flowers, bows, immorality

N says that this is ridiculous. I say it's ridiculous, not to mention borderline insane, to have baby girls and not put giant bows* on their heads.

(By the way, we're having baby girls. Two.)

*or flowers

picture by Jonas Peterson

Things no one tells you about pregnancy, 2

That people will touch your stomach and you might actually like it.

(Not strangers, when they touch your stomach you are stunned and slightly horrified. And when those strangers are guests at a wedding you're working at you have no idea at all how to react so you just bare your teeth in what you hope looks like a smile and back away as quickly as you can. Sometimes right into a cocktail waiter.)

But when the people are people you know and love, it feels kind of nice. Like they're entranced by the magic that is your ginormous belly and they want to absorb some of it. Some do it with affection, some with awe, some with a touch of fear and others with complete reverence. Some reach out as if they're about to touch it then stop and hover, an inch or so away, not sure if it's ok to go any further. Sometimes I find myself sticking it out a little, reached towards the outstretched hands. Not unlike a dog who wants his head scratched. The hands of those I love are drawn irrepressibly to my belly and my belly is drawn irrepressibly to the hands of those I love. And I kind of like it.

*there's been some significant pressure round these parts for some 'pregnancy' pictures of me and let me tell you now, it's probably not going to happen. I'm too exhausted and look too much like shit to pose for pictures and N's too exhausted and too busy fixing our house to take them on the fly. But to paint a picture for you: I'm huge and spotty, nearly always to be found in leggings with food on them, most likely a fortnight past the stage where my hair should have been washed and I have a perma-scowl exactly like the kid in my last blog post.

* image by Wake the Sun

Just because

No reason at all, other than A baby! Eating a watermelon! FROM THE INSIDE!

(Stupid Britain and the inability to purchase a watermelon bigger than your head here)

Musings

Sometimes, first thing in the morning when I've just gotten out of bed, I catch a glimpse of myself straight on in the mirror. It's only when I turn around that I remember I'm pregnant.

It's my Grandad's birthday today, he would have been 83. Some days when I think about him I miss him so much it aches. Other days I think about him and to miss him would be wrong because I can feel him right there beside me. Today it aches.

The rabbit is moulting and it makes him act as crazy as he looks. He won't let us catch him to pull out the tufts which I'm sure itch like hell. So instead we point and laugh.

We painted our kitchen nook Elephant's Breath. I don't love the colour as much as I love the name, but I love the colour just plenty.

Jigsaws and Spectacles

This wedding by One Love Photo is killing me in all sorts of glorious ways.

Bride, cardigan, glasses, lace, grins, ties, ice cream, JIGSAWS, reception in their friend George's sitting room....

YES. PLEASE.

Things no one tells you about pregnancy

'Pouncing' on your husband to show him how much you love him (just like you used to) isn't such a good idea. Your centre of gravity, your sense of balance and your awareness of where you are going to land will most likely be a little off and you may just end up kneeing him squarely in the bollocks.

in spite of ourselves

I'm really needing one of you to have this as a wedding reading. Preferrably one of you who is having us photograph your wedding. Thanks.

(yes, you will need some pretty cool friends to read it. Or a celebrant with a sense of humour. Ooooh, or a couple of pretty cool, pretty talented friends to sing it for you. Fuck yeah!)

In Spite of Ourselves, by John Prine.

She don't like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin' her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She's my baby I'm her honey
I'm never gonna let her go

He ain't got laid in a month of Sundays
I caught him once and he was sniffin' my undies
He ain't too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it's oxygen
He's my baby
And I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go

In spite of ourselves
We'll end up a'sittin' on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we're the big door prize
We're gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.

She thinks all my jokes are corny
Convict movies make her horny
She likes ketchup on her scrambled eggs
Swears like a sailor when shaves her legs
She takes a lickin'
And keeps on tickin'
I'm never gonna let her go.

He's got more balls than a big brass monkey
He's a wacked out werido and a lovebug junkie
Sly as a fox and crazy as a loon
Payday comes and he's howlin' at the moon
He's my baby I don't mean maybe
Never gonna let him go

In spite of ourselves
We'll end up a'sittin' on a rainbow
Against all odds
Honey, we're the big door prize
We're gonna spite our noses
Right off of our faces
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.
There won't be nothin' but big old hearts
Dancin' in our eyes.

*Vishaka and Dean's wedding, by Lillian and Leonard, me and him, us.

The nursery

I wanted to share our nursery with you. We decided to go for a monochromatic colour scheme, working with sophisticated shades of grey and off white. There are so many things for the babies to touch and play with and we've added a splash of colour with a fun yellow bucket in which to store their toys. We have gone for very minimalist furniture to accentuate all of the different textures although I like to think that we have achieved a touch of the rusty/rustic chic look. I especially love the double sleeping bags that we found, Widdle and Puke are going to look so adorbs in those.

I'm so proud of this room....

My Maw

I would like you to meet my Mum. That's her there. And me. She's prolly 24, I'm prolly, um, a few months? This is my favourite picture of us.

My Mum's a clever lady. She's a lawyer. Actually, she's a solicitor but a lot of you are international types and if I introduce her as a solicitor a lot of y'all are going to get the wrong idea. But that's what she is.

She's also a brave lady. She doesn't buy and sell houses or write up contracts or advise companies about how they can do bad things without actually breaking the law. (Not that lawyers do that, ever. Terribly noble profession don't you know.)

She represents people who can't afford representation. Sometimes that means she represents someone who is getting divorced or someone who hasn't paid their mortgage for a million months and wants to arrange some shady deal with 'a businessman from Down South'. But a lot of the time it means she represents people in horrible, desperate situations, people with stories that would make you feel kind of ill inside. Stories that would once you got home in the evening to what was supposed to be your time away from such things, would make you worry and fret and cry. And she puts her all into it. She puts her heart and her time and her love into it.

And she does this every. damn. day.

And I'm proud of her.

So very, very proud of her.

I freaking do

I do, I really do. One of my very bestest ladies send me this and I hope she won't mind me sharing it with you because nothing much says it better.

Thank you, a million times thank you, for your comments on my last post. From the brief but perfect, to the heartfelt to the really really brave, they are the kind of comments that make this whole blogging shizz worth it. And to the people who shared their stories of trying and struggling to make babies, brave women I salute you.

* I freaking Love You by Hillary Bird