LLC Toot

From the shores of Long Island to the brown tides of the Thames, men are no different when it comes to pride in their bodily functions.  Why why why?  I don’t understand how a person could take such pride in the volume, stealth or noxiousness of what is quite natural but foul - the expulsion of intestinal gas.

And how can something so common but so best left in the toilet command such a raft of names:  gas, wind, fart, cut the cheese, trump, and now in our house, “toot.”  Because that is the newest addition to LLC’s burgeoning vocabulary and it’s thanks to her daddy, alongside her less developed social inhibitions.

Chris and LLC were camped out on the sofa when she happened to let one rip.  “LLC,” Chris declared proudly.  “You went toot!” And a new phrase, understanding and misplaced pride took root in our almost 2 year-old.

“LLC toot.  LLC toot,” she chirped, grinning.  And of course the phrase stuck.  It’s now right up there with her version of clock (“cock”) and treat (“tit”).   

What next?!

W...W...E....What?!

Hysterical laughter greets me at the door following my Sunday morning run.

Wow, all the fun happens around here when I’m out, I think as Chris greets me on the threshold.

“You have to check out LLC,” he grins, padding back in the direction of our living room.

What’s she got up to now, I muse, grabbing some water and trailing after. Maybe she’s upended the laundry basket and is rolling around in our clothes? Cue crescendo of laughter.

Maybe she’s got Rico our cat in a headlock, poor boy. Or possibly Chris has riled her up with one of the many “indoor” ball games they play? I brace myself for carnage. Cue high pitched hysterical fit of giggles.

Nothing prepares me for the sight I find. LLC’s toys remain in their box, giving the room an uncharacteristically calm and tidy aura for a Sunday morning. On the couch sit Chris and LLC, like possessed zealots, eyes animatedly fixed to the television. And there on the flat screen, two half-naked men are rolling around, hair streaming, punches flying, slam dunking each other across a wrestling ring. It’s WWE “Raw” or something like that, but why is it on my television and why is my daughter lapping it up?!

With that, LLC leaps up as one fighter pounds the other into the floor, all smiles, practically pumping her fist in an animated cheer. And I look at Chris like he’s crazy, and with a click of the remote put an end to the fun before LLC has any more time re-invent herself as a WWE wrestling champ.  I shudder at the thought.

Down Under

Hello down there in between my legs. No, I’m not being rude! I’ve just got a little person peeping through my not so pin-like pins in a manner that unsurprisingly brings back acute memories of giving birth. This is the new trend of the week in our household.

Yes, LLC likes to “hang out” in between my legs. If I lay in bed with my legs bent she’ll wriggle through them to say hello (thus the birth memories!) and give me a cuddle. Maybe this feels extra cozy to her?

She’s also started frequently crawling through my legs and back while I’m standing, or walking, or attempting to walk. It’s like I’m some type of mommy cave. She sees an opening, scuttles through and then pops her head out the other side, giggling up at me. Then she’s back out the other side.

For an extra bonus, if I happen to be wearing pants (sorry trousers) with a ties or drawstrings on them, she will pull at the strings and attempt to take me for a walk. This can get tricky, and has led to a few close call tripping incidents.

What strange habits are your children crafting this week?

Friday Faux Pas

Today LLC and I were in the park where we last year encountered this howler, but this time the only faux pas on the scene was me.

The children’s play area was nearly empty (hurrah) when we arrived, with only one other mother pushing her two children on the swings. Of course LLC also wanted to ride the swings. This was no issue as this playground has several swings, so over we went and off went LLC, swinging happily away.

And here’s where I made my cardinal error. I attempted to make eye contact and friendly small talk with this other mother on the playground. We were standing directly next to each other. LLC was craning her neck directly towards her two children watching them swing. I didn’t want to exchange life stories, but in the rare relative quiet of the playground it just felt strange to me not to share some basic pleasantries or at least a sympathetic glance with this other woman. Grudgingly she offered me a few words in return but I can take a hint and clammed up pretty quickly.

This is not the first time I’ve had something like this happen to me in England. Is there a small talk line here in the UK that I really shouldn’t cross, although the ‘American’ in me feels compelled to do so? Was she affronted that we also chose the swings near her brood, when faced with an empty rest of playground?  Of course this mother's reticent stance was surely only exacerbated when she heard my accent and probably feared a verbal assault of “Oh my Gods.”  

 Is it that bad to be friendly?

Sit or Squat?

I have an issue with public bathrooms.

Sandy, wet beach toilets missing seats. Nice toilets in more upmarket restaurants. Questionable toilets in pub with that stale bleach smell. Dirty park toilets with backlog. Rank toilets on London Bridge platform. Squat toilets abroad. ‘Relatively’ clean toilets in the office.

I use them all. My bladder is the size of a pea. But one thing I never do, is sit on the toilet seat. Over the years I have perfected the art of “the squat,” where I teeter over the toilet seat in a desperate attempt to avoid contact between it and my bum. This is quite a skill, when you are wearing several inch heels, or when, in flats and faced with a particularly high toilet seat.

The thing is, LLC is making me more conscious of my aversion. Aware that I have an audience, I wonder if I should just bite the bullet, wipe off the seat if there is anything on it and put toilet paper or a seat cover (more readily available in the States) down before sitting like a ‘normal’ person. I’m sure this is what my mom taught me growing up, and I’m not quite sure where I went awry. While heavily pregnant I eventually succumbed to this in my office toilets but not until after months of squatting with bump.

With potty training looming on the horizon, it won’t be long before I’ll be taking LLC into public bathrooms *cue image of me holding small child over toilet* and I’m even more conscious that I should probably set a better example for her. Unless a toilet seat was particularly gross....then I’d probably hold her....

Most women I know don’t particularly care for public bathrooms (compared to most men I know who don’t seem to notice) but do you go as far as me and what do you teach your children in this department?

Blissful Innocence

We live in a crazy world. I look at LLC in her vibrant innocence and I want to protect that forever. I know I can't - that learning is part of living - and that she's got some way to go before her innocence fades. But still. I don't relish that day. Innocence is one of the best gifts of childhood, unappreciated until it has gone.

Along with the rest of the world I've been watching the fallout of the earthquake, tsunami and nuclear debacle in Japan. It's gripping, harrowing, upsetting. The coverage is incessant and I'm brought back to the days when I studied journalism and debated the balance between telling a truthful story and sensational journalism that grates on reader sensitivity. The press is certainly having a field day; lines of reason are blurring. People are fleeing Japan. Americans are buying iodide tablets in fear of nuclear fallout. And following the recent natural disasters near Brisbane and in Christchurch, the world asks "what next?"

What am I going to say when LLC asks me about such things one day? That the "show must go on." Parenting is hard, I think at times like this. How do you help your kids understand without scaring them? I think more about things like this now that I'm a parent.

And while I'm going on about this crazy world, I have to mention how disgusted I was to read the following story in my *shrinks in embarrassment* 'Closer' magazine: 'I inject my girl, 8, with DIY Botox & filler I buy online.' How unbelievably sick and messed up is that? And how scary is it that this woman actually thinks her behavior is normal and right? Not to mention the fact she is dementing her daughter's physical and mental health by this tripe. This particular girl is American but Botox laws (as opposed to guidelines) are quite lax on both sides of the pond and with all the nanny state laws we are subjected to these days, couldn't they do something about things like this instead?

Sleeping on a Zebra

LLC has been sleeping on a zebra, and no, I don't mean one of her stuffed animals.  I mean her mattress.

When I was changing her sheets the other day I again noticed that her mattress, below the protective mattress cover that zips around it, has gone all stripy.  It's really strange.  The stripes are a pale yellow color and appear to have emerged in the pattern of the wooden crib base.  It's like some...chemical(?) in the mattress is reacting with the wood and causing a fade of sorts.

Our mattress is from Mamas and Papas.  I should really take a picture of it to share here but I'm not changing the sheets until the weekend so you'll have to use your imagination for now, unless of course you know what I'm talking about. 

Has this happened to anyone else and can anyone tell me why this happens? 

Dinner Party

“I can’t talk now, I’m giving LLC dinner,” I told Chris when he called from the train on his way home yesterday. I clicked on speakerphone so he could say a quick hello to his little lady and then we parted company.

“Patience is a virtue,” I told LLC as she eyed me impatiently from her highchair while her food cooled down. “It’s almost ready. Okay. Mommy’s just going to taste it now. Almost ready. We don’t want it to be too hot, or it might burn your mouth and that would not feel nice!”

“Aaaaerrghh,” shouted LLC. “A bababa dadadada aaaarrggghhh.”

“Alrightly,” I chirped. “I think we’re ready now. Oh, you want the spoon? Sure, take the spoon. And flick your food. Look LLC, look. You want to get the food in your mouth. That’s right. You’re having something to eat. (Cue sign for “eat” from the sing and sign class we are taking.) Would you like some more?” (Cue sign for more)

LLC ate and played with her food a bit before deciding it was time to lose her bib. She tugs at it until she pops it off, not particularly hard to do as it’s only held on by Velcro. This is a recent habit that I’m desperately trying to break since her trusty plastic bib with front pocket collects many a culinary casualty.

“LLC, let’s have some more to eat! We don’t want to take off our bib or our clothes will get dirty. Look, mommy has some apple for you. Here, hold the apple! Uh-oh, stop. (Cue sign for stop). Stop. Let’s not take off the bib. Stop. (Again the sign for stop – LLC laughs in response). Stop, in the name of your bib! Before you get real messy.” (Sang to the tune of 'Stop in the Name of Love.')

Sadly I don’t have the voice of Diana Ross but LLC’s no critic, this proved a successful distraction and I had no other audience.

So I thought. When Chris got home he enjoyed telling me how, somehow, neither of us managed to properly disconnect our phones and the train carriage had been treated to LLC and my dinner-time discourse. It was only when he noticed fellow commuters giggling and giving him funny looks that he took off his i-pod and heard our voices coming out of his pocket. “Oh, that’s just my daughter having dinner,” he announced, noting that she seemed to have provided some entertainment.

Why do I feel like they were laughing at my expense?!

Library staff tells breastfeeding mother to “face the wall”

Unlike my last post, this one does have to do with breasts.

Friday’s papers reported the plight of a woman breastfeeding her nine-week old daughter in a Haringey library who was told to “face the wall” by a male member of staff. When she told him it was against the law to ask her not to breastfeed, he suggested that she be more discreet next time.

Ahhh the cheek, naiveté and rudeness of this man! As a breastfeeding mom I am well schooled in trying to feed tactfully in public. I’ve learned that this comes with different challenges depending on your child’s age; young babies may take time to latch on, at 8 months LLC wants to frequently pop off and look around. It’s not always simple but I do my best to do the deed while protecting my dignity. I’m certain this mother was only doing the same and did nothing inappropriate to warrant such remarks.

Importantly, this story highlights how such a seemingly flippant remark has the potential to seriously put a woman off breastfeeding in public. And when you feel like you can’t feed in public, you’re probably only a step away from quitting breastfeeding entirely because no one wants to sit in the house all day and babies, particularly young ones, feed a lot.

Breastfeeding is a very personal choice but those that do try to get on with it shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for doing so. And particularly from a public sector worker! I think I hear disciplinary action calling…..

A Walk on the Wild Side

One of the things I love about maternity leave is discovering my area. I’ve lived in these parts for over seven years and I’m finally starting to learn street names, to realize that this road links up to that road and to discover pedestrian pathways I never knew existed. I’ve also found some great new parks and child-friendly green spaces that make a nice change from our more urban strolls.

Yesterday LLC and I were “rolling,” (when I take her out in the stroller, I always tell her "let’s roll!”) in one of those newly discovered parks. I’ve recently converted her Bugaboo from the carriage carrier to more upright, buggy-like seat; she loves her improved view of the world and I love her reduced number of stops because she can’t see.

Anyway, we rolled on by the children’s playground complete with swings, climbing frames and other apparatuses I don’t know the names of; a large sandpit with water features; a pond with ducks and an array of birds; a lovely rose garden just coming into its glory; a couple unabashedly shagging on one the lawns adjacent to the rose garden, yes a couple seemingly doing the nasty in a not-so secluded -space next to the roses!

My running commentary of our surroundings ground to a halt as we made a swift about face. All I can say is it’s a good thing LLC doesn’t really know what she’s looking at!

Dear Sleepless Smiler....

Kat at 3 Bedroom Bungalow’s Dear So and So Series has tonight inspired me….

Dear Sleepless Smiler,

Why have you decided that 3:30am is the new wake-up time? You used to get up around 7am and mommy much preferred this. I need to care for you all day and I’ll have no energy left to play if I’m up for a good part of the night with you. Frustratingly, you are still so smiley and cute even in the midst of your late night antics but never mind that. Nighttime is for sleep!

Love,

Your tired mom

*

Dear Health Visitor,

No, I’m not going to express milk after every feed in order to further stimulate my milk supply. I do have a life.

LLC’s growth is slow but steady and she’s alert, happy and has plenty of wet nappies. She may be on the second percentile weight line – some baby has to be – and she just happens to be that girl. Please don’t mess with my head and make me think I don’t have enough milk.

Thanks a bunch,

One frustrated milk maiden

*

Dear Mr & Mrs Misery,

You're new to my road and already have our local neighborhood aloofness down to a tee. When we pass on the road and I attempt to make eye contact and smile, please don’t turn around. I won’t bite and I won’t even hold you up for five minutes chatting. I just want to say hello.

Consider it,

Tanya

*
Dear Thermostat,

Seriously, there is no way it’s 21 degrees in this house! Are the lights in the hallway invoking your tom-foolery? Please reflect the actual temperature so Chris will agree to turn on the heating at night.

Your chilly resident,

Tanya

*

Dear big woman and small woman chatting outside the elevator after Rhyme Time,

If you don’t call the elevator, it won’t come! Your presence alone is not enough to beckon the lift and you are holding up the entire line of mummies trying to get on with their day. A tad bit of common sense would be appreciated.

Hope not to see you later,

One tired and not amused mommy

*
Dear Readers,

I’m grateful that this blog has been nominated in a few categories of the MAD Awards. I really enjoy writing it and it's a honor to see that others enjoy the read.  If you also like my style, please cast a vote my way.

Thanks in advance,

Tanya

How cathartic!

Never a dull moment

Sunday night, 8:30pm. We’re driving back to London after our revitalizing weekend in Bournemouth when Chris begins spluttering what sounds like garbled profanity at the dashboard.

“What’s wrong?!” I demand and explanation for his out of the blue outburst.

“The temperature gauge warning light just came on. The car is overheating.” On cue, the car goes into safety mode, Chris can no longer accelerate and we’re tottering down the left hand motorway lane at 50 miles/hour. Thankfully we make it to the service station just over a mile away.

We make an urgent call to AA. Thankfully LLC sleeps on. The cat (yes, we even have the cat on board) decides to add his protest by pooping in his travel box. The recovery engineer arrives, surmises that our engine’s water level was too low and sends us on our merry way, suggesting we keep an eye on the temperature gauge.

Two minutes back on the motorway, just as I’m calling Chris’ parents to let them know we are back in business, the evil warning light reappears.

Fast forward half an hour and we’re waiting in a lay-by off the M3 for a tow. Chris and Rico stay with the car; Chris’ folks pick up LLC and me and we return with them to Bournemouth. Amazingly, LLC continues sleeping.

*

Ironically I started my last post: We recently got a new car that we trust on the motorway. This is a smarting reminder that trust must be earned, not assumed. We just bought this car as well. Talk about bad luck and bad timing.

Then again, at least we weren’t stranded halfway around the globe at the mercy of volcanic ash. As I took LLC on a walk along the sea Monday morning, I decided that things could be far worse.

Get a Taste of This!

The fact that I'm craving and eating cake with the passion of Majorie Dawes cannot be a good thing.

Cake.  It comes in so many varieties and is often so good.  It completes my coffee afternoons with other mums.  Unfortunately, when eaten several times a week it's not doing much for my post-pregnancy fitness.  I'm not mad and suggesting that I deny myself cake in totality - it's just dawning on me that eating cake three or four times a week may not be the healthiest of  ideas. 

So I decided to cut back since I really couldn't justify the voracity of my sweet tooth.  That is until I came across the acceptable indulgence that are Milkmakers, which seriously take the cake, or should I say, the cookie!

Loaded with brewer's yeast and ground flax seed, these super cookies, designed specifically for breast feeding moms, will up the quality and quantity of my milk supply.  I'm not going to delve too far into the chemistry behind these cookies; I'm just going to roll with the retailer's promise that LLC will get more nutritious milk and I will get to eat tasty cookies, almost as good as cake, without guilt.  Everyone's a winner.  Everyone but my bank account, since at $44 for 30 cookies they don't come cheap!  Plus I don't know if they ship to England.  Sigh.

Hands off Harriet!

Like pregnancy bumps and family heirlooms, new babies should not be touched without permission!

I’m keen to socialize LLC; she’s happy to be held, bathed and entertained by more than Chris and me. She’s an alert little miss, always watching, often kicking and not shy about giving strangers a coo and a smile. When I’m out people often approach her stroller for take a peek and a chat, which I enjoy. (Like pregnancy, I’m finding newborns bring out the chatty side of the sometimes reticent Brits!)

But peek and chat are where I draw the line, for while I’m happy for our family and friends to dish out copious cuddles on LLC, I’m not a fan of her being touched by strangers. That to me, is step too far and is exactly what occurred on our recent trip out with Chris’ grandma.

We were checking out those motorized scooters that seniors can scoot around in and the sales lady swooped in on LLC like an eagle to its prey. Though compliments rolled off her tongue, I couldn’t concentrate on them for she simultaneously poked her hand into LLC’s and began to give it a little stroke.

While my tolerant daughter gave her starry eyes, it was all I could do not to shoot daggers at her with mine. I didn’t know where this woman’s hands had been! I know kids lick windows and bite communal toys at the library and need to be exposed to germs and all but shouldn’t adults know better than to start touching small babies without asking first! The fact this woman worked with seniors scooters and thus dealt with clientele that may not be on top form exacerbated my frustration.

When she finally retracted her hand I inched LLC’s stroller in the other direction and made a getaway soon after that. I questioned myself for being ridiculous, but felt a bit more justified when I found Chris washing off LLC’s hand with a wet wipe when we got home.

I probably should have tactfully said something in the moment but I didn’t. Maybe next time. Have you been faced with a similar situation and how did you handle it? Or am I overreacting?

The Good Doctor, the Madwife and My Second Home

I feel like the hospital has become my second home. And I like my home better. On the way to my daily monitoring appointments, Chris and I scheme about what £5 purchase we can make in the Sainsburys (big supermarket for those in the US) next to the hospital in order to get our £2 parking lot fee refunded.

But then you’re spending £5 rather than £2, you ask? My math skills haven’t totally gone out the window (they were there to start with but never mind) – we decided to pare down our weekly shop so we could continue our purchases throughout the week and not throw away £2 a day on parking fees. You can see we put a lot of thought into this; our days are all too exciting.

Why do we park in Sainsburys in the first place? It’s impossible to get parked in the hospital lot and the minimum, non-refundable fee is £2 for a space. I think it’s out of order, but local government loves pay-and-display (i.e. metered parking) and there’s no break for the sick, stressed or weary.

We chose daily monitoring, however, so who am I to complain? (Even though I just did). But anyway...

The little lady appears to be thriving from her daily monitoring “trace.” Over the weekend when we were monitored on the labor ward, one of the resident doctors, aka the good doctor, decided to perform a 3D scan (sonogram) for us as a spur of the moment thing. He confirmed that all looked well with baby, had a thorough chat about our decision to hold off on induction for now, and also referred me for a full growth scan in radiology, which I was originally told was not an option. I had that second scan today.  It confirmed that the little lady is active, a healthy size with normal placenta flow and amniotic fluid levels.

Knowing that she is thriving supports our decision that nature will take its course when she's ready. I’m more uncomfortable by the day, I have lots of pressure down there, I have frequent Braxton Hicks – all signs things are moving in the right direction. Still, with each day that goes by I am conscious that I don't want to leave her in there too long.... I am booked to meet my consultant doctor for the first time tomorrow (the attending of the good doctor that I saw over the weekend), so it will be interesting to see what he says after seeing me, the scans and baby’s trace.

The good doctor again showed me that not all doctors are keen to push a strictly medical policy route. I am impressed with this aspect of my pre-natal care, as I suspected I would face more push back for policy’s sake. I haven’t. Perhaps many wouldn’t ask for monitoring in the first place, but I have, and I’m grateful that I've been supported and reviewed as an individual case.

The madwife (that’s how she introduced herself to us – haha, not really that funny) proved the one fly in the ointment of my waiting game of late. Buxom and matronly, she busted into my appointment room and interrupted my scan by the good doctor by spouting off a number of frightening statistics about post-date stillborns, crystallized placentas and over-baked babies. I may be hormonal and emotional but her bedside manner really left a lot to be desired.

Hello woman, you just don’t say that! The real kicker is I’m not even sure why she came into my appointment room in the first place since she left after this diatribe of gloom and never returned. She may have been following up for another midwife who took baby’s trace earlier – I’m not sure.

I’ve read up on post-date risks and the other midwives and doctors I’ve seen of late have discussed them with me. I may stick to my guns but I’m all ears to the medical professionals when they speak objectively and relevantly as they’ve all done but for this tactless scare-mongering madwife.

I bit my tongue during her speech but it was pretty off-putting. Its best that I didn’t see her again as I’m not sure my pregnancy hormones would have remained at bay for one more dose of her medicine!

No News Unfortunately Means No News...

My recent silence unfortunately isn't down to exciting baby news - it's more to do with me trying to get out and about and keep my mind occupied with thoughts other than is labor going to start?

I've been spending a lot of time on my birthing ball (probably why I don't look overly amused on it here at 40 weeks + 9) and attempting all the old wives tales in the book alongside trying to maintain the "life as normal" mindset.  I've been moderately successful at this and when I get a little wacked out, Chris sings "Tears of a Clown" to me and that makes me feel better.  I'm soon to have a baby for goodness sake; I need to keep things in perspective.  Can I blame my moments of frustration on those pregnancy hormones?

Meanwhile Rico our dear cat has taken up residence in our Moses Basket, much to my irritation.  I love that cat but I don't want his hair all over little lady's bed.  We've covered it with a towel and a long piece of cardboard as a temporary solution.  Chris thinks once she's in it, he'll find it less appealing.

I won't say much tonight but wanted to check in....more to come tomorrow and not on the topic of labor and birth unless something does go down tonight!

Politicians Go Loco

I got a real kick out of The Sunday Times’ 'Daddy knows best' article about Lib Dem leader Nick Clegg infuriating parenting expert Gina Ford by calling her strict routine parenting approach “absolute nonsense.”

How ironic. Extracting a real opinion from a politician is usually as effective as beating your head against a brick wall, so it’s stunning that Clegg made this honest dish without blinking an eye – or considering the affect it might have on the 2 million voters who swear by Ford’s routines.

I haven’t read Ford’s The Contented Little Baby Book. In line with Clegg’s criticism, it sounds too rigid for my tastes. Thus far, I’ve stuck with Tracy Hogg’s Baby Whisperer book, which advocates a more fluid but structured daily routine for baby. Who knows if Tracy’s advice will work for me; what does work for me might not work for the next mom; it’s all a matter of personal choice really. As The Times quotes Ford: “We live in a democracy, and parents are entitled to choose whatever style of parenting they wish.” I couldn’t agree more.

While I applaud Clegg for sharing a real opinion, he probably put another nail in his political coffin by doing so through his brazen lack of tact. Whatever happened to middle ground?

Meanwhile the nanny state reared its head in Scotland, where Glasgow City Council has ordered that children under 16 (not 6, not 8, not even 10 but 16!!!) must be in sight of their parents anywhere on licensed premises, including in the lavatory. Restaurateurs by and large abhor the decision but are worried about losing their licenses if they don’t comply with it.

Has the City Council gone loco? I’m sorry, but I don’t want to bump into a 15 year-old boy in a Glasgow loo while I'm relieving myself or even freshening up because he’s out for lunch with his mama and needs her to take him to the toilet. More so, how embarrassing for him!

Clearly The Sunday Times kept me entertained today while I continue to wait for our little lady to come on out....

Not all candy is that sweet....

I love my candy, but not when it comes as a 60 lb muddy golden retriever that barks, bites and bounds at my bump with what some might call "playful affection," but what I'd rather describe as over stimulated and uncontrolled abandon.

In between the incessant sheets of rain we've been having, Chris and I took advantage of a brief sunny spell to try out our new wellies on an afternoon stroll.  The air had that earthy post-rain smell and the fields and foliage looked particularly verdant and healthy for the middle of autumn.  It's nice to see some benefits from all this rain.

Anyways, we walked, we talked, the wind whipped our hair and the scene was serene until ARRAF, BARK, YAP!  Peace shattered in the blink of an eye as a large, excited golden retriever came running at us at full speed yapping like a banshee.

I've always been more of a dog person (though now I really love my cat Rico) and I do care for animals, but Chris is clearly the bigger animal lover of us two.  He laughs at bears on TV, sees a snake and wants a closer look and has time to say hello to whatever furry friend we might run into where I don't always feel the need.

Maybe bounding dog, aka Candy, sensed my apathy and wanted to set me straight; maybe she smelled the remnants of a date and fudge cake wrapped up in my bag - but she bypassed Chris and went straight for me, lunging towards my bump with muddy paws, yapping and snapping happily and spurring me into a sit, hush, nice dog gig as I tried to avoid her leaps.  "Chris, help me, she's going to pounce on the baby," I half grimaced through clenched teeth,  trying simultaneously to smile at this over-energized dog and acknowledge her owners, now approaching at a relaxed ramble and offering gentle scolds to their runaway pooch. 

It was a beautiful afternoon to walk a dog and let her run off her leash.  I know animals can have minds of their own and get a little over stimulated, but just like I'll be expected to pay attention to and reign in my daughter if she's causing havoc, these people could have done a little bit more to soothe and control their dog!  I don't care about the mud on my coat.  I care slightly more that she almost dislocated my ring finger when her barking mouth got a little too close to my flapping hand.  But most of all - I'm pregnant - I look pregnant - and it irritated me that Candy's owners didn't crank up their efforts to get their freaking dog off bump and me!

Maybe I sound uncaring and mean.  Maybe I sound like I don't like animals.  I do, I really do.  But come on people, if your pet is a little hyper, don't just assume that everyone is going to be as tolerant as you.  I'm not saying don't let her run free, but make sure you monitor her and make a genuine effort to deter her/remove her from the pregnant woman, or any person, that she may be bundling.  Isn't that just common courtesy?

Sweet Dream, More Like Beautiful Nightmare...

The only thing beautiful about my dream last night was our baby’s birth at the end of it.

I dreamt that I had an early show and visited my American gynaecologist to tell her that I thought I was in labor. She doesn’t even know I’m pregnant by the way. I caught her on her way out the door (where from, I don’t know) and convinced her to overcome her scepticism and examine me. She did, and sure enough, our baby was on her way out. I wasn’t in any pain, but the next thing I knew she had me on an operating table and was performing a caesarean and then, poof, our tiny baby came into the world! I watched this scene removed from my own body, and when I looked back at myself on the operating table I was an old woman, cackling away and wrinkled. Then I woke up.

My brain must have been decompressing the advice I read earlier yesterday in What to Expect When You’re Expecting about how bizarre dreams are common in pregnancy. Always a sucker for weird suggestion, my subconscious jumped right on the bizarre dream bandwagon and churned this disturbing one out for me last night.

I hope I don’t have to have a caesarean so maybe that was my mind’s way of coming to terms that in labor, anything is possible? Maybe I have “latent fears” of delivering early in the wake of my rectal pressure incident this weekend? But how did I turn into a crazy old woman? Anyone else care to analyze?

Attack of the Nanny State

This story about Watford Council banning parents from adventure playgrounds really takes the cake.  Mix Ofsted's regulation that only adults with cleared criminal background checks can be allowed near children with over-literal and over protective local government and wah-la!, an inane and impracticable policy such as this is born.

Sadly our world has some sick people out there that prey on children and while we should all be aware and take care, we can't become immobilized by these unsavories by introducing disproportionate laws like this that suggest we're all potential paedophiles.  Limiting supervision to a couple of licensed carers could confuse kids, limits one on one supervision and takes away the simple delight of a parent's day out at the playground with their kid.

I hope this law gets canned in Watford and doesn't spread because I don't want to miss out on pushing my daughter on a swing or helping her climb a jungle gym because of the rise of the nanny state.