I would just like to say that Mr B’s Emporium, 14-15 John Street, Bath, BA1 2JL, is one of the bestest bookshops in the world. Go make them some money if you’re in the area.

(Taken from http://myplaypen.blogspot.com/)

A dragonfly has 6 legs, and a spider has 8 legs. There are 20 bugs and 144 legs. How many dragonflies and how many spiders are there?

Can someone tell me how you are supposed to solve this without using algebra??

I have 8 weeks of work left before I go on maternity leave, and think I am beginning to understand why so many people say they wish they had stopped working sooner. At nearly 29 weeks I seem to be developing a whole host of pregnancy cliches like unstable hips; a growing inability to put on my shoes, cut my toenails or turn over in bed properly; or sleep without dreaming of serial killers/giving birth within two seconds in a supermarket/eating multiple eggs before realising I’m not supposed to eat egg whites and then having to contemplate heaving up the lot.

I am also walking like a little old lady and have had to abandon all my 3-inch heels in favour of not falling head over heels down/up the stairs/along the corridors at work. Having said that I was quite chuffed to have been told twice in the past week that I was looking fabulous, so I clearly deserve some brownie points for not having given up completely (not just yet, anyway).

It has also taken some adjustment being a bit cuddlier and less angular than normal. Half of me is sensible and realises that without the extra padding, six months and more of exclusive breastfeeding as per the plan is probably going to result in something akin to a shrivelled crone. The other half looks in the mirror and thinks ARRRGGGGHHH LOOK AT THOSE THIGHS. Then I come full circle and decide that the pregnant body is actually an incredibly sexy and womanly creation and I should really be enjoying it while it lasts. On the whole, that last mindset is the one I think I’ll stick with.

Perhaps the biggest change, though, is the inability that I seem to have developed to get truly stressed, together with having acquired the gift of a proper work-life balance. This is why I am blogging after having gone shopping and for a nice lunch, when the actual plan for today was to finish typing up a set of notes and get a speech well underway, and why, at 15:23, I think I might go and have a nap soon. Somehow things will get done. And they do.

On deciding on a cot-bed:

Me: I know the Stokke Sleepi isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But I still can’t stop thinking about it. But then again the Boori or King Parrot ones look a lot sturdier and better-made.
Him: I’m much more inclined to get a well-made piece that will last - especially when little boys are inclined to jump on beds.
Me: He won’t jump on the bed.
Him: I’ll remember that when I hear you yelling at him.
Me: Oh, I’m not going to yell. I plan to practise the quiet intimidation brand of motherhood.

It’s 1pm and I’ve only just realised that I put my trousers on back to front this morning.

The Heart desires,
The Hand refrains,
The Godhead fires,
The soul attains.

- William Morris, inscribed on the Pygmalion Series by Edward Coley Burne-Jones

because this blog is becoming baby-obsessed, I thought I would write about something entirely unrelated. Therefore I would like to announce that I have recently added the following to my nostalgia book collection:

- The Malory Towers series (Enid Blyton)
- The Secret Island series (Blyton again - the only one still missing is The Secret of Moon Castle)
- The first three books in each of the Faraway Tree and Wishing Chair collections (Blyton)
- The Time Quintet (Madeleine L’Engle)
- Marianne Dreams (Catherine Storr)
- A Little Princess (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
- What Katy Did At School and What Katy Did Next (Susan Coolidge)
- Gulliver’s Travels (Jonathan Swift)
- Good Wives (Louisa M. Alcott - now just missing Little Men)
- The Wizard of Oz (L. Frank Baum)

I have also re-read the whole of the Beatrix Potter collection and am working my way through the complete Winnie the Pooh, which were both bought at the tender age of 19 for my future kids.

Oops.

To redeem myself I’ll also tell you that I recently found the Roxette Hits! CD at HMV for the princely sum of 6 pounds (double or nearly double the price everywhere else), and am looking forward to receiving in the post this CD from Amazon after having heard the Coull Quartet perform the second movement of the Ravel String Quartet in F Major, which is really quite delightful.

On that unusually cultured note, I’m off to squash some more paper in the recycling bin, and then I will attempt to do something useful around the house instead of continuing to cultivate my bug-in-the-rug alter-ego.

I’d barely gotten well and now I’ve fallen ill again. I don’t know how long this particular bug is going to last but I’ve been taking regular doses of paracetamol since Wednesday and gargling with salt water, and the good news is that things so far appear to be under control. Prognosis is therefore that this one, thankfully, won’t be a keeper.

All this has in itself taken some getting used to as I’m generally one of the only people not to get ill when a bug wings its way around the office - in fact the last time I remember being down with a bad cold/flu was in 2002.

Other than the suppressed immune system this pregnancy has so far pretty much been smooth sailing. I had hardly any problems in the first few months apart from some fatigue and vague queasiness between weeks 5 and 7, and then only some backache and a touch of sciatica so far during this second trimester. So this is why Thursday morning came as a bit of a surprise.

Physically I was feeling very tired and pretty awful but went in to work anyway as I had commitments to fulfil. This is normally par for the course but subsequent developments then proceeded to completely sideswipe me after my boss, in a typically jolly mood, asked if I had a couple of minutes to spare. I made it to the door of his office, whereupon he looked at me askance and asked me whether I was ok - whereupon I horrified myself by bursting into tears and going utterly to pieces.

I have never been so embarrassed. Everyone, including my boss, was wonderful and fantastically supportive - they left me alone for a little while on the sofa in my boss’ office with my colleague’s box of Miffy tissues, during which time I unsuccessfully attempted to pull it together despite firm admonitions to self, and then, after some very kind words and hugs, they got one of our drivers to send me home despite my protestations. Final dénouement was a massive bawl on Him’s shoulder once I’d made it home, swiftly followed by a comforting meal of ice cream and chips.

I am better today, if still woefully embarrassed by inexplicably and suddenly losing control like that and mortified to think about having put on such a ghastly unprofessional display. Today I mused that it felt like someone else had taken over my body, at which point I was reminded that actually, I wasn’t very far off the mark.

One thing I’ve discovered since becoming pregnant is that some of the things that seem to be very familiar residents in the inventory of Things Associated With Pregnancy are really quite true. Like pregnancy brain, which is thankfully being managed successfully by the usual lists of things to do (though the lists have undergone a bit of an expansion and now include things like ‘remember to zip up your trousers’ and other similar assorted goodies).

One other mainstay is what everyone seems to feel obliged to say when they find out you’re pregnant, i.e. “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?” and, after you inevitably reply that it won’t matter, “Oh, as long as it’s healthy”. To which, equally formulaically, I say that it really doesn’t matter either because even if the little one isn’t healthy we’re going to love him or her just the same.

Then there are the people who have actually come out with things like “Oh, I’m not feeling very well today so I’ll stay away but when I’m better I’ll have a feel to see how much baby has grown!”

I have no scruples about telling strangers where to put it (or alternatively stroking their bellies in return, though thankfully the need hasn’t yet arisen). Equally I have no objection to people whom I know reasonably well touching my bump when they make the appropriate overtures/requests in advance. But I was quite gobsmacked by the assumption of entitlement. I opted to be polite and not rock the boat, which you can either ascribe to my having been brought up well by my parents or being a wuss or somewhere in the diplomatic between.

Finally, I have of late been thinking that baby naming is a bit of a minefield. I was chatting with a colleague the other day and was thoroughly tickled to learn that she’d thought of naming her son Richard Edward, except that someone had pointed out to her that Richard might be shortened to Dick, and Edward Ed, and - well. So they opted to name him Richard Christopher instead, except now his initials spell R.C. so really it’s a good job he is from time to time, making it at least an accurate description. Given that children can be particularly cruel, you see, you have to be careful not only not to call your offspring things like - I dunno, Moxie CrimeFighter or Jermajesty
or Sundried Tomato, but also not to saddle them with names that make their initials end up spelling FAT or DUMB or AREYOUKIDDING or something with a similar flavour.

We’ve been mulling over baby names too. Family weren’t too impressed with our initial shortlist. I’m not too sure how receptive they’re going to be to what we appear to have decided on ever since I made the mistake of buying Practical Parenting yesterday, which came with a free book of baby names, and Him took a fancy to one and managed to get me entirely too enthusiastic about it too…

I hardly ever make any New Year resolutions, mainly because it’s never occurred to me to do so, but also because I quite imagine that most of them would be doomed to failure. I also realise that we are more than halfway through January already, so the timeliness of this endeavour is somewhat off-kilter.

But since this year is going to be a year of new developments in many ways, I’ve come up with two resolutions to share with you.

The first is not to make our child’s first year a dysfunctional one. I think I may already have broken that one because I’ve been singing “Old Turkey Buzzard”* to the poor unsuspecting babe in the womb. Ah well.

The second is to learn some geography already, dammit, because I have played the “Traveler IQ Challenge” and my lack of knowledge about where things are is so eyebrow-raising I’m just going to go curl up under my duvet now for the rest of the afternoon, in horror .

*It is true that there is nothing inherently dysfunctional about this song. But all I can remember of my mum singing it to me is the lines up to ‘awaiting for something down below to die’.