The wonderful (if confusing) world of baby blankets

Would it be cruel to wrap a boy in red hearts? I'm trying to find interesting baby blankets (as well as the white cellular ones), that are unisex. This whole unisex thing is really quite tricky. I didn't realise that baby stuff was so regimentally delineated between pink and blue. Seriously, it's almost impossible to find cute stuff that works for both. Obviously, once I know the sex of this little, kicking bundle of Pullen-ness, it'll make life easier, but actually, when I think about it rationally, I'm not sure I like baby blue/soft pink that much anyway! And so the problem will continue.
I find a new area of retail opportunities to think (obsess) about each week. Currently, my mind is on blankets. Don't ask me why, it's just fallen there and won't budge until I buy some, or at least make a decision about whether it would be cruel on a little boy to wrap him in hearts. I don't think so. Babies are cute, they're small, they can take a bit of kitsch, but darling husband isn't so sure. Slight problem. I now love this blanket (I'm imagining it either thrown over the back of the nursing chair, ready for cold night-feeds, or on the buggy). Mmm, perhaps I'll just have to take control and go for it.
In terms of clothes for the little one, I've decided to go all white at the beginning. It's easier, plus I have that cute little elephant baby grow in case I get bored. I was thinking of buying a little hat for a girl, and one for a boy (Gap, £3.50 with discount), for it's first day. And then I realised I'd fallen hook, line and sinker for that old pastelled cliche. Mmm, the trials and tribulations of a Mum-to-be.

So I found myself outside a Marks and Spencer...

... with about 15 minutes to spare, and thought, 'Yipee, the end of my bra dilemma, off I go to find a new bra and some proper comfort in my life.' Twelve minutes later I walked out empty handed. The selection seemed nice enough. There were lacy ones (above), for the Seducer Mum, plain ones, for Little Miss Practical, there was even a leopard print jersey nursring bra, for, well, Me, in theory. I liked the soft finish and cute design. What I did not like was the totally rubbish fit. I tried every size available, well not the ones with an H cup, but pretty much all the rest, and not one of them was right. Some were still too tight in the back, others felt sloppy around the cups, it was a total disaster and I wasn't going to part with £25 just for the sake of having a bra that clips down at the front. I am going to John Lewis. Enough is enough of this JL denial. Plus, it's Never Knowingly Undersold, or something like that. And one of the other Bumpettes works there, so I feel obliged, you know.
Tonight I have pregnancy yoga again. For the first time in my life, well, since ballet classes at St Mary's Hall in Finchley, I look forward to my weekly exercise class. I love the hippy dippy teacher and her funny ways. Even her persistence about breast feeding now washes over me. Plus, I get to hear about the babies that have been born in the past week, which is always a nice start to an evening.
In other news, mmm, there is no other news, apart from me making the nightly bath a regular slot in my calender. Ooo, that warm, bubbly water, it's a world away from work in Wapping.

Bonus post

Just re-found this. It's from fashion week, when Topshop very kindly laid on a golf buggy for me (well, not just for me, but I like to think they had the Pullen Bear in mind when they came up with this ingenious idea).
Anyway, I look enormous, but it's pretty amusing, so I'll share it with you, my most favourite blog readers ever.
Over and out.

The profile diaries: entry number 1

I thought it would be a fun project to document the last weeks of pregnancy with a side-on profile-a-thon, so here is my first photograph. Sorry about the mildly unsanitary background. These are our new office toilets, and while not the most glamourous place, at least they have a large mirror and are relatively private.
Today I am wearing one of only three dresses that are now acceptable in terms of coverage and decency. This one is old, from Whistles. It's comfortable, and although it requires a short black slip beneath, does the job nicely.
Moving on from the dress, I had a long, hot bath last night (blissful) and while I was drying myself and DH was pottering around in the bathroom, we both had a moment of hysteria as we looked at the bump and admired its enormity. It was pretty funny to think that only a few months ago I was a girl with a flat stomach and bee-sting breasts. Actually, I was looking at some old photographs recently and there were a few bikini shots dotted through the folders. I can't imagine being without a bump at the moment, so it was pretty amusing to see my former self. One day, she'll be back (all fingers and toes crossed).
As I grow, the bear remains happy and active. I had a good doctor's appointment yesterday and heard the heartbeat and got a clean bill of health. Both are a relief, although the amount this baby moves I don't tend to worry about it's heartbeat. This morning, it was so active that I became a little bit freaked. There were bangs and kicks and continual whollops in the ribs, despite all the books saying that the baby has less space now and probably won't move that much. Mmm, these books haven't met the Pullen bear and all it's amazing activity.

Crossing off the weeks

Today the Pullen Bear and I are 31 weeks. According to my weekly Baby Centre email, this means that I will be going to the toilet to pee more often (squashed bladder) and the little one is gaining weight, brain power and now using its bone marrow, instead of the liver to produce new red blood cells. It's all very impressive by the little one. As it gets stronger I seem to weaken, but I suppose that is the shape of things to come!
Actually, I'm not feeling as bad as last week. I think the low iron levels really got me and left my body tired and susceptible to other aches and pains. Today I have vowed to not let things get me down. Let's be honest here, yes the bump is getting bigger, but I'm a healthy old girl. I can handle a few extra pounds around my middle, and my back, well it's just going to have to lump it.
While my body (and mind) are resolved to stay stronger, my wardrobe is buckling at the seams. This morning I actually tried on every single one of my dresses in a desperate bid to not look like an enormous beach ball. I don't mind tight, and I don't mind short, but together, no, I'm just not going to subject the world to that any longer. Thankfully my lovely Vanessa Bruno dress that was hanging on the far end of my rail is long and loose but not completely shapeless and I actually feel fine, almost nice, but not quite.
I'm not going to buy anymore maternity bits (there was a long knitted jumper that I perhaps didn't declare on here), because frankly I'm now more interested in tops that will let me get my breasts out at a moment's notice. You see, if I'd said that even two years ago, I'd have been shot down as some kind of Chloe-From-X-Factor type of girl. It's amazing how pregnancy lets you talk about (and show randoms) every bit of your anatomy and nobody judges.

Who'd have know there would be pain in there?

Mmm, I understand that I'm beginning to sound a bit like a very dull, very grumpy old pregnant woman. If this isn't aching, then that is, and if the iron levels aren't rising, then I've got my acid there. You know, you've read, I'm a bit of a bundle of complaints right now. As a disclaimer, I'd like to say, that I am fully aware that my pregnancy has actually be pretty easy and I haven't - and hopefully won't have to - endure any of the scary, traumatic complications that many other women suffer from. For this I am extremely thankful.
But the newest niggle, if you care (I'm sure you don't, but it feels cathartic writing it down) is flared ribs syndrome. What a funny name, you may think. Well, it may very well have an amusing moniker, but the pain, the stretching, the dull aching tenderness around my ribs is a right bummer.
If I lean forward for too long it starts, and obviously, as with everything else muscle related, sitting at my desk only exacerbates the problem, so during the week it's much worse than when I'm wandering around on a Saturday or Sunday.
Apparently, this is perfectly normal, and the FRS generally arises around this time in pregnancy. My uterus is pushing upwards into my diaphram and at the same time, my liagments are softening ready for birth, which means my ribs are opening up and basically everything inside is being blended in some kind of human compression machine. The baby is having a lovely time in its new extended home. It kicks and plays all day long, which I love. At least one of us is happy with the renovations going on.
So I forgot to congratulate myself on reaching 30 weeks! Go me and the Pullen Bear. I'm actually now nearly 31 weeks, which means the clock is ticking. I can also see the light at the end of the work tunnel. 5 weeks today and I'm outta here folks. I'll be sad to leave my little fashion desk. Although I'm sure some lazy days in front of Mad Men repeats will help soothe my transition into maternity leave.

Move over Pamela Anderson

I need new bras. I only realised this when it became apparent that instead of heading straight to the fridge, the first thing I now do when I got home each evening is take my bra off. This is not a usual occurence for someone with a petite set of breasts. And it isn't so much that the cup size has grown (although I'm sure that will happen once the little one shows its face), but that my ribs have stretched and consequently the strap of my bra digs in with gusto from about midday.
It's amazing how people tell you this will happen but I, (worrier extraordinaire) needs to do a Google search for 'pain in rib area' before it clicks that there is nothing medically wrong, it's just that my old (well, just-pregnant) 32C numbers, no longer cut the mustard. In fact, just writing about it now, is making me want to unpop those hooks and let it all hang free. I won't, of course, because I'm in the office and wearing a slim fitting top, but wow, how nice it would be to not feel like I'm being slowly strangling myself around my lungs.
The question is, what size do I get? Do I buy for now, when my boobs are still a 'normal' size, but my back is Jeff Capes size, or invest for later, when my back shrinks (I'm hoping my ribs slot back quite quickly) but the chest up front is rather enormous? Mmm, the dilemmas.
I think I'll go to Marks and Spencer and let the woman in the fitting room guide me. Or maybe I'll head to John Lewis. Wow, my brain is already so mushy. I can't even make a decision between two department stores. Help, people, I've lost my intelligence. Let's hope it comes back, at some point soon, when the 32 inch decides to show its face again.

High fashion kicks

Imagine the scene: I'm sitting at a fashion show, it's the usual procedure. You find your seat, you get comfy, you chat to a few work friends and then it starts. Except at the show yesterday, none of my friends were close by and who sat down by my side, only Anna Wintour. This is mildly amusing in theory, but in practice it's actually quite scary. She really does sit there with big shades on (inside, at 5pm) and doesn't smile, or make any facial movements, for that matter.
What I've noticed, during this London Fashion Week, is that Baby Pullen starts getting busy when the music comes up. At this particular show, it was in an especially frisky mood, so there I am, beautiful Roksanda dresses walking past, editor of US Vogue to my left, and baby is kicking so ferociously that my stomach looks like a bag of live potatoes. I actually laughed out loud, at one point, such was the incongruous nature of the situation. I'm sure AW didn't notice, but I found the whole thing pretty funny.
Despite this, and other enjoyable fashion moments, I have to admit that the end of LFW couldn't have come quick enough this season. I am totally whacked and am at home today part working/part recovering (part going to see the little Benjamin again). Not being in the office is going to become a regular event in 5 weeks time. I'm starting to get quite excited at the prospect, especially as it means that baby will follow (hopefully) soon after.
Darling Husband is going to finish the nursery tonight and then I get can buying!!!! Hip Hip Hooray. I mean, yes, great, we can start getting organised. I'm not desperate to get things sorted, no, not me.

ZZZZZZZzzzzzz

So I'm finding this LFW pretty tough on my body. Yesterday morning, I took a time-out, and sat, whacked drooped over a lap top computer and wondered whether I'd be able to take another 9.5 weeks of this lethargy. And then, after a battle of a day, when I literally ate myself to energy, I received a letter from my midwife saying that my iron levels are too low and I need to go to the clinic and pick up supplements. Right, so that explains why after putting my mascara on (one eye) this morning, my arm actually felt tired. I'm not exaggerating. My body is like a lead weight, so I'm actually excited to get these darn little tabs and start to replenish my energy levels.
In other news, London Fashion Week has seen some pleasant clothes, none of which I can wear of course. Everyone is being very nice and giving the bump a wide bearth. If I listen to my fashion set, it's going to be a boy. Everyone has said it. Mmm, a BBF for little Benjamin. How cute.

London Fashion Week

Well, there is lots of exciting news to report on. So much news in fact, and so little time. It is London Fashion Week and at the best of times that means small amounts of sleep, time to yourself and mental sanity. Doing all of this and being 7 months pregnant is a new challenge altogether. Having said that, the Topshop venue for this season (it hosts many of the coolest shows) is on the old Eurostar platform at Waterloo and because it's a proper walk up they've put on a golf buggy for people like me, people who need to conserve their legs. The buggy whizzed me up at 10am yesterday morning to see the Mary Katrantzou show, above. For me, it was the best of the week so far. I sat there, enormous bump not quite obscuring my view, and longed to have a waist again. It was a thrilling show, but not nearly as thrilling as what happened on Friday. Numero Uno Bumpette, you know her, the one due in October, well she popped!!! She popped early and now there is a gorgeous Benjamin Rafael Hidalgo in the world. Hello lovely little boy. After an extremely tiring day yesterday I was soothed by some cuddles and funny, squeaky animal noises. The ex-bumpette (I'm still mourning her pregnancy) is doing well, and still laughing despite the tiredness. I obviously got a blow by blow run down of the birth. It was a long one, but everyone emerged healthy and crying (baby in a reassuring way, ex-Bumpette because it all got a bit much when she saw her boy for the first time), and now they are happily settled at home and learning the ropes quickly.
Also this weekend, Darling Darling Husband painted the baby's room. I have before and after shots for a future blog entry, but he's a perfectionist and has some retouching to do before I'm allowed to upload the images. It's been a crazy weekend and now I'm heading back to the Eurostar platform for more fashion madness.

The bump, fancy dressed Eighties style

Proof that a Mum-to-be can still have a sense of humour. There is nothing particularly pregnancy related about this photograph, apart from the silly ensemble documenting the bump and it's current stage of growth.
Talking of which, I was at yoga last night and there were two girls there who are also 29 weeks. One was MUCH bigger than me (cue, sigh of relief) the other was about the same size as the Pullen Bear. In conclusion, I'm feeling much happier and less paranoid about my watermelon.
After the lunges and stretches and one-legged holds (surprisingly difficult these days, not helped by my sciatica. Did I tell you about that?! Oh the joy), the teacher gave us a quick back massage lesson. Then we practicied in pairs. Man, this is my kind of exercise class. I didn't even break out into a sweat. Though I made up for that this morning on the commute into work.
I was on the tube and suddenly felt my arms go leaden; even the Metro felt too heavy to handle. Impressive, I thought, for such a lightweight publication. That was before the heat started swirling around my body and my mind blanked out, apart from one word: FAINTING, FAINTING, HELP (ok, two words), FAINTING. I was fully prepared to pass out there and then, in front of the man in the pinstripe suit. It wasn't a pleasant situation. I got off at the next station, Marylebone, in a fit of warm, flushed panic. As it turns out, at 9am, Marylebone station is a very quiet place to be, at least on the Bakerloo Line platform. There was no one else on the around and I thought, as I slumped in the chair, if I do keel over now, the next person who comes down the stairs will find a large, pregnant lady horizontal in front of the Underground map. Thankfully, the breeze of several passing tubes helped relieve my fluster and I was able to proceed into the office after a five minute hiatus.
Now, five hours later, I'm still feeling a bit delicate and just resorted to a Diet Coke. Mmm, those sugary bubbles, they're so comforting when you feel a little sick.

Dedicated to the one I love...

This is a special post for my Darling Husband. He is an amazing pregnancy support. He does nice things for me, like reaching for pots and pans on the top shelf, getting my phone when it's on the kitchen table and I'm on the couch, he even helped me with my latest bikini depilation, which needs no explanation, but proves his worth as a man.
Yesterday, while I was at work, in fashion meltdown-land, he made a curry for dinner (no chillis, so that I didn't get and heartburn). Then he let me beat him 8 times at cards (Shit Head). And lastly, he has taught himself to become a world class expert in back massage, and now knows how to de-knot my tired, heavy, painful spine. In short, he's totally fabulous and I couldn't do this without him.
Today, he also got (genuinely) excited about a sheepskin lining for the baby's pram. Seriously, the greatness of this man knows no bounds. I love you Boo.

Getting fed up...

... not with being pregnant per se, but with people telling me how big I am. I'm really actually getting a bit paranoid now. Granted, they all tell me that my arms and legs are still slim, and I don't look like I've eaten too many cakes, but there is a lot of surprise when these 'people' learn that I still have about 10 weeks to go. I want to say to them, do you know what I'm carrying in my stomach (along with my stomach, of course, intestines, and the rest)? Today my What to Expecting App tells me that baby is now 3.1 lbs and 17 inches in length. That's a pretty big, small child, in my book. See above for illustrated proof - not to scale, obviously!
I feel like I'm reaching freakish proportions. And I'm sure I'm going to snap the next time someone asks whether I've checked if there are twins in there? Ha ha. Er, no, not not ha ha, that's rather mean actually. My body is going through the most incredible changes and making, what I assume, will be the most gorgeous baby to arrive on this planet, and if it looks a bit big, and if my tummy sticks out a bit further than normal, then it just happens that way. Sorry, rant over.

Scary Mary

News International have moved offices. This means a rather manic start to the week and a general rummaging through of stuff that I have accumulated, at work, over the past six years. Actually, the majority of this sorting happened last week, but today while unpacking my crate, I came across this priceless photo, above. I'm not sure why it was at work in the first place, but it certainly hammered home a point. This is me (left, unfortunate looking) and one of the other bumpettes (blonde, angelic) at kindergarten together nearly three decades ago. Er, hello. This blows my mind. Soon, our children will be sitting next to each other playing with toys. It's kind of crazy that we shared our formative years (thank you Alyth) and are now sharing this pregnancy malarky. Wow, life happens in strange ways.
In other news, I went to a fancy dress party on Saturday night (photo to follow) and not only managed to wear a pair of Miu Miu heels until 1am, but was also chatted up. I know, I'm not sure which is more impressive either. The poor boy didn't see the bump (also, amazingly unbelievable), and was mortified when The Berman Over From LA, pointed out the elephant in the room. I was pretty impressed with myself, especially considering I was also wearing a pair of large, Timmy Mallet-style 80s glasses and a Fergie bow in my hair - it was fancy dress, I haven't lost my fashion marbles just yet. Wonders really do never cease in this upside world of pregnancy. The fact that the Poor Boy was hopelessly drunk is inconsequential. The very act of his interest means I am not an old, past it Mum-to-be, quite yet.

The newest recruit to the Bumpettes

My Dad.
Isn't he fabulous?! He's due, ok, he's not actually due at any point, but we still thought the photo opportunity was too good a one to miss. Dearest Dad has learnt how to dress with a bump ever since his Dad started showing signs of tummy bumpness in his early middle ages. The Olins men are experts at dealing with this unique shape, so I thought he deserved a space on the old blog.
Dearest Dad, thanks for being such a great sport. I know the dark chocolate diet is still going well, so maybe when I finally lose this enormous watermelon on my front, you will too.
In other news, my little burn-y throat episodes seem to becoming more frequent. It's worrying, and uncomfortable. Apparently this means the baby will be hairy. I'm not scared of a little bit of downy hair on its head, I think it looks cute. Let's just hope it doesn't have any wolverine tendencies across the body - especially if it's a girl! Anyway, Gaviscon Cool is possibly the most unpleasant medicine I've ever had the misfortune of digesting. It's like crunching old school chalk between your tea and then squeezing some toothpaste in some weird, extra bonus. All in all, the experience is one akin to foaming at the mouth, but at least it keeps the burn away. Hello chalk, let's become friends.

The beginning of the end...

Tomorrow will be a very sad day. One of the highlights of my pregnancy so far, has been the constant email banter with bumpette numero uno. She's only numero uno, because she's jumping in the deep end first, and as such, tomorrow is her last day at work. Oh the sadness. How will I get through the day without our bump-related chats? Seriously, it feels like I'm standing, alone, on the edge of some very big precipice. Of course, there are other bumpettes out there who like to chat, but our level of email communication surpasses all the rest added together. At any moment in the day, my fashion mind can be easily interupted by a story about being on all fours, what either of us has eaten for lunch/wants to eat for lunch/whether or not it is salt and vinegar Hula Hoops o'clock, as well as, how many times we peed in the night, vitamin K, changing mats and other such conversational gems. This bumpette and I have been exchanging amusing tales for nearly 30 weeks now so it's a wrench that she's off. It's also, hugely exciting!
How mad that the gang are starting to go off on maternity leave. This obviously means that things are getting closer, and more real. At my midwife appointment this morning, I heard the little Bear's heartbeat again, which is another kick up the bottom in the reality check department. I didn't like today's midwife. She was stern and made me paranoid about my big bump, despite measuring it and the bump coming in bang on size at 29 cm. Some people. I also had my glucose blood tests done today, which involved downing a bottle of Lucozade (cruel, in my opinion, considering the gassy bubbles), and then waiting an hour for the nurse to take two vials from your arm. It isn't the best way to start a Thursday, but at least the baby is in good shape and I'm not burping as much as I would have done after the same about of Diet Coke.
Another funny thing struck me this morning. Is it some kind of cruel joke that midwives constantly want to check your urine, when you can no longer actually see where you pee? It makes collection rather tricky. What a lovely thought to sign off on - anyway, toodle pip.

Oh my goodness, I'm losing my (very small) mind

This is the extent of my pregnancy craziness: I'm on the way into work, I am already a bit late, because I have just been at an important meeting and thus, I am taking a different route to the office.
I sit on the bus and my mind says something like this, 'If I take this bus an extra two stops in that direction, and then walk a bit towards that other tube station, instead of the getting off at, oops, the one passing me now on the left, then I may, just accidentally pass John Lewis, wherein lie lots of lovely buggies.
So that is what I did. Even though I know I need to go back with the Darling Painter to get his opinion too, I did the detour and took myself and the Pullen Bear up to the fourth floor and tried to inconspicuously wheel a buggy or two around for my own peace of mind (read: pleasure/confusion).
Except that they keep all of their lovely buggies with the breaks switched on. This sounds simple enough if you were riding a bike, say, or even driving a car. But these buggies are more complicated than a Rubix Cube.
'I can do this', I thought, while I pressed several white buttons and looked like a deranged gardener with a jammed lawnmower. Thankfully, a very nice assistant walked past and put me out of my misery. He also showed me how to fold each version down and generally gave me a bit of an Bugaboo overview. When he asked whether I wanted to 'play around' with the buggies on my own, I muttered something about my husband needing to see them too and scarpered.
As it turns out, pushing a buggy feels very proper in a I'm A Mummy, kind of way. And I wasn't exactly ready for it at 9.30am on a Wednesday morning, already late for work.
The results of today's brief dalliances with the Bugaboos is that the Cameleon is still ahead, just. I know, I know, this is a highly thrilling post. If you are still reading it by this point you either have way too much time on your hands, or are my greatest fan ever (thank you, presents later). Either way, sorry to drone on, I will make a decision.
Then we need to buy a new car. And don't even get me started on that one.

If I had a scrapbook...

...then this would be the front cover. I'm totally focused on the nursery now (apart from when I'm focused on the buggy, and my backache). I have actually been keeping a document full of images of my favourite nurseries, and this one, above, comes pretty close to the top of the list. I love the walls. And the blinds. And all the bright colours. It's just so, er, happy. And happy is good in my (nursery) book.
Even better than the happiness, is that the the stylish couple who decorated this room, bought most of the bits in Ikea. Proving that you don't need to be wasteful to get creative. At least that's what I'm telling Darling Husband, who for one weekend soon, will becoming Darling Painter. Men, aren't they useful.
So this is where I'm heading nursery-wise. I need a great rug, that is a sticking point at the moment, and a table for next to the feeding chair. But I have time, and I have a subscription to Living Etc, so I'm not too worried.
Now that September has arrived I'm beginning to feel like this baby thing is actually going to happen rather soon. It kind of figures, of course, after being up the duff for more than six months now. But it's hard to progress your mind from 'pregnant' to 'mum'. It's a bit mental when you write it down. Darling H, is quite good at using the Mum and Dad words. I still find them hilarious. But we have about 11 weeks to practise.

The bump is stretching...

I have lots of funny photos at home on my camera. There are several of me on the beach that I'm considering uploading, although not yet 100 per cent sure are a wise idea. I also have one with my Dad (it is better than it sounds) that I'm waiting to receive (HINT HINT MOTHER). And several others that better show my stage of development. None of them, unfortunately, are at hands reach, so I've just taken this rather lame picture in the fashion cupboard to document my size and show off my nice new denim shirt. It isn't maternity (impressive, huh?) and will be a dream to unpop and yank open once the breasts become milking machines. My blood just ran cold for a second when I wrote that. I don't think I'm quite ready for a small baby to latch on, but latch on it will, and there will be this denim shirt in the mix - until it gets covered in baby puke, of course.
So I've been away and the bump is feeling big and stretched. I'm not sure if it's the stage I'm at or the cheesy baked potato that I had for lunch, but either way, I'm just not comfortable at the moment. I'm not complaining, really, I'm not, it's just so big... and it's going to get BIGGER. My very helpful Baby Centre weekly email told me that I'll put on another 5 kgs before the baby bear arrives. Er, like where Mr Baby Centre Man? Seriously, I'm failing to see how I can actually enlarge much more than this. I already feel like a full balloon, and I'm scared I may just pop.
Aside from my enormous tummy, my mind has been focused on prams. I'm back onto the Bugaboo Cameleon. Actually, when I say back on, I actually just mean on, because I was totally, unequivocably decided on the Bee, but now I like the bigger, sturdier version. I actually dreamt about it last night. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not.
I'm sure things will change again, although I do need to put the order in soon, perhaps that explains the dream? Other shopping highlights include some sample paints for the nursery. I know, in the grand scheme of things, this isn't exactly a highlight, but I've only been back for 24 hours, so in my book that's pretty impressive. And basically, the shape of things to come.

A micro blog

Friends, sorry for my holiday slackness. I have photos to make up for the blogging hiatus. Please stick with me, I will do an extended entry later. I promise.