Treading Water

So the Groom is unwell, the baby has a virus and I am in demand. Bloody wonderful. I must say the virus is a groovy one, if you are the type who finds massively thick green snot drying to the consistency of varnish groovy. The first day, I wasn’t sure of the thick ooze was arriving all over her face and hair courtesy of her eyes or nose. Time soon told the tale, as it tends to do. This means that, again, she is taking very little solid food, and is all GA-Ga about the boob juice.  So much for getting her to take a bottle and upping the real person food, huh?

Meanwhile, I continue to dream dreams of housekeepers on the permanent staff, alcoholic beverages and packets of Styvies.

In other news, got myself a grouse frock from one of the many local 2nd hand wonderlands yesterday, complete with scarf to accessorise. It’s green, jersey material, kind of 1942 style, with cream coloured flowers on it. Sound horrid, but isn’t. I got it to wear to a mate’s 30th birthday celebration, but given the hospice situation at the Chateau, I wore it out and about today. Sure, I look fatter than the frock would like me to, but a bit of draping with said scarf and a denim waist coat, and I kid myself that the vulgar bulge where my tummy used to be is camouflaged.

 Other than caring for the infirm, I did manage to escape long enough to get myself back on the local pre-school committee for 2011. I am hoping we have a good mix of stiffs and jesters this year, with minimal personal attacks and all the bevvies one can drink while doing ones bit for the kids. My last foray barely rates a mention, given I was pregnant and as such in a semi-permanent state of amnesia. I have retreated to the safety of minute taker for this stint. Bugger all responsibility, plenty of space to air one liners and matters of importance, both.

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