I'm a tiny bit concerned.....

....that this baby currently residing in my uterus (with something wedged rather inhospitably under my ribs) is gonna be born with the uncanny ability to count from 1 to 3.

She will probably think too that my normal tone of voice is that of a shrieking beast.

For such is the frequency these days that I appear to be giving out warnings and counting sternly to three before one of my delightful monsters requires a visit (or 8) to the naughty spot.

I just can't work out if my unborn child's numerical brilliance will be the result of my good parenting or bad.

Ah well brilliance is brilliance.

Who cares how we get there.

Belated Birthday (Revisited)

You'd imagine after last years birthday I'd have been more on the ball this year.

It would appear that guilt eventually wears off because on May 24th our baby turned 3.

Leaving all traces of babyhood behind him.

And I'm only just blogging about it now.

A month late!

(Future Eli: Please note that this year I was equally neglectful blogging about Thomas's birthday so don't grow up to be a bitter and cynical middle child please.)

We'd been preparing him for months that three year olds don't have dummies and they don't ride in strollers, and apart from a viciously hellish week of sleepless nights all has gone swimmingly.

He had a space rocket cake (made by my good self) that I could have quite happily devoured in one sitting.
He got gifts galore and when asked later what his favourite gift was he replied without hesitation:

"My Nanny got me a Queen Car (Translation:Lightning McQueen) card that sings happy birthday to me".

Typical.

Next year I'll save myself a fortune and buy him a £2 birthday card and spend the rest of his birthday fund on new shoes for me. Because clearly that's the only way that money is going to be truly appreciated.

30 Weeks: A Four Year Old's Perspective

Months ago Thomas came home from nursery with this picture.

In case you're wondering that's me on the right. (But isn't that completely obvious?)

Apparently my most striking feature is my gigantic googly eyes but please do pay attention to (and even envy a little) my stick thin body and arms.

It's like me and Victoria Beckham were separated at birth or something.

If you happen to be wondering who the rather round and squat person is on the left of me that would be my mother. She was visiting at the time and lucky for Thomas she was so thrilled by the knowledge that he could write his very own name that she got completely distracted from the fact that he had drawn her with an uncanny resemblance to an Oompa Loompa. Though I have to admit to being rather amused myself.

Roll on to last Sunday when Thomas drew this beauty of a family portrait in his Primary class at Church and oh what a difference a few months makes.

Again that would be me on the right.

Long gone is my stick thin body, (though I do appear to have maintained a pretty good set of legs).

Shrunken are my eyes, stupid pregnancy insomnia.

Imagine my horror to find out that this is a representation of how I'm looking these days.

Please note our baby girl dwelling comfortably within my gigantic body cavity, pigtails et al.

So do you think he did me justice? Here is a picture of me yesterday at 30 weeks gestation.

Oh and please don't hate me for not being enormous.

Or for the fact that this is by far the most near to being enormous I have been at this stage in pregnancy.

Bring on the next 10 weeks and somebody hide all drawing materials from the 4 year old.

The Price of Fame

Over here in recent months (cos really that's how far behind I am with blogging) I have been swelling, not just with pregnancy either, but also with a little bit of pride.

In January our brother in law, Alex, was recruited as the new face of the BBC's preschool channel.

The good fortune honestly couldn't have shone upon a more deserving guy. (Alex was even AP on his mission and the really good kind too, not the kind you secretly want to poke in the eye or even better bake laxative laced cookies for).
So you can probably imagine how thrilled the boys were to see Uncle Alex on TV, right?

Wrong.

Thomas was immediately traumatised as to why on earth Uncle Alex was shacked up in some rather different house (which is the set for the channel) with a woman who was very much not his Auntie Jo.

Gradually he overcame his grave suspicions of infidelity and we were able to watch in relative peace without him voicing concern every 12 seconds that all was not quite right in the world.

We dutifully switched our allegiances from our usual (very selectively chosen to maintain my sanity) programs and channels and started to watch Uncle Alex instead.

Turns out having a celebrity in the family has it's downside.

In supporting Uncle Alex my kids were exposed to TV shows that I'd previously avoided at all costs and pretty much immediately Eli was completely enamoured with 'In the Night Garden'.



If you're thinking 'I've never heard of that show'. First of all let me say, lucky, lucky you. (And I really, really mean it!)

Secondly let me go ahead and provide an explanation. Think Teletubbies (but without that incredibly creepy sunshine that was actually a baby), but whilst thinking teletubbies imagine slightly more drug influenced creators. (If such a thing is imaginable).

Can you picture it perfectly in your head now?

A garden world full of characters like Iggle Piggle, Upsy Daisy, Makka Pakka, the Pontipines and the Tombliboos. That spend their time being escorted around on either the Ninky Nonk or the Pinky Ponk. (Seriously now you think you're the one that's drug influenced don't you? But alas, no, it's all true I assure you). The characters remain annoyingly almost mute but are narrated by the super calming voice of Derek Jacobi. Which just about stops my head from exploding whenever I am cruelly subjected to the show.

Where an average episode involves the Tombliboos trousers falling down followed by a aimless trip on the Ninky Nonk. The End.

Just as well the channel scriptwriters seem to have a bit of a thing for dressing Uncle Alex up as a woman (which results in his becoming his mothers twin) because the endless amount of amusement that brings me almost compensates for my In the night Garden hell.

But in the mean time at least we have the flipside that we can go on the channel website and print out our very own (if slightly disturbing looking) Uncle Alex to colour and how many kids can say that about their Uncle?

Twenty20 Vision

In the past when shamelessly bearing my soul. I made no secret of my appreciation for the gentlemanly game of cricket.

Recently I have been somewhat absorbed by the World Twenty20 championship (that's fast and supposedly somewhat sexier cricket for those of you not as informed as I). Though when I say world I actually mean just 16 measly countries (cricket is a sadly under appreciated sport it would appear) but still that is vastly more of the world than the Baseball world series which covers just North America. Which hardly qualifies as the whole world really. But, hey I'm no stickler for geography.

I can't but think as I support my country in their cricketing endeavours that if they just used this picture I found completely by accident (honestly!!) in their marketing and advertising that worldwide viewership and support would rapidly increase.

Am I right or am I right?