Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Dull and delusional

Life has reached epically dull proportions. I forgot that when pregnant I get very dull. I forget a lot in between pregnancies. For some reason I delude myself that life will continue as it was - I shall have energy, I shall not get fat, my moods will remain equal and normal and I will be exactly the same pre-pregnancy, just with the added advantage of a bump housing a baby. In my head, I am skipping down the road smiling at my joyful children who are skipping along with me as the sun shines down on us. All will be blissful I think. I convince K of the same. And then the two lines appear on the stick and within weeks all hell has broken loose. I eat with gay abandon - leftovers from the children's meals,  K's food, child snacks and sweets, crisps, cake, whole tubs of houmous and half loaves of bread - nothing is sacred and I seemingly lose any control I may have had pre-pregnancy. (ALL pregnancies were preceded by a stint at Wibblies - they go hand in hand). So I naturally have a rapid weight gain to go along with it and the neat bump in my dreams never materialises. Instead I am left with an odd shaped, fat covered lumpy bump which never looks as perfectly round as everyone else's seems to and also means that all those clingy tops and dresses which all maternity clothes suppliers seem to favour, look terrible on me. I also become deathly dull. All I want to do is go to bed. I develop a mild form of M.E which means that any burst of energy is met with a burst of lethargy. Evenings out become endurance tests and hideous, torturous exercises in trying to find something to wear. Any activities that the children need to complete become things of dread (after school play dates, school discos etc). I am no fun at all. I find pleasure in nothing but sleep, sitting and eating. Anything that requires my effort is an irritant. Later on in the pregnancy I shall no doubt take to my bed at 7pm every night to knit and watch telly which is what I did with Ted. K hates that phase. Mainly because he is lonely downstairs and has to make me supper so I can eat it in bed.  With each pregnancy I remember that I do not 'do' pregnancy that well.  I fear I shall agree with K and make this the last ever one. I don't think my friends and family love me enough to go through this again.

Take Saturday night. I was ironing the sofa covers. That is dull in extremis. I can't stand the way they look if they are crumpled and as they are cream they needed washing so I bit the bullet and set up my ironing in front of Let's Dance for Sports Relief. Oh and I was wearing slippers.  The scene I have painted is a sure sign life is over. To make it even worse my efforts were made all the more meaningless as K had a major incident with red wine last night and I descended this morning to discover an empty bottle of carpet shampoo, a very oddly textured and stained carpet and a new mottled red pattern on my freshly cleaned and ironed sofa cover.  (In hindsight my 'genius' idea to get the cream covers because they were the cheapest covers Ikea produce, was a mistake. You live and learn.)

I am at the point of no return with the amount of scrubbing and cleaning that has been required of me recently. Ted's potty training is NOT going as well as expected. The last two children were potty training geniuses in comparison. They had the whole thing down in a few days - five days at most. And Bea wasn't even two. She was in knickers at her second birthday party - I have the pictures to prove it. I naturally assumed they were so quick because I am spectacularly gifted at potty training toddlers. Miserably I was delusional in that assumption too. The other two must just have been more advanced at understanding their bodily functions. If they ever soiled their pants which I don't really remember them doing, it was once at the most. Ted is achieving that on an almost daily basis. And making it to the potty for a wee is also very hit and miss. The carpet has suffered a lot. Regardless of another impending weeing toddler I am insisting upon a new living room carpet in the summer. What with Ted's lack of bladder control, K's red wine spillage and now a purple stain left from Ted dumping a whole pot of Scooby Doo Goo on it there really is no return for the poor thing and having it put down would be best for everyone. (I know what you are thinking - and floorboards are the most obvious solution but I hate the cold and having cold feet so I shall keep on keeping on with carpet).

So, to sum up. I am dull. I have told you about my sofa covers and scrubbing my carpet. It is a new low even for me. Which is such a shame as Thursday marks a momentous occasion. Yes people, it will be a year to the day that I started on this whole shebang and I launched MotherandOther. Obviously the whole world has changed since then - I am now a multi million pound best selling author and I live in Dulwich in my six bedroom house and my life is totally fabulous - so it was all a jolly good idea. Or I am still on the same sofa, in the same house, not recovering from pneumonia but being grumpy and tired from pregnancy. That is a step in the right direction though so I shall not moan about that.  The year has gone very quickly and even I was shocked to learn it had been 12 whole months since I started regaling you with all my thrilling antics. It doesn't seem possible.

So, in honour of my blogiversary I shall try and be more interesting and thrill you when we next meet. There is even a hen night on the horizon - my little sister is celebrating this weekend - so that should surely bring about some amusement. (Although I must make sure to name the hen update something that doesn't have the words naked or fetish in the title - unfortunately I can see a large number of amorous people have googled their various fetishes and accidentally ended up here - it must be the most amazing disappointment for them.) I am trying to get myself motivated for the hen  - I have nothing to wear which isn't helping. I would be more excited if I could drink but at least I can eat so all is not totally lost. And it is a fabulous way of getting out of doing bath and bed which is proving all too much for me at the moment. Even one night away from it is worth celebrating.

Until then mes amies.

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Love and dance

Hello and welcome back. I've been away for half term - what have I missed? Valentine's day. Big whoop. I just don't get it. Maybe for teenagers, blossoming new romances, needy people, the newly married etc it might mean something but to me it is just a tad on the silly side. Much like New Year's Eve - it is enforced jollity and it turns out to be nothing of the sort. I am clearly a rebel at heart as when I am told to do something I feel like doing the exact opposite - being told to tell someone I love, that I love them, just leaves me cold. This is compounded by the restaurants all filled with tables for two with naff flowers on just waiting for people forced in to going out 'because it's Valentine's Day' and the streams of men I saw (as I was sitting in the car waiting for my sister) coming out of Asda with a card and a bunch of roses 'because it's Valentine's Day'. PUKE. Leave Valentine's day to the teenagers for goodness sake people - we've just had Christmas it is pure gluttony to want more gifts and chocolate. It's not that I hate the day or want it banned, I just mean that a card is enough people, a small nod to the day is plenty. Let's not go overboard and ram fake protestations of love down the throats of single folk.  K and I obviously did exchange cards and the children even sent him their home made ones which I thought was rather touching, but that was all that occurred. That and an argument - naturally.  K and I ended up arguing over the phone about ballet shoes on St Valentine's evening. Bea's ballet shoes, not mine, naturally - I haven't suddenly decided to take up Ballet. (Although the idea of me in a leotard and tights trying to dance is now making me laugh.) He thought I should wait and get them next month (so that he didn't have to give me the money for them) and I thought that seeing as the children and I were on half term, near a ballet shop, with the child in need of bigger ballet shoes in tow and with imminent ballet and modern exams next month, I should get them the following day. You can see how that kind of thing could escalate. I spent the rest of the evening, post ballet shoes argument watching BBC 2 with my mum. There was no romance to be found anywhere. Especially as mother was still very ill with a nasty abscess under her tooth so it was a very quiet night all round.

I did, however, use the great St Valentine and his day to show my extreme love for the children by taking them to see Alvin and the sodding Chipmunks getting shipwrecked on a volcanic island. Sitting through THAT is a proper sign of true love.

My excitement over Bea's dance exams may have added to the heat of the argument. I am thrilled about them. Firstly, there is finally going to be a certificate or two to validate all my efforts over the years at getting Bea dressed and out of the house first thing on a Saturday morning (and pre K being at home on Saturday, the boys as well) in all weathers, in time for her 45 minute ballet lesson which allowed us just enough time to get home for five minutes before turning straight back around to pick her back up again. All the ballet shoe and leotard buying, doing the hair, forcing her to go when she would rather stay at home to carry on playing the game/watching TV/stay in her pjs, money for lessons etc etc etc, all my hard work will finally be rewarded with some framed certificates on the wall. Should she pass that is, but I am hoping at this early stage that is a foregone conclusion. I never did dance exams, shockingly. As children, the sisters and I were forced in to music lessons and subsequent exams so I am very out of my depth with dance lessons. I don't know what to expect. Give me a Grade 1 piano book and some scales and I know where I am. Annoyingly, my music never really 'did' anything for me. I got to Grade 8 in a few instruments and voice and I did my A Level Music which was useful, but it also got me roped in to a number of orchestras and things I HATED doing (I do not get children who enjoy playing in orchestras as a fun activity - I was there under duress and I thought anyone who came voluntarily was a total tosspot). But as an adult - and particularly with K - I find people overwhelmingly disappointed in me when they find out that I can indeed play the piano, but I can't just sit down at a piano and 'play'. I need music, preferably music I know and have played before, otherwise it would be a painfully slow sight reading exercise which is no fun for anyone to sit and listen to. I have always, always, always wanted to be one of those terribly cool people who can just sit down at the piano, or pick up their violin, and just start playing something, or even more cool, joining in with other people playing instruments like in a band or something. Jools Holland is an obvious example. As is Jamie Cullum. That is effortless cool - like something from a film - the ability to entertain at a drop of a hat after a few seconds of sitting down at a piano. Not that I am constantly presented with a piano and asked to play, but it has happened  over the years. Now dancing is a very different matter - there are ALWAYS opportunities to dance - I am setting Bea up with something that will make her look cool forever more. I am not a great dancer and have never looked cool on a dance floor, although I have looked very inebriated, naturally.  All those hours and hours and hours and hours of stupid music practise have only left me with some rather useless certificates at my mum's house and a seemingly never ending ability to disappoint strangers.

So, that's it really. Half term was not the usual luxury I have come to expect as mother was unusually ill (she is NEVER properly ill - as in bed bound ill - EVER - so it was all very strange) and Valentine's day was not at all romantic and Bea got her ballet and modern shoes. I really can't think of anything else even vaguely interesting.  It was a massive improvement on last year's February half term when K had to drive us all down one night before term had broken up so that I could properly recover from my pneumonia - and K could get back to work and stop caring for us all. Then the boys both got ill when we were down there and I ended up taking them to the Doctors and nursing them back to health as mum tried to nurse me and cope with the other well children. That was no fun for anyone and mum almost shivers when she thinks back to it. So, it was a vast improvement on last year but I am vaguely hopeful that next year might be even better.  You never know your luck.

OH hang fire - how could I miss this out for you - Ted is potty training/ed. My mother insisted he must be as he kept telling us when he needed a wee to which I replied it was all fine and as he had a nappy on he could just go ahead. Mother thought I was being lazy and making excuses so she took the matter out of my hands and removed his nappy permanently.  I wasn't thrilled and took bizarre satisfaction in him wetting himself on her watch. However she may have had a point and obviously it had to be done at some point so I have carried on her good work upon our return home. So far so good - ish - I will obviously keep you posted on all the exciting developments in that department. You lucky, lucky folk.

x x x

Tuesday, 7 February 2012

Yours Factually

Facts I have learnt this week:
Fact #1. Did you know that dogs and pigs kill more humans per year than sharks? I know, the dogs bit is believable but throwing pigs in there as well makes it funny. No offence to anyone who knows someone who has, but to die by pig seems a particularly cruel way to go as people will automatically have a slight giggle at the same time as being sad that you are dead. This exciting fact was from G's new book on sharks courtesy of his cousin's 4th birthday party. I was forced to read it to him and found it quite fascinating. I have said that based on this new information, we are far more likely to get a shark as a pet than a dog or a pig. I like the idea of a small shark - there is such a thing as a dwarf lantern version and I think I could start a great new trend by breeding them and selling them on - they only grow to around 16 cms and give off a pleasing glow on the underside of their bodies which I think would be an amazing feature in a room. It is contained, you don't need to pick up its poo and it's unlikely to make any mess. Plus it doesn't need walking. And finally I am not allergic to sharks - I have a fairly minor allergy to pet hair but it is incredibly irritating as my eyes itch terribly as does my skin and nose, so I would prefer not to bow down to the almost constant pressure by K and G to get a sodding dog. We do have a cat already, the helpful Reggie who saw off a rather scary rodent invasion a few years ago.  I could no longer spend any time alone downstairs due to the fear factor of the tiny invaders until Reggie was donated to us from one of K's friends and he has been here, keeping them at bay ever since. Poison and traps did not work as a permanent solution for us so to anyone suffering I would recommend that you get a professional killer in (hence Reggie's name) to see off the pesky buggers. Anyway, the point is I put up with my allergic reactions to Reggie because he serves a very important purpose but a dog would just take up more of my time, make mess and cause me to have a constant allergic reaction. A small shark seems a far more sensible choice.

Fact #2.  I could 'do' with spending more time with my children. My mother told me so on Sunday morning so it is a fact. I am struggling with this particular fact though. As a stay-at-homer the only way I could pyhsically spend more time with my children would be to home school them which would result in us all needing major psychiatric help in the future. Perhaps she was confusing me for a high flying corporate lawyer who had divorced her husband and only got to see her children for half an hour a day and every other weekend? Who knows. I mean they sleep next to me in my bed until they are over seven months old, they stay at home with me until they go in to official education at 4 years old and apart from very rare occasions like a wedding, even rarer night away with K or the once in their lifetime three nights away when I did my WW training - they are always with me. The very idea that I could be chastised for not spending enough time with them is mind boggling. She had taken against me moaning about the snow - I was meant to be having a rather thrilling day 'off' as K was going to take them all away to his mother's house - but thanks to the snow we deemed it a bad idea and as K had also put his back out again, instead of a glorious day to myself I was 'stuck' at home entertaining all of them. Plus I wasn't particularly looking forward to venturing out in the freezing weather conditions. She caught me at an 'off' moment and clearly thought this would 'chivvy' me along to stop moaning and get outside to build a snowman with them (I did not - they were quite happily amusing themselves in our 10ft by 10ft garden and had been for quite some time which meant I could eat my breakfast in peace - nothing she said would change that situation), but still, I think it was an unnecessarily harsh comment and actually just plain unnecessary. It haunted me all day. To 'prove' to her how wrong she was I spent the rest of the day emailing her pictures/videos of all the fun the children were actually having - every part of the day was recorded and emailed over for her to wade through on Monday morning at work - that will learn her. I even took the big two up to our local sledge run (much against my fervent wish to stay inside in the warm) and we spent a freezing hour and a half going up and down a hill of patchy snow. We didn't get as much snow as some areas so the grass was showing through in places and it was a bit muddy, but still, they loved it more than anything we have ever done before and are now whining on about when it will snow again. (Aside from the cold I actually enjoyed it too - watching them laugh with happiness together was quite lovely but I am glad it doesn't snow a lot).

Fact #3. The Queen has been employed as such for exactly 60 years. I am sure that she must have a competitive spirit in her and even though she is very tired and desperate to put her feet up and go on a Saga cruise, she is hanging on in there just to convincingly thrash Queen Victoria (and maybe a little to annoy Camilla - we all pretend it's fine but really she is just the most successful mistress in history). If the Queen keeps her job for another four years she will make history and therefore all history books, websites, fact sheets etc will have to change the information they have held dear for over a Century. All those school projects informing us that Queen Victoria is the longest running monarch to date will become defunct and the whole world will shift on its axis. I am actually looking forward to 3 years and 7 months' time when we shall watch the minutes tick by until Queen Liz can thrust her fists in the air in victory and shout 'yes!' loudly to her lady in waiting (not Philip whom my mother is convinced has not lived with her as a 'husband' for many decades). I must apologise if this has already been endlessly discussed in the media but as you know, I am very cut off from the world so unless it is on the Sky News app I sometimes peruse in a bored moment or being discussed on BBC Radio 2 by Chris Evans, I don't know about it. So the idea of the Queen secretly lying in bed at night thinking - "I've come this far - there is no way I'm giving up this close to the finish line - come on Lizzie, you can do it!" - has kept me amused for days.

Fact #4. Another thing I have learnt (courtesy of Radio 2 again but a lunch time discussion programme instead) is that there are NO GAY footballers. Who would have thought that being a footballer naturally meant you were heterosexual? I was shocked that a. I hadn't noticed before and b. this ridiculous crap is allowed to continue. This has meant I have a new hero to add to my list - the brave Justin Fashanu - the only gay footballer ever.  So, my new goal in life is to have the next gay footballer who shakes up the world of football and stops all this silliness. As the new baby is no doubt a boy as well (and no - we are not planning to find out and no, we do not know what it is already - I have been asked that a lot) I have three to choose from so I just need to get one of them in to football, make them professional standard and help them to become gay. I'm sure these are all easily achievable. Whilst I'm on the subject I would also like to loudly announce that I am 99.99% sure Simon Cowell is gay. It irritates me massively that we do not speak openly about this. Sinitta is the longest running fag hag in gay history. I would like to send him supportive words of encouragement via email to tell him it is ok to be gay and we would all totally understand. No one would think less of him, surely? He has so much money he can continue to buy friends and fag hags for the rest of his life. I just don't get it.

Other than these few fascinating facts I have learnt this week, nothing much has happened that is out of the ordinary. The usual crap has happened. Children, school drop off, school pick up, whining, crying, laughing, homework, housework, endless food preparation, Ted emptying a whole bottle of body lotion on K's side of the bedroom (in the bed, on a book, bedside table, his hair, on the end of the bed etc), the microwave has broken, I ran another WW's meeting and made a whopping £5 after childcare, I penned my resignation email - then saved it instead of sending it and I have continued to moan at the children for not listening to me/doing as I said/picking up their clothes, wet towels, coats off the floor. Dullsville I'm afraid.  I am literally counting down the minutes until half term this Saturday and a holiday chez mother. Luckily as she will be doing all the housework and cooking I will be able to fulfil her wish and spend even MORE time with the children. Thank goodness. They were beginning to wonder what I looked like. As she has a big garden I can also begin the football training. Watch this space. Oooh talking of which I think we can all let the 'sick' query lie  now - what with the recent snow fall and general dirt the remnants of the sick have now broken down and turned brown/black so they blend in quite well with the tarmac beneath and you would have to know what you were looking for to recognise it. I think that must be over a month now. As part of my ongoing scientific experimentation I shall make a note of the date the next time I see a splatter pattern and we can officially document its stay on the pavement.

YE Gods, I have just learnt something else - Channel 4 are putting out a programme called The Wedding Proposal. For me, there is nothing worse than public displays of affection. I get quite queasy about it. I accept it at weddings as even I have to concede that that is the most appropriate place for them, but any other public declarations of love between a couple are totally revolting. Now they are filming men making total tits of themselves asking women if they will marry them - in public - and then putting it on TV. YUCK. Something that would instantly put me off a man is him telling me he loved me in front of loads of other people (or worse singing a song about it - take note Paul McCartney - your new song is GROSS you should have saved it for you and your clearly lovely new wife - it would mean so much more to you both). So much so that I pre-empted any possibility of K getting it very wrong and 11 years ago we ended up getting engaged whilst I was brushing my teeth in our first flat.  I yelled up at him that we should get married the following year (in between spits) and he came down the stairs and said 'are you asking me to marry you' and I said, still brushing, 'no I'm saying we should get married next year'. (There is a distinction between the two - he says I asked him but that is not true - I told him. They are totally different things.)  And that was that. No fanfare or silliness. We rang our parents and things continued on from there. No photographs, no ring, no members of the public. Spit Spot as Mary Poppins would say. We celebrated by going to the Asda at Clapham Junction and I took it as a good 'sign' that they played our song as we walked around. That was more than enough for me. We may even have splashed out on a bottle of Asda sparkling wine. Although I can't actually remember - I might have deemed that a bit over the top.

Right, I think that is enough factual excitement for one evening. I shall leave you to try and digest all this mind blowing information and contemplate where you might house your new pet shark.

Adios mis amigos. xxxxxx

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

Wedding Belles and tight squeezes

I do not have Syphilis! Exciting news n'est pas? I am also clear of HIV. I don't know why but syphilis seems like a bit of a joke disease as I tend to associate it with people sporting comical noses from history, not a current worry. I do not wish to offend anyone who might be suffering from syphilis but I have not heard of it for ages so I am surprised I have now been 'cleared' from the disease thanks to my pregnancy blood results. Obviously HIV was the biggest relief. The chances of me having it are slim, admittedly, especially as I haven't had it for the last three pregnancies and nothing much has changed since then, but still, every time I get tested I do have a little fret. My mother was convinced you could pick up STDs (including HIV) from loo seats and hand shakes (she has, to my knowledge, never relieved herself on an aeroplane loo - such is her dislike of public facilities - even on long haul flights, although she's never been to Australia or anywhere that could really test her resolve) and I have never shaken the belief that you might be able to just 'pick it up' along the way. So, just in case you ever wondered, I am mercifully free of any baby affecting STDs. Relief all round.

I've always thought it was a shame they gave such a pretty name to another hideous STD, (which oddly they don't test you for) Chlamydia. If you try and forget the fact that it is an STD it is actually a nice name - no different to Clementine or Chloe. I suppose they had to name it something but why not initials or something that would never be given to a child as a christian name? It is puzzling - if it wasn't given to an STD it would definitely be a front runner for me. Actually there is much name talk in the house already - I have had to put a stop to it now as there are too many months before the birth to have constant name suggestion (plus too much opportunity for things to go wrong). The funniest so far are G's suggestions of 'Dick' and 'Julian' (They have been listening to the Famous Five and Secret Seven at bedtime). For some reason Dick seems so much ruder than willy - our chosen name for it in the house - that I was quite taken aback when G first suggested Dick, loudly, over lunch. Only when followed by Julian did it all make sense. Personally I like the name Persephone but I am struggling to find one person who agrees with me - it seems as popular as my Chlamydia suggestion. Bea contorted in to a gagging reflex when I tried it out on her. I think K will have to choose the name this time. I seem to have lost all perspective on the matter.

So, enough of this nonsense, on to the wedding of the Godmother and the Magician (ooh does that make her Mrs Magician now?). I don't feel I can say too much as it wasn't 'my' day to write about but suffice to say that it was all totally fabulous. I JUST about fitted in to my dress even with a stupidly large stomach (I have put on a STONE already - 15 weeks, 1 stone - it is unbearable). The bride looked gorgeous, the groom looked incredibly happy and the bridesmaids were stunning, naturally. I got totally over excited about it all and as we came out of the ceremony I kept saying how much I had enjoyed my one stint as bridesmaid - Bea rolled her eyes and sighed at me, "Mum, I've done this loads of times before".  (She is prone to over exaggerate - but that was her third time as bridesmaid and there is one more to go in April so she is definitely a 'pro' in comparison to me.)  I loved it all - it was very exciting to be involved in all the official photos and to get to walk down the aisle again - I had forgotten how much I liked it. I think I might start planning a renewal ceremony at some point. I don't care how silly it is, I want to dress up in a big white dress, walk down an aisle, look fabulous and have photos taken one more time - actually I think you should be allowed to do it once every decade (not like the celebrities who do it every year which is totally over the top and doomed to failure - aka Heidi Klum and Seal). The food was also great - three delicious courses - all of which K could eat (he is notoriously fussy about food) and plentiful. I tend to judge weddings on food, fun and effort. This one scored highly on all counts - it was very little effort - it only took 30 minutes to get there and I only had one child with me which was very easy. (Poor G was at home after coming down with a nasty ear infection on Friday so he stayed with Ted and The Replacement, who was babysitting. I am most relieved to hear that G thinks she will make a 'great' mother.)  There was also an awful lot of fun to be had with entertainers aplenty and a great chance to catch up with some friends I hadn't seen in a while. And the food never stopped - after a brief respite from the three courses a great big hog roast appeared complete with accompaniments. Mercifully I managed to resist its charm - not least because I was shattered and half asleep - as was Bea, so we left a bit early and jumped in a cab all the way home. Very civilised and very low effort. It will be hard to beat it as weddings go. Plus the children and I were mentioned in two of the three speeches which made me feel very important and special - always nice. (Although there was no throne or special hat or badge as I had requested, so that people would know how important I was. Still I think the mention in the speeches did the trick.)

Lastly, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that ONE SIZE DOES NOT FIT ALL. It is totally and utterly unfathomable how this blatant lie and false claim on any clothing product can be allowed to continue. Trading standards should surely get involved with this and help stamp out such dastardly antics. Until they discover a material with never ending stretch then one size most definitely does not fit all and any claim to the contrary is a total lie. I would like to campaign to get the wording changed to encompass the sizes the item claims to cover. 'One Size Fits a Size 10-14'. That is all it would take to stop it being an out and out lie and I cannot see how that would cost anyone any more money. The problem is, it usually fits 'all' slim people and fat people are far less likely to complain about anything as they feel it just draws attention to their size. Luckily I am not that fussed and am very happy to spear head this campaign. I mention this 'slight' irritant in my life as I sent K to get me some maternity tights for the wedding. He purchased some from a well known mother and baby store and proudly informed me after the purchase was made. I, wondering how he had done it without guidance, asked which size he had bought and he told me that 'one size fits all'. HOW, with the different height, weight and stomach size of pregnant women can one pair of tights fit all ? I am seriously angry about this. It is sizeist and discriminatory. They did fit as it happens, but they weren't comfortable and in the end totally unnecessary as when I arrived at the hotel the bride informed me that all her other 'maids' were wearing flesh coloured tights and she gave me a spare pair which also alleged to fit everyone in the whole, entire, world. Non Maternity. Luckily they did actually fit me and the bump but my point is still valid. They would not have fitted everyone and due to being overstretched they laddered exceedingly easily. If anyone thinks of a way to forge ahead with my campaign do let me know. 

I have to go, Midsomer Murders has finished and I am struggling to stay awake now I know whodunnit. Actually I am wondering at what point this exhaustion will disappear. I cannot continue to be this tired the whole way through - it is overwhelming. I feel as if I have ME. Any small effort results in a wave of tiredness that I am finding quite hard to fight. If it was up to me I would spend my entire pregnancy in bed. Miserably it isn't and I have to spend every day out of bed. Sob sob. I know, your sympathy can be felt from here. Now bog off I am half asleep already.