Tag Archives: lekki and Wes

A GIF of our own

It’s been way too long since I posted. All is well, I am just enjoying my new MRSA-free status and have not yet figured out a time to blog which fits arund Sam’s new schedule and my Candy Crush obsession (what? Hey, at least I am honest). Sam is barely the same child as in my last post given that he now talks and (almost) walks, we have a new addition to the family (4 legs not 2) and I have several gripes  helpful musings to share about academia.

I will write about them soon, but in the meantime, this was too ridiculous not to share – Wes and I have our own .gif courtesy of our wonderful church Ecclesia (also another post in the making). We thought it would be a still photo, so we didn’t manage to do something awesome (aside: when did I become the old person who didn’t understand the technology?). C

lick on the image to make it move.


Now… all we need is a suitable caption, worthy of Jezebel’s gif genius. Note, those gifs also deride Fox News and Religious conservatism, so that link serves many, many wonderful purposes.

The Sex Post

Silent. I have been silent for a while. Working, playing, sleeping, dreaming.

Not blogging, but silent.

And through this time I have received two questions regularly:

(1) When are you going to write about body after baby?

(2) When you are you to write about…. er… marriage *wink wink* after baby?

I thought about it.  Really I did. Long and er… hard. And really, that latter two is probably the easier to address. Really. So here we go.

It’s Mother’s Day. It’s a special occasion. You remember those from your dating days, right?




And, in the tradition of the dating days, in preparation for such, I don my french knickers and camisole set the night before


Not me… but let’s pretend, OK?

And, I drift into a beautifully sexy, sensual sleep. 

I awake, about 2 hours before I am ready, and glare at Wes. “I can hear the baby” he says. Fair enough. Blurry and grumpy, my day turns around when Sam’s big (newly)-toothy grin greets me. He provides the ray of sunshine the blackout curtains (installed when he was 3 weeks old) deny.

I love it. I love him. I roll with him, and we giggle and kiss and cuddle and play, and he fusses and I scowl and Wes says “Shall I get him breakfast?” and I nod and down they trot.

2 hours later I wake up, alone and luxurious, in my sexy silk Pajamas. Like a cat, I languidly stretch, having appreciated the gift of time and then I loll, lazily, out of bed.

I am up late and it is a little cold. I retain those sexy silk coverings, but I do throw over my grey Target dressing gown over the top of them, and I descend the stairs.


I am greeted with a beautiful family picture: my husband enjoying the news on TV, watching over my perfect baby, who is contentedly lolling in his playpen (my baby… not my husband). I curl up on the sofa and raise one sultry eyebrow:

“I am wearing my sexy Pajamas”.

My husband’s face lights up, he smiles and … he hesitates… “I was about to get breakfast”.

Obviously. I was under no illusion and I concur “Of course! Sam is awake”.

Wesley smiles, and with a wicked grin says: “But he naps…” and he dutifully dashes off to McDonalds.

Indeed he does… nap that is….

But by nap time I am clad in a hair-dye-stained charity T-shirt and pair of torn denim hotpants (sexy at 19, utilitarian at 31), my hair scragged into a top-not, my arms deep in potting soil. My husband is in his old army T-shirt, fingers deep in.. wait for it… a model train from 1951.

He’d like a pre-war one.

We don’t notice the opportunity.

4 pm races around, faster than the now setting sun, and bringing with it long shadows and cooler soil. I jump in the bath with my son (always my son now… we waited so long for marriage, and fulfilled out Christian edict, waiting for the promise of endless of sexuality; but finding the reality of motherhood and a pantechnicon of plastic penguins and waterproof squeaking books).

But it’s OK. I am clean and my SECOND (I only have 2) pair of sexy pajamas are donned.

I come downstairs and Wes grabs us both, clasps us in a hug, and tells Sam how much he loves him. Tells Sam how much I went through to have him. Thinks (but does not say) that finally, finally, he would go through it again, he would lose me, to have his little boy. He doesn’t say it, he only thinks it. But I kown he thinks it. But it is OK, because I thought it 6 months ago.

Instead, Wes says:

“I am so grateful to your Mom. She loves you so much, and she is such a good Mom and such a loving wife. She is so good to us”. As the sunset casts a red glow on his tears he blames the onions diced for my special Mother’s Day meal.

Giggling, my husband and I each crack open a beer, and toast the day, while giving Sam his steamed sweet potato. I go upstairs, feed Sam, place him in his crib. The beautiful, still rose, evening is broken by Sam’s screams of anger… but restored within 3 minutes.

The sleep training was worth it.

And now. Now it is our time. Adult time. My (second) sexy pajamas are still on, I am laid out on the sofa and before me is a nice bottle of red, and a black ‘n’ blue salad Wes has gone to lengths to perfect. We enjoy our shared meal, and our shared gratitude at our manifold blessings to an episode of ‘House of Cards’. 

Spacey is brilliant. His depiction of complex, faltering relationships faultless. We discuss our admiration over a beer and a wine. The episode ends and we put on ‘Britain’s Got Talent’. We crack open another beer, and pour another glass. We cackle into the episode; I reveal  my as-yet-undiscovered operatic ability (clearly better than the girl who is through because she was fat and dowdy but had a reasonable voice) and Wes pooh-pooh’s the dancers as he moonwalks to the bathroom.

I snuggle under my blanket in my (second) sexiest pajamas. We trade dirty jokes.

The episode ends. Neither of us are quite sure why we feel so drunk. I think about it. Ahhh… our first big celebration since pregnancy… and birth… and breastfeeding… and wobbly tummies and saggy boobs and stretch marks and sympathy lbs and under-eye bags and exhaustion and responsibility and a love neither of us expected.

And a sharing of everything that we just didn’t plan.

So light headed. So happy. So fulfilled. Our eyes meet across the room. The strap of my (second) sexiest pajamas falls down my shoulders. We grin.

“Final feed for Sam in 20 minutes?”.


And so we go our own ways…. 20 minutes is enough for a blog post, a book review,  some hobby research… but not much else.

20 minutes is up. We go upstairs. One of us gains a precious few extra minutes of sleep. More than that, a few minutes sprawled on the bed with TIME AND SPACE TO YOURSELF. The sheets are crisp, the silence unbroken. The space and time all your own.

The other gains a few beautiful minutes with Him. His trusting face drinking from you in the night, softened by the moonlight through the window. A rare glimpse of Him, all yours, all silent. The life you love so much so very still for just a few moments. Even when He is replete, and asleep, you stare at Him a while longer and marvel.

Of course, while you are marveling and staring, your spouse has snatched those extra few moments for sleep. And when you break away and come to the bedroom and you curl up next to their exhausted body and snuggle in, you appreciate their recovery and envy their recovery.

Together, as one, you slip into oblivion.

And so you sleep. Your celebratory day ends in a celebration of all you have created and all you have cared for, and all you have made. You are replete, full of love and happiness. You are exhausted. You sleep. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

You sleep and you wake in your (second) sexiest pajamas to a new day. Happy and blessed and expectant and satisfied and just so damn f*cking happy. And you rush for work.

Your pajamas signal hope and promise and you don’t care that that is all they offer. You’ll wait.

That, to me, is sex after baby.

Or am I the only one?




Perfect Last Day

So, there are up sides and downsides to being induced. As of now (pre-labor) I would definitely always choose no induction. But we didn’t get that choice. The positives? A definite date – meaning you can schedule your life around it, eat properly, store up some sleep. Of course, you also get a slightly surreal day where you know it is your last ‘real’ day pregnant / as a non parent. Here is how I spent mine:
I woke up quite early, and the induction was obviously at the back of mind as Wesley told me I had been a foul little beast to sleep next to (think sleeping diagonally across the bed, slowly taking over inch by inch, and throwing no less than 3 elbow jabs to his mouth. Tip: Don’t watch ‘The Ultimate Fighter’ before bed.). I had planned to get up early and do some work, but the work I was supposed to do had not been sent to me (the girl forgot) and I kinda wasn’t motivated to do much else except pick at the tasks that *had* to be done that day.

I lolled around, I emailed some friends, and then I bathed, washed my hair, styled it and put on my favorite maternity dress to go out to lunch (I am sure I will need it in the coming months, but this was my last chance to wear it with a HUGE bump).

39.5 week bump

39 weeks 4 days

We hit up my favorite food spot: Guru (subtitle: Burgers + Crepes). We both scoffed a huge 6 oz burger and fries (MY excuse was ‘energy for labor’… not sure what Wes’ was 😉 ) and then we wandered the mall.

Really, I just wanted to be up and about and not at home stressing. We didn’t have much to buy. Wes then played ‘most awesome and considerate husband ever’ by suggesting that we go to ‘Build a Bear Workshop’ and each make Firework a special teddy bear. It was super romantic, a little emotional, and I was a little choked up that Wes was acting so excited and pleased.

The woman at Build A Bear told us she was induced with both her kids, had no epidural and it was a painful, but super quick and easy birth. I told Wes that all women should say this when told someone else is being induced, whether it was true or not.

Then, Wes decided to play ‘not so awesome husband’. Just for larks. At some point in our (very random) conversation the phrase ‘flames came out of her vagina’ occurred. I don’t know how, but it did. Which led to:

Lekki: No! That once happened! Seriously, a woman failed to sue her OB, but did sue a medical company because during a C-section…
Wes: She caught fire? Common.
Lekki: *thinks ahead to what she is doing later today* I don’t think it happens that…
Wes: Common. Alcohol used to clean the woman catches light. Common.
Lekki: *blinks*
Wes: As emphatically as possible: “Common”.

Of course then there was a moment of realization at what he had just said… and its exact timing. We looked at each other in wide-eyed horror, then began to giggle uncontrollably. Wes said “Er… maybe I should define common”. But we just giggled out way to Barnes and Noble.

Time to pick up some magazines, and go and get some pizzas for when we come out of hospital. Of course we bought a few baby things 🙂 (Nothing exciting: talcum powder and a thermometer). On the way home I started getting antsy and nervous and a bit quiet, but… sweet distraction! A box on the doorstep


It was….

A baby shower in a box from my friends in AL 🙂 Greatest thing ever! I unpacked it, and cheered up IMMEDIATELY. The timing could not be better. Inside were loads of gifts, loads of hand me downs / ‘we used this and it saved our sanity’ type pieces, aaaaaaaaaaaand (since I had already been lucky enough to have a diaper cake), a diaper wreath made by my friend Kelly. I went upstairs to put our bears up in Firework’s nursery:

Build a Bear Workshop Bears

Colonel Karl and Albeart

Take a picture of the incredible diaper wreath (which I will share soon) and sit down to do some work emails… give the dogs their ‘you’re getting a new brother’ bones:

Italian Greyhound with a bone

Walter is ridiculously pleased

when the hospital called…

To be continued 😉

37 weeks & mixed emotions

37 week bump

37 weeks

37 weeks! Full term 🙂 You think I’d be leaping up and down but for the first time… things have seemed a little hard.

Let’s focus on the positive: I still feel, physically, great. I sleep very well, can still focus at work, have no back discomfort (thank you chiropractor), no heartburn, and still actually forget I am pregnant, periodically. Seriously, TMI moment, but when I go to the bathroom, I sometimes expect my belly to have gone down when I leave… I just don’t feel much ‘different’. I don’t feel ‘pregnant’ as I expected to. I just feel great.

Mentally, this week has been a little harder. I love being pregnant, I love the energy, I love how I look, I love how I feel. I love how things are between Wes & I: we have this neatly settled life that runs so smoothly. We’re both happy and healthy and liking Houston, it makes us gentler on each other and ourselves. We’re getting to know each other better than before, and acting as a real partnership. Not two people doing their own thing towards a shared goal, but actively building something together. We have a routine that works so well (well, it does for me, but I am not the one doing all the housework 😉 ). And generally: life is good. It makes my heart sing.

I think that it is then only natural that in a way, I don’t want to upset all this. Let’s face it: when you love your pregnant body, a post partum body is not exactly something to look forward to. Clearly our life is going to become vastly different and I worry about what it will be like. I worry that Wes isn’t looking forward to being a 3-person family, that he isn’t looking forward to that in and of itself. I do also worry about not loving my kid… or not loving being a mother. I start think ‘holy moly, what have I (we) done?’. This intruder is going to be in our house and in our lives and basically all the pieces are going to be knocked down and who knows where they will land, and how we will pick them up, and what we will rebuild with them? I guess I am scared of what I have to lose, without knowing exactly what I will gain. It gives me a lot of respect for people who keep unplanned children, because at the end of the day, I keep telling myself ‘well, this is what you wanted, Lekki, one time you wanted this so desperately…’.

37 week bump

Love my bump – can’t believe it will be gone in 2.5 weeks!

I think this is partly motivated by the post grant-submission slump. I have written about the grant process before, and shared that while one would hope that when it finally goes in, when all those 2 am nights pay off (or 8 pm + some weekends if you are pregnant) one would hope you throw all your redundant drafts in the air, whoop with joy and run screaming to the pub. In reality you are far too tired, and far too behind on the rest of your work (and if you are like me, far too panicked about actually hitting ‘send’ when you *know* there are more typos). So, I don’t think I have ever felt good after submitting a grant… rather I have felt drained and panicked. And worried about having not been productive enough while I was writing it. And usually quite despondent at my chances of getting funded. Bleurgh. It’s just stressful and I get easily over wrought at the end.

The other stresses hit (e.g. finances… changing over our bank accounts to a local Texas bank has been so difficult! My paypal account got disconnected, which meant we couldn’t get money to the UK… which lead to a whole new load of stress because people treat you like you are a 47%er [sorry Romney fans, couldn’t resist 😉 ] ducking out of your responsibilities, not just someone doing their damned best in a difficult situation). And ugh. I think this is why I slept from 11.30pm on Saturday night – 9 am on Sunday. Then 10.30 am – 12.30 on Sunday. Then 12.45 – 3 on Sunday. Heh heh heh. And trust me it was an effort not to have another little nap at 5.

Welcome to my pity party y’all.

But. But. I am glad I have my faith, because I do try to trust that it will all be OK in the end. I do look back at my life, and see how I have got out of bad spots before and continued to love life, and love where I have ended up. I tell myself all the usual platitudes about how mothers do love their children, and they do adapt, and most choose to do it all again, and really, I do believe that having children can be the most wonderful thing (if it is what you want). And, I tell myself that those evil hormones are playing tricks on me. I spend my prayers in a different way at the moment: Instead of worrying and asking God for help and praying for forgiveness, I am focusing on Thanking God and basking in His love, and sending Him my gratitude and my love – it’s certainly a bit more positive 🙂

I do also recognize the fantastic support network I have – friends, Wes (who is consistently amazing at doing everything to make everything outside of work and pregnancy minimally stressful) and family. Just today a friend Skyped me and gave me words of encouragement about the inspirational power I have that brightened my day. From there: it is an upward spiral. Once I see people believing in me, I start to believe in myself, and my body, and my mind, and my work. It’s all good.

So, I don’t want people to think that I am miserable, or rocking in a corner crying to myself. I just wanted to acknowledge that sometimes things are hard, and not always as straightforward as one would hope, and write about it honestly. But also write that things are pretty darn good too.

And, when things all get a bit shaky, I can look at the latest pictures of those gorgeous chubby cheeks and remind myself just how excited and lucky that I am:

37 week 4D scan

He looks like he is smiling

Best Baby Shower Ever

Baby shower

So, I fully expected not to have a baby shower and chalked it up to the decision to move while 4 months pregnant. I don’t really know too many people here and it just didn’t seem possible. Wes was having none of that – he said that I had to have a baby shower, and he would organize it himself if so required. And he did. He emailed some of my friends at work, and asked if they could book a room and suchlike, and he would set up a baby shower. Then the girls took over 😉

Apparently, Wes was never called on again, and they did EVERYTHING. Camille promised me a ‘real American baby shower’ and that is just what I got. The whole foyer of the 4th floor was decorated, and there was a tonne of delicious food:

Alanna’s cake pops were so good.

Camille even made a special punch:

Ginger, white grape and raspberry punch

There was a diaper cake:

Diaper cake

Coolest idea ever

And a special real cake:

Baby Shower cake

‘Special’ because it was half vanilla:

And half chocolate (both sides equally delicious by the way):

Me giggling at seeing the chocolate side

We sat around chatting, eating and drinking and it was nice to get a chance to mingle with people. Next, we played games (including an A-Z baby alphabet and word scramble of baby words) and then it was gift time:

Opening presents

I got so many presents, it was ridiculous. I felt utterly spoiled and learned an important lesson: there is no such thing as a bad baby-gift! When buying shower gifts for others in the past, I have always been nervous: should I go useful or cute? On list or off list? What if they don’t like what I choose? I can say, without a doubt, I loved absolutely everything I got. If it was on the list, it was needed and so a huge relief to get it. If it was off the list, it was a surprise and I adored it. If it was off-list it was often also something super useful I had forgotten that I would need, like baby bath products and BOOKS (how could I forget books??). And photo frames: I so need some of those, but would never have thought to ask.

I also take back my comment that UK baby clothes are way cuter than US ones: by venturing outside Ross’ Dress For Less (something I REALLY wish that I had done now) people got the most awesome items:

A cowboy outfit

Wait for the back…

Heh heh heh

Raccoon feet – came with a matching blanket, which I will bring FW home in 🙂

And I got a present from the Human Genetics Center:

Clothes, baby wash, wipes and bath squirters

I am kind of glad had a late baby shower as well. Superficially, I love being so big in all my photos: the bump is huge! More importantly: it really perked me up in the final few weeks which are difficult for me emotionally in some ways (battling impatience and yes sadness at not being pregnant soon, and fighting my induction / C-section fears). The ‘unknown’ is truly about to be on Wes & I and both of us are nervous. I am torn between wanting to start the ‘new phase’ (definitely Wes’ stance at the moment) and loving being pregnant, hating change, and just wanting to stay like this. All this talk of induction has made it harder because now I am not even looking forward to labor / birth… something I am working on.

So, this cheered me up immensely, and got me focusing on positive things. It was one of the happiest days of my life. I spent the whole time with a HUGE cheesy grin. I am touched how much effort Wes would go to (contacting strangers) and I couldn’t believe how much fun it was, and how much effort everyone had gone to, and with such grace! I don’t think I can ever repay them, but it is a day I will treasure forever.

Lekki Frazier-Wood

Ridiculous and cheesy grin I wore the whole party, and the whole way home

Two weekends of hometown touristin’ (pic spam time)

Sunrise over Houston

After really enjoying looking a little around my new hometown of Houston a few weeks back, I gave it another go for two weekends… but for different reasons.

Reunited… if only for a weekend

2 weeks ago my bestie Clio came all the way to Houston to see the bump (and me, I hope). We spent a lot of time discussing the serious issue of what R-Patz was going to do now, and whether K-Stew had done it for publicity and what the heck was going to go down with TomKat (you know, the important stuff). We also shopped until we dropped (hello Nars Orgasm, OPI blue me away and some cunning black tie-up wedges), visited the Cheesecake Factory and watched an appalling amount of trash: basically, did everything I have been missing since moving here and getting me back on track to feeling human.

However, I did feel that Clio should not be held captive and forced to give me the social interaction I have been craving. So we took a quick jaunt down to our local seaside town of Galveston and its ‘pleasure pier’. It was fun, although honestly? British peeps should think an over priced Brighton without all the yummy food stops or the impressive shopping lanes… yeah, a little limiting. As if to prove my point, the weather was also terrible British-esque, which led to a disastrous hat decision by me. Anyway, looking quite a lot like our honeymoon Brighton photos (but with the tremendous addition of young Clio) this is our Galveston pic-spam:

Clio declined joining in on one of these pics… wonder why?

I don’t know WHY I put this hat on

It was fun… and when we got home poor Walter got to be ridiculous and have a much hated bath:

Very unflattering whale-like photo of me… but Walter looks cute

All over now with a consolatory cuddle

This weekend, hmmm… well I don’t know if I was scammed. I signed up to a cake pop class on Groupon. The company *looks* legit on their website… and when I emailed them, they were responsive and booked me in for this weekend. Now, weirdly, the website does not have an address, but the Groupon coupon did. So along I went this Saturday morning. The address listed: 907 Franklin Street was an abandoned (and locked) office. But at 909 (an apartment complex) the concierge told me that Tastee Tees was 2 doors down – 917, next to a restaurant. Indeed, 917 was next to a restaurant. But, it was locked and I could only see a hallway with lots of doors coming off. So I called Tastee Tees… no answer (but I did get a professional sounding answer phone). I didn’t find this that odd, as I didn’t expect them to be answering if the business does not open on a Saturday, but they were teaching a class. Left a message… nothing… left another… nothing. Rang incessantly (thinking that if I uninterrupted the class enough they might answer). Eventually a woman answered with just as single “Hello”. “Hi,” I said, “Is this Tia [the owner of Tastee Tees]?”. “Yes”. “Hi, I am trying to find my way to your cake pop class and was wondering if you could tell me where it was, please?” *cue lots background noise…* “Hello… hello? Hello?”. Nothing. No call back. And they didn’t answer when I, and subsequently Wes, phoned back several times.

So… really weird. I was seriously excited to go cake pop making (I actually woke up on Friday with the words “Do you know what tomorrow is? Cake Pop Day!!”), so was seriously disappointed, and I will be seriously ticked off if I was scammed. What do you think? Is it a scam? Is that plausible? I’ll keep you updated. In the meantime, not to have the whole day ruined, I explored the ‘Historic’ ‘Theater’ and ‘Skyline’ districts of downtown Houston. It was awesome: very different to the rest of Houston (and much more Southern looking). Beautiful parks, and quite a bit going on:

When I got back, this time, Robert was being ridiculous:

Anything Etsy can do…

My blog writing partner tonight.


What a weekend. I got up Saturday, excited about the start of our Bradley classes. Bradley is a 12-week birthing course, designed to prepare the couple as a whole for a natural childbirth. 12 weeks seems a long time (one 2 hour class per week), but Bradley’s rationale is that the woman is preparing for a intense endurance exercise which you should try to enter at peak performance, which takes time – a lot of 5K programs are designed to be conducted over 12 weeks; and heck, running 5K (which I first did with no prep) is quicker and easier than giving birth. So, Bradley is designed to teach you optimal nutrition, exercises for fitness, and also proper relaxation. It is also partner / couple-  centric. The idea being that the ‘other half’ supports the labouring woman with full understanding through helping with positions, breathing and massage. When she transitions and wants to give up, it is him that stops her giving in too early. Maybe it is too much… all this ‘preparation’ – after all, didn’t women just give birth without preparation since forever, and don’t women still do it all the time now? Sure, but Wes and figured a few things:

(1) Babies are bigger, our fitness is not as optimal, and our endurance is probably lower than ‘since forever’

(2) Sure, women do it all the time without preparation; but intervention rates are soaring, and many people do not report a happy experience (many do). Why not prepare to make it as good / positive of an experience as possible?

(3) This is a good way for Wes to be involved: reading blogs and talking to girlfriends about birth over coffee is not exactly his style… coming along and learning how to be useful is

(4) The social / emotional aspects are appealing. We are both looking forward to learning massage and relaxation together, and to meeting some people here in Houston (more on that later).

Plus, it is only $250 for 12 weeks… pretty impressive. The only annoying thing, was that I was preparing for a 2.30 class… kind of annoying time. It basically makes it hard to do anything in the morning or afternoon: midday would have suited me better. But, hey ho, I decided to do a manicure in preparation:

RCM Envelope Please

For my birthday, my Mum got me a whole gel polish kit. Gel nail polish is awesome: you apply a basecoat, 2 coats of polish and a top coat, allowing each one to ‘cure’ (read: dry completely) for 45 secs under an LED light. The polish is extremely chip resistant, and your nails tend to be fairly protected against flaking and breaking.

After the final coat was on, I looked up the address for the Bradley class, and found that it was at 12.30 after all. Score one for having a better time, lose one for having missed the class. I was mortified. I texted our class leader to apologise and she was ever so sweet, saying we could come on Monday evening to learn the exercises for the week. Phew.

Not sure what I did after that: tidy up, unpack from NYC, sort and clean out the bathroom. Then I felt at a loose end… which is odd as I have plenty of hobbies I can do at any time: reading, working, gardening, exploring Houston, piano playing, movie watching… but none appealed. Going and getting some craft stuff to start to make things for Firework’s nursery appealed, but didn’t ‘click’ I just felt lonely. I realised: I miss female company. Mostly, I miss hiking with Stella or David, going and playing with Sasha, Liam and Rachel (who will do anything with me), cinema trips and chats with Kat and my bookgroup 😦 It’s fine; we have only been in Houston 6 weeks, and building up those sorts of friendships takes time. But… I do miss it. So, Wes came with me to Hobby Lobby and patiently waited an hour (OK, patiently waited 40 mins, then was a pest for 20 😉 ) while I got some craft stuff. Dinner out, and then home to organize all my craft stuff. Everything put in neat draws and filed away before bed.

For the crafting

Meanwhile… Wes was back in the attic trying to locate the source of water dripping through our ceiling. Joy.


Sunday was… dramatic. We left for church in separate cars so that I could go to IKEA after and Wes could go to Home Depot so he could solve the dripping water, which by now was staining our ceiling, causing little holes in it, and threatening to ruin our new laminate floor. More joy.

Wes left 5 mins before me, and then I got stuck at a train crossing for ages. So. I was surprised when Wes was not at church. Very surprised. I called him – no answer. I couldn’t fathom why he had not called if there was a problem… or why he was not answering now. Unless she had been in a horrible accident. So bad, he could not even call to tell me. Cue slow tears descending into complete hysterics as a further 4 minutes passed. Then Wes turned up… no explanation. He forgot to charge his phone and had made his way there. Must have gone a different route. It took me a full 15 minutes to calm down… I do blame hormones.

So, off I went to IKEA. I hate IKEA. The whole thing is stressful. I hate most things in there. I 1/2 believe that Satan sends his minions for training there on a Sunday. BUT, my beloved Clio is coming out, and staying in Firework’s currently empty, save a beautiful changing table, room (also currently called ‘Clio’s room’). She must at least have bed linen and blinds. Blinds are hella expensive (if you want them to look decent), except at IKEA. So, in the interests of Clio sleeping, in something other than bright morning light, I braved IKEA.

It all went quite swimmingly, with me hankering after this for FW’s room:

For the nursing

until I got to the actual blinds. The walls are going to be a fairly dark grey. I could not picture wooden blinds against that. I just couldn’t. I had been all set on them, now I couldn’t see it. I called Wes. 45 minutes I spent discussing / researching blinds and alternately thinking I might like white drapes against the grey. Wes said everything right; from offering opinion, to saying ‘if you like something, get it and I will love it – really, this is your room’. But, I was overwhelmed. Possibly precipitated by the fact I had just fallen down the stairs (shoe broke as I was descending) and in an attempt to protect the bump had bruised my ass (isn’t there enough cushioning there now??) and smashed my teeth into the railing, I just dissolved into more tears draped over a stack of blinds. Not a few – but streaming, snot inducing, dress staining tears. The sight was quite pathetic: pregnant woman in floaty floral peasant-style dress, with broken flip flops weeping into the textiles at IKEA. I grabbed dark grey roller blinds, white drapes, fixing and high tailed it out of there.

To decide on the way home that maybe white blinds would be best.

Which made me cry.

I made it home. Just. My broken and emotional state was faced with the news that the plumbing is up the spout, can’t be fixed until we can get someone in, we can’t get someone in until we speak to the people who deal with our home warranty and so no air conditioning for us. Let me repeat: no air conditioning. It is some 90-100 degrees during the day and 80-100% humidity. NO. AIR. CONDITIONING.

Yes, this is a story of first world problems… but… still.

Wes took me out to buy me a craft table from Walmart ($35 steal) and insisted I bough a ‘chocolate turtle cake’ and bottle of wine. He is a wise man. I went up and crafted myself into calmness (see? I need Bradley. I need to learn how to relax). I am quite pleased with what I made for FW’s room (not Clio’s room, she shall be spared the infantile decor):

To be bookends?

I will make several of these into a tableau

and came down somewhat better. If not. Hear my no air con plea? Yeah. Hot. Comfort food of pizza, and turtle cake and wine later, and I was ready to tackle my plants, which had survived my NYC trip with varying success. They had dried out somewhat, and needed restaking – sadly, some of the stems had snapped under the weight of the leaves 😦 Hoping that they can regrow?

Quite a forest here – hoping they will be ready to acclimatise soon, and be put outside for increasing periods of the day.

So, as above, my seeds grown in a mixture of potting soil and perlite were doing very well. My seeds grown in peat pots, not so much:


But, whatever the outcome, gardening further calmed me. I am now sitting downstairs (it is slightly cooler) on a made up bed, with the dregs of my wine, preparing to read this:

Walter is sitting with me. He got into my chocolate Philadelphia and ate a pot of it, and would have been told off, had he not been looking so ridiculous:

My pot

So proud was he of his steal, that he carried the empty pot EVERYWHERE with him, even into bed with me.

Oh, some good news though. 2 crafting episodes, 1 IKEA trip, 1 gardening trip and 2 sorting binges and check out my manicure:

LOVE gel nail polish 🙂