Revenge of the MILK

When I posted last night, I wasn't quite expecting the flood of understanding and support from you, my readers. Thankyou all so much. I re-read my post this morning and wish to clarify that sweet Anna-Lucia was weepy last night not because I went postal on her (I didn't) but because she finally got her teeth brushed by Daddy. And boy, they need a good brushing. She has a bit of a problem with tartar and not letting her parents get a brush close to her teeth ("I do it myself!")

I also wasn't expecting Mr de Elba to fix my video problem using Cyberlink (thankyou my love!) I will post that bit of gorgeousness tomorrow morning.

And I wasn't expecting Joseph to sleep well overnight! Thankyou dear boy-child. Mummy needed that good sleep last night.

I'm still not completely sure what was making him cranky, but I'm pretty sure it was milk-related. Quantity, not quality. Somehow I find it hard to believe that slight changes in a mother's diet can change her milk from - well, from mother's milk into poison.

Have you heard of this book?

I've never read it, but the title sure is catchy. I'm secretly intrigued.

Well, it's been a bit like that here, although the anatomy involved has been the Milk Production Setup. It's supposed to produce as much as your baby needs - to increase supply if the baby asks for more than he's getting, and to decrease supply if there's lots of unneeded milk left over all the time.

Well, here the milk is on the increase and it seems to flow very quickly. My shirts are getting soaked and I'm stuffing washers (flannels) into my bra, effectively inflating my profile to a giant F or G-cup.

Joseph is pulling off during feeds in an attempt not to choke on the fast-flowing milk, and vomiting copious amounts even after a short feed. There's milk a-plenty, flowing fast and furious. Maybe this is why he's been so squirmy and cranky.

It's Revenge of the Milk. Scary stuff.

Parenting - ur doin it rong

Do you believe in jinxing things? I do now. Didn't I just say that things were going well in my last blog post?

Until Saturday, I was floating on clouds things were going so well, and I was having such wonderful sleep. Now this pretty much sums up the success of my parenting over the long, lonely weekend:

(That's tears there.)

Poor little Joseph - he's had a few difficult days. Lots of crying, vomiting, grizzling, patchy feeds, and weird things going on in Nappyland. Not much decent sleep, and an inability to sleep at all unless he's lying on me (exhausting) or sucking my finger (a bad idea. He is becoming unhealthily attached.)



And I'd just enjoyed a week of Joseph sleeping most of the night in his own cot. I had been getting some very good sleep, and had been feeling so relaxed and happy that I could wake up, feed Joseph and put him down in his cot, only to wake again a few hours later.

Nat and Anna have been fighting and leaving toys everywhere - just everywhere. When a two-year-old learns to shout the phrase "I'm not lying!" you know that (a) she has an older sibling, and (b) they have not been getting along well.

I have not been playing Mrs Playschool and entertaining them all day (bad mother-of-a-newborn!!), although I did overcome my lifelong hatred of playdough and make a batch for them. Maybe that counts for something?

On the positive side, I cleaned the kitchen on Friday and it looked fantastic! I even mopped the floors, although the amount of dirt underfoot the very next day would indicate I did that 'rong' too. I got McDonalds for dinner on Friday night just so that I didn't have to mess up the spotless kitchen and have to clean it up again. And then I worked out that my McChicken burger meal contributed to more than 50% of my recommended daily intake of fat.

And to add insult to complete parenting failure, I have been trying to give you a TOTALLY GORGEOUS POST for days, and I CANNOT GET IT TO WORK! I have a 3-minute video that I want to crop down to it's cutest 1:30 to show you, and do you think I can do it? Me, who got through school, university, and life (albeit hanging on with my teeth?)

I CAN'T DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Not in Picasa - I get the same problem that all these people get - not in Windows Movie Maker - not even in the big guns - Premiere Pro! I am trying everything to get you this video, but it's not working! I wish I had someone who wanted to help me!

Parenting, Blogging, Life. ur doin it rong.

My Shame

Since the birth of Joseph, I have been interested to see whether my Terrible, No-Good, Falling-Apart Pelvis would get any better. It hasn't. I think it's worse.

I'm not going to go into how excruciating it gets after I have buckled three kids into their carseats at the shops, or how I've tried not to scream in pain when climbing into bed at night. Sometimes I just grab my right leg and haul it into bed or into the car, simply because I can't lift it using trunk & leg muscles without nearly passing out from the pain.

I'm one step away from going back to another physiotherapist. The only reason I'm not taking that step is after seeing my last two physios, I have a pretty good understanding of the problem, the anatomy, and the exercises I need to do to strengthen the muscles that should hold the whole lot together. I've also got a nifty one-sided stretch to do in order to relax the muscle that hitches the right side of the pelvis upwards, keeping it out of alignment. And a stretch for the poor little glutes that knot up to compensate for the pain - finally I can do this stretch now that I no longer have a giant belly in the way of where my leg needs to wrap across the front of my body to relieve this literal pain in the ass.

What to do? Well, tonight I did a little belly dancing to the Newsboys in the kitchen. Because it made sense and because the Newsboys are the best. You can disagree with me, but you would be wrong.

Now you're shocked and amazed because you're thinking I've been doing full-on, proper belly dancing. Not so. It was just the walking around with wiggly hips - the stuff you do in your first belly-dancing lesson. But it gave me an opportunity to hold a posture, tighten the muscles I need to work, and move a bit.

[Aside - My memory is not great, and I could be wrong, but I think maybe LDHBE was in my belly-dancing class with me about a decade ago. Such a vague recollection.]

So now we get to the shameful bit.

Picture me with a not-so-tiny baby boy asleep in my arms, dodging two crazy big kids high on each other's presence and the Newsboys, processing slowly around the kitchen going stamp-wiggle, stamp-wiggle, stamp-wiggle in time to the music.

And what was so shameful about it?

I broke a sweat.

Little Joseph

I can't tell you how much I am enjoying little Joseph!

Part of it is being more relaxed and confident than I was first and second times as a mother. Part of it is being so stinkin' thankful that he's alive and well. But a large part of it is because he is so chilled-out.

I'll always remember the first few days with baby Nat. He popped out of me, opened his tiny mouth and roared like a lion. He repeated his roaring many times in the next few days. I used to look into his red, screwed-up face and say, "There's a lot more of that coming over the next few months. Years." And there was.

Baby Anna-Lucia popped out of me and in a similar fashion, opened her tiny mouth and roared like a lioness. Again, I wasn't naive enough not to know there was plenty more where that came from.

But Joseph only seems to cry when he's hungry for milk, having pain in his tummy from that same milk, or because he needs to suck something to remind him of the milk. He never seems to cry for no good reason. I am shocked and aghast. I don't think babies are supposed to work this way.

When he does cry, he has a very quiet cry. Granted, he does a loud snort in between each cry, but the actual cries are quiet. Maybe like the roary little mews of a lion cub. I don't know. Either way, it seems unusual.

Today, I took him to the shops. I sat in the Coffee Club with my chai latte and decaf caramel latte (hey if you've got 2 for 1 hot drinks with your VIP Club card, you gotta use it, right?) remembering the time I sat in Gloria Jeans two years ago, trying to squeeze some miserable drops of enjoyment out of a coffee while I juggled a tiny red screaming baby girl. People glared at me as if I was pinching her to deliberately make her cry. I didn't enjoy that coffee at all.

Today I drank my chai latte, my decaf caramel latte and a whole wine-bottle-full of cold water while Joseph slept in the pram! Nobody glared at me. I enjoyed every last drop. I discovered I prefer the chai. I congratulated myself on finally buying new face washers for the kids and four funky shirts for Nat. I chuckled at a little boy who, when admonished by his mother for publicly fishing something large from his nose, loudly promised her, "It's okay! I'll put it back in my nose!!"

Good times. And having little Joseph with me asleep in his pram only helped me enjoy it more.

I can't tell you how much I am enjoying little Joseph!

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to Swift Jan!

What an awesome friend she has been to me, and how I miss her now that we've moved away. Many happy returns, my good friend, and all the very best for the birth of your third lovely baby tomorrow!

Everybody Loves Toilet Paper

Nat: Mum! Anna wasted the toilet paper! She's put it all over the toilet!

Me: Oh no, Did you waste the paper Anna?

Anna (thinking quickly, then grinning): And we wahfed (laughed) !!

Only in a little boy's bedroom ...

... would you find a piece of toilet paper taped to the wall.
Your turn!

What has your little boy left in / done to his bedroom?

Or little girl?

Or husband?

Or dog/cat/goldfish?

Milestones

Some milestones along the way, easing my post-caesarean body and psyche ever closer towards normality:


- getting out of bed the next morning

- showering and going to the loo without the 'assistance' they said one would need

- getting back into normal clothes and shoes

- going home, having walked from Maternity to the carpark without keeling over

- doing small things around the house, sometimes so small as to render no actual assistance with the actual running of the house, but important for one's sense of worth

- driving, which you're not actually not allowed to do for the dreaded six weeks after all!

- getting some groceries

- dropping a four year old off at kindy, then doing it with a newborn and a two year old. And surviving.

- watering one's garden again

- disciplining one's kids again

- getting back into Normal Undies! ...instead of the giant super-high-waisted post-caesar granny pants, which, I'm embarrassed to admit, were super-comfy with the waistband well away from the yowchy part but super-uncomfy with corresponding lack of fabric down lower. Let's just say it's a good thing that in this case, retrieving lost fabric does not incur a deduction of 0.5 of a point.


Wow! When it's all written out like that, it sounds like I'm powering around changing the world and overdoing things in general. I'm not. I'm taking things extremely easy and enjoying seeing a milestone like watering the garden happen when it does.

Each day I only have one or two goals. For example, my goals for a day might be: (1) get Nat to kindy, and (2) get Nat home from kindy.

This is why some nights, dinner doesn't exactly ... exist.

It's not just me though. I was relieved to hear a fellow kindy mum say that one night when her baby was small, she called her husband and demanded, "Ask me what's for dinner!"

When he hesitatingly asked, "What's for dinner?" she snapped, "A CARROT!" and hung up.

I loved that story, and I really appreciated that she told me about it. Because it reminds me of me.

Conversations

Anna-Lucia: At Gamma house I wots Woss 'n' Gommit (At Grandma's house I watched Wallace and Grommit.)
Me: Oh did you sweetheart?
Anna-Lucia: At Gamma house I wots Woss 'n' Gommit.
Me: Really? Was it good?
Anna-Lucia: At Gamma house I wots Woss 'n' Gommit.
Me: Oh yes?
Anna-Lucia: At Gamma house I wots Woss 'n' Gommit.
Me: I see what you're doing. I'm not playing this game.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Nat: Mum!
Me: Yes?
Nat: Mum!
Me: Yes?
Nat: MUM!
Me: Yes, Nat!
Nat: MUM-MEEE!
Me: Nat, I hear you. Speak now. What do you want to tell me?
Nat: Mum!
Me: Nope. Not answering that. This Information Booth is closed for the day.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Anna-Lucia (peering into the rubbish bin): What's that?
Me: I don't know sweetheart.
Anna-Lucia: What's that?
Me: I said I don't know.
Anna-Lucia: What's that Mummy?
Me: Anna, listen: I don't know what you're talking about.
Anna-Lucia: What's that Mummy?
Me: Look at my eyes. I can't see the thing you're talking about and I'm feeding Joseph, so I can't come over there and check it out.
Anna-Lucia (pause): Oh. Maybe Gogg Poo.
Me: (Got up to check it out.)

Deep Thoughts on Shallow Topics

Do you read NieNie (Stephanie Nielson)? I started reading her blog the day after she and her Mr Nielson suffered that horrible plane crash that killed their friend a year ago.

The first post I read was the one where her sister C-jane posted quickly to say that the crash had occurred and to ask for prayers.

I then read the previous post. How bizarre. Just a few short hours ago she had been safe and well, asking for people to consider advertising on her blog. What a lovely photo of her and her son Oliver. What had happened to her since then, I wondered.

Over the last twelve months, many of which were spent wondering when Nie would come out of the coma and if she was okay, I read most of her previous posts. I learned a lot about Nie. She and I are very different in some aspects, as she comes from a Mormon background and I am a Christian. But I still marvelled at the depth of her faith, I enjoyed reading about her family and how she loves being a wife and mother, and in general enjoyed peering through this bloggy window into her life.

How exciting was it to finally hear from her - out of the coma, back home and blogging again! How sad to hear of her struggles with her rehabilitation and self-image, including this heart-wrenching post about when her baby boy didn't recognise her, as her appearance is now very different.

Although our faith backgrounds are so different, I have been praying for her. I've never met her, never emailed her and never commented (as she does not haave the comments open on her blog), but I feel I know her in some small way. My heart aches for her, and I feel that there's nothing else I can do except talk to God on her behalf.

Now here is what's on my mind right now.

A short while ago, she posted this on her blog. Check out this link. Read her words. Look at that gorgeous picture of her and admit - she is a lovely person inside and out.

16th August was the anniversary of the plane crash. After a year of posting photos of everyone and everything else in the world, she finally posted a photo of her new self. You'll need to follow that link too.

Do you feel what I feel as you see the difference?

Okay, so the new Nie is beautiful inside and out as well, but the outer beauty is dramatically altered and bears the signs of her year's struggle with horrible burns and the many surgeries she has had. The most important thing is that she and her Mr Nielson are alive. And all this is just about appearance, right? ... Right?

But seriously? I can't believe what a hard road dear Nie is walking.

For us women, our appearance is very special. It's part of our identities. Is it any wonder that Nie has struggled with the change in her appearance? With the way that this change affected her youngest child so deeply in the days when he didn't recognise her?

In Nie's situation, I would struggle so deeply. You know I would. I'd fall apart. I shouldn't, but I would.

So today, after reading her blog post last night and seeing the photo of her new self, I have Deep Thoughts. Deep Thoughts on the Shallow Topic of appearance, what it means to me, and whether it really should mean all that to me. And I'm tying myself up in knots.

I went to put my drink down ...

... on what I thought was a round, white coaster.

Then I remembered we don't own any round, white coasters.

Turns out it was a used breast pad.

Crazy Times.

Gold Bunny

When we moved to this lovely house, I knew it was time to start growing roses - something I've always wanted to do. At our previous home, I couldn't get a shovel into the earth despite the fact that 50 years ago, our block and the surrounding land was an orchard.

Here, the earth is soft and rich, and smells all ... you know ... soft and rich. And earthy. Time to grow roses.

With the help of my Dad, I quickly put in 13 new roses, and there's space for 3 or 4 more. I've enjoyed seeing them shoot new growth despite the fact that I've been a bit out-of-commission with the Rest and the Caesarean and the Baby and all.

Here is our first rose - a Gold Bunny. It's a floribunda with lovely rich foliage and BEE-YOO-TI-FUL yellow blooms.

My Tiny Little GIANT

Yesterday was Joseph's due date. But instead of being born yesterday, he was 3 weeks 1 day old. My goodness, 40 weeks is a long time! I have never made it to 40 weeks before and I admire everyone who does!

When he was born, he was 3105g and now he's 3990g. This means in 22 days he's grown from 6lb 13.5oz to 8lb 13oz. I'm pretty proud of that. Sometimes you wonder if your baby is getting any/enough milk, but when you see them growing so well, you have to stop worrying.

I wasn't able to take fantastic pictures of Joseph yesterday, but here are some average ones of Joseph with his favourite big buddy:

Let the little children come ...

I have blogged before about some of the hilarious things I've heard while looking around for a church that our family might want to attend. In fact, the funniest thing I heard was at a church that was actually a pretty good fit for us - perhaps the second-best 'fitting' church we have visited in our time here.

There was another great moment we had at a different church, and I've forgotten to blog about it until now.

It was time for the children to leave for their own programs during the morning service. The man up the front was in a particularly jovial, grinning, hand-wringing, bobbing-up-and-down-on-his-heels mood, and if you've spent much time with Christians you'll recognise this particular caricature in people you've met.

As is common in churches, when the children leave the numbers are reduced to a half of the original congregation. Amid the bustle and murmur of children and attending adults all making an exit, the person up the front usually feels the need to make some comment on proceedings.

The jovial, hand-wringing man that particular day wished to comment positively on the number of children attending their programs.

Unfortunately, the words he chose, as he gushed enthusiastically with a huge grin plastered across his face were "Ah! Look at that! It's great to see them go!"

We were amused, and in some cases, ever-so-slightly in agreement.

Gymnastics (Re-posted)

Life with Joseph and his two big siblings is sailing along happily and uneventfully, meaning there is a lack of blog fodder for the time being. I am glad you didn't mind me re-posting one of my older posts last time.

Tinsenpup was kind enough to suggest I re-post her favourite piece of Killing A Fly which happens to be a sadly true account of my 2-year high school gymnastics career. When you start 2 years before retirement age, you can't expect much longevity in a sport.

I originally posted this during the 2008 Olympics as I was once again baffled by the level of achievement such young competitors achieve in such a difficult sport. I saw myself how I was able to improve and achieve quite quickly at gymnastics, but I realised how professional gymnasts must start in their sport so early and be so single-mindedly dedicated to training to perform to Olympic standards.

Added the next day: Initially I put out a call for a better way to end the post. We have a winner, so I will amend the ending and you can just be confused about the comments suggesting alternative last lines.

Olympic Sports that Baffle Me - Gymnastics
4 September 2008

I had a go at gymnastics in high school. I started gymnastics at the age of 15 which is about 2 years from retirement in the gymnastics world. It's also about twice the age of the gymnasts winning medals at the Olympics, so obviously, I approached the sport all wrong.

My favourite apparatus was the floor, working on the theory that you can't fall off a floor. I found though that you can sprain your ankle pretty badly and spend a week on crutches.

My concern with the asymmetric bars is that you could wind yourself or fall from a height and do untold damage. But the worst I remember from the A-bars was getting a wedgie in competition and being unable to retrieve the lost lycra until the end of the routine.

Retrieving wayward lycra results in a deduction of points in competition, and it is a measure of my [lack of] professionalism that my policy was always to forgo those points and get my butt cheeks out of public view ASAP. Anyway, it was my fault for forgetting to hairspray my cheeks before squeezing into those leotards. (And that's an awful lot of hairspray, in my case.)

The beam was the most terrifying apparatus for me. You can do a pretty serious injury to yourself on a beam, but even though I was scared silly, I never fell too badly. I wouldn't have much to report about this apparatus except that my sister remembers that once in competition, I fell and then I was deducted a further 0.5 because I swore. Well wouldn't you?

You might be able to hurt yourself on the other apparatus, but I believe that you can kill yourself on the vault. And since studies show that people fear public embarrassment more than death, I can say that my scary vault memory was even worse than that.

My run-up went wrong (as usual) and I baulked at the last minute. I sailed over the stupid vault head-first horizontally and landed on my tummy on the crash mat. My body, obeying Newton's first law of motion, kept sailing forwards while my lycra leotard, bothered by its own frictional coefficient, remained where it first made contact with the rubbery surface of the mat. And the physicists wrote a new law involving Collective Attention being drawn to the Point of Exposed Breasts.

Or something.

Meals At Camp (Re-posted)

I am having a lot of trouble thinking of what to blog about. Most of my typing is one-handed nowadays anyway, and on this little notebook I'm currently using, it's easy to mis-hit keys and accidentally delete large blocks of text that were very slow to type out in the first place. So there have been posts that have disappeared and then Blogger has helpfully autosaved the blankness, at which point I've decided to abandon the post and instead to re-read some of my old stuff.

I wondered if I should re-post some old entries, if only to have the same laughs a second time around. Here is my "Meals At Camp" skit - something I'd love to perform one day. Some of the material for this came from church camps held in some very old accommodation that became 'condemned' shortly after our stay; and some from camps in accommodation that perhaps should have been.

A la carte, a la tente
30 Jan 2008

Waiter: Good evening Sir, Madam, welcome to Dinner At Camp. Table for two this evening?

Him: Yes thankyou.

Waiter: Would you like to be seated in the Sun In Your Eyes section, or the Cold Food Served Last section?

Her: Mmm, they both sound good. We'll choose the Sun In Your Eyes section this evening.

Waiter: An excellent choice. Aerogard or Non-Aerogard?

Him: Aerogard.

Waiter: No problem. Please follow me. Now, would you like a drink to start with?

Him: Yes, please. We'll both have a Tank Water With Wrigglers.

Waiter: I'm terribly sorry Sir, due to Health Regulations the Water's been taken off the menu tonight. But I can offer a particularly good Weak Yellow Cordial if you'd be interested?

Her: That sounds lovely. Thankyou. (Waiter leaves.) Wonderful service here, isn't it?

Him: Yes, it is. I've never been seated in this section before. For lunch I was in the Downwind From The Barbecue Smoke section, and for breakfast I was in the Sitting At The Card Table Because I Was Too Late From The Cold Showers section.

Waiter (returns): Are you ready to order, Sir?

Him: Yes thankyou. I'll have the Gluggy Rice with Sloppy Meat ... incidentally, what meat is it?

Waiter: The chef said he's not entirely certain, as it simply says "tinned meat" on the side of the -er- tin.

Him: Never mind, it's just a minor detail. And can I have the Camp Toast with that?

Waiter: Certainly sir. How would you like it done?

Him: Tonight I'll have it cold, moist and leathery thanks.

Waiter: Very good sir, and for Madam?

Her: A very tempting menu. I'll choose the Gristly Chicken with Grey Watery Vegetables, that sounds nice.

Waiter: An excellent choice. And for dessert?

Her: We'll both have the Puddle of Melted Ice-Cream with the Children's Sprinkles, please.

Waiter: Certainly. Will you be having any other drinks with your meal?

Him: Yes, I will have the Lukewarm Tea with a Milk Arrowroot biscuit, and my lovely wife will have - what will you have dear? A Tepid Grey Coffee, thanks. International Roast would be perfect. And two anti-nausea tablets to finish thanks.

Waiter: Lovely. Now do you have any requests for music while you wait?

Him: How about 'The Superman Grace'?

Her: Oh no dear, I cannot bear 'The Superman Grace'. Could we have 'Thank You God For Giving Us Food' instead please?

Waiter: Absolutely, I'll go and tell the musicians directly. Enjoy your Weak Yellow Cordials. (Waiter leaves.)

Her: What a lovely evening. Pass the Aerogard? Thankyou. Could you please spray the back of my nec-

Musicians: THANK you God for giving us food! THANK you God for giving us food! THANK you God for giving us food! Ri-ight where we are!

Him: Oh, I've been meaning to mention how the lovely the decor in the amenities bloc-

Musicians: HAL-lelujah praise the Lord! HAL-lelujah praise the Lord! HAL-lelujah praise the Lord! Ri-ight where we are!

Him: Never mind.

Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

So log off, computer; Blog, go to sleep!
I'm playing with Joseph, and Joseph won't keep.

Some think we're crazy to have a third child, let alone refuse to draw the line at three (just yet, anyway.) They think parenthood is something to be endured.

Little do they know, parenthood is something to revel in!

Now this hasn't been easy, but I've told myself (please remind me if I ever forget!) never to wish away a single minute of my children's young days. I've tried to soak up every single drop of my children's childhoods, even the bad bits. There have been times when Nat and Anna were little when they have refused to sleep in the middle of the night, crying and screaming, sometimes feeding, sometimes not, and I have collapsed in an exhausted puddle of motherhood on the floor, weeping myself. Even in those times I've tried to soak up the experience, good or bad - because babies don't keep.

And here I go again!


How blessed. Thankyou God.

-------------------------------------------------
I'm thinking about all this today because this made me cry last night. If you're hormonal like me, you might cry too. Join the club.

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

- Ruth Hulburt Hamilton (1958)

Congratulations! Don't do it again, and who's the Dad?

The "Bounty Bag." Three free bags of baby-related samples, advertisers and magazines that you receive (a) at your first ante-natal appointment, (b) after the birth of your baby, and (c) when your baby is a bit bigger (I can't quite remember when.)

I'm always unreasonably excited to receive a Bounty Bag. Excited because it's full of goodies and free stuff, unreasonably because most of it's advertising rubbish that goes straight in the bin. But the free samples of nappies, cream, bodywash for the bath, baby shampoo & conditioner and powder always come in handy. When I was pregnant with Anna-Lucia, I got a 250g block of Cadbury chocolate in my Bounty Bag! Not bad, I thought.

This time, what's in there, apart from the usual?

A box of condoms. Ri-ight.

And an advertisement for DNA testing. That's right - paternity testing.

Yeesh.

Once you've expressed it ...

2007

2009

Spideranna, Spideranna ...

That's Grandma you hear in the background!