I stood in front of my full length mirror this morning idly analysing whether the thin film of dust upon it makes the reflection more flattering. It doesn't. Nothing could. From a distance, I look pregnant. Far more pregnant than I am yet up close I know the secret, the apparent bump is wobbly flubber. Yes, I ate all the pies ( & everything else that comes within 5 miles of my mouth) Oh and orange juice in the eye hurts more than jizz ever did.
I'm 98% convinced that Moomin is a boy, we even have most of his name decided yet in a mild panic this morning I randomly leafed through the name book my mum used from the 70s adding to the list of girl names that all feel suspiciously wrong and that we'll never use anyway because, you know, it's a boy.
I'm marginally obsessing about the room rejigging that needs to be done and huge unaffordable purchases that need to be made such as bed and mattresses and other bedroom furniture. Lets not forget paint. Then I remember that August is ages away (conveniently forgetting that all this need to be done by June at the latest) and eat some chocolate instead. And some crisps. And a pizza... or two.
I'm getting The Guilts about how little I actually do with The Spawn so am contemplating the go-to activity of baking which means a) I don't have to leave the house and b) It's edible. At least in Summer and in the full swing of spring we have some remnants of a garden they can play in and they can play outside yet in this miserable weather it's colouring and television.
Oh to be one of those spiffingly good fun mothers, you know, the ones that have motivation.
Before you dash off, I have a new G+ page, please follow me google.com/