Went for our 20 week scan yesterday. All seems fine and I shall blog scan picture some time soon, if you can bear it. Without wishing to draw any conclusions, as I'm no expert in this baby stuff, it did kind of look on the scan as though Boco might be a boy.

Or a girl.

Anyway. Went to footie match today, to give support to morelearning's floundering team. My second live footie experience, Boco's first.

We are SO the lucky mascots!

Morelearning's team has not won in seventeen matches. You heard me - SEVENTEEN!!!!

But did they win today?

Damn right they did!!!!!

I said to morelearning "Boco's getting all excited".... and they scored minutes later!

S/He's still jumping around now, practising goal kicks by the feel of it.

I like it when s/he wriggles around. Funny but nice squirmy feeling.

Woke up in that dark 2-4am slot like a proper insomniac and laid awake for hours. Haven't done that for a long while.

Not unusual for me to get insomnia and/or depression at this time of year. This is not a good time of year for me.

My ex husband never noticed, so I never said anything.

But here it is: This is a no good, shitty time of year for me. Gimme a couple of weeks, and I'll be fine, unless the insomnia's got its claws in, like last year.

No more sweeping under carpets?

Can't - We haven't got any carpets! D

Not only am I up the duff - but now my oldest mate, who I've known since she was born, is also up the duff!

Seething hives of fecundity!

:D

Seriously though, I'm dead pleased for her & her hubby. It's taken a few years and the intervention of some complicated medical technology, so that makes it all the more splendid.

Boco is gonna have a little playmate!

*indulges in fantasies of Boco & little playmate playing hopscotch together while Sixpence and Auntie Boglet look on and sigh with the memories*

This morning (due to having a 'can't decide which shoes to wear' crisis immediately followed by a 'bad hair day' crisis) I was a little late for work.

This meant that there were no spaces in the staff car park.

When this happens we are supposed to park in the pay & display next door and claim the money back.

So I dutifully parked in the pay & display and bought 4 hours' worth so that I could move my car come lunchtime.

Yep. You've guessed it.

On entering the staff car park this evening, it took me about 15 seconds to work out why my car wasn't there.

I am such a dippy cow!!!

Oh, the delightful sight of that yellow sticky notice flapping in the breeze on my car window in the pay & display!

Twenty five of your finest squids, m'lud.

Buggering Bastards.

...square of chocolate I am going to eat.

For the next 5 minutes.

1. Alarm went off at 7.30am. This is just wrong.
2. Had to get up to clear kitchen, 'cos two Eastern European guys were coming to "fix" our back door. (aka move the hinges and replace the glass........ our back door has a crack from top to bottom and a water feature between the two layers of glass which sloshes about.... plus it takes the brute force of ten men - or morelearning - to open and close it..... but our unregistered, tax-dodge landlords are too tight to replace the fucker).
3. Cleared kitchen.
4. Spent an hour and a half trying to get internet to work so that I could complete an urgent task that had to be done that day, while waiting for door men to arrive.
5. Door men do not arive.
6. Text landlord pointing out that door men have not arrived.
7. Landlord failed to reply.
8. Gave up on door men.
9. Went to post office to post off urgent task (now completed) together with a 10th birthday card for my niece in Denmark.
10. Drove to Melton Mowbray to collect pram/carrycot thingy, recently purchased on ebay.
11. Stroked ginger cat.
12. Had lunch at the very nice Italian place in Melton Mowbray. (Look at that - the words 'very nice' and 'Melton Mowbray' in the very same sentence!)
13. Popped in to see me old mucker who runs the gorgeous, single screen, olde worlde art deco cinema in Melton Mowbray. Showed off morelearning. Showed off Boco the bump, resplendent in smock top.
14. Drove to Market Harborough.
15. Chose new glasses. Thought I had better do this before I become Unwaged. Some trendy semi-rimless ones and some funky pink ones for my sunglasses.
16. Went to Wilko's to buy new broom to replace old broom because the broomy bit keeps falling off.
17. Did Sainsbury's.
18. Got very tired. Came home.
19. Brought Sainsbury's shopping in to unpack.
20. Cleared up bottle of Shloer and broken glass from kitchen floor.
21. Littlun came over.
22. Put washing on.
23. Watched Toy Story.
24. Cooked tea (tuna pasta bake) while morelearning put littlun to bed.
25. Fell asleep within about 4 minutes of The Shawshank Redemption starting.
26. Woke up two thirds of way through Shawshank Redemption.
27. Got washing out of machine.
28. Retired to bed.
29. Did rudeness.
30. Hid under duvet when littlun woke up an hour and ten minutes later.

I think today could be a Putting My Feet Up day.

How come people keep saying "Oh, are you pregnant?" when I mention it? I have a dramatically protruding stomach and my breasts have expanded beyond recognition. Are they looking at me with their eyes shut, or are they just being polite?

Something weird though - I've not put on any weight yet. Not one single pound!

No doubt somebody will tell me that means it's a boy/girl.

Just to recap, so far I've been told:

I'm carrying it high/up front, so it's a boy.
I'm carrying it low/all around, so it's a girl.
I craved marmite for the first 3 months, so it's a boy.
I'm now craving fruit, so it's a girl.
My friend M ("I've never been wrong") did the spooky necklace thing over a picture of me (as I banned her from doing it over my stomach) and says it's a boy.
My sister in law in Brazil looked at the shape of my bump on the webcam and says it's a girl.
My mother's theory is that "older" men only father girls. This is because some (clearly mentallist) midwife imparted this fascinating fact nearly 40 years ago, and my mother has never forgotten it, even though logic indicates it's bollocks.

CAN WE JUST GET ONE THING STRAIGHT PLEASE.
I DON'T CARE WHETHER IT'S A BOY OR A GIRL!!!!!!!!!
AND WHAT IS MORE, I WOULD REALLY MUCH RATHER NOT KNOW.

But if there is one thing that is going to make me beg them to reveal the sex at my next scan, it is putting an end to all the old wives' tales!!!

said morelearning. Well, I opened as wide as I could, but I still ended up with creamy stuff on my chin, while a delicious meaty taste filled my mouth....

So... is it perverse to eat left over spaghetti carbonara for breakfast?

I had to follow it up with blueberries though, because basically I want to eat blueberries TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAY at the moment. When did blueberries get so fucking good? Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

In other pregnancy craving news, having despised yoghurt my whole life I now keep eating littlun's mini pots of fromage frais.

Is it very wicked to steal yoghurt from a 2 year old??

Morelearning has come home covered in splatters of banana and chocolate, slightly sweaty, with his toenail hanging off.

So.... should I be worried??

Humiliation at the dentist's today!

I don't know if it's the pregnancy thing but I seem to be a bit slow to catch on at the moment...Oh who am I kidding, it's always been that way

The dentist congratulated me on my pregnancy, and I thanked him.

His next question:

"Any feedback on the sex?"

Boy, was I confused!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There followed 60 seconds of extreme embarrassment, while the dentist explained that he was in fact enquiring about the gender of my baby and not my private life with morelearning.

Still, that's the first time I've ever exited the dentist's and not been able to stop laughing for half an hour.

Spent my evening at a meeting of local artists in Market Randomtown. I know it's my job but they really fucked me off.

Fuckoff #1:
"When is S [the girl whose maternity leave I have been employed to cover] coming back?"
Why didn't you phrase that more politely, fuckwit? Why not try "When do you lose your job?" or "When do we get rid of the temporary stand-in/pale imitation?"
If one more person asks me this question I fear I may snap and say "Why, when are you leaving?"

Fuckoff #2:
Get any group of artists in any random market town together and I can guarantee you the following knee jerk reaction:
"We need a gallery!"
"We should be lobbying for a gallery and the Council should get involved."
You are a group of volunteers.
Who, exactly, is going to do the lobbying and who are you going to lobby?
How are you going to raise the funds for a massive capital project like creating a gallery? Have any of you got the time, energy, skills, knowledge?
Do you think a gallery is just a room? What about hanging facilities, storage, security, temperature control, ventilation, access, loading/unloading, lighting?
And when you've got the gallery, who is going to programme the exhibitions and produce all the publicity, and how are you going to pay their wages?
Or are you relying on me (aka "the Council") to do all this for you? Given that I am one person in a staff of over 300 people, and that the other 299 people probably rate my job as the least important service the Council provides, and don't know/give a fuck what I do anyway???

Fuckoff #3:
Not listening to a word I say.
No, I'm not an artist. But I've been working in arts/community development and public sector funding for the past 14 years. Despite my youthful appearance, I am in fact 35 years old. I have done this job in 3 local authorities in this region and I've been running my own business as a freelance arts development consultant since 2003. Is it not possible that I might actually know what I am talking about?

Fuckoff #4:
Rejecting a local arts group from being involved in their project on the basis of their quality standards not being high enough, and then talking about making a "special case" for a different group, who happen to have learning disabilities.
How do you know the first group isn't full of people with disabilities, visible or invisible?
Why shouldn't we be striving to encourage and support people with learning disabilities to achieve the same quality standards as everyone else?
How can you say "we're all about quality" in one breath and then in the next breath talk about making a "special case"? Either it's your founding principle, which you apply in an inclusive way, or it isn't.

Fuckoff #5:
"What is the Council [see rant above] doing to support us?"
It's 8.50pm. I've been at work since 9.20am. I am 17 weeks pregnant, and I am knackered. I am here at your fucking meeting listening to you all wittering on.

FUCK OFF THE FUCKING LOT OF YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*takes deep breath................... and relax............................"

Yesterday, believe it or not, was one whole year since I first met morelearning at a writing workshop - although I must point out that nothing occurred between us at the time other than a quick shag behind the Records Office a rather noticeable spark, connection, whatever you may like to call it.

We celebrated last night with a curry at the Leeja Palace (very nice) and I tried to indulge in a glass of wine but Boco got drunk and started dialling the number for Alcohol Concern so I had to leave the rest of it.

Today I am 17 weeks pregnant.

Still can't keep me 'ands off.

Morelearning: [looking at self catering holiday destinations] I like Hawes!

Sixpence: [listening] I beg your pardon????!!!!!!

Just been to my first 'Aqua Natal' class - as I'm rather unfit (it's taking me longer and longer to climb the three floors to my office in Market Randomtown as the weeks go by) - and all the baby books promise 'an easier labour and birth' if you are a good girl and exercise regularly while pregnant.

So - how weird was that????

To warm up we have to start jogging on the spot in the pool.

I have never felt anything like this sensation!

Jogging up and down with what feels like a water balloon strapped to the inside of my stomach.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrrrd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But not unpleasant though. Boco seemed to like it, so we rewarded ourselves afterwards with a cheese and mayo sandwich and four squares of Dairy Milk.

Littlun got hysterical about going to bed last night, and we couldn't get him to sleep until gone 10pm. Then he woke up in the wee small hours, and since he's recently discovered that he can get himself out of bed and come in search of attention, he then joined us in our bed.

As you'll probably recall, I'm rather prone to insomnia, so the rest of my night consisted of lying awake being subjected to the following:

1) Littlun shouting "Cow!" in his sleep (I hasten to point out that his tone suggested the admiration of a fine specimen of dream cattle, and did not appear to be directed at me);

2) Littlun getting restless legs in his sleep and kicking me repeatedly in the kidneys with feet still encased in slippers - as he has recently started refusing to remove his slippers whilst in bed at night;

3) Littlun farting loudly (this is a child prone to such terrible and astounding flatulence that even he refers to himself as "Pumpy Pants");

4) Littlun wailing "Dummy!" every time it fell out of his mouth;

5) Littlun grasping a handful of my hair while sleeping, with his arm pressed so tightly across my face that my means of air intake was reduced to a single nostril.

All I can say is thank the Lord morelearning slept reasonably soundly and didn't inflict any more night time ramblings (spatial or verbal) upon me, or I may have been forced to retire to the greenhouse.

Tell you what though. I am fecking knackered!!!!

Am pondering whether the wanderer is going to stay in our bed tonight, or go meandering about the house again.

I was bewildered, you see. First he's gone to what I assume is the bathroom, and the next thing, fifteen minutes has passed and he hasn't returned. Slightly concerned, I get up to find the bathroom empty. I check littlun's room, in case he's gone in there to sleep because of my noisy dreaming or something, and that's empty too. The door to the guest room, where Jo is sleeping, is closed, so I'm assuming he's not gone in there for a chat.

So I head downstairs and find him stretched out on the sofa in his boxers.

There follows a conversation I won't detain you with, because although it was in perfectly formed sentences, I just couldn't quite grasp the context of any of what morelearning was saying. In the end I managed to persuade him to stand up and come back to bed. I close the bedroom door and get back into bed and, out of genuine concern, ask morelearning whether he is worrying about anything.

"I'm worried," he says, "because the door is open".

It's only at this point that I realise that morelearning is, in fact, asleep.

"The door is closed," I tell him. "So you can stop worrying now."

"Ok," he says, and immediately begins breathing like a person who's actually asleep.

He remembers nothing!!!

First the sleep-teaching ("Eyes to the front, please") and now this.

It is 7.15pm on Friday evening.

My friend Jo has decided to keep her dinner date, so in the More/Six kitchen a delicious meal is being prepared - unfortunately, on 'Sixpence Time' (a bizarre parallel universe where everything happens between 15 minutes and 2 hours later than it's supposed to).

Jo is expected at 7.45pm.

A wail is suddenly heard from the direction of Head Chefette.

"Morelearning!!!!!"

"Yes, o beautiful one, light of my life?" [well, something like that anyway]

"My chocolate truffles!!!!!"

"What's wrong with them, my love?"

"They look like turds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And so, dear reader, they do.

Fortunately morelearning, my hero as always, leapt to the rescue, and by the time the turds truffles were served 2 hours later they looked like this:

So... anyone for leftover truffles???

Am I the only person who writes little notes to myself in amongst my 'things to do' list in my diary each day?

For example: since last Friday I have had on my Things To Do List that I need to send off to my publisher my selection of possible cover images for my book (including a very splendid pic by dennypoos).

But I still haven't done it.

So under today's date I have written in big red letters:

SEND PHOTOS OFF.
YOU LAZY ARSE SLAPPER.

Which was fine until I was in a business meeting yesterday, and we all had to whip our diaries out to find a date for the next meeting, and I noticed the woman next to me reading over my shoulder with a slightly bewildered expression.

*whistles*

Always the true professional, moi.

was supposed to be Hot & Sour Prawns with Rice and Boozy Oranges with Citrus Sorbet and maybe, if I had the time & energy, home made chocolate truffles.

But now Uncle Mo has cried off, and I don't know whether Jo will still want to come on her own. I have texted her to ask.

So... anyone wanna come round for dinner????