Stuff and nonsense

↑↑ Evidence #657 that we live in a small world: Madeleine went to daycare dressed in this ridiculously cute hotdog-pretzel t-shirt the other day, a gift from one of my best friends in the world. As we were entering, one of the dads also doing the drop-off admired her shirt and said "that's my favourite city," and of course I said "me too." We got talking and it turned out we'd lived in New York at the same time and were practically neighbours (he was in the Lower East Side and I was in SoHo), and he used to manage one of my favourite restaurants, where my friends and I would go all the time. And here we were, half a world and an ENTIRE different lifestyle away, dropping our little girls off to play. ↑↑ I took this photograph on the way back from a coffee run because I saw the leaves on this little tree and thought "WHAAAT? IS IT AUTUMN ALREADY?" And then I realised the leaves weren't turning brown for the season, they had actually burned up during the recent heatwave. Poor tree.

I have been indulging in a little bit of we-can't-catch-a-break feeling sorry for myself dumps lately. On Friday night I had sudden and extreme pains in the chest and stomach, and thought I had some kind of food poisoning. After a sleepless and very painful night I went to the hospital first thing the next morning, and had emergency surgery the same day. Seemed I had an inflamed gall bladder which was also causing problems for my liver, so they whipped the gall bladder out and "oh by the way I stitched up a small hernia behind your belly button on the way out." Thank you, two pregnancies in quick succession, which apparently caused all of the above (not the heatwave). Now I've been told "don't walk, don't drive, don't lift anything," instructions that are almost IMPOSSIBLE to follow when you have kids (which explains the hernia - I had no choice but to ignore the "don't lift after giving birth" instructions in order to care for Madeleine). Last night I was a bit teary. Madeleine cried for ages after going to bed because I had to have the babysitter lift her in there but she wanted her mummy. Then Harry cried and cried because he had wind but I couldn't hold him the way he needed to be held due to the wounds in my chest and belly. Of course Madeleine did eventually get to sleep, and Mr B cuddled Harry until he fell asleep, but I just felt useless as a mother and like I'd let them down by being sick. Again. I think my body has had enough. I have been pregnant and/or breastfeeding (with a little thing called "giving birth" in between) constantly since 2011. During my pregnancy with Harry, I was sick for nearly the whole time. Nothing serious, mostly viruses carried from daycare to Madeleine to me, but it wasn't fun. I'm a bit over it. And now we have the medical bills to pay on top of all our other bills (thank you, multiple unanticipated problems during home renovation), right when I'm working my lowest hours ever.

BUT... I live in a beautiful house in an amazing city - the first time I've felt "at home" since leaving New York - I have an incredibly hard-working, loving and supportive husband who is also very good for a laugh, and the two most adorable children I could ever wish for. So when I'm not feeling sorry for myself, I feel incredibly thankful. It's all worth it. It really is.

↑↑ This guy and his funny faces! Last week I wrote what I guess you'd call a sponsored post (in that I was given a gift voucher to go shopping and wrote a bit about what I bought). I so rarely do these kinds of posts because they sit uncomfortably with me, and I wonder how you feel about them - I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to sell to you or use you! A while ago I made up my mind to only accept gifts etc with posts if I would a) actually happily spend the money myself anyway, and b) think what I'm writing about might interest or benefit you (or both). And I've followed that rule in every one of the (very few) sponsored posts I've ever written. Last week after I wrote about my little boy and his beautiful Very Hungry Caterpillar stash, Mr B read the post and said it was "delightfully snobbish." It got me thinking. Because I hadn't intended to be snobbish at all, delightfully so or otherwise. I thought I was being truthful. And I wondered if I was being too apologetic in the post because I was worrying too much about your reaction. I don't know. What do you think? Am I being unfair on the sponsor? On you? On myself?

(And here I am, worrying about your reaction again. But you matter to me! I can't tell you how amazed I constantly am that you take the time to read this blog, and how much that means to me.)

I'll leave you with this little video because it is pure joy. If you ever get chocolate gelato all over your face and front on a 42 degree day, this is how you should clean it off.

My very hungry caterpillar

Summer afternoons with this little caterpillar are spent lying on the floor, face to face, smiling at each other. They are spent wandering around the back courtyard, looking at the plants and bees that cling to life in the edges and cracks alongside the tiles (we are yet to build a real garden). Summer afternoons are hiccups and spit-ups and tight little fists. Fat-folds and curly toes and dimples in the elbows. A big sister, one shoe gone, racing like a whirlwind around our little baby-mat of calm. Summer afternoons... and mornings, evenings and nights... are the slow minutes ticking through the nursing, just me and Harry and the sound of him greedily sucking. My hungry little caterpillar LOVES to nurse. All. The. Time. But that's ok with me. Those adorable, kissable fat-folds and dimples don't come cheap: they are hard won, out of pain and exhaustion and love, and they are my prize. You could say, if you wanted to, that all those long hours of feeding my hungry little caterpillar are turning him into a beautiful (chubby) little butterfly.

Wait for it...

In case you're wondering, Harry's Very Hungry Caterpillar tummy-time mat in these photographs came from Target, part of an Eric Carle range that makes me want to buy All The Things. Harry has this lovely caterpillar jersey wrap, too, and I confess I also have my eyes on this play-mat, a box of socks, and the world's sweetest caterpillar-in-a-box toy. We are not merchandising-averse in this house (just ask Madeleine and her Peppa Pig collection).

Target was never somewhere I thought of shopping before having a family. But while I still love to buy local, hand-made and unique things for my children, finances and our specific needs don't always make that practical or affordable. Target has become my go-to place for a broad range of cute, hard-wearing clothes and nursery and kitchen items that I use for Madeleine and Harry every day.

So when Target Australia approached me to work with them on this post to help promote their upcoming Everything for Baby Sale, I jumped at the opportunity. They gave me a voucher to go shopping for Harry, and I put my Sensible Hat on, purchasing this video monitor so that we could keep both ears and eyes on our precious littles when they were sleeping upstairs and out of earshot (because it's not at all creepy to watch your children sleep. Erm). But then I saw the Very Hungry Caterpillar range and Sensible made way for Spontaneous. So anyhow...

Here are some more of my favourites from Target's baby range:

* Such a stylish, modernist crib (and the matching change table). Love! * Gorgeous knitted blanket in triangles * If I had another baby girl I would dress her in this and about 100 other rompers from the Catriona Rowntree collection * Adorable knitted rattle * This sweet little fox reversible quilt / play-mat

The Everything for Baby Sale starts on 30 January, and there are some big savings so if you need to stock up for little ones in your life OR find gifts for friends with babies, now is the time!

Cabin fever

(Alt. title: Five Toddler-Friendly Activities for Surviving a Heatwave) Because taking about the weather is where it's at, right? It was hot in Melbourne last week. Really, really hot. Like, 40+ every day (except Monday, which was a measly 34 degrees. Pshaw, I laugh in the face of 34 degrees).

We are lucky that our new house has AC in some rooms, so we shut the doors and pulled the curtains and stayed indoors for the week. And, hey, we didn't die of heat exhaustion, but after a few days locked in a house with a not-really-one-to-stay-home grown-up, a toddler, and a newborn, the cabin fever very nearly finished us off. At one point, Madeleine was reduced to amusing herself and letting out energy by running up and down the house at top speed (which admittedly isn't that fast), yelling. She'd start at the front door, calling out "AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" punctuated by the thump-thump-thump of her chubby little legs, until she reached the back door. "More?" she'd eagerly question me for permission, and then when I said OK she'd race off again to the front door: "AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" At that point I realised I'd better get creative with the indoor activities.

So, shamelessly ripping off the idea from this post on the lovely blog Rockstar Diaries, here are five things we did indoors to make it through the heatwave with our sanity intact.

Day 1. Baking banana muffins

The bananas in our fruit bowl were no match for 40+ degrees, and became overripe overnight. I'm not normally a banana bread or banana muffins kind of person, but needs must. I adapted a banana bread recipe from Stephanie Alexander's Kitchen Garden Companion, and Madeleine and I got down to business while Emily cuddled Harry for us. It must be a super-forgiving recipe because what with the distractions of cooking with an 18-month-old, I made all kinds of mistakes, like forgetting to add key ingredients until much later, not softening the butter, and getting my measurements wrong. Admittedly the muffins didn't rise the way you'd normally want muffins to rise so they weren't all that pretty, but they were absolutely delicious: super moist, very bananary (you are allowed to make up words during heatwaves), and not too sweet. Let me know if you want the recipe and I'll be happy to send it to you.

Day 2. Busting out the new toys

Madeleine got so many toys for Christmas that I kept some of them hidden for "rotation purposes" to make room in our playroom and keep her entertained. As we started to run out of distractions, I busted out some of those new toys. A simple but effective winner was an alphabet of magnets given to her by her little friend Alice.

Day 3. Finger painting

This activity was a BIG winner for about half an hour, until Harry decided (in no uncertain terms) that it was time for a breast-feed. But that would have left me unable to actively supervise Madeleine. The thought of my little girl, covered in paint from head to toe, choosing to leave her little table and roaming the house with paint-covered finger-tips at the ready, was more than I wanted to imagine. So we had to abort this activity earlier than she would have liked, and let's just say peace did not reign in our house that morning.

Day 4. Pretending to be pets

One of Madeleine's favourite indoor games is to chase the dog, get the dog to chase her, and mimic the dog's behaviour. She pants, she sits, she rolls over, she begs. It's not classy, I know, and I probably won't be winning any World's Best Mother awards for letting her do this. But it makes my daughter SO HAPPY to play Being a Dog. She loves that puppy so, so much.

Day 5. Bed-sheet forts

Madeleine REALLY LOVED this fort. We played a lot of hide-and-seek, we had a tea party with Peppa Pig and Baby Suzy, we tickled baby Harry, chased the dog in and out, and lay on cushions just kissing and cuddling each other. I painted a sign that said "Fort Madeleine" for the front and was quite proud of my efforts, but Madeleine absolutely hated it, crying "No! No!" until I took it down and put it away.

Then the cool change came through on Saturday and we all took a grateful walk to the zoo. How do you guys cope when you're trapped indoors?

ps. Gratuitous cute baby Harry shot. Oh, those dimples! Those fat-folds!

Personalised books for toddlers

Madeleine is at an age when she loves seeing pictures of herself. She flips through the photos in my iPhone like a pro, looking for more pictures of herself and demanding "more! more!" (thankfully there are plenty). So for Christmas I made her a set of seven board books, all starring Madeleine and the people and activities she loves the most. The books are: My parents; My grandparents; My sisters; My cousins; My playtime; My pets; My dress-ups. These are not fancy, beautiful "record of my first year" books (although I'm still planning to make one of those for both of my children - one day!). They are simple, 12-page, hard-wearing board books, designed for a toddler to read and re-read (and drag around a room and throw away in a tantrum and smear with yoghurt).

I chose photographs with content that was meaningful to Madeleine, rather than beautiful and poetic (necessarily). There are blurry iPhone pictures in here, badly composed pictures, and pictures with bad lighting. The point was not aesthetics, but familiarity for her. It was interesting that by the time we gave these to her, three weeks after Harry had been born, she didn't respond as positively as I'd expected to the photos in which she was a baby. It took me a little while to realise she thought she was looking at Harry instead of herself.

Madeleine loves them all, but her favourite books are "My parents" and "My pets." It never gets old, having her open "My parents" in front of me and point to my face on every second page saying, ecstatically, "Mummy!"

I ordered these books from Pinhole Press, the only place I'd seen that made books in cardboard rather than paper (it would take Madeleine about two minutes to utterly destroy a paper book). The website is simple and easy to use, you just drop and drag photographs and type a very simple message / description in the facing page. Don't plan anything too sophisticated and you will love it.

The only real challenge I faced was that after going to all the trouble of making all seven of these books, I got to the end of the order process and found they only delivered to the US or Canada. Even when I emailed to ask if they'd post to me, the answer was "no." Don't you find that strange, in this day and age, that a web-based company won't do international shipping (even if the customer is willing to pay for it)? I'd still recommend them, but if you live elsewhere you'll need to have a friend somewhere in North America who's willing to take delivery and then forward anything you order on to you. (A big thanks to my friend Jacqs who did this for me, and carried Madeleine's books all the way from LA to Melbourne on her holiday!)

What do you think? Have you ever made anything like this?

Snippets

Yesterday morning while I was feeding Harry, Madeleine walked up to me with a smile. She took my face in both her hands and gently kissed me on the lips, twice. Then she crouched down and rested her cheek on the still-nursing Harry. That was a pretty perfect moment.

Here are some other snippets from our lives lately.

~ Blooming beauties in the conservatory in Fitzroy Gardens.

~ Lazy picnic on a summer's afternoon.

~ Captain Cook's house.

~ Little smiles.

~ A girl and her dog.

Love multiplied

I have been writing this post for a long time, in my head. In the shower, mostly, because there just hasn't been time to sit down at the computer before now, and sometimes during the small, dark hours of the night while I nurse the hungry miracle in my arms and try to keep my head from nodding forward onto my chest. I have been struggling to come to terms with the great, weighty bundle of hormone-laden emotions that settled like wet cement over my head and shoulders the night Harry was born.

They are not all bad emotions. Not even close. There is wonder, all over again, despite the chaos. The second child misses out on all those months of pregnancy during which you stop and think "Oh my goodness, there is something alive in me!" because most of the time you are too busy running around after the first child to even remember you are pregnant. (Seriously, more than once I stopped in the street and thought "Gee my stomach is upset" before I remembered I was pregnant and that was the baby kicking.) But when you push and sweat and strain and sob and laugh that child into Planet Earth and life itself, and you hold him on your chest and he looks you smack bang in the eyes with his own big blue eyes that are so much like his father's, well, there is no emotion other than WOW. Wow, which is shorthand for love and pride and wonder.

But strange to say there is grief as well, and guilt over the grief.

Let's visit Day Two of Harry's little life. The perfume of hothouse lilies is heavy in the air of our hospital room and as my perfect boy sleeps blissfully, peacefully, arms above his head and tiny fingers curled into tiny little fists, I hold my still-swollen belly and sob. I am grieving the loss of my other baby, my baby girl who, it seemed, got big the instant Harry was born. I mourn the loss of our special little twosome, that exclusive team we built and nurtured between ourselves during the past 18 months. We will never be this tight little unit again, me and Madeleine, and already I miss her.

The next morning when Madeleine comes to visit us in the hospital, she positively bounces through the door, gloriously resilient. All my fears of her being jealous of her little brother, or anxious and confused at the absence of her mother, dissipate. Madeleine's internal world is healthy and well, while mine spirals into sadness and guilt.

Guilt because of course the emotion of grief is phenomenally unfair on Harry. Harry was wanted, longed for, dreamed of, and is and will be joyously celebrated. He is so quiet, sleeping beside me in that lonely hospital room. Unaware, thankfully, that his mother is quietly weeping into her pillow.

About a month before Harry was born my friend Ingrid sent me a cartoon of a mother with a hoard of little children around her legs. Another woman asked, "How do you divide your love among so many?" And the mother replied "I don't divide my love, it multiplies." I held on to that concept. How beautiful it was! Love, multiplied! And it did a lot to allay the fears I had secretly nurtured: "How will it ever be possible to love anyone as much as I love Madeleine?"

The night Harry was born I learned the truth of that cartoon. MY CHILD. MY OWN LITTLE MAN. Instantly, my love doubled. Just like that. It was so easy to love him, with his little old man Grandpa Smurf face and his snub nose and the way he loved nothing more to snuggle right under my chin.

Back to me in the hospital the next day. I'm physically depleted. I'm drenched in hormones. I'm in love with my new son. I'm grieving the loss of one-on-one time with Madeleine. I'm feeling guilty about the grief I have over Madeleine, on behalf of Harry, who deserves not only my love but my joy. So there is grief causing guilt and guilt feeding grief. There's a hole in the bucket, dear Liza. It's exhausting! The nurses call it Day Three Blues. In my case, it lasted about three weeks.

A few days after we get home from hospital, Mr B minds Harry for an hour while Madeleine and I go up to a cafe by ourselves for a drink and a little bit of cake. It's a bit of a big deal. We brush our hair and I put on lip gloss. She cuddles on my lap and we share a vanilla slice, and I simply cannot stop smelling the top of her head and kissing her. We laugh, take selfies, sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. That hour is a tonic. When we return home I am in tears again, but they are happy tears, and I gather my boy into my arms and smell the too-delicious top of his head and kiss him, too.

The December days steamroll into Christmas and New Year and guests in our home every day and nights of nursing and hiccups and back-patting and floor-pacing, and somewhere, amid the yawns and tears and presents and feasts, Madeleine and I inch our way back to our very special us while Harry and I begin to build our own unique and beautiful us.

Then one summer's afternoon, Madeleine toddles over to a sleeping Harry and rests her cheek on his, smiling. And just like that, we are the family I had always wanted to be. We are the "love multiplied" family. Turns out we always had been.

The hormones remain. The sleep deprivation continues. I still have no idea how to keep both of my children happy in practical terms, especially at meal and bath times. But that will come, with time. And in that moment as Madeleine holds her little brother gently in her arms, my grief and guilt melt away.

Joy

On Christmas Eve, just as we climbed into bed, church bells rang out across the sleepy neighbourhood. Midnight Mass on Lygon Street, we realised, and wished one another a drowsy "Happy Christmas" before resting our weary heads. Two hours later we were awake again, changing and feeding a hungry baby. Then again another two hours after that. When Harry woke and fed a third time only another two hours later, it was time to admit defeat. We carried both wide-awake-though-we-wished-they-weren't babies downstairs, woke our big baby Emily, and by half past six in the morning, everyone was sitting on the carpet in the lounge room in their pyjamas, surrounded by a sea of wrapping paper and witnessing the steady depletion of the satisfyingly fat Santa sacks that Father Christmas had filled overnight.

Weary, weary bones aside, yesterday was filled with joy.

Joy in waking up with Madeleine, Harry and Emily all in our house together, the first time we'd had the children with us on Christmas morning EVER. Joy in children's faces when they opened their presents (Madeleine saying "Wowwww" at everything, just because it was fun to say). Mr B's favourite Elvis Christmas album playing in the background. Friends and Meg joining us for breakfast: croissants, muesli, summer fruits, shimmering glasses of prosecco.

Sweet, plump Harry, not featured in any of these photographs because he slept through the entire breakfast, upstairs, catching up after a busy night of baby gluttony.

Later, Emily dressed up in an inflatable Santa costume and walked up to a local cafe to buy coffees for us all, in the process bringing joy and laughter to every passer-by. (This adventure will warrant a post of its own so stay tuned). And in the afternoon, more friends and extended family came by for wine and cheese and fruit and leftovers, and the house was awash with excited, overtired children, toys and pieces of toys, pets, paper, tinsel and laughter.

By the time everyone went home and our babies were in bed, Mr B and I were about ready to collapse. So we did, on the couch, watching Notting Hill on DVD. As we climbed into bed that night there were no church bells, but we whispered "Thank you" to each other, because it had been such a good day.

Two hours later, we were awake again to change and feed a hungry baby...

Bunkering down

Christmas is just around the corner and summer has finally put in an appearance (40 degrees yesterday, folks). Today is the last day of work for most people and everywhere you go, crowds are spilling out of trams and onto cafe tables and beaches and shopping centres and parks. But we are staying home. Or at least we are keeping very local. Neither the double pram nor the newborn Ergo insert I ordered online quite some time back have arrived, so getting out and about with a toddler and a newborn baby is pretty tricky. Add to that the Christmas rush: last thing I want is to be caught in the city with a million other people and a crying toddler at her nap time, with a hungry baby and leaking breasts and a line-up for a chair in the Myer nursing room!

Instead, our days are taken up with quiet cuddles, making Anzac biscuits (we are not slaves to the season), playing with water in the courtyard. I cut out paper snowflakes to decorate the house, and Madeleine chose silver and red sleigh-bells to hang from each one. We wrapped Christmas presents while watching Harry Potter movies for an entire afternoon.

But while we have been bunkering down, friends have come to us, with visitors and house-guests almost every day. So we've served up simple meals of antipasto or sandwich fillings eaten outside in the sun, delicious beef stroganoff courtesy of the one and only Deb, and one night I made another giant batch of Mr B's favourite (and incredibly easy to cook) pork ragu.

Harry has been pudging up beautifully, like a little champion. Madeleine is paying him lots of loving attention; holding his hand, smiling when he smiles (ok I tell her it's a smile), and solicitously placing wet-wipes over his legs like blankets if I don't stop her. She is adjusting to this big sister gig incredibly well, being (mostly) very patient with all the time I need to give him, and releasing all that pent-up energy that used to go in trips to the park by racing up and down the house pushing her own baby in its own pram, playing with her big sister, and dancing in her nappy like a whirling dervish when her cousins come to visit.

I read this book in the middle of the night for a week while nursing Harry, and it left me feeling a little strange and unsettled. Empty, expectant, like its post-Soviet Ukraine setting. Have you read it? I'd love to know how others felt about it. Now I have turned my nocturnal attention to this book. I'm only just starting it and so far it's kind of lovely, but I have a prickling foreboding that things might get sad. I'm nervous.

What are you reading? What are you doing? Are you getting out or bunkering down?

Harry

Our sweet little boy Harry was born last Friday, and already my heart has doubled. He has a duck-down fuzz of hair covering his little head, and a scrunched-up, little-old-man expression that just melts me. (Everyone who knows Mr B says, "Now we know what you will look like when you're 90). Harry came into the world so quickly, and in such calm, that we barely had time to adjust. I went from five centimetres dilated to 10 in half an hour, and there was only another half-hour from the time they said "start pushing" to the time he was in my arms. In between pushing, I was laughing! Mostly from delirium: we'd been so busy this year that I'd hardly had a moment in my pregnancy to come to terms with what that meant. Maybe I'd been sub-consciously relying on a drawn-out delivery to get my head around what was happening to our lives.

It almost felt unfair to Harry. As if something as momentous as his birth should be accompanied by more build-up, more drama, more fanfare, than slightly hysterical giggles and a few big pushes. But before I knew it there he was, head and shoulders, and the midwives were saying, "You pull him out." And I thought "You must be joking" but it wasn't the moment to split hairs so I did as I was told, and the next moment he was snuggled onto my chest, pink and perfect with barely a whimper.

Madeleine, by contrast, had entered the world like a tempest. She cost me every last ounce of energy I had inside me to bring her to us, and months of pain in the aftermath (though I know others have had it far worse), and she was NOT happy about this birth gig. Eyes wide open, bottom lip protruding, she bawled her dissatisfaction at everyone in the room. And she has been stormy ever since, frequently swinging from delight to despair and back again in the space of a minute.

I've barely heard Harry cry yet, though only time will tell if that's his temperament or just an adjustment period. The most he has given me so far is a squeaky kind of grizzle, one that's easily fixed by milk or a cuddle (or both).

And that is where both my children are the same: they love to snuggle. Don't all babies? But it is just the BEST THING for a mother to feel her babies go calm as soon as they are in her arms, to smell their perfect little heads, to breathe in and fill her soul with love.

To anticipate life with Madeleine AND Harry in it... well, I know it's a cliche but I'm pretty sure that makes me just about the luckiest person in the whole world.

Madeleine's diary

8am: Wow slept in today. Super hungry, think I'll need extra Weetbix for breakfast. Horrible discovery! Slept so late I missed Peppa Pig! Parents say she will be on again tonight but can they be trusted? 8.30am: Nan! Pa! They arrived last night on a surprise visit and here they are again with coffees for Mummy and Dad. Think I will drag them by the hand into the lounge room so they can watch me dance to the radio. With the dog.

9am: World has ended. Mummy is having a shower and getting dressed instead of watching me dance. Think I will cry until Dad entertains me with little movies of myself on his iPhone. I am GREAT to watch in action. The camera loves me.

9.30am: The car has stopped. Where are we? The children's farm? Hooray! I LOVE the children's farm!

9.32am: I don't like the children's farm. A chicken stole my snack and pecked my finger.

9.45am: Why won't the adults shut up about the peacock? Who cares? Haven't they seen my chicken?

10am: Why do the adults keep going on about milking the cow. Who cares? Haven't they seen the cat?

10.15am: That goat got too close.

10.25am: I got this one. Quack! Quack! QUACK!

10.30am: Nan going on and on about geese and guinea pigs. Had to pull her away so she would pay proper attention to the cat.

10.45am: Woah. That's not Peppa Pig.

11.30am: Lunch time. I want banana! Yay banana! Yuck, banana. Will spit it out. I want yoghurt! Yay yoghurt! Nope, will push that away. Can I play with the lid? Think I want banana. Oh there it is in the dirt at my feet, I'll just grab it. WHY CAN'T I HAVE MY BANANA? Apple juice! Yay! Actually think I will just put my hands in the cup instead. Raisin toast yay! Blech. There are raisins in this toast. Has Mummy got a milkshake?

12.30pm: Riding home in the car. Sun filtering through the window. Light breeze in my hair. Got my Peppa Pig toy in my fist. Ahhh, so restful.

12.31pm: WHY! WHY! Why do they keep waking me up? What's with the "not yet"?

12.45pm: We are home, and they want to put me in my cot. NO WAY! I'm not even tired! ARGH I hate this I don't want to sleep let me outta he--- zzzzzzzz.

3.45pm: Aaah, that was refreshing. Think I will call out for Mummy. Hello? That's not Mummy, that's Nan. Mummy? Nan says she is out shopping. Dad? Nan says he is out shopping too. Pa? Apparently he is out shopping too! What is this? Think I will cry. Oh wait, Nan is here. Yay! And my dog. And my cat. Let's play!

4pm: Dad and Mummy and Pa are home and they brought a balloon with them. I LOVE BALLOONS! Let's all kiss and run and laugh.

4.30pm: Have just pushed my toy stroller with my baby doll all the way up to the Travelling Samovar's sunny courtyard for iced tea. Ate all of Mummy's flourless chocolate cake so she ordered another one for herself. Ate that too.

4.34pm: SUGAR HIGH! Excuse me while I run amok for a while.

5pm: Home just in time for Peppa Pig. Must stand transfixed in front of the television.

6.15pm: Just ate two pieces of cheese on toast, a bowl of corn and peas, and some orange. Feeling a bit funny. Not sure how well my dinner is mixing with the two chocolate cakes.

6.45pm: That was a fun bath. Threw the rubber ducks around, splashed Dad with soapy water, stuck funny animal figures onto the wet tiles. Warm and dry now, Dad's about to get me dressed. Can't decide whether to cry about this or not.

6.46pm: Hold that thought. Having trouble holding my cheesy toast, vegetables, orange and two chocolate cakes down.

6.47pm: FWURRRRP.

6.50pm: Dad has me back in the shower. Not feeling great. Not smelling great. Why is he washing my hair? NOOOOOO, no water on my head Dad. You should know that!

7pm: Not happy and still not feeling great, but getting lots of good attention from Mummy and Dad. Think I will get Mummy to read me an extra bedtime story tonight. The one about the green sheep. No Mummy, I definitely don't want my bottle of milk. Just give me a good, long cuddle. Aaah. I love you too.

7.10pm: What? No! I'm not tired! I don't want to go to bed! Just keep cuddling me. Oh no, she's putting me in the cot. NOT THE COT! I don't want to be here. I'm not even tir-- zzzzzzzz.

Update (2 Dec): outtake photos from this diary entry, including rather unflattering ones of massively pregnant Yours Truly, are now on my Facebook page