful....
I couldn't resist. I carried on spinning the chair with him hanging on. I gave him the chance to jump off, but he seemed to really enjoy it. He looked like a little surfer dude.

He couldn't walk in a straight line by the time we finished.

Wheee!

2006-04-06T20:22:00.000Z

Big Dog pushed Little Dog into the pond. I suspect Big Dog was scared by the frog that has taken up residence, and tried to use Little Dog as a diversion whilst she legged it.

He didn't mind. He came running in, soaking wet, tail wagging, and looking very pleased with himself. Nothing fazes that dog. Not even Darth Lila trying to swing him round by his tail.

She has a fascination with tails. I don't blame her, since she is ill equpped in the tail department herself, but the cats do get a little narked when she tries to hold theirs in her mouth.

Zach does take enormous liberties with her, much as she did with her uncle. He clambers all over her, bites her face and her legs (and then runs away very quickly) and steals her toys. Then again, much like Harvey, Lila truly believes that all toys belong to her anyway. She will remove any toy that Zach has in his mouth as a matter of principle. He then gets another, and whilst she takes that, he runs off with the original toy that he really wanted and sits under the table.

Lila is far too huge to fit under the table these days. Lila is a big girl now, and weighs nearly seven stone.

But they love each other. They are inseparable, my Little and Large.

More excuses

2006-03-29T20:30:00.000Z

I am still around.

Things haven't been brilliant around here, and I needed a little break from the computer.

Things aren't any better, but I miss the internet too much.

One of these days I'll get round to posting my pictures from my trip to France.

Toxic farts

2006-03-14T20:28:00.000Z

I am being gassed out.

I now have two dogs with toxic farts. Eeeewwww. The cats are hiding upstairs to escape the clouds of noxious gases the pair of them are emitting, and I am sorely tempted to do the same.
Added to that the fact that Lila has a major tizzy every single time Zach even looks at one of her toys. Please note that all toys belong to Lila, even those I bought for Zach. She doesn't do sharing at all.

Other than that, the pair get on fine. They have a shared love of eating, farting, and generally being in the way that will see them past their toy difficulties.

My mind has gone

2006-03-12T20:28:00.000Z

Lila has a live in playmate :)

Must try harder

2006-03-08T20:28:00.000Z

I'm a very bad blogger.

However, I am so knackered that I will remain a bad blogger tonight.

I'm off to my nice, warm, cat filled bed for some much needed kip.

Bloody memes

2006-03-03T20:26:00.000Z

Four Jobs I've had in my Life:
1. Fast food worker
2. Phlebotomist
3. Accountant
4. Auditor

Four Movies I'd Watch Over and Over:
1. Star Wars (any of them, with the huge exception of the Phantom Menace)
2. Memphis Belle
3. Finding Nemo
4. Back the Future

Four Places I've Lived:
1. London, UK
2. Herts, UK
3. Leicestershire, UK
4. Essex, UK

Four TV Shows I like to Watch
1. Nigella Bites
2. Long Way Round
3. Brainiac: Science Abuse
4. Red Dwarf

Four Favourite Places I've been on Vacation:
1. Cuba
2. Meedhupparu, the Maldives
3. Finland
4. Zante

Four Web Sites I Visit Daily
1. www.delphiforums.com
2. www.bbc.co.uk/news
3. www.fertilityfriend.com
4. www.about.com

Four of my Favourite Foods:
1. Bacon butty
2. Garlic and chili prawns
3. Thai green chicken curry
4. Chocolate cake and custard

Four places I'd rather be right now:
1. Cuddling in bed with hubby & cats
2. The pub

Thats it. I'm quite happy here at home.

I'm back!

2006-02-21T20:32:00.000Z

We have a computer! At last!

The Baron spent the entire weekend building a new one from scratch - I'm not joking - he didn't come to bed until late on Sunday. We even missed our own birthday party. How tragic.
So we are both a year older now. I went to the pub on my birthday and got disgustingly drunk. I was still nursing my hangover on the Baron's birthday two days later. He was too busy computer building to go out on his birthday, but I suspect that I drank enough for both of us two days earlier...

He bought me "Long Way Round", and I bought him series 1 of "Battlestar Galactica". You can probably imagine the *discussions* we have over the dvd player at the moment!

We have celebrated Charlie, Ozzie and Lila's adoptaversaries this month - events that are taken very seriously in the DMouse House. We celebrated with lots of ham. Charlie has been with us for two years and has come on so much that it is like having a whole new cat. Ozzie and Lila have been with us a year.

This of course means that Harvey has been gone a year. I still can't think of that day without crying and I miss the little bastard every day, but I wouldn't have Ozzie if I still had Harvey. My mind can't get round that one, so I content myself with snuggling Ozzie and missing HarveyCat.

What else? The Boy has shot up another couple of inches and has no clothes that fit. He also sports a stupid haircut thanks to his Dad. He looks a little nerdy.

Mummy had a crash on the motorway and wrote her car off completely. She was driving in the rain, aquaplaned and hit the central reservation. She then spun across all three lanes of traffic and ploughed into a tree. Amazingly, although the car is a wreck, she walked away with whiplash. She is busy trying to work out how to afford a Mini.

Right. I need to go and finish tidying the kitchen. My life is so dull.

More blech

2006-02-08T20:32:00.000Z

The computer is still buggered. Lila chewed through the power cable and that somehow blew the motherboard. Not to mention the fact that it gave her a nice little shock :)

Seriously, she looked like Jar Jar bloody Binks, running around with her tongue poking out. Stupid dog.

I'm on the mend from the food poisoning. Unfortunately, I got brave and went back to work, where I managed to pick up a nasty viral thing on my first day back. I've found that people aren't pleased to see an auditor at the best of time, let alone one clearly infected with the Lurgy, and so work isn't really an option until I shift this.

So I am off again, with glands the size of golf balls, a barking cough and a crazy dog with a newfound phobia of power cables. And I am supposed to relax and get better?!