My baby is a joker. Well, you'd have to be to implant just in time for an April Fool's Day BFP.
My baby is learning how to tease his or her sisters. Poor Natasha's had a foot poking her in the back as she's sat on my lap several times lately.
My baby likes the same TV shows that I do. Its first strong, definite kicks came when my husband and I were watching a DVD of our favourite show and ever since then the movements come thick and fast whenever we watch it.
My baby has very definite ideas about the kind of cuisine it needs me to consume. It likes to invent new recipes on my behalf and makes me cook them, then makes me finish everyone else's leftovers! Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it!
My baby likes its own space. It hates it when my laptop rests against my bump for a moment and will kick and kick until I move it away.
I'm loving learning all about my baby's personality before he or she even arrives. I'm enjoying the precious weeks and months of bonding time before I get to hold my little bundle in my arms. I know that when that time comes it's not going to take away the pain and the loss it's taken to get to that moment but I cannot wait for the sunshine it will bring to our lives.
Friday, 30 July 2010
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Worst Cookery Lesson Ever
Part one of an occasional series: Misty's Highly Inaccurate and Vague Recipes!
I love to cook. I adore it. I am at home in the kitchen, randomly boiling or frying or grilling various food to see what happens. I have an issue with following recipes though, the issue being that it's just not me. I'll get an idea for something to make, I'll look up about three or four recipes online and then I'll just decide that I have a better idea and totally ignore the recipe.
This is good and bad - it means I don't have a diva-like strop if I accidentally add too many tomatoes but on the downside it makes it very difficult to share my recipes because I have no concept of measurements. Seriously, no concept at all.
So here is my attempt at sharing Misty's Inaccurate and Vague Spaghetti Bolognese:
You'll need:
Beef mince - how much? No idea. Whatever looks like enough to feed your family.
Stock Cubes
Cornflour
Water
1 large tin of chopped tomatoes
Tomato puree
Spaghetti - enough to feed your family
Random things you find in your cupboard that you want to add
First of all, fry the beef mince in a pan until it's brown all over. Poke it a bit with a spatula, flip it, stir it and mix it around. Now, if you're a normal person who likes onion then you can chop and fry some of that first. If you're weird like me and my husband and don't like them then leave them out! We also don't like garlic so there's none of that in my spag bol. Yes, we are a match made in heaven!
When the beef is brown and cooked through, drain off the nasty, yucky fat that's come out of it. The result will be a big pool of gunk, like so:
Mmm, lovely!
Anyway, next open a tin of chopped tomatoes and pour them in. Mix into the mince, then add a few squirts of tomato puree. Mis-aim the tube, squirt it over the back of the oven, mutter under your breath about how much cleaning you're going to have to do later and put the tube away before you can cause any more damage with it.
Crumble in two beef stock cubes - more or less depending on taste and how much you are making, and also depending on whether you are pregnant and craving beef stock cube and end up eating half a cube. Add some boiling water, however much or little you like. Add a little cornflour to thicken the sauce, stir well and leave to simmer for half an hour until the liquid has reduced.
Next, start boiling your spaghetti, spend the next ten minutes worrying about whether you've cooked too much or too little, shout at your daughter for trying to climb into the guinea pig cage and then take the pasta off the boil.
Drain, serve, top with sauce and a little cheese, then devour your highly inaccurate, experimental and vague spaghetti bolognese!
Oh, and then don't accidentally leave a bowl of leftovers sitting on the bed while trying to clear the table because this happens:
Yes, you find your darling daughter raiding them behind your back! At least they didn't go to waste!
For dessert: Bolognese Pants!
I love to cook. I adore it. I am at home in the kitchen, randomly boiling or frying or grilling various food to see what happens. I have an issue with following recipes though, the issue being that it's just not me. I'll get an idea for something to make, I'll look up about three or four recipes online and then I'll just decide that I have a better idea and totally ignore the recipe.
This is good and bad - it means I don't have a diva-like strop if I accidentally add too many tomatoes but on the downside it makes it very difficult to share my recipes because I have no concept of measurements. Seriously, no concept at all.
So here is my attempt at sharing Misty's Inaccurate and Vague Spaghetti Bolognese:
You'll need:
Beef mince - how much? No idea. Whatever looks like enough to feed your family.
Stock Cubes
Cornflour
Water
1 large tin of chopped tomatoes
Tomato puree
Spaghetti - enough to feed your family
Random things you find in your cupboard that you want to add
First of all, fry the beef mince in a pan until it's brown all over. Poke it a bit with a spatula, flip it, stir it and mix it around. Now, if you're a normal person who likes onion then you can chop and fry some of that first. If you're weird like me and my husband and don't like them then leave them out! We also don't like garlic so there's none of that in my spag bol. Yes, we are a match made in heaven!
When the beef is brown and cooked through, drain off the nasty, yucky fat that's come out of it. The result will be a big pool of gunk, like so:
Mmm, lovely!
Anyway, next open a tin of chopped tomatoes and pour them in. Mix into the mince, then add a few squirts of tomato puree. Mis-aim the tube, squirt it over the back of the oven, mutter under your breath about how much cleaning you're going to have to do later and put the tube away before you can cause any more damage with it.
Crumble in two beef stock cubes - more or less depending on taste and how much you are making, and also depending on whether you are pregnant and craving beef stock cube and end up eating half a cube. Add some boiling water, however much or little you like. Add a little cornflour to thicken the sauce, stir well and leave to simmer for half an hour until the liquid has reduced.
Next, start boiling your spaghetti, spend the next ten minutes worrying about whether you've cooked too much or too little, shout at your daughter for trying to climb into the guinea pig cage and then take the pasta off the boil.
Drain, serve, top with sauce and a little cheese, then devour your highly inaccurate, experimental and vague spaghetti bolognese!
Oh, and then don't accidentally leave a bowl of leftovers sitting on the bed while trying to clear the table because this happens:
Yes, you find your darling daughter raiding them behind your back! At least they didn't go to waste!
For dessert: Bolognese Pants!
One Set of Rules
I try really, really hard not to have one set of rules for one of my girls and a different set for the other but sometimes it's really hard. It's going to be even harder when Baby #3 comes into the mix. It's not that I play favourites or willingly give one of them more or less scope for their actions but they are very different sometimes in terms of personality and intention.
Just now I was nibbling on a biscuit. Ahh, dry biscuits are my friends right now. This is the first pregnancy I have had morning sickness with and although it had faded for a while it seems to be back now. Natasha loves my biscuits while Angelica just pretends to love them to fit in with 'the in crowd'. I generally break a biscuit in half, then in half again and give each of them a quarter but today Natasha decided this was unacceptable and swiped a whole biscuit from the packet. It was done so innocently that I couldn't do anything except to laugh - and watch my potential snack be gobbled down by my youngest daughter.
When Angelica tried to steal a whole biscuit a few minutes later and got a telling-off I felt pretty guilty for it, but her actions were different to her sister's. She has a 17-month advance on Natasha and knows only too well what she's doing. She gives us a sly look as though to say, "Go on then - what are you going to do about THIS, huh?!" Plus, she doesn't even like the biscuits!
Natasha is approaching her second birthday and still has a lot to learn. She wasn't swiping the biscuit to be naughty, she just thought it was unfair that Mummy got the bigger snack when she's a growing girl. There is a certain naivety about Natasha that I love. Angelica was a lot more knowing, even as a baby. She does a lot of things deliberately to find out what the outcome will be while Natasha is pretty laid back and coasts through the day, discovering things more by accident than purpose.
It's like Natasha climbing on the bed and running across it just to get from A to B, not thinking about the consequences while Angelica will climb on the bed and watch us carefully, trying to prompt a reaction by copying what Natasha has done.
Angelica is starting to understand that she should know better and I can see she comprehends why she gets a telling off because she looks jolly guilty afterwards. Natasha will be reaching that point soon too, but for now I'm trying to make the most of her last little bit of innocence before she becomes a knowing young lady trying to push her parents the same way as her sister does.
I'm trying hard to show consistency. I know that it is the best way to be. But I can't help giving a giggle at the happy young lady sitting in the middle of a big pile of biscuit crumbs.
Just now I was nibbling on a biscuit. Ahh, dry biscuits are my friends right now. This is the first pregnancy I have had morning sickness with and although it had faded for a while it seems to be back now. Natasha loves my biscuits while Angelica just pretends to love them to fit in with 'the in crowd'. I generally break a biscuit in half, then in half again and give each of them a quarter but today Natasha decided this was unacceptable and swiped a whole biscuit from the packet. It was done so innocently that I couldn't do anything except to laugh - and watch my potential snack be gobbled down by my youngest daughter.
When Angelica tried to steal a whole biscuit a few minutes later and got a telling-off I felt pretty guilty for it, but her actions were different to her sister's. She has a 17-month advance on Natasha and knows only too well what she's doing. She gives us a sly look as though to say, "Go on then - what are you going to do about THIS, huh?!" Plus, she doesn't even like the biscuits!
Natasha is approaching her second birthday and still has a lot to learn. She wasn't swiping the biscuit to be naughty, she just thought it was unfair that Mummy got the bigger snack when she's a growing girl. There is a certain naivety about Natasha that I love. Angelica was a lot more knowing, even as a baby. She does a lot of things deliberately to find out what the outcome will be while Natasha is pretty laid back and coasts through the day, discovering things more by accident than purpose.
It's like Natasha climbing on the bed and running across it just to get from A to B, not thinking about the consequences while Angelica will climb on the bed and watch us carefully, trying to prompt a reaction by copying what Natasha has done.
Angelica is starting to understand that she should know better and I can see she comprehends why she gets a telling off because she looks jolly guilty afterwards. Natasha will be reaching that point soon too, but for now I'm trying to make the most of her last little bit of innocence before she becomes a knowing young lady trying to push her parents the same way as her sister does.
I'm trying hard to show consistency. I know that it is the best way to be. But I can't help giving a giggle at the happy young lady sitting in the middle of a big pile of biscuit crumbs.
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
Monday, 26 July 2010
The Nerves are Back
One week from now I'll have had my anomaly scan. I'll know whether everything is alright and (hopefully) whether this is a little bundle of blue or pink. The nerves only truly hit me this morning. I had a dream about it last night and all my fears started coming out. I think I have been doing much better at keeping my fears in check recently and trying to just enjoy the rest of my pregnancy but I am starting to get nervous again now.
Lately I have been thinking about the regret I have from the start of my pregnancy. My regret is that I broke a promise I made to myself just before I got my BFP (Big Fat Positive). My BFP came at a strange time for me because I had just decided that I couldn't handle another miscarriage and to call a halt to TTC. At the same time I made a promise to myself that if I did ever get another BFP that I would enjoy every moment and throw myself into making the most of every day that I had with my baby, however long or short that time would be.
I broke my promise to myself very quickly. I went into hiding almost. I was too scared to talk about my pregnancy on JM because I was aware that the more boards I joined, the more I would have to leave. I had thrown myself into enjoying my pregnancy with Daisy and having to retrace my steps and say goodbye was one of the hardest parts after losing her. I didn't take any belly pics for weeks because I didn't want another set that ended abruptly. I was too scared to let my work colleagues guess what was going on because I didn't want to have to send around another round of emails if things went wrong again.
I introduced myself to my Due Date Club and then felt too nervous to join in the conversation. I rejoined other pregnancy boards and then felt too worried to post again. I felt in a way that I was worried about jinxing things if I spoke about it too much. I kept making new promises to myself - that after the next scan I would start to relax, and then the next scan and so on. I wished away the first three months of my pregnancy. In all honesty it wasn't until I felt the first hard, definite kicks around a month ago that I actually relaxed and started to enjoy things.
Now I look back at the wasted months at the start when I could have been making the most of things and letting myself bond with my baby instead of worrying about losing another pregnancy. I have started to really make the most of this pregnancy now - I am enjoying everything from picking out new bedding to thinking about a coming home outfit for the baby. I even feel like I look pretty cute during this pregnancy - certainly better than I did with my girls (isn't that supposed to be a sign I'm having a boy?)
But I could have been enjoying all these things so much sooner if I had kept my promise. I am normally the kind of person that tries to enjoy every day because you never know what's going to happen tomorrow. I wish that I could go back and relive the first few weeks all over again.
I catch myself thinking 'Next time...' more and more often now. I feel strange letting myself think about a possible #4 when I had stopped TTC #3. We're a long way away from reaching that stage but already I am questioning whether I could cope with the possibility of things being difficult again. I keep coming back to an image of us as a family with four children though. It's something I can't shake.
For now, I just want to get past next Monday and feel safe and secure with this pregnancy again. Right now Monday feels like a lifetime away. I'm going to be counting down the days until then - while not trying to wish any more of my pregnancy away.
Lately I have been thinking about the regret I have from the start of my pregnancy. My regret is that I broke a promise I made to myself just before I got my BFP (Big Fat Positive). My BFP came at a strange time for me because I had just decided that I couldn't handle another miscarriage and to call a halt to TTC. At the same time I made a promise to myself that if I did ever get another BFP that I would enjoy every moment and throw myself into making the most of every day that I had with my baby, however long or short that time would be.
I broke my promise to myself very quickly. I went into hiding almost. I was too scared to talk about my pregnancy on JM because I was aware that the more boards I joined, the more I would have to leave. I had thrown myself into enjoying my pregnancy with Daisy and having to retrace my steps and say goodbye was one of the hardest parts after losing her. I didn't take any belly pics for weeks because I didn't want another set that ended abruptly. I was too scared to let my work colleagues guess what was going on because I didn't want to have to send around another round of emails if things went wrong again.
I introduced myself to my Due Date Club and then felt too nervous to join in the conversation. I rejoined other pregnancy boards and then felt too worried to post again. I felt in a way that I was worried about jinxing things if I spoke about it too much. I kept making new promises to myself - that after the next scan I would start to relax, and then the next scan and so on. I wished away the first three months of my pregnancy. In all honesty it wasn't until I felt the first hard, definite kicks around a month ago that I actually relaxed and started to enjoy things.
Now I look back at the wasted months at the start when I could have been making the most of things and letting myself bond with my baby instead of worrying about losing another pregnancy. I have started to really make the most of this pregnancy now - I am enjoying everything from picking out new bedding to thinking about a coming home outfit for the baby. I even feel like I look pretty cute during this pregnancy - certainly better than I did with my girls (isn't that supposed to be a sign I'm having a boy?)
But I could have been enjoying all these things so much sooner if I had kept my promise. I am normally the kind of person that tries to enjoy every day because you never know what's going to happen tomorrow. I wish that I could go back and relive the first few weeks all over again.
I catch myself thinking 'Next time...' more and more often now. I feel strange letting myself think about a possible #4 when I had stopped TTC #3. We're a long way away from reaching that stage but already I am questioning whether I could cope with the possibility of things being difficult again. I keep coming back to an image of us as a family with four children though. It's something I can't shake.
For now, I just want to get past next Monday and feel safe and secure with this pregnancy again. Right now Monday feels like a lifetime away. I'm going to be counting down the days until then - while not trying to wish any more of my pregnancy away.
Sunday, 25 July 2010
My Stinky Daughter
My children are stinkers. In one case, that is quite literally true.
I love my girls with all my heart and generally they are very well-behaved but once in a while one of them does something totally out of character and really makes me cross. In the last 24 hours they've both taken a turn.
Yesterday I took them for a walk at lunchtime. We didn't have very much to do - pick up a couple of soft drinks and some juice, buy a fresh loaf from the market, scout around for potential birthday presents for Natasha - that was about all.
Angelica has been let increasingly 'off the leash' as it were. She's grown out of the' running off in public' phase and has learned to wait at the crossings for the green man to come on. She can generally be trusted to walk demurely beside the pushchair, holding my hand when necessary. I have stopped panicking about her running off at a hundred miles an hour or committing the crime of shoplifting when peppers are near.
It was market day in the town so it was a little busier than usual. Angelica was walking along quite happily, chatting away about the pigeons and the ice cream van she could see ahead when suddenly she veered off to the right. I was taken by surprise, I wasn't expecting her to suddenly change direction and I spotted - too late - what she was honing in on.
A puddle.
A great big puddle.
Puddles are like catnip to Angelica. She cannot resist them and she goes crazy for them.
Before I could tell her not to she'd launched into the puddle with a great big splash. In one moment her shoes, socks and trousers were soaked through. I couldn't understand where, on a hot and sunny Saturday afternoon, a huge puddle had even come from. My eyes followed the trail of water along the slanting path until I saw exactly where the water had come from.
Unfortunately it had come from the melted ice around the fresh fish on a market stall.
"WE-E-E-E-ETTTTTTT!" Angelica cried, waddling across to me like a penguin and trying to haul her fishy pants further up her legs.
"That is exactly why we tell you not to jump in puddles!" I cried.
"Wet legs in the trousers!" she sobbed, "need clean trousers!"
"We're in the middle of the town!" I didn't really know what to do for the best, "we can't go all the way back home!"
"Mummy, help!" she cried, "Get more trousers!"
There was only one solution. I marched my waddling, fishy daughter to the closest clothes shop and found the cheapest pair of trousers.
"Take my trousers off?" Angelica asked hopefully.
"We need to pay for these first," I told her, "Then we'll go up to the toilets and get you changed."
I carried on marching to the checkout when I realised she was no longer waddling next to me. I stopped and turned around to see my darling daughter with her trousers around her ankles, in the middle of a busy shop, trying not to fall over as she tried to pull them over her shoes. To say I was not amused is an understatement!
One purchase and one trip top the toilets later, Angelica was far happier and about 80% less fishy, but I think this time she may have learned her lesson about why puddles are only to be entered under express permission from her parents!
As for my other little stinker... well, waking at midnight, staying wide-awake, and refusing to go back to sleep or even to be quiet culminated in an unexpected and definitely unwanted trip out for the two of us at four in the morning... but that's a whole other story!
I love my girls with all my heart and generally they are very well-behaved but once in a while one of them does something totally out of character and really makes me cross. In the last 24 hours they've both taken a turn.
Yesterday I took them for a walk at lunchtime. We didn't have very much to do - pick up a couple of soft drinks and some juice, buy a fresh loaf from the market, scout around for potential birthday presents for Natasha - that was about all.
Angelica has been let increasingly 'off the leash' as it were. She's grown out of the' running off in public' phase and has learned to wait at the crossings for the green man to come on. She can generally be trusted to walk demurely beside the pushchair, holding my hand when necessary. I have stopped panicking about her running off at a hundred miles an hour or committing the crime of shoplifting when peppers are near.
It was market day in the town so it was a little busier than usual. Angelica was walking along quite happily, chatting away about the pigeons and the ice cream van she could see ahead when suddenly she veered off to the right. I was taken by surprise, I wasn't expecting her to suddenly change direction and I spotted - too late - what she was honing in on.
A puddle.
A great big puddle.
Puddles are like catnip to Angelica. She cannot resist them and she goes crazy for them.
Before I could tell her not to she'd launched into the puddle with a great big splash. In one moment her shoes, socks and trousers were soaked through. I couldn't understand where, on a hot and sunny Saturday afternoon, a huge puddle had even come from. My eyes followed the trail of water along the slanting path until I saw exactly where the water had come from.
Unfortunately it had come from the melted ice around the fresh fish on a market stall.
"WE-E-E-E-ETTTTTTT!" Angelica cried, waddling across to me like a penguin and trying to haul her fishy pants further up her legs.
"That is exactly why we tell you not to jump in puddles!" I cried.
"Wet legs in the trousers!" she sobbed, "need clean trousers!"
"We're in the middle of the town!" I didn't really know what to do for the best, "we can't go all the way back home!"
"Mummy, help!" she cried, "Get more trousers!"
There was only one solution. I marched my waddling, fishy daughter to the closest clothes shop and found the cheapest pair of trousers.
"Take my trousers off?" Angelica asked hopefully.
"We need to pay for these first," I told her, "Then we'll go up to the toilets and get you changed."
I carried on marching to the checkout when I realised she was no longer waddling next to me. I stopped and turned around to see my darling daughter with her trousers around her ankles, in the middle of a busy shop, trying not to fall over as she tried to pull them over her shoes. To say I was not amused is an understatement!
One purchase and one trip top the toilets later, Angelica was far happier and about 80% less fishy, but I think this time she may have learned her lesson about why puddles are only to be entered under express permission from her parents!
As for my other little stinker... well, waking at midnight, staying wide-awake, and refusing to go back to sleep or even to be quiet culminated in an unexpected and definitely unwanted trip out for the two of us at four in the morning... but that's a whole other story!
Thursday, 22 July 2010
One Sore Little Finger
It takes a lot to make my blood boil but I am furious right now.
My poor Angelica is sitting with her new cuddly toy and a rare chocolate biscuit, telling her daddy all about the plaster on her finger. She's a very hardy young lady, rarely ever gets hurt or sick and when she does she takes it in her stride, but she had a horrible experience in the supermarket this afternoon that's left me fuming.
She was happily walking along beside me one minute and crying her eyes out the next as her finger caught on a sharp piece of metal jutting out from a chiller cabinet. The next thing I knew there was blood dripping everywhere, my strong little girl was screaming like crazy and Natasha was in tears because her sister was upset. I tried frantically to clean and wrap her finger with clean tissues but between the blood soaking through and Angelica feeling so upset bits of tissue just seemed to start flying everywhere.
Here's the bit that made me angry. Two shop assistants walked right by without doing anything or asking if we needed help. They could easily see that Angelica was hurt and could hear me talking loudly about needing plasters - they even looked at us - but just passed by. There was also a mother with two children in the same aisle, just behind us, who stood staring. I thought the mother at least would ask if everything was OK but instead she gave her a dirty look, as though she was just being naughty. There is a huge difference between an 'I'm going to have a tantrum' cry and an 'I've really hurt my finger and I need a plaaaaaaaaasteeeeeeeeer!' cry. It was like Angelica's injury became a spectator sport!
I tried to track down someone to help, hoping someone would issue us with a plaster at the very least, but to no avail. Apparently, "Can you help my daughter?" has become a secret code for rush-down-the-next-aisle. In the end I had to take what we already had to the check-out and try to pay as fast as possible so I could go and buy some plasters. We had been queuing (and crying) for five whole minutes before one of the assistants at a different checkout even turned in our direction. By this point I was at the front of the queue and had to pay for our things so her offer of calling for the person in charge of the first aid kit came far too late.
Some plasters were duly acquired from the chemist next door and I dressed her finger quickly. A call home to daddy, a new toy and a chocolaty treat all helped to stop the tears but there's going to be an angry letter heading in the direction of a certain supermarket before too long.
My poor Angelica is sitting with her new cuddly toy and a rare chocolate biscuit, telling her daddy all about the plaster on her finger. She's a very hardy young lady, rarely ever gets hurt or sick and when she does she takes it in her stride, but she had a horrible experience in the supermarket this afternoon that's left me fuming.
She was happily walking along beside me one minute and crying her eyes out the next as her finger caught on a sharp piece of metal jutting out from a chiller cabinet. The next thing I knew there was blood dripping everywhere, my strong little girl was screaming like crazy and Natasha was in tears because her sister was upset. I tried frantically to clean and wrap her finger with clean tissues but between the blood soaking through and Angelica feeling so upset bits of tissue just seemed to start flying everywhere.
Here's the bit that made me angry. Two shop assistants walked right by without doing anything or asking if we needed help. They could easily see that Angelica was hurt and could hear me talking loudly about needing plasters - they even looked at us - but just passed by. There was also a mother with two children in the same aisle, just behind us, who stood staring. I thought the mother at least would ask if everything was OK but instead she gave her a dirty look, as though she was just being naughty. There is a huge difference between an 'I'm going to have a tantrum' cry and an 'I've really hurt my finger and I need a plaaaaaaaaasteeeeeeeeer!' cry. It was like Angelica's injury became a spectator sport!
I tried to track down someone to help, hoping someone would issue us with a plaster at the very least, but to no avail. Apparently, "Can you help my daughter?" has become a secret code for rush-down-the-next-aisle. In the end I had to take what we already had to the check-out and try to pay as fast as possible so I could go and buy some plasters. We had been queuing (and crying) for five whole minutes before one of the assistants at a different checkout even turned in our direction. By this point I was at the front of the queue and had to pay for our things so her offer of calling for the person in charge of the first aid kit came far too late.
Some plasters were duly acquired from the chemist next door and I dressed her finger quickly. A call home to daddy, a new toy and a chocolaty treat all helped to stop the tears but there's going to be an angry letter heading in the direction of a certain supermarket before too long.
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