Hello, Old Friend

Hello, blog, it has been a long time! My last post was around the time my youngest, K2, started walking so I'm going to guess that chasing two small children around was what killed blogging for me. K2 is 3.5yo and started nursery three weeks ago; K1, 7.5yo, is in P3 so I finally have a little free time for things like blogging. And sewing. I bought a bunch of fabric and some patterns from The Wee Fabric Shop which had recently opened in Inverness and that was the week K2, then two, stopped taking naps. She's not the kind of toddler one can sew around.

This is, of course, The Time of CoronaVirus, The (first) Year of Global Pandemic, and a time when everyone should stay home, wash their hands, and wear a damn mask. Yes, there will be swearing as the situation warrants. Here in Scotland, our cases were very low, between 1-4 confirmed new cases a day over the summer, so they opened the country up a little, people started playing tourist (especially people from England - Dear People from England, we love and miss you and want you to stay the fuck home) and now our daily new cases are in the high double and low triple digits. This is not okay. Stay home. I know it's boring, I share the desire to feel "normal" again, for the rush of happiness that comes from novel situations. Coronavirus is novel. Avoid novel. Stay home, read novels, watch telly, and, if you're lucky enough to enjoy it, knit. If you have to go out, if there's something important enough that you must risk someone else' life, wear a mask.

That said, I am comfortable with my children attending in-person school. Inverness has, through all of this, remained lightly touched. We are more of a way-station than a destination for travel and the virus hasn't yet had a "cluster" in the highlands. I expect that by the time there is a vaccine (if there ever is one?), that will no longer be true. But, for now, we are mostly safe and both of our children have seen more happy since starting school three weeks ago. They never seemed unhappy in the lockdown, though everyone had moments of unhappiness, frustration, and anxiety, but since returning/starting school they've seemed more cheerful in general.

This is also a time of political upheaval. It is possible that all times are and that I'm only just now world-aware enough to comprehend, but I suspect this will be regarded as a pivotal time in history, should we go on to have a decent record of history. That sounds dramatic, doesn't it? As a parent, looking towards the future, I feel more fear than optimism. I don't regret having children and I wouldn't go back and warn myself against doing so, but I worry that their lives will not be as safe and as easy as mine has been. I worry that they will not want to bring children into the world they see before them. I am from California and...it is on fire, literally and figuratively. I love California with the strength of my identity and I would never move back. Unprecedented droughts, unprecedented fires, and the looming spectre of unprecedented earthquakes and floods? How did I grow up in California and not know that one of our Sword of Damoclese disasters is floods? See? Ten years after I left, California is still "we".

But Scotland is my heart now, my home, my future, and my source of hope. Nicola Sturgeon is a leader I can believe in, a person of principle who values all lives, welcomes all comers, and sees the shadows of consequence cast by the actions of today. By luck, I think Scotland is well situated to survive and possibly even thrive for a while under climate change. And I see around me the will for an Independant Scotland to have the progressive politics that reflect my own values.

Because politics are the outward expression of values, I want to take the time in this, my first post in almost two years, to state unequivically that nazis are not welcome here. Black lives matter, and I apologise for my thoughts and actions that have helped prop up systemic racism and give cover to overt racism. I am trying to be better, I am trying to do better. Trans rights are human rights. Our trans siblings are the most vulnerable among us, and "feminism" that seeks to cast out and other trans people is not feminism. Immigration improves communities. Seeking assylum is not a crime. Fat-phobia is bigotry and hurts everyone. Trump cannot be separated from his policies of hate and and venial, grasping determination to wring every bloody penny he can from America and the world. If you support Trump for any reason, you support him in every action, and you are not welcome here.

Thank you, for your attention. My regularly scheduled naval-gazing life and hobbies blog will resume next time.

Gratitude

I have a lot to be thankful this year, starting with our newest family member, Katherine who is healthy and happy and very goal driven. What goals? Nobody knows, but she is a baby on a mission and she is determined to Do All the Things right now! 

I am thankful for Kristina who is the best big sister one could imagine, delighted with her baby sister about 90% of the time. And she is blossoming in school. Last year was a bit touch-and-go as she slowly moved from fearing other kids to tolerating them but going into the summer holidays she suddenly decided that she -likes- other kids (some of them) and wants to play -with- them. She has a best friend (R) and a group she usually plays with. They're currently getting to spend Mondays in the woods with minimal guidance and that's wonderful, too. 

I am most thankful for Chris, husband and father to our little family. He works so hard at work and around the house to keep us safe, warm, and fed. We have had little to no adult time in the last year and that's hard but I know we'll get to talk to one another again soon. 

I am also thankful for our small group of friends. We don't have family nearby but we have people we get together with frequently (if only on Skype), people who have relationships with us and our children, and we aren't alone. 

I am always grateful for knitting and books and Netflix and social media that lets me discuss what I watch, read, and knit with fellow enthusiasts. I am particularly grateful for A Year of Techniques which has led me to a great Ravelry group, the first where I really feel I fit in (even if I can't remotely keep up with all the threads!) and I am enjoying all of the projects, though it's all I can do to finish the in time for the next project and very little outside knitting is getting done. 

I am grateful for our cats, or at least the two we officially own. One of the neighbours' cats is trying to move in so we will see how that goes. 

And I am very grateful for Scotland, for the socialist government, the welcoming population, the doctors and hospitals, teachers and schools, our neighbours and neighbourhood, for the changing seasons and the beautiful and varied landscape. 

There's a lot going wrong right now, but there's a lot of good, too. 

Welcome to the World, Katherine Alexandra

I am pleased to report that, after weeks of cajoling, Katherine Alexandra graced us with her presence on 11 January at 2:20 in the afternoon. She was 9.5lbs and 22.5" long. She is now two weeks and a day (almost exactly as I write this) and she's already outgrown her newborn clothes and is wearing 0-3mos. 

On the evening of Tuesday the 10th, having been having Braxton Hicks contractions for a week that we're finally starting to gain in coherence, and thinking my waters might have begun leaking, I went to the labour ward to be checked out. The midwife couldn't tell if they had ruptured or not so I had to wait for the doctor who didn't get to see me until midnight and even though she was certain the membrane was still intact she wanted me to stay overnight (and me without so much as a toothbrush). In the morning the next dr did the rounds and "as long as we have you here" wanted to rupture the amniotic sack to see if that would trigger labour. Folks, if you're a week overdue and you go to hospital, they will not want to let you leave without having your baby.

The midwives (I had a senior midwife and a student midwife - student midwives are wonderful and gentle and doctors are not) ruptured my waters around a quarter to 11, suggesting that I walk around the ward and if nothing started within two hours they'd need to chemically induce. I hadn't even finished standing up when my contractions started, hard and fast. I had texted Chris to ask him to come and bring my hospital bag and he got there just in time for the active stage of labour, pushing. Less than four hours after I went upstairs I was holding my baby and while I remember the events, the memory of the pain started fading immediately. Second babies are, even at 2lbs and 3" bigger than first babies, easier. 

We spent one night in hospitals together before getting kicked out in the morning (the talk of needing my bed started after I said I wanted to be discharged). Kristina was fine without me, except when they'd come to visit and had to leave me there. She didn't want to, loudly. But she seems to be dealing with having a baby in the house quite well, though we'll see how it goes when grandma goes home on Sunday and she no longer has a substitute parent at her beck and call.

Katherine and I had a bit of trouble the first few days when my milk hadn't come in; she lost over 10% of her body weight and was screaming all night in hunger, so under the midwife's supervision we supplemented with formula for a few days until it did. She bounced back almost from the word go and now we're getting on as smoothly as any new addition can.

Yesterday was Kristina's fourth birthday and today is Chris' 50th.

Progress Report: Pregnancy

My last substantial post was 8 November, Election Day in the US, a day filled with optimism. Readers, I don't mind telling you that the 9th was...not a good day for me. How could I write about yarn squishing or knitting projects when everything had just gone so horribly wrong? It's all still horribly wrong but I think I'm ready to write about frivolities and my life again.

To start with, the important news, Avelet has not seen fit to put in an appearance. I spent the first two trimesters explaining how much happier 2.0 would be the later in January it showed up, and all of the third trimester saying early works just fine for me. But 2.0 didn't fall for it and is now 3 whole days late. We've scheduled an induction for the evening of the 15th, which presumably means baby would be born on the 16th, just shy of a fortnight overdue, but my midwife doesn't think we'll need it. At that point with Little Djinn, just shy of two weeks overdue, an exam showed nothing was ready - she wasn't engaged, my mucus plug was entact, my cervix hadn't started to prep, nothing was prepping for labour, but my waters broke and contractions started the next morning. I had an exam on Tuesday, my due date, and everything pointed to baby's imminent arrival, including already being 3cm dilated, a state of progress that took 15hrs of contractions with Little Djinn. So, yeah, all signs point to the imminent arrival of 2.0, except for anything actually happening. 

My feet, hands, and face have all swollen up so I'm basically sitting on the sofa with my feet up all day (And sleeping sitting up at night which is the only way I can be comfortable but means my hands and feet are always "down" and never level, let alone "up") so I'm getting a fair amount of knitting done but not much else. Knitting at least helps with my hands, but walking and even just sitting there wiggling my tootsies doesn't help them. And don't worry, there's no protein and my blood pressure is fine.

My last blood test showed that I'm anemic ("a little anemic", my midwife said as she put me on a huge dose of iron) as did the one before that though that test was taken at the hospital so the results were sent to the hospital so my midwife couldn't access them from the surgery (gp's office) so by the time she looked at my results we were taking more bloods anyway. Less than a week after starting the iron pills I went from being completely exhausted all the time and itching like crazy to being normal levels of tired and the itching stopped driving me crazy. That was good, the bad is that I basically couldn't drink tea ever again as I couldn't have a cup within two hours of taking a pill, which I did three times a day. I am out of pills now and once more enjoying my decaf.

Little Djinn, now Sleepy Orchid, is very eager to meet her new sibling and keeps asking when baby will come. She's also unhappy that she can't go to the hospital with me so I'm hoping I don't go into labour in the middle of the night - if she wakes up and not only am I not in bed with her but Daddy and I are both gone, well, that would probably be one of those childhood traumas from which you never fully recover. Chris and I agreed that he would stay home with her, though I'm not sure if we should wake her up or just tell her in the morning. It'll probably depend on what time it is.

That's the state of our holding pattern.

Dear Baby

Dear Baby, 

I think it's time for you to come out. I'm not just saying this for my sake, though believe me, you'd be doing me a favour; I really think we would both be happier with you on the outside. You seem like a kid who doesn't like being crowded and I am a person who misses her ankles. They've always been neat and trim, which I know people don't expect from a fat lady, but they were even through my first pregnancy, but now I have sausages for toes and cankles and they really hurt when I need to squat down to do something. Like, really hurt. But this isn't about me or the fact that I have no patience for anything, this is about you and how much nicer it is on the outside. You missed Christmas, which is actually a good thing for you - you'll actually get to enjoy it next year and might even fit into the "baby's first Christmas" stuff which is all 9-12mos. Also, it's snowing today and Mama loves snow so how special would that be for your birthday? You have a Daddy and a grandmama and a big sibling who are all very excited to meet you. Your sibling in particular can't wait: that's her you keep hearing, asking if you're ready to come out yet. I think you are. And, look, I know that labour doesn't sound like a good idea. I'm right there with you on that, but I promise it'll be over and then everything is cuddles and boobies and bowel movements. 

You're ready, you can do this. Just give the signal and I'll do the rest. 

Wow, It's September Already

Wow, it's September already! and the last few days of September at that :-/ I had that horrific realization (wait, it's September already? the 27th? how did that happen?) at work yesterday and my only explanation is that time stopped for me back in mid August when we moved house. That's was about as un-stressful as such a thing can be (we hired movers to pack and move us, we stayed at a hotel whilst it was happening, the weather was perfect) and then after half a week to get settled, we went to Amsterdam for 2 nights so Chris could attend a conference, which could have been better (four hour delay leaving, Little Djinn was only kept from hysteria taking off and landing by having me lean over and cuddle her the whole time, Chris walked out on his conference halfway through the first day, Little Djinn wanted to be carried the entire time and by the end of the trip my wrists were burning agony at all times). The following week, September, my mother arrived for a three week visit. Phew.

The best news is that Little Djinn got on wonderfully with Grandma. About five minutes after G'ma arrived, they were cuddled on the sofa together reading stories and G'ma is now a favourite. Yesterday, Little Djinn told Daddy that she needed to use my pad to see (skype) G'ma and ask her to come sit at the table and play. When we Skyped on Sunday she climbed up on my lap and said, "It's Grandmama! We miss you Grandmama!" which was made all us adults die of cute.

The move went smoothly enough, and we were largely unpacked inside the house before we even left for Amsterdam. The garage is another story: we don't talk about the cave of boxes-ahem, the garage. Oliver and Libby (Oviler and Libbily to Little Djinn) spent the move and Amsterdam trip at Kitten Summer Camp and spent the first few days (Libby) / weeks (Oliver) slinking about the house skittishly but now run around like mad (confident) things. Oliver spends most of his time in my side of the closet (I put his cat bed in there after the first few days) or under the quilt on our bed. At the old house he stayed in the closet in the nursery, so this is his normal. Libby sleeps on our bed.

Little Djinn has all the words and pretty complex sentences. This morning Daddy asked her if she'd like some juice and she told him "No, I'm eating a bikkie. Afterwards, please." She's a lot better about eating "real" food, but still prefers to be fed, and most of the time you have to follow her around popping food in her mouth to get her to eat. Left to her own devices she just gets really really hungry and falls apart, she doesn't think to eat. She's also completely not interested in potty training, though she no longer stars screaming if you suggest some day she might pee in a potty so that's progress, right?

Playdough is still a big part of our lives, but cars are probably the favourite toy right now and colouring is on the rise. We went to a birthday party for a friend, T, who will be moving to England soon (nooo!) and Little Djinn was only happy when hiding in the masterbedroom with as many cars as she could carry. There were 10 or so toddlers at the party and Little Djinn ran away from all of them. One in particular kept taking things from her, and the one time we got together with a friend since then Little Djinn literally ran screaming from her. Socializing, not going so great. We didn't sign up for any classes or activities this past session with how much we had going on, but the next set of sessions start *cough* this week so we'll get to try again.

We love living in the new house. It's very beautiful up here, next to the woods, and we have red squirrels in our garden. Chris and I have both expressed surprise that we haven't missed looking out at the river. Our across the street neighbour is a family I know from PEEP and baby massage, way back when, with two boys, a two year old and a two month old.

9, 10 A Big Fat Hen

Nine was not a good month for us. We've had rough patches before, a fortnight at 4 months, a fortnight at 7 months, but this rough patch lasted pretty much the entire month. There was another cold, a cough this time, which she passed to Chris and then myself, and she decided that being asked to lay on her back whilst having her nappy changed was the worst thing in the world* (which got even more festive when my normally backed up booboo got diarrhoea) except for being put in her high chair which was also the worst** but the absolute worst was that she wouldn't sleep at night unless she was in bed with me. As she wanted to go to sleep at 7, this was also the worst for me. This was also the month with two nights where she threw up on me three or four times. At least the second time she threw up on her Daddy first. Some experiences are best shared and if it had been all me all the time I would have been bitter.

Thank god that's stopped (though she sometimes fights me over nappy changes or going in her chair, but only once every day or two, not Every. Single. Time.). It was only just this last week that I got her sleeping on her own without nightly hysteria: we hug over the rails of her cot until her legs give way and she lays down, then I rub her back, cover her with a blanket and rub her back. The first two nights this involved a wash-rinse-repeat action with some protracted cuddle sessions but now it's mostly just once and a minute or two at most. You can't even believe how much better this is for everyone. Part of me wants to beat myself up for not working this out earlier but the ruling majority is just happy it's working now. And, in fairness, I did try this earlier and she just stood there and cried.

But it wasn't just being in a funk; Little Djinn has a tooth! Just one on the bottom that broke through on Thanksgiving. In the Bad Month she regressed slightly on the food and figured out that boobies still exist even when they're hidden under my shirt. She can now indicate a specific desire to nurse by trying to tug my clothes off, which was cute for two days but now I'm trying to teach her to ask more politely. Between the eating less and being able to request boobs on demand we've been nursing more and she's currently waking up twice in the night to nurse. 

Since my last post we started (and this week ended) another playgroup, a free one sponsored by the Scottish government, from the same woman who taught baby massage and the weaning class. It was the same group of mums so LD was still at least 3 months older than the other babies, she's on the verge of walking unassisted and they're just sitting on their own. But they're all about the same size. We had a little Christmas party for the last session and some of the mums requested that the babies dress up. I was thinking party dresses but didn't get my act together to buy one so instead I put her in the Santa Suit Karen gave her. Turns out that was exactly the right thing as the other babies who dressed up were all in "fancy dress" (costume) as well. Another baby showed up as Mrs Claus but not in time for the impromptu group picture.***

Little Djinn is continuing to do really well in swim class, though we wound up in the Friday session (we're back on Monday now) and it never quite worked for us. We were always running late, and never quite warmed up to the instructor though she did figure out how to stich the foam bricks to the wall and later put them back in the bucket. She's very interested, in general, in taking things out of containers and putting things into containers. The other day she sat in Daddy's office and started dropping his unused coffee pods in the rubbish bin, one at a time. She's also put the cat food back in the box (minus a few pieces she ate) and even tried putting individual grains of rice into a cup. She has a 2" square Tupperware that I keep her Cheerios in and she can put the lid back on it and even pop it closed. 

She's standing on her own, though briefly, and can do things while standing like bounce up and down. She loves bouncing and will bounce for ages if she has something to hang on to. She likes to push walk chairs around and will hang onto the back of my trousers to push me around, too. She walks if we hold her hands and does her own steering. I only give her one hand so she has to do her own balance. At the pool on Monday she got hold of a tiny kickboard and walked around in the shallow end hanging on to it. It wasn't floaty enough to take any wait so it was purely a confidence/counter-balance thing. She's just adorable. 

She definitely understands us (though as the baby book points out, she's also developed enough to decide to ignore us), and will seek out favourite toys such as Monty the Monkey and His Motorcar when prompted.  She figured out how to play "chase" and spends a fair amount of time trying to coax Daddy to push the little car after her. We bought rubber mats for the lounge with the money my godparents sent for her Christening and can I just say how nice they are on adult knees? I mean, I bought them for her so she doesnt bonk her head when she falls over, and they're less slippery than the floor, but man oh man, the difference in playing on the floor with her on the mats vs without them is astonishing. 

Little Djinn has also started babbling with a vengeance. Mostly when she's happy it's "dah dah dah dah dah", when she's upset it's "muh muh muh muh muh" and when we're being told off it's "bah bah bah bah" though she's getting more sounds including "dis" and even starting with cadence.

For Halloween Little Djinn and I went as The Incredibles. For Thanksgiving we had 4 (American) friends up, three from London and one all the way from SF, though he was in the country for business. Chris keeps saying he wants our Thanksgiving to be world renouned, which appears to be working, and to convert all the Brits to Thanksgiving which seems to be going backwards since we went from three Brits last year to 1.5 this. Two of our guests are coming back for Christmas and, other than putting up a tree (on top of a table) and hanging lights we're pretty unprepared. Good thing our baby has no expectations, right?

*and as a consequence spent most of the month in disposable nappies.

** though once she was in she was in she was usually fine if only briefly

*** the elf kept toppling over, falling backwards out of the ball pit. 

Two updates in one week?

I've installed the blogger app on the iPad and, if this works, I should be able to update more frequently. Maybe.

Yesterday was my birthday: I continue to be thirty-something (which was kinda the point of describing myself as such). With a little help from her daddy and input from the kittens, Little Djinn got me a boot of baby bootie patterns (she doesn't even know about Yarn Harlot!), a pair of socks, and a plush Boofle. She's clearly her father's daughter. I had, on several occasions, expressed a desire to fill the house with rainbows so Chris gave me 77 prisms. No, I don't think the number has any significance. I've made a few strings of five prisms to hang around the house but, while we purchased a box of suction cups with hooks, I can't for the life of me find it. I even pulled the Christmas box down from the attic but they're not in there.

I made a lemon some-kinda-torte for my cake and it turned out really well. I got the recipe from one of Chris' Delicious magazines back when they had the Deliah special (and Paul Hollywood -I want to Bake All the Things!). It was relatively easy, just the extra step of whipping the egg whites like an angel food cake, and at 6 servings it's not too much cake for two people. Did I mention that I made brownies last week? The ones from Nigella's _Kitchen_. I've never been a particular fan of chocolate baked goods but since I had Little Djinn I'm starting to see what all the fuss is about.

My mother, a life-long sewer decided that I should have a sewing machine and ordered a little beginner machine for me. I'm not a beginner sewer (my first project was a Victorian ball gown from the bloomers out) but I'm not particularly adept either (advanced beginner? Low-moderate? I have restaurant sewing?) and my sewing needs will probably be modest. I don't see any Victorian or other balls in my future. She mentioned the brand but not the model so I spent a bit of time googling to try and guess which one she bought until I decided that that way madness lies. After my dentist appointment (boo, hiss) I stopped by the quilting shop in town to pick up some fat quarters* and bias tape so I could test my sewing machine on a simple bunting project, but alas they were closed yesterday and today :o( Other prospective projects (Sew All the Things!) include a little lap quilt to protect Chris from the enthusiasm of Libby's kneading/puddings or little project bags for my knitting projects.

Speaking of knitting, I know I said I wasn't really making any progress and I was resisting the urge to Knit All the Things (is anyone else sensing a pattern?)? Well, I caved and took some yarn from my stash (artyarns super merino) and picked a patten I recognised Thistle Cap by Liz Abinante, the woman who did The Great Cowl Knitalong. The main pattern was free with a small charge for lots of sizes and I probably could have worked it out, but I feel she's earned my $3 (seriously. I'm neither that poor nor that cheap.) My yarn was listed as Aran but knit up more like sportweight so for Little Djinn's 16" head, in the hope that she'll be able to wear it past tomorrow, I wound up knitting the women's medium (and found an error in the pattern, but I reported it and her tech knitter is on it). I can't decide which I love more: the yarn, the pattern, the colour of the yarn, or the way the three came together. Look at how perfect that bluey-purple yarn is for a "thistle" hat! And such buttery yarn, too. I'm super happy to put it next to my baby's skin. Even if she wouldn't sit still and have her picture taken.

And segueing from Little Djinn not being able to sit still, she's super close to crawling. Tonight, before bed, she finally figured out that she needs to get her knees under and her bum up though she can't seem to keep pushed up on her arms at the same time so she was scootching along like a little inchworm: head up, bum up, scootch, head up, bum up, scootch. So close!

 * "fat quarters? Now I have to filter out sewing jargon, too?" sorry, Shaun. They're bundles of samples of coordinating fabric prints.

8 Weeks

Big news in this second month of Little Djinn's life: she's started looking at her hands and (drum roll, please), she rolled over! She rolled over for the first time on Thursday when I lay her down for tummy time and went to the loo. That's right, I was out of the room. I came back and she was on her back crying. Later, after she'd nursed and cuddled and was happy again, I set my mobile to record video, lay her down on her tummy and she rolled over so quickly I missed it again. Don't blink around this baby. I took a video which I can't seem to embed. I showed it to Chris (a few times) and Libby, on the bed before us, did a few corkscrews as if to say, "why are you so impressed? This is easy." We're over the moon. She's very close to rolling over from her back to her front and I was convinced she'd get that first but I didn't expect either to happen this soon. I really was completely floored when I returned to find her on her back.

We had our 6 week checkup after my last post and both of us are fine though the doctor wasn't able to hear Little Djinn's heart clearly so we're going back this week and on a different day we're going for her first round of immunizations. The Health Visitor will be out Monday to weight her again and check in. Little Djinn continues to like going for walks in her pram, though the grocery store and back seems to be too far for her patience. She's also lost patience for napping in her basket. She'll still sleep there at night, though she often cries for a bit before settling, but during the day she just won't do it, she'll only sleep on me. So I'm back to not getting much done during the day. On the plus side, she's sleeping 5-8hrs at a stretch and then going back to sleep for another 3hrs so I'm not too sleep deprived. Last week I was getting a bit worn down but she slept for 8hrs and then we took a nap together and my reserves filled back up.
Aged Parent is still in the hospital, no real change there. They think he'll be in hospital for 12 weeks from when they transfer him to the physical rehab hospital so that's a bit of a downer. No word on when a place will open for him.

I finally made Chris' birthday cake, a sticky chocolate pudding with coffee custard (I gave him a baby and he still wanted a cake). It was absolutely delicious, well worth waiting for, and it served eight not the suggested four. I also knit a little cabled hat but it doesn't quite fit over Little Djinn's head - it's big enough around but too short and of course I wove in all the ends before trying it on her. Now I'm trying to decide if I want to try and rip back the extant hat or just start over.

In book news, I'm reading the Shetland Quartet by Anne Cleeves after watching the drama "Shetland", based on the third book Red Bones, the book I'm on now. The adaptation is...curious in what it changed. Detective Perez' girlfriend, out of town in the book, is his dead wife and her young daughter is suddenly his teenage step-daughter. The girl's father is merely referenced in the book but they worked him into the show. They set they adaptation during Up Helly Aa, the fire festival at the end of January (which is when the first book takes place), instead of the spring, but how could they be working on an archaeological dig when the ground is still frozen? I'll find out tonight if they changed Whodunit. Mostly I wonder why they didn't just adapt the first book.

Mothering Sunday (Six Weeks)

Today is Mothering Sunday, my first as a mum, though it feels a bit weird as I'm used to Mother's Day being the second Sunday in May in the US. Little Djinn, clever girl that she is, ordered a few little presents off of the internet the highlight being a "Bestest Mum" mug and yesterday went tot he shop to buy a card for me, for her grandma, and a birthday card for grandma. She really does leave things to the last minute, doesn't she? I could have sworn we raised her better than that. Fortunately Grandma, whose birthday was yesterday, is in Israel right now so her birthday card should beat her home.

My baby girl is 6 weeks (and two days) old. I wanted to post at least once a month about her development and what we've been up to but until this last week she wouldn't let me put her down. The first two weeks I could (but didn't want to because I got endorphins from holding her and that's what kept me bright and chipper on little sleep and no down time) and then she became such a light sleeper that any attempt to shift her off of me resulted in her waking up. Leaving her on her back, no matter how tired she was or how long I left her, just lead to screaming. It was a lot easier to hold her during the day and let her sleep on me at night and work around the baby than to have her be so distraught.

This last week I said "screw it" to the warnings about never ever ever leaving one's baby on their tummy and lay her down that way and lo and behold, she'll sleep. She naps in her bassinet during the day and she sleeps there at night. These last two nights (of three sleeping this way) she didn't even fuss when I put her back after nursing, just fell asleep again. And for all of you nay-sayers, sleeping on the tummy is verboten because of a slightly increased risk of cot death, of smothering in the bedding. Little Djinn doesn't have loose bedding, just her mattress and fitted sheet and she's very advanced in the head-lifting and turning departments. She can already push herself all the way up on her arms and even in her sleep she can lift herself enough to turn her head. She's also sleeping through the night, or at least she would be if I wasn't waking her up to nurse. Chris ordered a breast pump for me so I can express rather than waking her up as I don't want to teach her to wake up every 3-6hrs the way I taught her not to sleep in her basket.

She's visibly changing week on week and almost day by day. She passed her six-week assessment early (the health visitor could see her performing most of the "tests" like staring at my face and smiling so she ran the rest). She spends a lot more time with Daddy and just today I think she started mimicking facial expressions. She likes it when I sing along with music and she's getting really good at grabbing and holding things, though not particularly on purpose. She's gained 2lbs and almost 3" and has started outgrowing her footie-pajamas in the 0-3mos size (purely a length thing, she's only 25th percentile weight-wise). We take her for walks, either in her pram or in our carry system. She sleeps when being carried, but looks around when in the pram which makes it a shame that pram-walks have almost always been at dusk or after dark. I have two slings for around the house, thus far the mai tai works best. She doesn't always want to be in it but for a while there it was the only way I could do things around the house with both my arms. Now that she's napping alone I'm catching up on much-needed housework and was able to bake a cake yesterday (what is Mother's Day without coffee cake?).

In less happy news, Aged Parent is in the hospital and has been for just over a week, after complaining about being short of breath. They diagnosed him with "water on the lungs" and put him on diuretics and then an IV drip and more recently found blood clots in his lungs so they're treating that as well. They're hoping to transfer him to a different branch of the hospital where he'd been going for physical therapy twice a week as soon as they have a place open. That'll be nice as it's in easy walking distance and it's not full of contagious people so Little Djinn and I will be able to visit as well. Within 24hrs of AP being admitted one of his neighbours knocked on our door to say he'd not seen him around and was he all right, and the next morning we got a call from his BFF saying he'd not been able to ring him on the phone. It's nice to know people are looking out for him.

In knitting news, I actually finished a 6 mos size cardigan for Little Djinn which hopefully I can blog about in more depth when I've finished weaving in the ends, blocked, and sewn buttons on. I'm working on the formerly-for-my-mother socks, having just turned the heel on the second one, though I need to rip the first one back probably all the way to the toe and re-knit it. I can work on that while my baby girl is sleeping on my lap or nursing (or most often, when she's sleep nursing, a skill I wish I possessed) and when she's napping in her basket I've been working on a cross-stitch project for her.

Birth Story

I need to write this down before thousands of years of evolution and my genes' only chance at further replication erase my memory of events completely. If there ever was a post that written with an audience of one in mind, it's this one.

My story really starts on Wednesday the 23rd. I was due on Friday the 18th but for the first time in my pregnancy I was unable to get an appointment for the same week I called and thus my 40 week checkup was almost a 41 week checkup. My midwife looked me over and confirmed that there wasn't even the slightest sign of labour starting. She tried a "cervical sweep"* which sometimes can get things started, but my cervix hadn't come forward at all and was unreachable. Yay.

Thursday morning I woke up around a quarter to 6 on with a wet trickle between my legs. It doesn't feel anything like peeing (except for the warm wet running down your legs) but it does feel a lot like leaking while menstruating. That's the best description I have for what it's like to have one's water break. I'm told that outwith Hollywood, one's water breaking is the first symptom of labour for a relatively small percentage of women and in most cases it breaks or is broken by the midwife when the cervix is already several cm dilated. I am that stereotype.

Chris woke up when I turned the bathroom light on and immediately figured things had started. My waters were clear, no signs of Little Djinn having moved her bowls in utero which can be a sign of fetal distress. I had passed the mucus plug which I had imagined more as a gelatinous plug but clearly the emphasis is on mucus as it looked like something large had cleared its sinuses in my knickers. I cleaned up and changed into clean (dry) clothes and climbed back in bed for our regular morning routine, Chris bringing tea and a satsuma for me and coffee for himself, checking our phones and nattering away until we were ready to get up, only this time with mild but noticeable contractions approximately ever five minutes. The adrenaline of rushing around to get to the hospital can cause labour to halt** so we waited until 7 to call the labour ward (calling the maternity ward first by mistake) and the midwife on duty said to go ahead and come in for an exam. And my contractions magically stopped.

My mother, who is still jet-lagged and not sleeping through the night, saw our light was on and when she heard us get up rushed out to ask us to give her a chance to get ready before going to the hospital. I assured her that she had plenty of time, that we'd not yet called a taxi, and that we wouldn't be doing so until my contractions had established themselves again. Personally we would have preferred to sneak out, leaving the phone and a note with a number to call, but I recognize that sitting in someone else's house twiddling one's thumbs while one's baby has a baby is a much longer day than being there for it, so I let her come and even repeatedly requested (each time we changed rooms) that the one person in attendance rule be bent to allow both Chris and my mother to be present.

After half an hour my contractions started up again, again about 5 minutes apart, so we called a taxi and went to the labour ward where I was examined*** and pronounced to be a mere 2cm dilated. This didn't count as labour. Baring a pressing need they wouldn't examine me again until 12:30 (4 hours later) and not wanting to take taxis back and forth all day I opted to leave my bags (one with stuff for me, one with stuff for Little Djinn) in the room and go to the cantina and wander the hospital for a while. It became clear that my contractions, still five minutes apart, were significantly more painful when sitting than when standing (and that it wasn't possible to switch from sitting to standing when I felt one coming on) so I stood at our table, then paced around it, with frequent trips to the loo to urgently pee an ounce at a time.

We hung out in the cantina as long as we could (past the point when they'd closed after breakfast and hadn't yet opened for lunch) and then took to the halls. I mostly tried to keep walking through the contractions, though I stayed close to the wall and clung to the handrails or Chris' hands as needed. By noon I was exhausted from standing for almost 4 hours and I made the executive decision to return to the labour ward a little early. At this point I didn't realize the was a 4-hours between exams policy and thought the half noon timeline more of a suggestion, a round number, but they let us back into my room, had me pee in a bucket****, and eventually did another round of exams, this time hanging around so she could feel a contraction which was a lot less fun than it sounds. I was still only 2cm (!!!) and one is not considered to be in labour until 4cm so they gently kicked me off of the labour ward and down to the maternity ward and the pre-labour room.

They were serving lunch as we got there, but we'd had second breakfast not long before, and having just arrived I'd not ordered anything but they had me fill out a card for dinner and breakfast the next day, and we waited. My timeline gets a bit fuzzy around here as I wasn't looking at a clock, but not terribly much later my contractions got a lot closer and a lot stronger so that I was having contractions about a minute apart and didn't feel like I'd even relaxed between them before the next one started and they really hurt. I started crying out with the pain (I remember saying "Ow" and "Owie" a lot when trying to breath) and it put a noticeable damper on the ward. Sitting or lying curled up on my side (I can't lie stretched out on my side) hurt more than standing so I stood, braced against a chest of drawers, rising up on tiptoe with each contraction, urgently requesting that we explore my pain killing options. Turns out the only option on the pre-labour ward (and they wouldn't take me back upstairs for another exam until half four, four hours after my last one) after paracetamol/Tylenol is diamorphine but the midwife had to call upstairs to check with the sister on duty***** before she could administer it, and then she was going to explain how it wouldn't effect my being able to use the birthing tub but I cut her off and begged her just to give me the injection already.

It took the promised 10-15 minutes to kick in and here my timeline gets really fuzzy because I was able to lay on my back which reduced the frequency of my contractions and the drugs took the edge off just enough that I could handle it, and had the side effect of letting me fade in and out of consciousness between contractions. And as I faded in, I blurted whatever dream-thought had been in my head, and I knew I was saying things that made no sense such as "but the mice don't like the colour purple" and as soon as I said them I knew, in the small pause that always followed such ejaculations, that they made no sense and I tried to remember what I thought was going on (because that would make it better, right?) and explain but the dreams faded too quickly and I eventually gave up and just went with "sorry."

At the appropriate time I got another exam (almost 3cm but not quite there yet), and dinner showed up and it was a shame I wasn't in a position to do more than pick at it as it was the best meal I got on the ward, and at some point we tried letting me take a bath but the water was warm, not hot, and didn't cover enough of my belly to help so I gave up on that rather quickly. The diamorphine wore off almost exactly four hours after administered, shortly after I inquired how long it would last and could there be more please, but it took a good half an hour after it wore off to get more in me. It must have been around 8:30 when they did another exam and announced that I was 3cm (finally!) and that was far enough along to use the birthing tub so they were going to transfer me back to the labour ward.

That took until almost 10, which was just as well as around 10 is when my diamorphine wore off again and they didn't want me in the tub, even supervised, if I was still fading in and out of consciousness. My mother, up since the day before, and Chris since a bit before 6 that morning, opted to head home and get some sleep after seeing me safely transferred back to the labour ward. They tried to get me to pee in a bucket again but I couldn't unclench. My new midwife, with shift and ward changes I was on my fourth now, examined me again before sending me into the tub and announced that I was 8cm and we should probably call my husband to come back, which we did and he got there just after I got in the tub.

I don't know how long I spent in the tub. My timeline suggests it was somewhere around 11 when I went in and that I was out around 1am, but it doesn't feel like I spent two hours there. I was having trouble not pushing when my contractions came but the midwife said I was probably 10cm by then, she thought I might have been expanding to 9cm while she was examining me earlier, and that if I felt like pushing I could. Being in the tub was nice, it was warm and big and deep, but as I moved into the second stage of labour I didn't feel like I had anything to push against so I got out and we returned to "my" room.

At this point the only painkillers I was allowed, the diamorphine having worn off before going in the tub, was laughing gas which I didn't think was doing anything for me except make me hoarse, but kept using because it was something to do and sometimes you don't realize something was helping until you stop. Anything stronger could make my baby drowsy at birth and then they'd have to give her something to wake her up and possibly take her away for observation so I conceded the point. I was still unable to pee so they stuck a catheter in and drained me, which was I remember was uncomfortable but have no specific memories of. And having officially examined me and measured me at 10cm, I got to take a break and lie down and try and sleep between contractions again for an hour before they, my midwife would be joined by another, asked me to push starting at 2:20am.

It hurt. Worse, I knew it was going to hurt more so I really didn't want to push. I begged them to use the suction cup and pull her out and they just kept telling me I was doing fine. My mother says the worst thing I yelled was "oh, God!" which I remember and she and Chris agree that I occasionally cried when I don't. I started with kneeling and clinging to the back of the bed, then switched to lying on my side, then stood up for a while over the midwives' protests including the request that I at least stand in the middle of the floor (I wanted the rolling chest of drawers/fetal heart monitor to lean on, which they objected to in particular because of the rolling bit). Then I got stuck standing because, again standing made my contractions closer together and stronger and they wanted to check the baby's heartbeat while I was there and it took a fair amount of time before there was a pause in contractions long enough to let me climb back onto the bed and lay on my other side.

Eventually we were crowning (oh, how that hurt - and I got to hold it with her head starting to peak out of me while the midwives got ready, putting aprons on and doing who knows what while I lay there wanting her in or out, but not halfway in between. I did make them fetch a mirror so I could see what was happening a plan somewhat hampered by having taken my glasses off some hours before. But seeing her head helped, even if less was sticking out than I had imagined. They took the mirror away and I pushed and I pushed and my mother says she could see me split but going forward, not back, which isn't something I ever considered, and I felt her slither out and the dumped her slimy little body on my belly and at 4:05am Friday I had my baby.

I held her naked body to my bared skin and we nursed a tiny bit while Chris cut the umbilical cord (which was further trimmed by the midwife), and they gave me a tiny injection to hurry the third stage of labour, the afterbirth, which I didn't feel nor do I recall pushing for, and then they were ready to sew me back up. "It's just a little tear" wound up taking forever to sew up. The second midwife leaned over the first's shoulder and gave pointers on how best to go about it. I ignored the proffered gas and air as I still didn't think it did much for me and a few injections of local anaesthetic, however sensitive the region, wasn't that big a deal. The midwives told me that I was clearly mistaken when I said I was afraid of pain, but I think that's the sort of thing you say to comfort people because a few jabs is nothing compared to 22hrs of unofficial and official labour, including 90 minutes of pushing a watermelon through a lemon. And just when I was thinking it was taking a long time to sew up "a little tearing" the midwives looked up and said that was the muscles done, now they'd do the skin. And when that was done they explained that there was also some "grazing" which hadn't required stitches. Lovely.

I can't remember if they took Little Djinn to clean (though not bathe), weigh and measure her before or after I took my shower, but either way I left her with Chris when I did and he got to do skin to skin, too. At some point we got tea and toast, enough for all three of us (not Little Djinn), and they swaddled Little Djinn in two towels and a cellulose blanket and I wheeled her little cot down to the maternity ward where I was given a bed (and eventually the breakfast I'd ordered the day before) and Chris and my mother had/got to go home and sleep.

~ * ~

* two fingers up my vagina, wiggling them around and because I was pregnant she couldn't even buy me a drink first.

** a very reasonable evolutionary precaution

*** see *

**** a cardboard bedpan placed over the toilet

***** is this an honourary title? Or is she also a nun?

Welcome to the World, Baby Girl

Kristina Abigail was born exactly one week ago, at 4:05 am, after 22hrs of labour*. She was 3.35kgs (7lbs 6oz) and around 20 inches at birth, though at her five day weigh-in she was down to 3.15kg, an almost 6% loss which is entirely to be expected. Because my water broke more than 18hrs before delivery they kept us in the hospital for 24hr observation to make sure she didn't have an infection and we got to go home Saturday afternoon, Chris' birthday. He was amazed that Little Djinn had already had time to nip round to the shops and get a birthday card for him. She's pretty amazing like that.

Our first night got a bit rough with her not wanting to settle and me not having slept in two days, but since then she's been a peach, only fussing when we're actively thwarting her will, say by not letting her nurse. As soon as she thinks she's headed towards an active nipple she calms right down.

Mother and baby are doing fine, passing our daily midwife check-ups with flying colours. Grandma is over the moon, and Daddy is quietly stressing about everything except when actually holding his daughter and then he's calm and happy. Granddaddy hasn't met her yet, but sent a truly extravagant bouquet of flowers. People who know Chris think she looks like him and people who know me think she looks like me, so I suspect she's just a baby and we're all reading too much into it.

~ * ~

* 11hrs of "official" labour, counting from about 4cm dilation, 2hrs of hard labour, eg deliberate pushing. Believe you me, I'm counting from the first contractions.

Christmas & Boxing Day

Christmas got off to a slightly rocky start after a night of not sleeping particularly well. Chris was sad that he'd not gotten me a stocking* or filled it up and then he was frustrated that he'd have to spend half of the day cooking for his father just like he'd done for the last however many years and would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. We have tentative plans to be elsewhere next Christmas, just the three of us, as soon as we figure out where we want to go (hint, somewhere quiet and easy to get to).

Pressies started with exchanging Christmas cards**, in our case the traditional matching Boofle*** cards with messages of preprinted and hand-written affection. In addition to the socks, I gave Chris a new pair of fuzzy lounge trousers and a cable-knit jumper from the kittens. Chris gave me a book of Fair Isle patterns and a mug with a knit Fair Isle design, the soundtrack from a French musical, a potato ricer, a set of rectangular teaspoons that fit into spice jars(!!!), and from the kittens, a satsuma and tickets to see the panto. Chris was sad about not buying things for my stocking, but it clearly wasn't because he didn't think to get me presents. And, while the cooking utensils were "for me", thus far I've been on the receiving end of riced (mashed) potatoes, which are really good - extra fluffy and light, but have yet to use the ricer. So it all works out about even.

Aged Parent came over around 2, shortly before dinner was ready and we had a turkey breast wrapped in bacon and stuffed with sausage stuffing, roasted potatoes, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, Brussels sprouts, and rolls followed later by the Christmas pudding I made earlier this month, served en flambé and with brandy whipped cream. After dinner we gave Aged Parent his presents, a warm woolly cardigan and the mitts I knit for him (he also got a folding cane which we wrapped and delivered when it arrived so he could start using it sooner rather than later).

We spent most of the rest of the evening discussing the possibility of his moving into a local community for retired persons, an idea that Chris and I like a lot as we'd been looking for properties with a ground floor in-law unit but had been unable to find anything that wouldn't require selling both our properties. Unfortunately when we went over on Boxing Day, Aged Parent announced that he has absolutely no interest in moving out of his 5 bedroom house and was sorry he'd ever brought it up.

Chris again spent most of the day cooking, making pastry puffs with cheese in, (riced) mashed potatoes, and a sausage and cranberry roast which he cooked at our house and then reheated at his father's. Thus the need to go away next Christmas and avoid cooking altogether****.

Oh, and we gave Oliver and Libby a water fountain to drink out of. It's hand-thrown and burbles up, and they've both drunk from and played in it but Oliver still thinks water should come out of the tap in the bathtub. We're weaning him off of that.

And lastly, I am now 37 weeks along which means Little Djinn is full term. The midwife thinks 41 weeks is the perfect length for gestating so I've still got 4 weeks before it's a diet of nothing but pineapple and days spent jumping up and down. Meanwhile my feet have swollen beyond recognition, sausage toes are the order of the day, and my blood pressure is starting to climb. And getting showered and dressed seems like sufficient accomplishments before going back to bed.

~ * ~

* We don't have official stockings yet. For the last four Christmases I've given Chris a pair of socks, one stuffed inside the other with the rest full of candy. This year he got two pairs of slipper/socks and a Green & Blacks 75% dark chocolate bar and I gave myself a pair of slipper/socks and a multipack of Nerds (American sugar-based candy). I was even able to hang the socks up using my sock blockers.

** Not a tradition we observed in my family. Fortunately(?) the first Christmas I was here Aged Parent was convinced he'd never see us again and gave us our Christmas cards the first week in December, saving me a fair bit of awkwardness Christmas day when everyone (Chris and his father) had cards for everyone (Chris, his father, and me) and I'd be sat there saying in a small voice, "I didn't know we were supposed to get cards..."
Don't worry, there was plenty of other awkwardness.

*** I just discovered that there's a Boofle app. I think Chris is going to die of squee. I see lots of Boofle-addended baby photos in Little Djinn's future.

**** Yes, I could do some of the cooking (and did for Christmas dinner!). I could even do all of the cooking or most of the cooking, or some of the cooking. You know this and I know this and the reasonable part of Chris knows this but somehow when it comes to the day and everything needing to get done, he always puts on his Project Manager torque without remembering his Delegator Apron and locks himself in the kitchen.

Christmas Letter 2012

This year started with our slightly belated honeymoon to Madeira, a Portuguese island off the coast of Casablanca, in January. We spent two weeks in the balmy 20C/68F sunshine, hiking around gardens and along cliffs (Madeira doesn’t exactly have beaches), reading by the pool and generally being schmoopy. Chris talks about retiring there, sooner rather than later, or at the very least returning time after time and drinking fortified wine amongst the flowers. We returned to the news that my father, John, had fallen ill while on holiday in Mexico and had to be airlifted to a hospital in San Diego where he slipped into a coma and died on February 9th. I flew out to Sacramento and spent three weeks with my mother, Dee, helping her sort through his belongings and get everything organized. Chris came out for the funeral in early March and we flew back together. In May we learned that I am pregnant and I spent most of the next two months in bed, nauseous and feeling sorry for myself. We observed our first anniversary, June 26th, back at Atholl Palace Hotel in Pitlochry, where they’d upgraded our room and provided a complimentary bottle of champagne and exclaimed how they couldn’t believe it had been a year. Some friends had rented a lodge for the week so we got to hang out with them for a bit and finally had a chance to explore the local botanical garden. Mired in a particularly uninspiring summer weather-wise, Chris booked us a week’s holiday on the Greek island of Zakynthos for September/October. It turned out to be a less than ideal holiday for us: it unseasonably hot, the hotel was noisy, everyone smoked, and there wasn’t a lot to do except sit in the sea and befriend stray kittens, delightful though those two activities were. We did eventually figure out a routine that made us happy, but left the following day. We learned a lot about what we need in a holiday destination, ate well, and got to bob around in the Mediterranean, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Three friends came up from London to spend Thanksgiving with us and Chris’ father, Ted and we spent the weekend playing board games and eating leftovers. It turns out the same amount of food we normally make for ourselves will feed twice as many people, if only for two days. We are now in full-on baby-prep mode. We’re attending prenatal classes, have turned my rather underutilized office into a nursery, painting the walls, adding decals, and having blackout curtains installed. We have a bassinet for our room and a crib for when the baby outgrows it, and we’re starting to collect all of the little things one needs to keep a baby safe, clean, and warm. I’m due 18 January and my mother will be flying out for a month to meet her first grandchild. Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, Chris & Jennifer

It's Snowing! Also, I'm Knitting!

Just before 1pm today, my husband came downstairs with very important, it can't wait, news for me: it was snowing. Only just barely, the kind of snow where one could count each and every snowflake as it drifted slowly from the heavens but finally, finally, at long last, it was snowing! It took about 15 minutes to build up to a snowfall worthy of the verb and has been snowing at a steady if not heavy clip ever since. I have spent the afternoon doing figurative cartwheels. Over breakfast this morning (after my final prenatal physiotherapy class, though there is a class for both partners next week) I'd asked if it was okay to complain about several days of bellow-freezing weather without snow. I think the frost is lovely, but if it's going to be -8C/17F there bloody well should be snow on the ground. The universe seems to agree with my argument as we finally have snow! I honestly didn't think we'd get any before Christmas. The sun set (at 3:30) without my having taken a picture, so I'll show you this one from last April:

There actually is knitting news this week as I have finally finished the only knitting I really need to have done before Christmas: a pair of mitts for Aged Parent. As you may recall, he was the perfect knitting gift recipient last year , thrilled and touched and bragging to everyone he met about the hat I knit him. The man deserves more hand-knit things. I bought another skein of yarn, really soft wool to last year's camel hair, from the same Scottish yarn company, Shilasdair. I picked Dashing Mitts from Knitty, a pattern I had previously used for my husband and knew would work well. They're quite snug on me, but my FiL lost a fair bit of weight last year with tummy problems that have recently been diagnosed and, he says, cleared up, so hopefully they'll fit him nicely with a bit of room as he regains weight.

That leaves my purple orkney tam which I'm thinking I may give to my mother for Christmas, the self-striping socks I'm definitely knitting for her (I'm past the heel turn and working my way up the leg on the first sock), neither of which need to be finished until she arrives mid-January; the Shetland baby blanket/shawl for Little Djinn with pretty much the same due date; a few small projects for Secret Santa type gifts; an inch or two of a pair of socks that were tight before I got pregnant and my feet expanded; and the pullover I started for my husband. I don't think I've mentioned his sweater since I selected the pattern back in December as part of my New Year's Resolution, beyond a mention that the yarn had arrived. My 2012 has been very different from what it looked to be like from 2011 - which is fine, that's what living is all about - and while his sweater has mostly languished, I did make a fair bit of progress on the (less than interesting) stockinette body before I got pregnant and just tonight split for the armholes, to be followed shortly after finishing this post by casting on sleeves. The most awkward thing has been knitting a 37" sweater on 40" needles, the only ones I have in this size. I don't even have a pair of DPNs in 3.0mm, these are my only needles. This has periodically proven irritating as I've wanted to knit something else on 3.0mm and chosen to table it or go with a slightly different needle size instead. I'm not entirely sure why I haven't purchased another pair of needles except that there aren't any options locally and for whatever reason I haven't gotten around to ordering a pair. So I've been doing an awkward version of Magic Loop with a couple of inches of cord. Fortunately I'll not be dealing with as many stitches from here on out so the going should be less awkward and thus faster.

Those are the things I currently have permission to work on and I gotta say, I'm ready to cast on about 20 new things. I finally used the gift card Tonnvane gave me for my birthday (back in May) to buy two knitting books: Contemporary Irish Knits by Carol Feller from which I am itching to knit the matching cowl and mitts with some Old Maiden Aunt Alpaca/Merino I have in stash - I figure the sweaters will have to wait till post-Djinn and the completion of the current Husband Sweater; and Essential Knits for Babies by Debbie Bliss who makes one of the best commercially available yarn for babies out there. I figured the book had been on my wish list long before I knew I was pregnant and, while I'd knit things for Little Djinn, knitting is something I do for me so it counts as a present for me rather than a present for baby.

Which brings us to Little Djinn and my progressing pregnancy. I will be 35 weeks tomorrow with 5 weeks left to go. I've started occasionally suggesting to Little Djinn that the outside world is a beautiful place (now with snow!) and wouldn't you like to see it, which Chris objects to but I don't want to shock Little Djinn by saying "stay inside where it's safe and warm!" for 9 months and then suddenly saying, "it's eviction day! Get out!". Also, I'm ready to be done even if Little Djinn isn't. This week is fine, the week between Christmas and New Year's is problematic, but then any time is good for me, though the sooner the better. I think it's useful to communicate this, along with encouragement to be a 7lbs baby.

I have an ultra-sound and an as-yet unscheduled appointment with my midwife next week and that Friday is my last day at work. I am so ready to be done with work, though if I accept my limitations and spend most of my shift sitting on a stool behind the till it's okay. I had to buy larger boots (up a size and in wide) to accommodate my growing and sometimes swelling feet, especially in winter-thick socks. As it is, I'm just about to the point where Chris will have to do my shoes and socks for me as attempts to reach my feet are awkward and trigger heartburn. Not fun. Other not fun things include bending over last week to get something off the bottom shelf at the grocery store and feeling my epigastrum split apart. I asked the physiotherapist about it today as it's still sore and she said it's a soft-tissue injury common to pregnancy (which I knew) and all I can do is rest it, which I also knew but I made the mistake of googling it to reassure my husband and came up with the possibility of epigastric hernia. But even if it is herniated, there's nothing to do until after Little Djinn arrives, and it's nice to hear a medical professional be unconcerned.

The nursery still needs the decals stuck to the walls, though the bed is in place and fully made-up for my mother. I even put a blanket over the duvet to keep Oliver and Libby from shedding it, though it's the fake-fur one that they like to knead and purr on, so I'm probably just teaching them to love the bed. But on nights when my pregnancy-blamed snoring keeps Chris awake he'll be able to relocate to the nursery and actually get some sleep.

All of the Christmas decorations that are going up are up. I finally bought lights for the tree and put the one-off decorations up and a small handful of my plastic icicles. The baubles, fake candy canes, and rest of the icicles can stay off as one less thing to deal with come January. I got our North American Christmas cards posted, though the UK ones need to be signed and assembled.

Yesterday would have been my father's 72nd birthday. I don't think I have an emotional response to that, though I was a fair bit crabby. I think the crabbiness was more to do with having a new Assistant Manager at work and, subconsciously, resenting the fact that I have to take direction from someone I don't trust. Once I came home I was fine, even being up to hoovering and (electric) mopping upstairs and spending an hour making dinner. Though after that I was completely exhausted physically and even took another awkward bath. Did I mention that, as much as I love feeling Little Djinn growing inside me, I'm ready to be the sole occupier of my body again?