Barren Mare

Whoosh

Holy crap, I am getting married on Saturday. S-a-t-u-r-day, as in two days from now, only it is already nine pm here by now, so slightly less than that. Saturday! 

There are many and varied things to freak out about , but instead I am taking the excellent advice of my wise friend L. We had lunch at the end of last week and she took one look at my slightly panicked and wide-eyed expression before immediately prescribing two glasses of wine every night, to be taken with a repeated "zen whooshing motion" made about the neck and face. And you know what, it's kind of working! Never mind that the window works were only finally finished today about an hour before I had to collect Botany and the whole place smells like paint and I jammed my finger trying to shut the top pane. Never mind that I keep receiving these random emails from the venue with questions that really should have been answered about a month ago. Oh and never mind that my mother and Knox's mother have fallen out very badly, like the aftermath of a small nuclear explosion, which should make for a lovely current of thinly disguised tension on the day and well...for the rest of our lives, apparently. 

Zen whooshing motion. Wine. Repeat.

Knox and I generally get along extremely well considering the large level of stress we often consume on a daily/weekly basis. The one thing we quite regularly disagree about is Botany and certain aspects of her upbringing. The early morning wakings continue to be a source of friction; he is adamant that the reason she wakes up at the crack of dawn is because she wants me and more specifically, my boobs. I remain slightly sceptical about this; my view is that she usually wakes up because she can only sleep ten hours at any given stretch, and at that point, she's just done with sleeping. If she was so tired the night before that she went to bed at 7.30, we're doomed. 

Having agreed we needed some hard data on the matter, we kept a sleep chart for over a month, mapping wake up times and nap times and go-to-sleep times. What it indicated was a wake-up time varying from between 5.30 am to 6.30, but on average 10 hours a night and that Botany is in fact in the normal amounts of sleep ranges for a child of her age. 

What it didn't show is that some mornings she wakes up and chats to herself quite happily for 15 minutes before calling me. Or that some mornings, she actually didn't ask to nurse at all, and I managed to get her out the door to nursery before she remembered it was something that she wants. Or that if Knox is here and gets up with her, she's quite happy to accept that Mummy is still sleeping and to leave me in peace until I drag my carcass out of bed an hour later. All of which to my mind somewhat disproves the "she wants boob, hence wakes up" theory. But Knox is hard to convince on the subject- he thinks that even if she gets it later on in the morning, it's an incentive to wake up. I'm trying to take his opinion into account but the only way to test his theory is to proceed to full scale weaning and frankly, that is sooo not something I wanted to tackle before the wedding. The issue has dragged on and invariably we end up hissing at each about it at 5.30 in the morning when we hear Botany stirring.

I did have one other major realisation as I studied the chart data. There is a myth (largely perpetuated by my parents) that Botany "requires less sleep than I do". What dawned on me is that this is quite untrue. The reality is that to be at my absolute best, I would ideally have roughly the same amount of sleep as Botany. Of course, unless I go to bed at the same time as she does, that obviously isn't going to happen. 

The wedding shoes are called "Jasmine" and I bought them at Topshop, for those who were wondering. They also come in a rather fetching red colour, though mine are a kind of strange steel grey-blue. Of course, the problem with getting anything from that store is that they change their stock about every thirty seconds (so we can all stay "bang on trend!")

By the time I post next, I will (hopefully) be in a state of married bliss; we're headed to Paris for a quick honeymoon but not until next weekend, so if at all possible I will bring you an update of sorts as to how the day went. And if she'll deign to hold still for more than ten seconds, a picture of Botany in her dress (at least, from the back).  

The tiny dictator has a birthday

Botany has recently perfected saying, "I want" and "I need". Having learned those key phrases, she has also discovered how to deploy the expression of her many and varied wants and her needs at every possible interval. 

"I want a banana! I want pink milk! I need to go potty! I want to go in the garden! I want an ice cream cone! I want to go to work! I want to go to the beach! I need my nappy changed! I want a pony! I want to go for a wee walk!" (I'm actually not making any of this up. The first time I heard "wee walk", I nearly died at the cuteness. The eighth time, not so much.).

Clearly, she is delighted at the reaction she gets as she observes certain adults in her midst scrambling to comply to with her whims and much, much less delighted when certain other adults do not. Denial leads to screaming, thrashing, wailing meltdowns, with the result that a system of time-outs has had to be implemented. Knox and I are hoping for the best at the wedding next week but frankly, pretty much bracing ourselves for the worst.

Tomorrow, my girl turns two years old. I can honestly say that despite the moments when she is being a pain in the ass, I remain completely, utterly, totally besotted with her. She is amazingly intelligent, funny, silly, challenging and adorable. I never tire of looking at her sweet cherub's face and the smell of her delicious baby neck. I still sometimes slip into her room once she is finally asleep to stand over her crib and marvel that this little person is here at all. I have the sense that time is going to slip through our fingers at a frightening pace now- and in between wanting her to snap out of whatever hissy fit she is pitching, my heart wrenches at how soon babyhood will be left behind. Happy birthday, dear Botany.

Meanwhile, in other news, the entire flat is covered with a heavy layer of dust from the essential maintenance on all the windows. Every day for the last two weeks I have come home to find the toilet seat being left up and worker deitrus everywhere (including those lovely tabloid newspapers which feature bare breasted women on page three, a quaint British tradition that I have never completely gotten my head around.) I could probably overlook this, but the other day I arrived back to discover that my poetry fridge magnets had been rearranged into a message so graphically obscene that it's not even possible to have a sense of humour about it. I mean, what the effing eff?  Who does that? 

Based on previous experiences with tradesmen, I decided that while what had happened was creepy and inappropriate in the extreme, it was also prudent for me not to mention it until the job is completed. So I just quietly took down all the magnets and hoped they would be gone by the time I got back today. Unfortunately not- and worse still, Botany decided she wanted to "help the men with the work", complaining vociferously when I tried to haul her into the haven of her room until they finished packing up for the day. Then I discovered that while most of the work is done (and the tools thankfully carted away), the painting is to drag on into next week. Next week! My friends, next week is the week of my wedding. I want to have a day or two while Botany is at nursery to go back to bed immediately after dropping her off, sleep until eleven, tie up some loose planning ends and then lie in a bubblebath applying face packs and polishing my toenails while listening to catchy pop music. Goddamnit.

On a happier note, I bring you a photo of wedding shoes. There was a bit of a saga behind finding something I wanted; the purchase of order of an expensive French brand online proved disappointing (and way too ill fitting to contemplate dancing). I flirted with an art deco-esque design, going so far as to try them on twice but the colour was ultimately wrong- and well, it was just not meant to be.

Finally, I spotted this pair in the shop window, from across a crowded street and it was love at first sight. Love! I even negotiated a 10% discount, which was either savvy or obnoxious, depending on how you look at it.

Preserving the illusion that I might actually have this under control

Somewhere in the annals of this blog, I once received a very flattering comment to the effect that the person would continue reading even if I were to publish my grocery shopping list. I don't want to press my luck quite that far. But- partly because it amuses me and partly because I am too deranged to think of much else, I am actually going to present you with the list currently fermenting on my desk of Things I Need to Remember to Bring to the Wedding. Bear in mind it is a work in progress:

• Peacock feather buttonholes for Knox, my dad, the best man (who is a woman) and any other random taker (I have four).
• Laptop. We need this to play music.
• Travel adaptor for laptop since the plug is American and the computer will not be of much use if we cannot plug it in.
• The thing I am going to wear on my head- an art deco-esque headband purchased from Etsy.
• Great-great grandmother's amethyst thistle brooch to be added to ribbon on bouquet handle
• Blue underwear (for something blue)
• Strapless bra (dress not strapless but not wanting worry of straying bra)
• Corset-y thing to hold in tummy
• Some sort of hosiery yet to be purchased
• Some sort of attractive wedding night pyjamas that do not have moth eaten holes or baby-related stains on them (yet to be purchased)
• Wedding shoes
• Something borrowed- yet to be figured out as to what
• Chequebook and pen plus credit cars for all the vast sums I shall presently be dishing out as part of this nuptial endeavour 
• Botany's dress (you shall have a picture of the deliciousness)
• Botany's shoes (normally retail for 24.00. For me, 3.70 on e*ay- bargain!)
• Botany's flowers
• Bedding for travel cot
• Crate of nappies, wipes and nappy sacks
• Camera and spare batteries
• Disposable cameras for table
• Acne cleansing face goop and spot blaster
• Favourite shampoo
• Phone charger
• entire contents of makeup case
• medication
• the rings!!!

Before I forget- the mention of the potty training in the previous post was perhaps just a slight exaggeration. We are more flirting with the whole concept than actually embarking on a full scale assault of the issue. Botany was showing all the signs of potty readiness so I bought one, just so she can get used to it. On one happy occasion she actually ran up to me yelling "poo now! poo now!" and clutching at her bits. So we ran to the bathroom, grabbed the potty and whipped off her nappy. Whereupon I discovered that, as usual, she had actually already done the poo. But she wasn't quite finished yet and was happy to sit there on the pot finishing the jobby job. We both inspected the results with a certain amount of pride and self congratulatory back patting. And since then she has shown a complete reluctance to go any further with it, other than occasionally dragging the potty out into the hallway at inappropriate intervals and demanding to be changed even when she does not need it.

As for the first trip to the dentist- oh god, it was a complete and total horror. I had my reasons for wanting to get her registered which I will explain another time. But let's just say that it was an absolute disaster and I don't want to attempt it again any time, ever (even though of course at some point, I will. I like nice teeth.) 

And, since you asked so nicely, here's a picture of the dress. I really must learn to use my camera at some point during this lifetime. I don't think it's a very good photo- on reflection, the whole thing looks a bit lifeless and limp and I assure you it's very much nicer when I actually have it on. But when I went to try to take an improved photo, I realised I had already sent it to my mother's flat so she could organise having it pressed. Also, when I took the picture, I was fairly certain I was going to wear the shrug thing on top for the whole day, but I have since reconsidered. So unless it is absolutely perishingly cold (a distinct possibility for Scotland in August), I will only put it on when the mood takes me or perhaps later in the evening.

Anyway, caveats aside, it gives you the general idea. Enjoy.

 

 

 

Have you seen my balls?

I am, it seems, dropping some of the many, many balls I have in the air- including keeping up with my blogging deadlines.

At the risk of sounding like a whiner- this month?  Insane. Insaaaaaaaaane. Aside from the small matter of finalising all the wedding details (three weeks from now!), get this:  E. in New York all last week, no help with Botany care. Car insurance is due for renewal. Road Tax is due for renewal. Car breakdown insurance is due for renewal. Home insurance is due for renewal. Car is due for servicing. Botany's first dental appointment. Birthday parties of the children of three friends to attend. A Dear Friend's birthday. On the same day, Knox's birthday. Botany's second birthday in two weeks. Major work starting on all the windows in the flat tomorrow, unable to be home all day even at naptime. Botany's eczema flaring up. My mother's friends arriving in town for the wedding and asking for restaurant recommendations. The commencement of potty training.

Tonight I went to lay out all my pills to take tomorrow morning (as I do) and discovered I have totally run out of thyroid tablets.  I cannot afford to get any more tired and sluggish than I already am, which means I need to get the thyroxine prescription submitted immediately. I add that to list, mentally kicking myself for not even realising I was about to run out. When I start slipping up on getting the basic medication needed to sustain my health, I realise that I'm no longer juggling anymore, I am flailing.   

What I'd really like to do is lie down somewhere and quietly freak the fuck out for about an hour, but it seems there is no time for this, either. Instead, I am making lists and trying to chip away at the ice block of panic in my chest. I keep thinking, surely I've been busier than this at some point in my life. Except I sort of doubt that I was this busy with a two year old hanging on my thigh endlessly demanding things in tiny dictator fashion.

To add to all the fun, the road works in this town have reached the point where to make a right turn to my parent's flat (ordinarily just one mile down the road), I have to go almost two miles out of my way. Botany actually knows the word "diversion", as evidenced by her piping up, unprompted, from the backseat, "Anudder davershun mummy?"

Sigh.

I am glad you all seem to like the ring- it does bring me daily happiness to see it on my finger. I have some pictures of the wedding gown as well, but I was wondering: is it bad luck for the internet to see the bride's dress before the groom does?