Cake and four week old babies

I made one. A cake that is. The baby is a little way off four weeks old. The cake tastes quite nice. It has icing sugar tastefully sprinkled on top and looks like it might pass muster at a WI fete. Am I getting older or something?

Mum is with us and has actually been a star on the washing up and entertaining her grandson fronts. As I write, Nick and Mum think I'm working whilst they dry O's hair and get him all snug in his pyjamas. I feel a bit guilty about this, especially as the little man's been at nursery all day being fed too much Halloween-induced sugary horridness. I might be able to make cake, but being a good mum is much harder...

We saw Nick's cousin yesterday with her hubbie and four week old baby. Little babe is adorable - so small and scrunchy. She has reflux (you mums will know the horror this entails) and dreadful wind. Nick's cousin has had mastitis. The birth was a nightmare. Am I really going to go through it all again? Will I cope? Will Oliver cope? He prodded and poked little baby and was quite sweet until he thought we were ignoring him and then he got stroppy.

2006 is going to be interesting.

Clare in disappointing midwife appointment shocker...

I seem to remember in the distant past when O was a wee grub in my tum that midwife appointments were exciting. The peeing on a stick thing, reading Hello whilst waiting to be called, the taking of blood pressure and most of all, the heart-beat listening (OK that bit was still quite exciting).

Having only seen a midwife once during the whole pregnancy prior to Friday's appointment, I was - justifiably I thought - excited about seeing her again. I was certain I had loads of questions to ask and that we'd have a long chat about... well, about being pregnant. I was met by the student midwife, Lara, who is sweet but obviously not a mum herself and a real novice. Mary turned up a bit later after I had peed in a pot (O was with me and it went all over the shop!) only to discover that my HepB result wasn't in the file and then spent 10 minutes on the phone.

Of course, it's wonderful that everything is boringly fine. Measurement of bump spot on for dates, heartbeat steady and strong, blood pressure good (although Lara asked if I ever felt faint with a blood pressure like that! Meaning?), blood test results all negative and positive in the right places. But something of the magic of the first time is missing. Is this unfair? Am I being a cow to my unborn babe? Will I feel the same when he/she actually turns up?

In short, it's all rather weird. Oh, and my mum arrives tomorrow evening for three nights. Hmm.

Is it my imagination...?

...or is this the busiest baby ever to occupy a woman's insides? I feel as though I am being permanently pummeled with tiny hands and feet - and possibly the odd headbutt. I'm sure I never felt as much as this with O - any second timers out there, is this normal or is our new baby destined to be an ADHD nightmare as my husband fears?

In happier news, we are now fully hooked up to the digital TV revolution thing that's been going on for ages without us. It wasn't the aerial, but the supposedly helpful (but suspiciously ancient-looking) booster box in the spare room! I can now watch CBeebies with impunity - or at least plonk O in front of it for a much needed rest...

That's my boy!

Here's a quite recent pic of the man himself. Although I'm biased, he is pretty yummy isn't he?!!

More soon... I'm meant to be working!

Still pooped

What a week. Monday - worked. Tuesday - felt dire most of the day and only just managed to keep Oliver fed / reasonably happy. Went to Bath to visit the sister of a friend (over-ambitious but lovely). Yesterday - playgroup, lunch with two playgroup mums, pre-school visit, tea over the road! Today - work (a welcome break!)

Schools! Pre-schools! Nurseries! Aagh. Why does it all have to be so complicated - and expensive? None of the primary schools here offer pre-school so you have to find your own thing. One has been recommended but they only take the little ones for two hours in the afternoon twice a week! Not much use if you're trying to work. We've found a lovely Montessori pre-school, but have no idea how we'd pay for even a day and a half a week unless I work. But what do I do with the little one? Nursery means more money and I'll be lucky if I break even!!

These are the things that swill around my tired mind. And I still have a filthy cold.

I think that's enough whinging (sp?!) for now.

Pooped!

It's official. I'm knackered. We've had one of those lovely weekends where we had no commitments... but once I started relaxing, I suddenly realised how tired I am.

But, we spent a lovely afternoon in Clifton (the posh bit of Bristol - think Northcote Road) yesterday, ate fab cake in a trendy caff, joined one of the best video shops in the country - everything from the West Wing to Japanese animation - and took a stroll on the Downs in the sunshine. So all in all, not bad.

Today we managed to take Oliver swimming - he's forgotten everything he learned with Mohammed the super teacher - and mow the lawn. Did I say we weren't busy?

Must entertain the little man for another hour before he finally passes out!

Digital TV? Pah...

I've resisted the whole digital / cable / satellite TV stuff for ages. But, with rubbish reception here and forthcoming arrival of babe number two, the idea of Channel 4 minus the diagonal stripes and CBeebies to keep O occupied whilst I faff about with small baby suddenly appealed.

So, I rather impulsively popped into a TV shop a few days ago (partly to escape truly torrential rain). Embarrassed, I asked the guy if he could explain how these new-fangled Freeview box things work. We then had a protracted conversation - well, not much was said by me actually, but anyway - about SCART cables and recording capability. I ended up buying the cheapest one in the shop and scuttled away.

Would it work? Would it heck. OK, so I plugged the SCART thing into the video instead of the TV (I'm sure that's what he told me to do). But even once I'd got some telephonic advice, it still didn't work. 'Ah, that sounds like a problem with your aerial,' I was assured. 'You might need an upgrade.' An upgrade? I thought the whole bloody point was that there was a 'one-off cost' and then the TV world was our oyster?

I think I'm going to send the bill for 'upgrading' to Downing Street.

Sniff...

No, I'm not depressed about having no friends in Bristol (although come to think of it, I could work on that). I have a stinking cold which is causing me to wade through boxes of tissues. When I can't be bothered, I just sniff.

Not only that, but O decided it was about time he had a tummy bug (Mel, hope Jack's alright!). We were on our way to check out a posh toy shop in Clifton with friend / acquaintance across the road (the only one I have at the moment!) when a large amount of vomit exited my blue-eyed babe. Rather than crash the car in horror, I managed to calmly pull to the side of the road, soothe son and cover him in tissues (maybe the cold was a blessing in disguise as I don't normally carry a box with me!), call Antonia and cancel outing. We got home in the nick (scuse the pun) of time before another visitation reached the kitchen lino. More later last night.

I'm waiting for my turn...

PS I seem to use brackets (or should I say parentheses?) rather a lot. Let me know if it irriates.

Official: we are grown up

Hello fellow web nerds. This will be the last time I apologise for the ludicrous gaps in blog posting - I promise I will try and get better. Perhaps quantity is above quality in these matters.

Anyway, we had some bestest friends to stay this weekend and decided that we have really entered the world of being grown up. Spare room with towels on the bed, travel cot up ready for wee Jack, homemade leek and potato soup in the freezer just in case, leg of lamb in the fridge ready for Sunday lunch...

It was marvellous. Having lived in a two bed flat for so long, we just never had people to stay (except my sister who had to put up with a sofa bed in the sitting room and the world's smallest dining table). The boys ran around the garden, we all pottered off to Bristol Zoo in our estate cars and watched a vid on Saturday night. How civilised.

Anyway, the upshot is that Nick and I can 'do' weekend visits! All welcome (well, as long as we know who you are). I may even be able to ask the butcher for a joint of lamb without making a complete pratt of myself.

What other news? Nick's cousin has had a baby girl - Hayley Skye (hmmm, not convinced) - which has made us both even more excited about our impending arrival. My bump is getting alarming - photo soon. Oh, and our sofas finally arrived! Such luxury.

Almost forgot - our night out for N's birthday was marvellous. Ate ourselves silly and shared a half bottle of wine. Boats were definitely pushed out. And not a peep from the gorgeous babe...

Birthday boy!

So far, so good (for me at least. Nick's pedal fell off on his way to work and he managed to send me 31 blank texts from his phone. Moral of that story - lock your keypad! Not as bad as the time he sent 18 to his brother who's mobile is registered in Italy...)

Boringly, I bought my divine husband a commuting bag which he can attach to his bike. Yawn. But it's what he wanted and it was surprisingly expensive! But - of course - it doesn't fit the rack on his bike. Despite the manager of the bike shop assuring me that this bag would fit any bike rack. Hmm.

I also resisted the pant option and went for a rather posh Crabree & Evelyn shaving bowl. His previous one was on the point of extinction so I thought this was rather clever. And he did a good job of seeming pleased! Extra brownie points were awarded as I'd got Oliver to scribble on his card which he loved.

N's mother and father sent a jumper that's too big (plus a cheque for £100 so not all bad). His brother sent a CD (from Italy, cracked case). And that was it for presents! My parents and grandmas sweetly sent money, but it's not the same as ripping revolting wrapping paper off a random gift is it?

Anyway, we have our first night out on the town in Bristol tonight. Lovely lady over the road is babysitting. I fear O may wake as he's being rather pesky with teeth at the moment... Hope it doesn't put her off for good.

We weasled our way into a brilliant playgroup this morning quite by chance, for being 'genuinely' new to the area and contacting them within a month of arriving! I hope the 86 other mums on the waiting list don't find out about that... no telling please.

Oh, and a bit of tooth fell out at breakfast. I thought it was a particularly hard grain in the granary but unfortunately not. So I've now got to find an NHS dentist. Needle and haystack spring to mind...

Over and out. Mwah mwah.

Sorry, sorry...

I'm not very good at keeping this thing up to date am I?! We've had a hectic weekend. Mum, Dad, Kathryn (my sis) and her man Doug came down to look after Oliver whilst we went off to the wedding... How many family members does it take to keep a toddler happy for 36 hours? Four apparently!

The wedding was fab, although I felt a little frumpy with my flattie shoes on and a non-maternity outfit which was really too small. I noticed a lovely stain on my cream top during the church service to boot. My pal looked amazing - all Audrey Hepburn and satiny. Saw lots of old Bristol folks, which was a bit bizarre as we've just moved back there. Good to catch up although it reminded me why I don't bother to keep up with some of them!

On our return home, the famille were determined to impress on us how happy O had been all weekend - no tears, no tantrums etc etc. Of course he then crumpled into a heap as soon as we arrived and removed my handbag from his clutches. This was greeted with cries of 'He hasn't done this all weekend you know...' by my father, to the point where I had to tell him he really didn't need to say that again.

Anyway, all was well, and we missed the little man heaps. We put him to bed as usual - and then the little blighter woke at 10.45 (just as we were falling into bed exhausted from an exceptionally late 1.30 night on Saturday!). Not only did he wake, but he howled for an hour. I lay in bed telling myself that I must be a terrible mother if my son decides to have a hissy fit the night we get back from being away. Must be nicer to self as Bridget might say.

Fishcakes call and I can't miss Waking the Dead part two...

Toodle pip for now ladies.

Next installment will be tales of N's birthday and whether I manage to behave like perfect wife and get the right presents, restaurant etc. I bet you can't wait.