Potty Training and Toilet Taming

Have you seen or read the news recently? Can you pick one positive or uplifting thing in there today, this week or even this month? Probaby not. So don't pay any attention to it. I used to think keeping up to speed on current affairs was a sign of intelligence but actually it is just a sign of misguided misery. For every crappy thing that is on the news there is a great thing happening somewhere. Worth remembering....don't sweat the small stuff, and it's all small stuff. Or so the book says. Anywho....

Lucy is almost two years old. It is time for some serious potty training. Naked summer days ahoy because quite frankly when Lucy is ripe - smell or no smell - there is no hiding the fact her bum shape takes on a new, angled silouette. Her favourite game is throwing stuff down the toilet anyway so I figure I am halfway there.

Moving along...

I hate cars. At what point did we think giving up the horse was a good idea?

Why is it on a roundabout the other drivers go out of their way not to signal, speed up as you enter and if they see a baby shade, 'baby on board' sign or anything remotely suggesting you are a driving mother that they can drive faster and more arrogantly? Wink at me all you want but if you drive like a prat I will follow suit like a road enraged nutter. Ahem,

driving fun aside though...

I feel like Lucy has been teething and dribbling since I met her, mostly because she has but as she approaches a year and a half there is pretty much a full set of chops there.

I can't help but wonder will she be a dentist?

A holiday equals a cold and there you go...

Every return from holiday equates to a cold, perhaps even flu in equal measure.

This year we have decided not to move to the land of cactus and tumbleweed. It would seem we are happier watching our money go down the Brown skid pan. But when that pan contains a significant amount of family and friends I think I can say it was a 'safe bet'. For now anyway...

In the meantime Lucy has a cold like no other (apart from the last one) and reminds us of how she can keep us awake for nights on end despite her hierarchy in the house being on the bottom rung.

Next to the dog and the cat and the goldfish Lucy is the top dawg - very closely followed by the houseowners...

I love being a parent to a toddler. You can feel clever, almost genius like without ever having to explain why or in the worst case senario - why not.

Parenthood...bring it on. I would smash Jeremy Kyle and his Chavchat.

Hitting 30 is easier than cleaning the floor...

I recently turned 30 which is older than 29 and in my book that is just OLD.

Nevertheless I drank like I was 21 for a number of days, partied, celebrated, commiserated and felt like I was 201 for the subsequent week.

However as my life continues so does motherhood. It does not take time out for hangovers and headaches, dry eyeballs, ringing in the ears, the munchies and cramp (the results of too much drink post 29).

I have real problems keeping the house clean and tidy. I can't walk 2 feet without tripping over some toy (or treasured possesion of MINE) that is covered in sticky residue, food and a lone bogey. I figure there is no point tidy things away as we will just have to repeat the 'destroy all things in the house' game the next day. A broken ankle is certainly on the cards.

Which reminds me I MUST clear away those 'tasty naked men' cards I got on holiday when I was 19. Lucy keeps pulling them out to play with and I don't want to damage her mind with Mr Hot Dog....

First Birthday

Lucy's first birthday was the wettest bank holiday on record. Is that possible? While I saw no signs of Noah or his Ark I must say I am impressed with the 'shower proof only' gazebo that was erected to house the party goers who stayed for 7 hours (more of an adult party although Lucy loved it) and the happy clapping baby who relished all the attention.

We even manged to BBQ for almost 30 people so never let the weather put you off. But perhaps let the clean up the next day put you off. Wet grass and mud clumps throughout the house is not great. Especially when you realise the clump is actually your dog.

The weather shows no signs of improving while this time last year I was sat in my hospital bed like a zombie in c-section pain with a fan quietly buzzing across me. My brand new baby had done her first crap and while the midwife was kind enough to check for it she was also kind enough not to change it. I don't relish giving birth again in an NHS hospital but even my most painful memories are content ones.

I am very lucky. If I wasn't me, I would wish I was...

Bottle of the House White

Picture it - I am dressed in a bright blue floaty skirt that makes my arse look like a trifle, white vest and hot pink hoody with silver flip flops. I am pushing my baby along at 6.30pm after convincing her she was not tired enough to sleep (which she was.)

The ultimate Chav mama.

Why? To the off-license I go. It was a beautiful evening. A drink was in order but how guilty can you feel hiking your baby into the offy when it is hot and muggy and past bedtime? I felt like a fool as I browsed the chilled wine section until a bloke pushing a baby in a pushchair strolled in 30 seconds later. Can we do this? Is it OK? It sure is. We chose, we paid and we left. Both babies were happy as Larry to be in the air conditioned off license. Potential play group venue I say.

OK. Maybe not. But sometimes it is OK to still be an adult and not just a parent.

And who was Larry that he was so Happy? Great guy.

Lost Baby Madeleine

I have deleted the Madeleine post because there is a website set up now with far more information. Keep looking and pray/hope for her safe return.

Goodbyes and Goldfish

Blair announced his Adios today. I remember when I found out he came into power I was slurping on a big bowl of cereal with a mega headache due to a hangover after a night at the student union. Did I really care? Nope. The D-ream song echoed in my ear from the night before anyway. A decade later as he announces he is leaving I am slurping on a similar bowl of cereal, still not caring and still have a headache but this time it is because a baby is screaming in my ear. And not because she is unhappy. Just because she has learned how to scream and likes it.

My brain hurts...

The reality is once you have a family whatever happens outside your bubble is just not as important as it once was. Although - perhaps what should have once been important never was for me so the lesson is lost.

Certain things really do get me though - the Important stuff - a missing child in Portugal, terrifying, the thought of it being my child creates waves of unspeakable fear. The Daily Mail reader stuff - a bin collection ONCE every two weeks? I recycle where I can to free up room in my bin for the dog crap, dirty nappies and kitty litter that fills it in seconds. The thought of it all sitting there for 2 weeks as I pass breathing in a mouthful of flies is not a pleasant one. The Home Owner stuff - slugs, slugs and more slugs destroying my expensive attempts at an instant garden by eating my ready bought beautiful, expensive flowers. A tip - slugs don't like Busy Lizzies or Gardenias or women named Kate squashing them like a madwoman.

To counter balance all this madness in my life I purchased a BiOrb. I have added one fish so far - my daughter named him Eeeeeeee. So E he is. I also have a rather fancy LED light for it that goes from daylight to sunset to moonlight to sunrise. I just don't have time to watch all those experiences...

...but I am sure the fish really appreciates the finer qualities of LED lighting.

Monday's child is fair of face...

I almost moved blogs. This blog was complicated to administer.

OK.

I forgot my password and was slightly alarmed when I tried to retrieve it the email had been sent to my AOL account. I don't have an AOL account...At least I don't think I do. Heck I may just have another blog aside this one in a crazy youthful type move anyway. If youre lucky you may find out what it is.

Anywho to pick up where I left off...

I have a baby. Almost not a baby anymore. Nearly a year old. I don't know where the hell endless bottle feeds and nappy changes went but they are gone. Having said that, I could just have a hungry and damp baby...

I am still tired. Always tired. I can't imagine Lucy getting up after 6 even when she is 18. She is that kind of person. A morning person. Is she really mine?

There was a programme on the BBC about the state of maternity care in the UK at the moment and it basically made me cry. I thought I had a bad time but the reality is I was lucky and so was my baby. I am sure a majority of the time all is fine but for that seemingly growing minority where things have just not been up to scratch my heart goes out. Despite my experience I had a healthy beautiful baby. To imagine otherwise is painful beyond words and to see it in Panorama is depressing.

On the up side, Lucy has been entered into the Baby of the Year competition for Essex along with 987 million other little folk. I am confident we can jig the results so she wins given all the family and friends that are potential voters. I must point out that I am not a pushy mother though. No way.

She can crawl and wiggle about now. She cannot sit still for more than 1 second. Even when I am changing her nappy.

Those cream carpets were a mistake.

Barry Scott and Cillit Bang why can't you do carpet stuff,eh?

Mama

Lucy can say Mama. Or more specifically - "Ma", "Ma...ma" or "Ma-mo". Which is marvellous as she says it all the time to me - and the dog, the cat, her Dad, the lady at Sainsbury's, the pushchair and the recycle bin.

She actually has great conversations with me and Daddad but I have no idea what she is saying although I pretend she is like Elvis telling me what he has been up to since death. She talks to Mr Spoon on Button Moon too. She talks to the TV...

Hurry up nice weather.

So you think you know who you are...

Who am I? This is a question Lucy should be asking herself as she turns...oh...9 months old....

I can't give her US status because I never lived there past the age of 14, but her Grandma can. However, in order for her Grandma to give her nationality Lucy has to be in the country and in order to do that she has to have an immigrant visa anyway.

Entering the USA as a spouse or baby of moi is not easy, despite the squeeky clean beauty of our family. Nevertheless, it is reassuring to know that unless you have an IQ of 912 you can't fill in the forms anyway. So the only hurdles between Lucy and a new swimming pool / yearly warm weather, a red, white and blue life are - a job, many cati, parents, grandparents and an exchange rate.

If the great Saddle-Up West fails we will be heading North West.

Cheadle Hume mount yer horse....

Button Moon and A Loon

Button Moon is a great children's tv show from the 70s/80s where every episode we're off to Button Moon to follow Mr Spoon....and see what craziness lurks through the telescope. Lucy loves it. Of course I don't advise sitting your children in front of TV all day unless you need a break/ a wee /to clean /cook / brush the dog/ change the kitty litter and whatever else cannot be achieved with a screeching baby in tow.

She watches it almost everyday as I believe it fits the formula - pre-toddler babies need shows with one narrator and basic shapes and images. Most cartoons etc are too busy. Puppets really catch the eye. Okay - I believe this mainly because I read it somewhere but also because Lucy seems to agree.

In between this Button Moon tv madness the phone rings. It is the crazy model agency that 'took Lucy off their books' after I said Hammersmith for £18 was not possible...

"Is Lucy available for a casting tomorrow?"

"Well she is, but the last time you phoned you were incredibly rude when I explained I couldn't get to Hammersmith and told me you were taking Lucy off your books, so please make sure you do and don't call again." I heard her take a breath and I hung up the phone.

The rush, the power of payback, the karma of it all led me to phone my husband.

"You WON'T believe who just phoned." I told him what happened and what a dude I had been.

"Oh" was his reply.

Godparents

How often are Godparents supposed to see their Godchildren? Once a year, once a week, once a decade? I guess it depends how close you live. So I wonder why the Godparents that live furthest away see Lucy the most, while the one closest came to the Christening and that is about it...

Right then! I am moving 7000 miles away to a warmer climate at the end of the year. Then Lucy will see everyone at least once a year...

I am turning 30 in a few months and as I reflect like an OAP - my one piece of advice for having a child would be...

...don't let it change the essence of you.

My one piece of advice for getting married would be...

...don't let it change the essence of you.

As for getting older....use moisturiser. That's all you need.

Teeth

Whoever invented teeth should have just LET THEM APPEAR GRACEFULLY. And - if need be - disappear just as gracefully... whether youre 8 months or 80 years old teeth are not friends - they are foe.

Lucy never sleeps because great big giant white bastards are beating through her gums on a daily basis. But they don't just appear, they crawl in slowly, pushing strands of gum out, bleeding, tearing and generally looking awful. Nevertheless, despite the pain and agony in my child's mouth she can muster the energy to scream and cry like a Mogwli as water falls past midnight...

The truth is, nothing works like a bottle of milk even if it is about 200 oz a day over what she should consume and she is developing a belly like a darts player.

I have had enough. The travel cot has gone up in our room and no more musical beds. If she screams in the night, she will be an arms length away not a dog, a cat, a baby gym, some discarded dirty clothes, a couple of hangers and hoover away.

Well alrighty then...

Just as I am explaining to the modelling agency who have given me a days notice that there is no way I can get Lucy to Hammersmith as much as it sounds great (ahem...) the woman on the other end of the phone turns. Like milk gone off she curdles and I can hear her turn a shade of puce...

"WHERE DO YOU LIVE?! (shouldn't she know this?)...you do realise that these assignments are all in London?"

"Yes thanks...the last two were easy enough to get to but I don't know how I can get an 8 month old on the tube from Liverpool St to Hammersmith without recreating the tunnels to allow for ample lifts and extra toilets." 30 seconds goes by with heavy breathing and no helpful reply (like - I see your point, we will send a limo).

"Right then!" the shockingly rude bitch says "I will take her off our books!"

" Please do. For the 2p an hour she gets she would do better as a Chinese factory worker..."

I didn't actually say that last line but HONESTLY. I was totally shocked by how rude the booker had been. She had obviously had a bad day convincing mums to travel to Hammersmith. And before caling me she must have had a look in the mirror...

...before it slapped her.

Spending a Penny at Liverpool Street

I think this could be the lyrics to a song.

I took Lucy to London on a modelling photoshoot. Once we got there it was a good laugh with lots of other nice mums and cute babies in a penthouse pad only James Bond could live in. Nevertheless getting there was hellish. I needed the loo for 3 hours and by the time we were going through Liverpool St for the second time it was non negotiable. I couldn't use the toilets as they are down below in a space no pushchair could ever venture and a 20p piece is essential. I had to go the long way round to the McDonald's on the upper level where the disabled toilets double as a baby changing space - only it almost wasn't Lucy that needed changing....

...and of course some fool was using them for 10 minutes and he was neither disabled or a baby.

The penthouse pad for the photoshoot was in a beautiful new building in the depths of hellish Hackney. I got off the train and looked at the stairs me and the pushchair would have to climb. I couldn't carry this one no matter how hard I tried. It is amazing how the dodgiest looking of folk offer to help you out. Equally the women in suits just stare or push you away (the men in suits actually help). Never judge a book by its cover. I used to be a woman in a suit. I can't remember ever offering to help.

And so we enter the week of Lucy's First Christmas to find she has 2 teeth, is almost sitting up, frequently spitting up and often shitting up.

She also laughs alot and likes to eat and choke on paper. Bless. Can't wait to unwrap those presents.

Holy Shit

Lucy did a poo in church today. Which is fine - but she does make many a noise that would suggest she is doing a poo and that is not very conducive to 'quiet' prayer...

I don't know why I was in church. Makes me feel better I guess. It certainly keeps Lucy entertained. I like to think the fundemental idea behind Christianity is to stop humans from destroying each other. But I am fairly certain the downfall of mankind and the 'end of the world' will be due to man himself. Not global warming. Or the plague. I just hope it doesn't happen this week. I have some more Christmas shopping to do and a visit to Tesco.

I am taking Lucy into London tomorrow to a place in Bethnal Green and I don't know where it is.

Pray for me. And send me chocolate.

A password a day keeps the shopping at bay...

I hate Christmas shopping. I used to love it. Any reason to blow some cash buying great stuff for poor unsuspecting friends and family. But now any opportunity to do it is limited because I only can when someone will watch the baby. I am never again squeezing myself and a pushchair into the teenie tiny M&S lift to find it get stuck. Ever. Never ever ever. Nope.

There are too many people in the world. And they all live in my town. And they are rude. Or over 382 years old - old folks that drive those shop mobility scooters are MEAN. And naughty little kids running all over the place are shits. Lucy will never be like that. She will salute and obey. Right...

Anywho...so most of my shopping has been done online. But you need a password just to look at some sites never mind place a purchase. I have so many passwords and user IDs for internet sites I could be an employee of MI5. And I am so paranoid about hackers I come up with 'clever' ideas everytime. So having the memory of a goldfish is proving a problem. PLUS to supplement my festive purchases I was going to sell some clobber on Ebay but I closed my Paypal account some time ago and as I try and start a new one it keeps saying my emails are all in use, my accounts are already registered to a Paypal account blah blah. VERY ANNOYING and VERY wrong...I closed it for &*(&^%! sake. So Ebay is out of the question for now.

Lucy recently had a lovely Christening. She behaved beautifully and even had a nap during part of the service so she was 'fresh' for the mega buffet lunch. I'll admit I was by the radiator and nodded off from time to time myself. She was given lots of very nice gifts but as the gifts got detached from the cards the thank yous are slightly tricky. Most read 'Thank you for the lovely present'. If the present wasn't that lovely it may sound OTT. HOWEVER...

...a couple of gifts were actually for me. That's my kinda Christening.

White dresses, messes and guesses...

Lucy is being Christened on Sunday. We are also having a few folks round on the Sat night, mostly Godparents. I fear I may roll into the Christening with a hangover which is just WRONG. So I have low alcohol wine (well, 9%) to sup on. Expensive stuff. Would have been cheaper to dole out nasty champers but just the thought gives me hiccups and a headache.

Lucy has a lovely white dress but her recent teething has been the cause of some 'lower movements' that stain the clothes... I hope she doesn't decide to lay one in this dress, because only a thin layer of tights seperates her nappy from exposure. She also has some windy moments that confirm her Grandad is indeed related to her. They may get picked up by the microphone the Vicar sometimes uses.

Everyone keeps asking what to wear but I honestly don't know. I have never been to a Christening. I have suggested steering clear of jeans but a flowery shirt with lapels, shiny white shoes and brown trousers will be acceptable. Not sure what the men should wear...

Blueberry Blues

I would not recommend feeding Blueberries to a baby....particularly in a white robe.

It stains everything. No matter how careful you may be you will still ponder how the hell Blueberry got on your socks and inside the dog's ear. Try picking Blueberry out of a baby's nose. It doesn't work. So you have to leave it there and in public people think baby has had an accident or worse, been battered. No one would ever suspect a sweet jar of blueberry dessert.

Plus - Blueberries come out like they went in. Horror film, slow - motion horrific when you think a 6 month old can wiggle and jiggle like James Brown as you change the nappy. But even the sweetness of Blueberries will not take the sting out of teething. So far 2 teeth and counting. They are tiny but visible - if she grins against the low winter sun, with head upside down, as I hold her with my finger in her mouth feeling for signs of more...then the BITE. Followed by pure relief that only whisky could give but I dare not try. Needless to say 6 out of 7 nights a screaming Lucy ends up in our bed.

I have a friend who has just let me know she is about 4 months pregnant. She is currently having more than her fair share of morning sickness. I dare not tell her about the Blueberries and teething... not yet.

However the jiggling like Jimmo Brown as you attempt to change a dirty nappy really must be told.

Don't do this at home...

Let me ask you something I hope you don't have to think about too much...

....would you set a firework off up your arse?

Because someone did on bonfire night....

What did he think would happen exactly? His arse is bound to end up in the air or his rung stung (depending on how the rocket was aimed). I am glad I had a little girl. Boys are stupid. I thought this when I was 8 and I think it now. I couldn't sleep at night thinking Lucy was shooting fireworks up her butt.

Lucy's teething is making us all miserable. She didn't sleep a wink last night but I was too tired to dowse her with Calpol so I had her in bed next to me trying to chew her dummy instead of suck it...for FIVE hours. Eventually she got hungry. Eventually I got hungry. Eventually the sun came up and I cursed it. Then we went into town to view some Christmas pics she had taken. Goodness me she is so cute. Sleepness nights...

...bring em on....

THANK GOD

Seems like this is a phrase that is dominant in my life at the moment -

The baby falls out of her swing chair because Momma is too stupid to strap her in. Momma goes for wee, comes back and baby is lying on wood floor dazed but happy. Proud almost. Slight dribble. THANK GOD.

Baby pulls momma's hair which is long and stringy and wraps around baby's finger. Strand of hair nearly cuts off circulation of baby's fingers but momma makes discovery of momma's hair sewn into baby's finger before it is too late... THANK GOD.

Baby is teething. First toothy peg appears. Momma puts finger in baby's mouth. Baby bites down hard. Momma is holding baby's dummy in mouth to stop it from falling on floor. Momma bites down hard. THANK GOD.

Baby is having bath. Baby wiggles likes pole dancer across her bath support (like a sun lounger with cloth). Baby nearly spins head first into bath. Momma regrets pee break at same time. Loo is within grabbing distance of bath. THANK GOD.

Vicar comes round at 8pm after Daddy's long hard day at work to discuss matters Daddy doesn't particularly believe in re Christening. Theological debate ensues. Daddy knows his stuff. Daddy swayed on certain moral issues. THANK GOD (really..)

Momma entertains teething cranky baby tirelessly all day wearing dirty jeans while thinking about dirty beadsheets, towels and washing up. Baby goes to sleep for 7 hours straight. Daddy brings home bottle of wine for Momma. THANK GOD.

Momma reads article in baby mag about baby models. Vain Momma sends off baby's pic to 5 agencies in London. All reply wanting to see baby. Lazy Momma realises she may have to cart baby off all over the town and tube. Agency has pick up drivers. THANK GOD.

Daddy goes AWOL for 30 minutes on way to bonfire night at in-laws across the park. Momma and baby and family wonder where Daddy is. Daddy is cursing the front door lock for freezing. Daddy decides it is time to replace front door. THANK GOD.

Dog pisses all over Momma and Daddy's bed because of fireworks. Local dry cleaners deal with giant duvet very quickly. THANK GOD.

Momma feels sick and tired all the time. Momma pregnant again....

JOKING.

I hope....

...or Daddy has trip to Vet's.

Very annoying things

Have you ever seen Michael Douglas in the film Falling Down? He has basically had enough of life's unfairness and starts to go more than a little crazy at situations that piss him off. I felt like him today. This is because people insist on monopolising mother and baby spaces in supermarket carparks despite their 'babies' being 12 years old. Exactly what requires a mother with kids out of car seat/pram age to require a larger space near the door and the baby trollies? More to the point some of these 'kids' are so old they can practically drive themselves. I am thinking of making up little post it notes with the words "Where is your baby?" on them and sticking them on cars I am sus of. If only I had the time.... I wonder if Tonight with Trevor McDonald would be interested.....

The only thing worse are people with no kids at all parking in mother and baby spaces. All I can say is Karma folks...karma.

My pets are also stretching my goodwill. The dog peed all over the bed last night. Very unusual but his kips on the bed are now under threat after that naughtiness. I am so annoyed because I gave him the chance to do a wee outside just before he snuggled up on the bed. The cat has completely destroyed a lovely wool rug with her scratching. I guess it matches the couches now.... and as for the baby....

...last night was night 8 in a row where she ended up having to share our bed to get to sleep.... I can only imagine what she will be like when she is a toddler...

....sigh.

How big???????

Lucy has her final set of jabs in a week or so. I remember her first set when she was tiny and two sumo style nurses came at both thighs with a needle. Needless to say Lucy cried. If that had been me I would have run.

Her second set of jabs she raised an eyebrow but didn't cry. What a hero.

Her next set who knows? But I do know she is big enough to sustain a jab or two and not get too emotional about it. Some mums in the baby clinic act as though their babies are being sent to Iraq.

I recently read through the pregnancy part of my blog to find much of it was written by a misery guts. But Lucy wasn't that big of a baby when you consider this 'little' guy who as an adult surely they will nickname 'Tiny'.

Aren't women amazing?

Snot alot

This is the sort of freaky contraption I acquired to get rid of Lucy's snot. The directions say to place at the nostril NOT in the nostril. Unless you stick it so far up the nostril that it tickles the brain, this contraption will not suck out snot. I should have stuck to the old fashioned baby aspirator...

This device may look like a freaky sex toy but it does actually work. I know because my mum used to have one for when we were babies and me and my brothers used it to suck up various things when we were toddlers - not only a magnificent snot sucker but a great toy.

Although I am sure it says on the box 'this is not a toy'.

And as for toys...

Lucy has a talking teddy bear. All you have to do is breathe on it and he talks - "Give me one kiss" "Hello I love you give me two kisses" "Yellow is the best colour!" After hearing this 987 times in less than a minute the last thing you want to do is kiss the little bastard.

So she now has a very cool aquarium light thing that I can control. And a caterpillar that sings numbers but only if you beat it with the force of The Hulk.

Great toys. Roll on Christmas.

Weaning has meaning

I have started weaning Lucy in an attempt to curb major hunger and avoid the chunky sort of baby that only 17 bottles of baby milk a day can create.

So far she loves Pears. She would eat them until she was sick...and then carry on. Much like an 18 year old with Smirnoff Ice.

No matter how runny it may be she struggles with Rice Cereal. I must see if I can make it 'sweeter'.

She was OK with Blueberries but Blueberries were NOT OK with her clothes. She likes Sweet Potato and Squash but so does the dog. Bananas are good but they give her man-farts.

To hell with it. I may just give her cheesecake and see if that fills her up.

Calpol, colds, dribbles and nibbles

Lucy recently had a nasty cold. Which she very kindly gave to me. Only I got an even nastier version and still had to take care of madam. You never get advice about taking care of a demanding, teething, ill baby while feeling like hell yourself. Of course when the health visitor came after Lucy was born I had to answer a leaflet with questions like "are you feeling suicidal?" in a classy attempt to curb post natal depression. But they don't ask these questions when you're five foot deep in tissues, smelly over active bowels (baby not me), stained in Calpol and using a Star Trek type device to literally suck snot out of a baby's nose....

I guess I am lucky that the louder Lucy farts and the squelchier the poo - the bigger her smile.

Like a moth to the flame burned by..well, the flame....

In Arizona the citronella candles in the garden were basically a grave yard for moths, flies and other totally innocent yet butt-ugly bugs.

OBVIOUSLY the scorpions, freako spiders and other poisonous desert crawlies were immune to the 'beauty of the light...' Do you know how hard it is to squash a BABY scorpion? Yet squash I did. For the sake of my own baby. I found it crawling from outside the TV which was dangerously close to the corridor from which my baby slept off of. Scorpions sting. Bark scorpions sting quite nastily. It ruined my romantic visions of a midnight swim in the pool I can tell you. But as we arrive home it is like arachniphobia. UGLY nasty spiders have weaved their webs everywhere, one even fell down on me in the car and it was so big that when I batted it away with my fist it felt like the size of a baseball. Or at least a cricket ball....

Those great big flying daddy long legs are nothing compared to an ugly spider. However,

If you wish to live and thrive
Let the spider run alive

They are meant to bring good luck. I must STOP squashing my good luck. Lucy doesn't seem to mind them....

I need a stage... like any pushy Mama.

Lucy is tricky at the mo. She fights sleep like a Stormtrooper against Chewy with wind.

She is also teething which doesn't help. I thought babies were supposed to teeth from 6 months. I can feel her little nashers as I apply "Calgel" with my finger that has stroked the dog, gardened and cleaned the car. Dear God.

Speaking of which Lucy is being Christened for various reasons I would rather not share or open debate to. Apart from of course her pretty dress which was a dry-cleaned bargain from Ebay. Her size 3 shoes were not. Brand new from Babies R Us in the USA.

Chip off the ol' giacantic-footed block.

Of all the things she had to inherit from me dammit...

I have seen her shot...so to speak

Lucy had her second immunisations on Wed. She didn't even cry. I would have cried if someone shot a needle into my thigh like that.

My Daughter is a hero. A breed of groovy braveness.

She is in the early stages of teething. A salvating, starving dog dribbles less. I got her something called a Gummy - a cross between a dummy and a teething ring. Seems to do the trick, if only she could hold it herself for longer than 8 seconds...

She is weaning at the moment, a little early but she is hungry and the formulas in the USA are packed with far too much iron, so on holiday I had to make sure she wasn't as constipated as an 80 year old on a diet of peanuts. She loves pears. Not so keen on apple. Must be kind of tart. The faces she pulls....

....the poos she pulls. Speaking of which, we were looking at houses to move to in the USA and there was a slight typo in one description - "...very large back yard, plenty of room for a poo."

Always a plus....