I had a baby boy

I had

Interminable

At slightly past the never-before-seen-or-imagined 39.5 week mark in what promises to be a 50-week pregnancy, I should be filling my time by writing insightful and witty blog posts on everything from the state of the Greek economy and the drama in the Tour de France to issues like pelvic separation in birth. So here is a list of what I have learned so far this day: 1. They looked through the diamond window in Play School today. And the day is only half-over, so I expect to learn even more before I go to bed tonight.

You can't fool me!

I received a booklet at my 36 week appointment at the hospital a fortnight ago, and it was the very same one I received three years ago containing this picture, about which I sarcastically blogged a short time later.

I laughingly tried to explain to the midwife all the objections you lovely commenters and I had to the picture back then.  However she wasn't expecting objections, and thought I was fully approving of it.  I had to use phrases like "structurally engineered bra" and "face washers for absorbancy" and "leakage to the knees" before she realised I had birthed enough children not to be taken in by the charade any longer.

And now I have another copy of the book.  Anyone want a free copy? No?

Inflexible Cutoffs Don't Impress Me Much

If our baby is born in the next 7.5 hours, he'll start school in 2017. If not, he'll start school in 2018. How weird is that? I've decided to let God decide which outcome is best. In practical terms, this means the Castor Oil can stay in the cupboard. However I did put clean sheets on the bed, which is tantamount to a DIY Induction: Murphy's Law Style. (Not that my waters have ever broken at home by surprise in the middle of the night. There's a first time for everything though.)

Update

Still pregnant.  Nothing to report.

Fortunately- Unfortunately

I made a new blog!

Fortunately, it was easy.

Unfortunately, I don't have the brain space to bring my old posts over just yet.

Fortunately, I have detailed instructions on how to do it.

Unfortunately, my blog is worse than useless until I do.

Fortunately, I don't care.

Unfortunately, tonight I broke it and can't get into it anymore.

The end.

Blogger and trousers: hate both

I just can't write any new blog posts.  This new Blogger template hurts my brain and although I have run out of loyalty for Blogger, I don't have the wherewithal to jump ship quite yet.  I do remember staying up late every single night messing around with my blog after Woody was born so maybe in a few months I'll sit here and figure out Wordpress with one hand while I have a baby snoozing in the other.

In the meantime, I'll tell you this one thing.

I Hate Pants. ("Trousers" if you're from the UK.) Specifically: wearing them. They hurt and it's an effort to wear them, but nobody appreciates it. Nobody says, "Hey, I notice you're wearing pants, and I know how much you hate it. I'd just like to thank you for overcoming your loathing of pants and wearing them today." Seriously, If you know me in real life, next time you see me, thank me for wearing pants. I need the encouragement.

That is all.

Full House

I'm getting really excited to meet our new little one! Each week seems to bring us frighteningly close to meeting Number 4.  Here is a picture of little Buzz in 2005:

I have enjoyed this stage of life tremendously!  Creating new little people, adding new little souls to our home!  Here is little Jessie in 2007:

Yes we have some strong-willed little people who are incredibly resistant to direction, but who doesn't like a challenge?  Here is little Woody in 2009:

And I know - obviously, I know - that 4 is a considerable number, a number that many families baulk at. But for us, it has seemed to be OUR number.  I could never say after Buzz or Jessie or Woody that we were 'finished' - on the contrary, we always felt quite unfinished.

And here we are, 9 weeks away from the due date of Number 4 (so, 6 or 7 weeks away from the actual appearance of Number 4, if the past is anything to go by,) and although these days things are quite difficult managing the older children while I am slowly falling apart physically, myself, I am really looking forward to meeting this new little one. I get the feeling that when Number 4 comes, I will have the feeling that we will have our Full House.  What a blessing, thankyou God!

Here's an annoying little FAQ.

Q: Do you have a name for this baby?
A:  Yes.  No.  I don't know.  I think so.  Possibly.

Q: Will your home fit 4 children?
A: Our home fits 4 children very well.  It does not, however, fit their egos in as well.   Buckingham Palace couldn't fit their egos in comfortably.  If the egos spill out the windows onto the lawn, that's fine by me.

Q: Will your car fit 4 children?
A: Our existing car legally fits 3 children, but in practical terms, it doesn't fit them very well physically (there are fights over arm rests and lots of physical aggression as a result) and in no way is it remotely adequate to fit their egos in as well.  We have been looking looking at 7-seaters since the birth of Woody.  And we still are.

Q: Is everything going well?
A: Yes.  And I feel outrageously blessed.  This pregnancy is turning out as low-risk as I could have hoped for, and so there's no reason why I can't have a natural birth this time.

Q: Are you excited about that?
A: I was.  Then I remembered my two natural births, and I started wondering if there were any other options for birthing a child.  Perhaps Mr de Elba could do it this time, for a change.

Q: Why have you stopped blogging?
A: Combination of factors.  I've got nothing to say, my social media itch is being scratched by the dreaded Facebook, and I really hate the new Blogger interface.  Really hate-hate-hate.  But that may be pregnancy hormones, who knows.  Ooh.  I've got to go and feed some hungry children.  Bye.

A Bad Bandicoot Situation

I don't know how else to say this, so I'll just say it.

Bullseye likes killing bandicoots.  Little rat bandicoots that obviously live in the forest out the back.  I think they are the pest bandicoots that are a problem in Asia and India, but whatever their status in Australia, they must be living in plague proportions in the forest, because there certainly seem to be many which venture into our yard at night.  Don't they learn their lesson, after losing to Bullseye?  Well, yes, one can assume that each individual bandicoot does learn its lesson about trespassing in our yard, but by then it is tragically too late.

I hate her killing bandicoots.  I disciplined her severely the first few times she did it, then I found a few dead rats around the place and praised her for killing those, then I got about as confused as she obviously was, and now I don't know what to do.

Well, there is one good solution and the best price I have found on the internet is $21.60.

Just for overnight wear in bandicoot season.  She has forfeited the right to go muzzle-free, I think.

Grandma disagrees.  She is a soft-touch, even when shovelling remains of  dead bandicoots into their resting places because Mr de Elba is at work from too-early til too-late, and I refuse to do the job.  "Oh no, you don't want to put a muzzle on her," says Grandma.

"Yes I do," I say.  And I figure that once Grandma shovels her first maggot-ridden, greatly-decomposed, mostly-melted bandicoot which has putrified after not being discovered during an extended rainy period, she may agree.