The Palace Park

The Palace Park

Tuesday, 29 September 2009

Bra that could fit on my head

Well, now little Fanglet, things are a changing.

Your Auntie Theresa left last Thursday after a lovely visit. She has put up some photos and I took a few shots of my own (including a great one of her at Flickr.

On Sunday, your Dad and the archivists (Laura, Eizabeth, Richard, Katie, the Consort, and Lorraine) took me for afternoon tea at Wallace House. It was a lovely surprise (though it must be said I still don't really like these kinds of surprises).  I then had to go and get fitted for new bras. I have, it would seem, gone from a 32C to a 36F. Interesting, no?

Monday, 28 September 2009

Mommy on Vacation




Here are photos of your Mommy on our vacation. Sorry I could only get good photos of her from behind for some reason.


Auntie Theresa

Friday, 25 September 2009

Back in the Saddle

Dear Fanglet

So, here we are back in London. Surprisingly, there has been sunshine every day since our return. The British Isles are not known for being sunny, so I feel particularly blessed after being spoiled by the weather in Croatia and Montenegro.

I had a lovely time. The weather was balmy, the Adriatic a twinkling jewel box of sapphire and and aquamarine. I ate and ate and ate. I walked and walked and walked. And I napped and napped and napped.  Theresa was a great traveling companion, driving most of the time and being very patient with me and my bladder as we demanded frequent stops because Pee! often becomes the most important and pressing thing in my world.

My tummy is not overly large but I am starting to not be able to button trousers that would go over my belly and though I don't look pregnant from behind, the bump is taking shape.

Your Aunt Anna has kindly started to supply me with maternity clothes and is also plotting to make sure that you are well provided for both in kit and clothing. I'm on the fence about knowing gender and I'm on the fence about having you tested for spina bifida and for Downs Syndrome because it wouldn't make a whit of difference to me. You're mine and I'm in it for the long haul.

Wednesday, 16 September 2009

When the going gets tough, the pregnant go to Montenegro

Dear Fanglet

Here we are: two days before our first holiday together! Your Auntie Theresa has arrived and is looking stunning. She has always been lovely: flawless porcelain skin, thick black hair with a red sheen.

This week, I want sleep, mashed potatoes, sleep, and pineapple juice in that order. Oh, and sleep. Sleep figures in quite prominently.

Not much else to report, except that I am obsessed with taking pregnancy tests 'just to make sure' you're still in there because I'm not completely bowled over with morning sickness. Not that I don't feel like ill, I do. But I haven't thrown up nearly as much as I thought I would.  I'm hoping this passes once we have taken your first media appearance, which is scheduled for 7 October.

Monday, 14 September 2009

Sharing

So, it may surprise you to learn that, little Fanglet, that I am not overly good at sharing my toys. Well, I'm not very good at sharing a particular toy: money.  I'm not.

I'm gregarious, social and outgoing on the surface but these are skills that were developed in order to S U R V I V E; they are not my true nature. My true nature, my gorgeous little parasitic muffin, is much surlier than that. I am a lone wolf. Okay, maybe a lone golden retriever.  A hostile teenager. A knocked up hostile teenager. I'm so chuffed, little minnow, I can't tell ya!!

There are many things I am not: I am not a morning person, I am not really a constant cuddler. I am also not really into sharing my space or my stuff on a daily basis. Friends borrowing clothes and books? No problem! Husband wanting to know my monthly income or borrow £20: Get stuffed, turkey butt! Now, this comes from my upbringing. My mama and daddy didn't play nicely when it came to money. Mama owned the pursestraps and Daddy spent a great deal of time and energy trying to run rings around said straps. And when that didn't work. . . well, we'll save that for when you're older. Let is suffice to say that your mama operates from the mindset that she's gonna do whatever she wants, whenever she wants. Usually, this is fine. Usually, mama is medicated and can be reasoned with. But sometimes, well sometimes irrationality sets in and that £450 Vivienne Westwood dress just cannot be resisted. It needs me. Truly.  And so I buy Vivienne, I take her home, I wear her, and then I have to hide the tags.

In addition to being tired and craving mashed potatoes (that's all. Just mashed potatoes. For dinner. On their own. They were good. I might have 'em again tonight. Yummmm. Mashed Potatoes), money weighs like a spector. Neither your dad or I are very good at saving money. We're squanderbirds. We don't mean to be and we try to save but every time that nest egg gets big enough to nest on, we need new tires for the car, or the dishwasher catches fire, or we have to throw party. Or mama needs new flooring. I know. Life, as I have already told you, is hard. So are my new floors. ; ) But we try.  I suppose I'm just trying to prepare you for a life of love and warmth and dubious financial planning.

Wednesday, 9 September 2009

8 weeks and counting

Dear Fanglet

The next few weeks are going to busy.  You and I are going on our first vacation together to Montenegro with your Aunt Theresa, then I start back to school at UCL. I'm also working on a book chapter on text-based communications and a paper for a conference in Geneva. The conference is right around your due date, so we'll see how feasible that ends up being, although it must be said that I quite fancy the idea of giving birth in Switzerland near the Lake.  All that lovely hot chocolate.

Things are getting a bit squiffy in the mornings, so I am going to have to break the news to the guys at work sooner rather than later. I'm not thrilled about this. . .  I want to wait until I'm into the 3rd trimester but that doesn't seem feasible at the moment.

Siigh.

Monday, 7 September 2009

I love cole slaw

Dear Fanglet

Your great-grandmere Lo makes the best cole slaw. I covet her cole slaw and the last weekend have found myself recreating this cole slaw in epic proportions with a slight twist: a splash of balsamic vinegar. And instead of white cabbage, we are eating our way through North London's stash of red cabbage. Seriously. I have had cole slaw 6 times in the last 4 days. All hale garden grown cabbage and tomatoes! The largess of mother nature bountiful is mine.  I like cole slaw because it is easy: I don't have to cook anything (you will learn that this is par for the course) and I can eat it straight away.

In other news, we got dates for your first doctor's appointments: 1 October and 7 October. Most exciting.  You and I nap a lot, which makes Josephine most ecstatic. She loves to nap and snuggle and is growing quite protective of your cocoon. My witching hours come at strange times: 3:30-5pm and 7-9:30 pm seem to be the most nauseating.

I spoke with your father last night; he has arrived in Las Vegas and is driving a canary yellow Corvette. This amuses me because your father isn't really a Corvette kind of guy. He is also sun-burned on the left-hand side of his body only.

Boys are silly.

Friday, 4 September 2009

So. You're seven weeks and a hair. How does it feel?

Thus far I notice the following: there is this very weird metallic taste in my mouth in the mornings when  get up until about mid-day.  I am also exhausted, though I chalk this up to caffeine withdrawl.

Your father left today for a 10 day  trip to Vegas. He will fly to San Fransisco through wildfires but fret not because I made him write out a will. Now, he'll point out that he had already written a will but this was written the same night he had  to scuttle a plan by your unlce Clarkie and Martin to invade France via lifeboat. What I can say? Those two don't get out much. At least Martin doesn't.

The will is more for my piece of mind. I am also apprehensive about your father traveling and worry that if he were to die the ground might open me up and swallow me whole. That's how I know I'm knocked up: I'm overly emotional. Lesson learned:   Love is hard, life is hard; people live, they die and we move on until we don't. And most of the time, all of this is worth it.

In other news, you've brought with you the gift of vomit. Friday, I felt squiffy and took a taxi home. I barely made it to the front door before I was sick all over the front garden. Bless your father, as he cleaned it up.  On Monday, the same again but with more bite.  But it is manageable and I wouldn't have it any other way.