Loopy Log

Tales from the Loopy Lass

Sunday, May 01, 2005

God I'm knackered!!!

Well I have managed to produce yet another amazing baby. The only problem is there is nothing left of me. Well when I say nothing, I really don't mean nothing, in fact there is about treble of me as there was before pregnancy (chocolate induced I hasten to add). I the person just don't seem to exist any more. My function now is to wake up, produce and dispense milk, eat, produce and dispense milk, do laundry, produce and dispense milk, eat, make food for other family members, produce and dispense milk, work (one of a possible three variations), produce and dispense milk, eat, produce and dispense milk.............oh...sleep, then start all over again.............. On a good day I can fit in a really natty nagging session directed towards the wonderful Tony. I ran away from home the other night. Well I walked out for half an hour actually. Tony does this every night uttering the words 'I'm going for a quick pint' and disappearing before he can hear the answer to what has now become a rhetorical 'is that alright'. I reckoned it was about time I had a wee shot of this going out myself. It was 11.30pm and I walked out the front door and straight into the salubrious hostelry across the road, none other than the world famous Port of Leith bar. I ordered a stiff diet coke (no ice), had a quick rummage through the discarded tabloids of the day and salvaged the Scotsman property magazine. I proceeded to secure a seat at a relatively clean and secluded table. Mary Moriarty the epitome of 'knowing the score’ knows to ask no questions..... This isn’t an approach shared by some others, namely the 'lovely' Sandra, her co-conspirator/worker for the evening. Poor Sandra made the fateful error of venturing into the abyss of giving this simmering post natally dangerous female 'advice'. After commenting on how tired I looked she recommended I get some rest........ 'Now why didn't I think of that??????????? and then suggested I take some time out for myself!!! HELLO!!! I am out in the pub MYSELF!!!! All said and done, I can't really say I get the point of 'going out for a pint’. Personally, it wasn't very long until the lure of smelly nappies and a thoroughly disgruntled husband became an extremely attractive alternative. Here I remain, producing and dispensing milk. Madeleine is thriving, I AM SURVIVING, what more can I ask for now........ is that a light or a train I see at the end of this tunnel?

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Who's panicking

Well well well, how time flies……..NOT!!!!!!

2 weeks 4 days to. Had to go to the physio yesterday. Am practically disabled at the moment. My pubis is killing me which in layman terms means that every time I walk or move it feels like a chicken wishbone being snapped…. Lovely huh? I am now the proud owner of a Suspension belt. It’s basically a HUGE piece of elastic with Velcro designed to strap around your back and support your ‘bump’. My husband Tony modelled it for me first (of course). I suppose it’s a progression from the whipping the knickers off the dryer and slapping them on the head trick – why do blokes think this is funny? Anyway, he reckons it’s the ideal accessory for his beer gut (the suspension belt not the knickers!). Mind you for those of you who read my first blog will probably query if indeed a difference exists between my current knicker collection and the aforementioned belt.

Like all impending parents we are doing the usual stuff. Things like moving the entire kitchen downstairs, turning the existing kitchen into a nursery and moving the office upstairs into what will eventually become a bathroom. Oh yes, we’ve still to get a cot, car seat, clothes, nappies to organise. Tony has 17,000 websites to build by yesterday, I’m still teaching 5 Pilates classes a week, running two youth clubs, am juggling visits to my terminally ill father and housebound mother and oh yes, I have a wedding cake to bake and decorate by next Thursday. What is it they say about this stage in pregnancy…? Keeping your feet up and relaxing. Does the phrase ‘away and sh**te’ mean anything to anybody? Our existing three kids are still the same. You know, the usual, dropping everything at their feet, being ferried about from activity to friends houses/parties etc. Expecting clean laundry and regular meals, all dutifully delivered. I have now managed to reduce the work by at least one task. This has been the putting away of one’s clean laundry. For months I couldn’t figure out why William aged 10 always seemed to be wearing the same thing which did not match up with the amount of clothes of his I was washing but never appeared to be worn. Eventually the penny dropped. Instead of putting his clean laundry away, his solution was to simply stick it straight back into the laundry basket to save the inconvenience of opening drawers etc to put his freshly laundered clothes away. This has now STOPPED!. William can now be seen sporting a wonderful array of fashions on a rotational basis. Now if I could just sort out the rest of those niggling little issues we appear to be having …….

Husband has just reappeared complete with two pizzas. I do love that man. Hot food delivered straight to your gob when you have no kitchen is such a treat. To think of the times he tried to woo me with chocolates and flowers when all he had to do was to simply rip out my kitchen and chuck the odd Pierino Hawaiin in my general direction. He cut my toenails for me the other night too. I think he was fed up with being lacerated by my talon clad feet during the night so reckoned a pruning session was in order. I’ve not seen my feet for months so can genuinely plead ignorance with regards to malice aforethought in this instance.

My husband has now come to bed and is now in deep dialogue with Telewest re our Breadbin connection or something. All I know is that Desperate Houswives has been interrupted which is the only reason he isn't getting incredible grief for speaking to another woman whilst in bed with me. Desperate Houswives is now back on so I am going to log off now.

Mother Ship signing off...........................

Thursday, January 27, 2005

5 weeks and 3 days to go....

Not that I'm counting. An Alien has landed though. He always does that when some significant event looms on our horizon. The last two times this happened has been when Christmas was just around the corner. The first time it was the children's room that got the treatment and was transformed to a semi liveable state enabling our bairns to no longer having to sleep on the sitting room floor and get back into their own beds for the first time in months. The second time was two Christmas’s ago when I invited my parents to come to our house for Christmas dinner. To say that my mother is not a fan of Georgian dereliction is a bit of an understatement. She is famously noted to have asked me on her first visit to our abode as to 'when is Tony going to apply for a council house?’ It was the hallway that got the last treatment. It was great. The Alien duly landed (assisted by our 'live in neighbour' Frank) approximately 1.5 weeks before the parental visitation resulting in the replacement of a gaping hole with a ceiling with lights and a real grown up light switch to make them go on AND off again! How cool is that!!! That was two Christmases ago. Things ground to a halt until this week when the Alien landed again. He's quite a nice chap really. Looks a lot like my husband Tony. If he were sat in front of a computer or in the Port nursing a pint of Guinness it would be impossible to tell them apart...............
The alien is making a cupboard, a bathroom and a bedroom and is transferring a kitchen to the basement. He seems quite happy though. The problem is I've nothing to moan about now - AND I find this Alien really quite sexy (shhhhh..... don't tell the husband.............

Thursday, January 20, 2005


This is my first blog and I feel nervous. My husband is great at this and has inspired me to spew my drivel into this electronic abyss - why? For the same reason as Sir Edmund Hilary gave when asked what his motivation for conquering Everest was - "because it was there". I cannot take credit for conquering the setting up a blog. As I just mentioned, my husband is great at this meaning that he has hit all the right buttons (well I am nearly 8 months pregnant!). Being able to read this will demonstrate that I can now manoeuvre my gerbil thingy and batter the buttons on this typewriter to some decipherable affect. The genius is now tapping away doing his 'thang', and I'm now on my own. Last time I felt like this was when I was doing my English Higher. In those days............ way back in the Jurassic era I think it was, you were given a choice between writing a Descriptive, Narrative or Fiction essay. I chose to write what I know about as I'm rubbish at making things up. The topic I selected was 'write about the first time you felt grown up'!!! It seemed like the most inoffensive option until my truth revealed it was a knicker related story. Bloody typical really. The reality of that for me was the first time I was allowed to go and choose and buy my first pair of knickers on my own. The srict navy blue/can double up as gym shorts standard issue was stricly off the shopping list at last!!!! Oh what liberation. I still cringe at that snaggy navy stretch nylon that always used to set my teeth on edge. At last, for the first time, I opted for a rather dinky pair of white pants with a hideous plastic transfer of Snoopy which promptly dissolved after a rigourous machine wash favoured by my detergent happy mum. Despite their flawed and pathetic appearance, for me they were my prize knickers reserved for the highlights in my life like the local village church disco or my dad's work annual outing to the pantomime.

Anyway, getting back to 2005, here I am, now aged 40, a liberated knicker purchaser with some other bits and bobs going on as well. I now favour big pants. We are not talking Brigitte Jones 'oh gosh, Renee's gone from a size - 8 to a whopping 14 just for this film' size pants. No, these are really big pants here. We are talking pants with such diaphramous capabilites that skydivers would quite happily have them as a reserve parachutes should the occassion arise. I still have some sexy size 12 things/thongs, but pregnancy simply makes a mockery of such items. They invite pregnancy in, then pregnancy boots them out. Quite bizarre really.

This is my second baby. My first baby is now seven. She is called Alice. She is my pal. She has wisdom far beyond her years and has decided to surpass the knicker dilemma by making it clear from the offset as to what style and colour of knicker she is prepared to wear. Good on her!!!! We had a great girly day today despite my continual skint status. My bright idea for the day was to go girly window shopping. It would appear that neither Alice nor myself have quite grasped the concept of this window shopping thing. Purchasing a REALLY REALLY REALLY funky black fur edged velvet afghan style coat that was less than half price and looked amazing on her defeats the purpose of window shopping apprantly??? The defence would state that "It would simply have been illegal for her not to have it my Lord". Is there such a thing as a 'shopaholic by proxy'? It was all her fault anyway. Whilst whizzing through the rails in Debenhams girls dept. she selected a range of fashions with such deftness, even Trinny and Susannah would have approved. 'Can I try these on mummy?' she asked with those gorgeous big green eyes. My stomach churned. She is not one of these precocious kids who demands this and that, the problem was ME! I just knew that she was going to look great and having to put it all back was going to be really painful. Alice chatters incessently at which point she announce that the particular outfit she was trying on would be 'absolutely perfect' for her 'staff night out'!!!................ She's seven!!!!!!!!!!! LET's GET THIS ONE CLEARED UP SHALL WE????? It would appeaer that her daddy, (when not busy conquering Cyberspace) had taken her a regular 'social' haunt of ours with whom we have befriended ourselves. Alice has a knack of 'getting involved' shall we say. This has included collecting glasses, wiping menus and basically chatting away with the skill of a seasoned hostess to anyone who looks remotely interesting enough to talk to. The main man (Billy) had mentioned the other night that he wanted to treat his staff to a night out to say thank you for their hard work and commitment over the last year -'and that means you too Alice'!!!! I have now to get my daughter ready for her first staff night out at the end of January. I wonder what she'll write if ever asked to write an essay on the first time she 'ever felt grown up'? ........................................

See ya!!!!