I'm very tired today, and am about to settle down with a glass of wine (!!!) and Star Wars Episode II: Attack of The Clones (we are watching all our DVDs in alphabetical order, it has taken us more than 3 years to get to this point. Not because we have millions, but, again, because we're crap), so this post is just going to be a nice incoherent ramble ("how is that different from normal?", I hear you cry) about various things that have happened lately.
First and foremost, The Toddler has had The Pox. Chicken, not Small. It took me a while to figure it out though, and then I think I was in denial about it for a while, hoping I could still send her to nursery. As I mentioned on The Day Of The Tantrum, The Toddler had not been well, and in a fit of uncharacteristic concerned-Mammyness, I decided to take her to the doctor, to be told she probably had a virus, and would be fine. The next day, she developed three spots on her back, and then more, and I spent the next two days obsessively typing "chicken pox rash" into Google Images. Don't do it, especially if you're eating. In the end, I had to conclude that she did indeed have chicken pox, although possibly the mildest case there ever was. She had a dozen spots, one sleepless night of itching, and a cough, and other than that, she's been exceedingly lovely.
Well, I say she's been lovely. This is what they tell me. By they, I mean my mam, Husband, my dad, and in fact everyone in the world who is not me. For me, she's a little bugger. I've just had a couple of the kind of days that make you feel like you are no good at all at this mothering thing, and that your child really doesn't like you very much, and will never listen to you, and you'll end up one of those mothers who get "can't you control your child?" looks in supermarkets. For example, she has been covered in three days worth of crusty calamine lotion, because she wouldn't let me bath her, and thanks to a recent growth spurt, her legs are now long enough for her to fling them over the edge of the bath. She crusty she had to remain. Until this morning, when Husband ran her a bath, which she was positively clamouring to get into. He turned to me and said "You hate me a little bit, don't you?". He was not wrong.
In happier news, when I'm not too tired, I have been doing well at the Engaged Parent thing. We even did an activity the other day! I normally shy away from the messy ones - I have enough trouble cleaning in the first place without purposely making even more mess, but I decided that The Toddler would do baking. It was very fun. She did not quite understand the concept of filling the paper cases, and kept spooning it back out again, and she upended half a tub of sugar sprinkles over one cake, and I will be finding said sprinkles all over my house for months, but I think we both enjoyed it. The cakes were even edible.
In pregnant news, I think the New'un is trying to punch its way out. It has barely stopped moving for the last 3 days. Which is good - I hardly want it to stop moving - but really quite painful, and most unnerving. I thought I would be used to this, as The Toddler was a mental wriggler, but I had forgotten quite how strange it was to feel like someone is knocking on your internal organs, or when your entire belly suddenly changes shape. Ah well, not too long to go now. I'm down to single figures now, and I can't decide whether 9 weeks is an unbearably long time, or disturbingly short. Possibly it's both.
Some other stuff has probably happened, but it's either even more boring than everything I've just waffled on about, or I've forgotten. Anyway, Hayden Christensen and Chardonnay are calling.