And now for the good news...

Which brings me now to the good news - as you have to follow such tidings of bad news on a more positive note. And I'm happy to say the good news is something we're very happy about. Now, I'm in the future writing this as if it's the present - so pay attention. (It's wearing thin on me already, don't worry. I don't plan on doing this retrospective lark much longer - not sure how much of this mix of tenses my head can take!)

Okaaaay. I've been feeling poorly all week, you'll know because I've harped on about it enough. But certain things started to ring alarm bells in my head. Tiredness. Thirsty all the time. Not hungry. Funny sicky feelings. Headaches. And, to top it off - I was late. (But that says nothing as I'm about as on time as relying on catching a bus when you're in a hurry.) So, I decided to take a test. You can see where I'm going with this, I'm sure. Yes, ladies and gents - I am now a pregnant lady. And the doctor is prepared to take my word for it and booked me in to see the midwife as soon as possible as I've taken four positive tests (just to be sure!).

We're absolutely delighted - we'd talked about trying previously over Christmas, then just sort of forgot about it then remembered and decided to go for it in March. Who knew that'd be all it took?! We'd decided not to mention the good news to anyone (parents included) until the bad news had sorted itself out. Hence the retrospective blogging. Bit rubbish on the old timing front, but hey. So there you go. There'll be an ankle biter in the house by New Year's Eve, hopefully!

Tea time tales...

We've had a flurry of birthdays in our little group of late, coupled with some lovely birthday tea nights out in own after work to celebrate. But tonight decided to stay closer to home and go very local! There's a new little Italian restaurant just opened in our village and we thought we'd give it a try. However, no matter where we go in the world and no matter how good the reviews are from everyone else - it always seems to be our group who end up saddled with catastrophe and bad service. Something ALWAYS goes wrong. It's like a law - we must have faces that say 'yes, please treat us badly, we don't mind at all!'

I have a whole host of appalling service stories. Taking the top spot however was the time when a waitress tipped a whole plate of spaghetti bolognaise down my friend S's back, ruining her dress. No apology. The saving grace was that it was cold spaghetti I suppose, so no 3rd degree burns - although the fact that she was serving it cold in the first place is not very comforting. And she tried to short change us. Tonight wasn't nearly as bad as that, but it wasn't great. I'm not going to name names as it's a very new restaurant and is entitled to some teething problems, but really. Why would you employ staff who can't be bothered to listen to what customers order, and make it up as they go along? (Two of our meals came out wrong, even though we repeated the order twice as the waitress seemed confuzzled.) And we'd all finished by the time my friend G's dish came out. And when it did - yep, you guessed it - it was also incorrect.

Somehow I don't think we'll be venturing into that restaurant for a wee while. Especially as I now have the knowledge that my friend J has spent the remainder of the evening since we parted ways and went home locked in the bathroom with her head down the loo, saying hello to her pasta again. How delightful. And it may just be that I know this fact now, and I may just be being paranoid and looking for things that might not be there - but now I've got a funny queasy feeling too. Great. I could really do without a night of crying huey in the bathroom.

Adventures of the kamikaze kitteh...

Cats are very peculiar creatures. Not only do they power the internet (check out I Can Has Cheezburger if you don't believe me), but they are sneaky thieves. See below for my photographic evidence. Now, my cat looks quite proficient at this standing-on-my-bedside-cabinet-stealing-my-water-malarkey here, so I'm guessing she's been doing it for quite a while. On the sly. Which also means that I've been unknowingly sipping out of cat-tainted drinks in the middle of the night. Mmmm, delicious. I don't think.

The Cat Burglar caught in the act.
Note: the book on my bedside cabinet at the minute is utter rubbish. Just don't bother.

Anyway, yesterday I came home from work and our little mog wasn't mewing at the front door to greet me (and demand food) as usual. Instead, she was yelping on the landing and dragging herself about with limp hind legs. So, a trip to the vet was in order. Turned out she'd dislocated her hips and strained her ligaments. How, we can only guess - as nothing looked out of place in the house, like there'd been an almighty calamity. But I reckon she's tried to leap onto the cabinet (pictured) from the bed for a sneaky sup of my water, misjudged it completely and fallen down the gap.

She's on the mend. On a lot of drugs. And, I've had words with her. I think she understood that at 14, she should no longer be leaping about furniture in a kamikaze manner. Then she passed out on painkillers.

There's a pox on my house...

There comes a time in every relationship when the inevitable happens. You’ve had the awkward meet-the-parents episodes and come out relatively unscathed; then came the declarations of love and joined-at-the-hip phase; then somewhere down the road you decided you don’t see each other nearly enough so you progressed to the merging of the things (and removal of the hideous artefacts like framed football tickets that the other brought into your newly shared abode). Life is good. Then comes that fateful day when one of you utters those dreaded words, the ones that strike fear into your heart and turn your blood to ice. ‘Argh - I’m going to be sick! Quick – get out of the bathroom!’

I have heard this sentence before – several times, in fact. Usually after a Christmas night out, the details of which are too gruesome to describe. But this phrase has chilled me for almost a week now. Last Thursday, I came home from a very lovely get together in town with my gal pals; the first time I’d seen them since hearing Uma Thurman wee. We giggled over coffees and discussed all manner of things over seafood pasta and interestingly titled pizza (which tasted even better half price – the wonders of finding offers on Handbag.com); such as mishaps with fabric softener and one friend’s amusing – yet slightly sinister – interview at work to attend a first aid course. All was well in the world. Opening the front door on my return home, however, I was greeted with a grunt from my very green looking Other Half who then hogged the bathroom all the live long night crying huey until the small hours.

This continued until Sunday, when my body decided that apparently this all looks like great fun and didn’t want to miss out on the action. Cue three days of me hugging the porcelain and feeling decidedly green. This alone would have been monstrous enough, but two people sharing a bathroom and having to time their Exorcist-projectile spurts was quite frankly, horrific. And so, the immortal line was uttered on several occasions, but unfortunately on at least one of those occasions it was impossible and the other had to deflower the sink. I won’t say who. But it later came to one of us ridding the poor sink of the products of heaving with bleach whilst donning a rubber glove.

Co-habiting is not for everyone. A note to self for the future - seek a home with two bathrooms.


P.S. I have now wasted a considerable amount of money buying a certain magazine with a dedicated ‘Spotted’ page, scanning carefully for a mention of my superstar pee excitement. How dare they deem the whereabouts of Dean ruddy Gaffney and his dog and long forgotten nobodies from series 4 of Big Brother wearing wellies more important Spotteds than mine. I’ll still have a nosy next week though, most likely. Just in case.