Part of me wishes I could just go into labour NOW, so I could see my feet again/eat without getting indigestion/stop walking into everything and losing my temper for no reason, but another part of me wants more time with Grace and Daisy before I have to share myself three ways.
Grace is keen as mustard for number three to arrive. She talks to it in the bathtub as she washes my tummy, and likes to lay with her head on my protruding belly button telling the baby a load of old nonsense. In a recent thunderstorm Grace got so scared she asked if she could hide in my tummy with the new baby.
Lord knows what is going to happen if it's not another girl. I have tried telling her it might be a boy, but she is having none of it. As far as she is concerned it's a girl, called Tinkerbell, and it's going to sleep in her bed with her. She came with me to the midwife last week and was spellbound by hearing the heartbeat. Very sweet indeed.
Daisy, however, is another story. I am genuinely worried about the safety of number three with her around. I took her to the Kipling Museum at the library the other day. They had a massive chest full of old porcelain dolls, the ones with eyelids that open and shut and long eyelashes. The sign quite clearly stated that they were for looking at only - but Daisy did a front somersault into the chest before I could stop her, and then proceeded to prize open the doll's eyelids and POKE them in their glass eye very hard whilst laughing slightly demonically. It was a bit like a scene from Bride of Chucky.
The only thing she is gentle with is 'Charlie cloth' her cellular cot blanket, which now has to come everywhere with us. It's really hampered her walking, as she kept tripping over it (well she did before she learnt to put her hands above her head. Now she just stumbles about with arms outstretched and Charlie cloth draped over her face like a drunken ghost)
She still gets very cross if I have to leave the room to have a wee. She hangs off the stair gate howling indignantly till I return, and even then she takes a good ten minutes or so to calm down, by which point I need to go for another wee. Maybe I should just wear Grace's princess night pant nappies, it would save us all time.
Grace does not keep them on anyway. She likes to get into our bed in the "wee" hours and wee all over me instead. I was always worried about giving her a complex if she was a bed wetter, so adopted a "does not matter, it'll come out in the wash" attitude early on. I think it might have been an error. She could not care less if she wakes up in a puddle of wet wee. She just says "Nevermind mum, you will sort it all out" and then skips off downstairs. LOVELY!
James won the egg and spoon race at sports day. There are photos in the link below which some say, show him holding onto the egg. I am staying impartial. It looks like I am going to be the only non competitive one in the family. It took Grace a while to get into the races, but she was soon doing her dad proud with lots of 1'st place stickers all over her. James was horrified when she started the race by skipping, whilst holding hands with her best friend. "FORGET HER GRACE ! She's holding you back!" he shouted, whilst I smiled politely at everyone and tried to pretend he was joking. No one was fooled.
Our building work is FINALLY finished. Builders are annoying aren't they? Why do they sit in their vans so often reading the Sun? All a different story towards the end when James stepped in to get it done before I give birth. Suddenly they no longer spent the first hour on site drinking tea and texting people. Suddenly they stopped calling me love and using my toilet. Suddenly they were very efficient and professional.
I am loving my new "open plan" kitchen. The downside is that the kids now have access to it. Daisy has worked out which cupboard houses drinks and snacks and can often be found inside it, cramming mini Cheddars down as fast as she can. This is because she knows she is not supposed to be in the cupboard. If I don't get there in time she will also get the lid off the undiluted ribena to wash her illicit snack down with. (see photos - and remember she has speed of a jaguar and I am a heavy lumbering pregnant hippo.)
I am pretty sure she knows she is not allowed to toddle over to my washing machine, remove all the laundry, drape it over her head, then do her silly drunken ghost walk round the kitchen either, stumbling over broken biscuits and mini cheddars, so everything needs washing again anyway.
It's just as well she is so very very very sweet really. She has learnt that ladies never go out without their handbags and car keys, and so before each outing it's a race to see who can get to mine in time. Cue more charlie-cloth-over-face-handbag-draped-over-raised-arm-car-keys-in-the-other-walking, inevitably ending with her marching into the patio door.
Latest photos here: