It's a little warm outside. Too warm for me. Too warm for cats. Too warm for babies.
Certainly too warm for Flea to have figured out that she can now access the upstairs of the house (off limits to cats since the arrival of H) by jumping onto the conservatory roof and squeezing through even the smallest gap in a window. Too warm to have the upstairs windows on the back of the house firmly closed because of the antics of a daft and persistant cat.
Bloody animals.
Heather has been very SHOUTY for the past few days - a combination of heat and colic is seriously annoying her and as a result she's decided that she'll shout at us for a few hours every day. It's bloody hard work, but we can't complain because she's such a manageable little bean otherwise (touch wood). Although, on Friday I was very close to developing a twitch and bald patches, as H had me up from 4am and refused to settle until 10am (I was already twitching at this point). She allowed me half an hour to have some cereal, do the washing up and sterilise some bottles, then she woke up and shouted. For two hours. With no obvious cause. She then slept for ten minutes, until I dared to try to put her down, when she woke up and shouted again. For another hour. Then sleep for ten minutes. Then shouting.
And so on.
Until 5.30pm. Poor Alex...so far I've managed to avoid pouncing on him as soon as he closes the front door and saying "Hello, nice to see you, here: have this screaming baby", but Friday was an exception. And the real kick in the teeth? He cuddled her for ten minutes and she fell asleep, then let him put her down...and she slept for two hours. Hmm.
PARANOIA
I'm really scared of wasps. I'm more scared of wasps than I am of spiders, prawns and natural sponges. Even if there was a spider riding a prawn (with a saddle, not in a sexual way) on top of a natural sponge, it would still not be as frightening as wasps.
I've been in a state of cat-like alertness for the past few days, poised with a can of Raid at the first sounds of buzzing anywhere in the house, occassionally creeping over to the curtains scooby-doo style, whipping them back and holding out the Raid as if it were a gun, just in case. The neighbours must think I'm practising to audition as a (albeit flabby and unlikely) Bond girl or something. Or that I've simply cracked and am attacking invisible intruders with an aerosol. Or something.
Yes. Therefore, it's causing some real problems in my brain that , from a distance, strimmers (you know, those things you use to trim the grass round the edge of your lawn) sound very similar to wasps. And that with the warm weather lots of people are using them. Frequently.
I'm in a constant state of near panic.
WHAT IF IT'S REALLY BAGGY...?
"It'll be like throwing a pencil into a bucket" is the comment that haunts me like the ghost of ladygardens past. Seriously, what if my ladybits are stretched out beyond all sense now? What if they're like a big saggy slack bag of flesh? What if, God forbid, it doesn't have any....grip?
Only two weeks to go until the six week check, when if all is well we'll be given the go ahead to resume rudiness. Although in all honesty, what am I worrying about? When in hell would we get chance to have sex anyway? And, realistically, I'm now saggy boobed and saggy bellied, with stretch marks and odd teenage-style spots from my mad hormonal changes. I'm not really the epitomy of sexiness. I'm like what would have happened if Nora Batty had known about plastic surgery and credit cards.
But anyway. I'm still intrigued by the new dimensions of my ladygarden...because, really...what if...?
Actually, I did survery the damage a couple of weeks after giving birth and was dismayed to realise that THE WEE HOLE WAS VISIBLE. By which I mean the previously 'wee' (and thus invisible to the naked eye..not that I'd looked for it) hole through which wee passed had actually been stretched out and was VISIBLE. I haven't dared to look since.
And it's a bloody good job Alex didn't come in the bathroom when I was investigating, I must have looked a little odd.
GAH! DISSERTATION WHAT???
Before having the baby, I attended a dissertation lecture...only to find out that the lecture had been cancelled and would be rearranged at a later date. It was rearranged for a day so close to my due date that I couldn't attend. A few days later we received an email advising us that the information given out at this lecture could be collected from the undergraduate office. The email did not attach much significance or urgency to the collection of the booklet and therefore I decided I'd just pick it up as soon as I could.
Hmmm.
On the 9th of June I received a letter advising me that the deadline for my dissertation proposal was 26th May and that I would need to send this to them by 13th June at the very latest so that I could be allocated a tutor before the next semester begins. If I don't have a tutor by then, I'm "operating outside university protocol" and my "research is invalid". Crap.
How much panic and pressure?
It's a sodding good thing I already have an idea of what I want to do...I just hope my personal tutor responds to my "IN THE NAME OF GOD TELL ME MY IDEA IS OK!!!" email in time so that I know I'm along the right tracks.
Christ.
ROIGHT...
Yes, roight. "Roight." Oim from Birningum loik, ent oi?
I'm buggering off, as I was on "looking after H during the England match" duty today, but it turned out she didn't need anything so now I feel like I haven't earned my two hours of freedom Alex promised me in return, and therefore I have to go and make myself busy to deal with the irrational guilt.
Big loves and cuddles. And I want to add my hugs counter but I can't be bothered. If I put it back on the next entry will everyone hug me? Please?
xxx
