Moolies

Too cool for school

Nora rhymed two words this morning, with no prompting.

She was getting dressed, and saying "two.... two" (the only number of choice, natch) then she said "two poo".

It would have to be "poo" wouldn't it.

So we spent a few minutes thinking of 'oo' rhyming words, like Zoo and er... Noo. Then I sang her two lines from a Stevie Wonder song: "All I do... Is dream about you". Apparently funnier than Richard Pryor on a good day.

And ooooooooh. Had to get summer clothes, since she is sans summerwear, so bought a load, some 18 months and some 12, from Verbaudet, the French shop which has an often hilariously translated UK website & catalogue. French design is so garishly colourful all the plastic-wear (bedroom, bathroom type stuff) is either way cuter than anything you get over here, or so colourful you'd puke even without a hangover. However, if you try your best to avoid the ubiquitous swathes of pink, some of the clothes are frankly, yummy. And relatively cheap. Look what I bought for Nora. Just gorgeous, non? This is why kids get showered with gift and clothes constantly by some parents, because buying stuff for your child is almost as much fun as slightly guiltily spending loads of money on yourself. The only difference being that for the price I'd pay for 1 pair of decent trousers and a nice shirt, I get Nora more or less a whole wardrobe until the autumn.

Someone

Please make me stop buying comics. What I mean is... just more and more and more of them. I've got a pile of about 40 paperbacks, graphic novels and so on by the side of my bed, not to mention volume 2 in the doorstop related Peanuts compedium, and now Volume three has come out!

It's the US exchange rate. It's turned my head. I'm going to end up drowned in unread American imports.

Cait, having just managed to avert yet another purchase...

Uhoh. Plus election

The kitchen man is destroying our old kitchen today.

I just want to point out, because I/we don't spend money on consumerism lightly, that our old kitchen was in fact falling to pieces, and the oven no longer functioned properly, plus all round the window it is all damp and nasty. I say this by way of self justification rather than assuming anyone is actually interested.

Oh, and it was world poverty day yesterday. Ho hum.

Oh, God, Blair was looking insufferable in some awful bloody post-Bush "I'll go tieless" presentation of policy, and "We care, right? We really do, ok?" type earnestness shown on the news. It comes to something when a Labour Prime Minister apes one of the most frightening right-wing American Presidents in living (or dead) memory.

Had to nip out to Streatham High Road at the weekend, and saw the Labour Party pitching a tent outside the Odeon. I was quite surprised and upset by the vehement disgust I experienced seeing it. I grew up with the party. Joined when I was fifteen. This is what it has come to. It's a hardcore Sartre... what's the phrase he used when one feels uncomfortable with indecision - a, ha. No, a grande mal is an epyleptic fit. A... well. At the very least, it *is* a mal a la tete.

So. I am faced with the following, in a supposedly safe Labour seat. Lib Dems, who are pro-PFI (oh yes, they are loves. Try looking at their NHS plans) or Green, the candidate for which is about as electable as a dope smoking Rastafarian (he promotes his pro-cannabis stance on his leaflet!*). So. It's a shame, in a way because Keith Hill the constituency MP is a decent bloke, and helps people. Keith Hill the Blairte apologist who never, ever speaks on behalf of Lambeth in the Commons (although since he's a Minister, I think this puts a spanner in the works regarding that, although I can't rmember what the context of thinking that is) meanwhile, deserves to have his majority lowered substantially. Splitting the anti-Blairism vote between Green and Lib Dem will confuse the issue, but I have to vote with my heart, and my heart is green.

*In case you imagine that means I'm anti-legalisation, I'm not (whoo-boy, I am so not). I'm anti-smoking. If smoking was banned in public spaces eg: bus stops, train stations etc then I'd never have to breathe anyone else's smoke, dope or otherwise. I long for the day they ban smoking in pubs. It means I'll be able to go in them again! FTR, since the Cannabis law has changed, I have had to breathe in the heavy oily scent of dope *alot* all over the place. I loathe it slightly more than tobacco because it's so heavy, clingy and it makes my lungs immediately wheeze in to low grade asthma. Having said that though, both joints and fags are knocked in to a cocked hat by the evil doers who dare to smoke cigars and pipes in public. I have actually been sick in the street after walking past someone smoking a cigar. Shudder).

A-tuppa teeeeee!

It's making me laugh as I type it, thinking of her saying it, looking at me, smiling with that mad smiling face of hers, a grin on her face from saying "eeee". It can mean: I am excited; look over there; don't you agree? I want to read this book now; I am walking to the other side of the flat, (etc, etc)

...and there is one person to blame in this house for this multi-syllabic, multi-purpose catchphrase. It ain't me with the brown stained teeth and the constant boiling kettle, oooh no. It is "cuppa tea" himself, Mr Mackay.

New words:
Peas
More

As in... "Mmmmmmmore!"

Meanwhile, in other news:

1) we have planted a rosemary bush in the back garden, in the stump of the dead plum tree. Cross fingers, etc. It migt take. Hope so. Rosemary oil coming off craclking leaves in the summer... divine.
2) Neck update - seems to have stabilised. Friday was an out of the ordinary bad day, it appears (phew). Still hurts, but nothing like as acutely. not as red either. I'm wondering if it's PMS related, given that its growth patterns have alway been hormonal. It used to swell up a bit during PMS zones but we're talking ten, fifteen years ago. I wish it wasn't so damned difficult to remember the detail, that's all.

Ok. Ok. No, I don't know

I don't know what do do now.

Excuse the wibbly, nervous nature of the post below.

My chin is now officially distended. Yeah, ok, it's only mild but I can see the bit where they sewed my skin to my neck from the inside because it was no longer attached. i mean, that bit is sticking out like a sore thumb, because the rest of my chin all around it is really swollen. It's hurting in a frustrating, lower jaw numbing toothache kind of way (except too low down for that) *all the time*.

It's only slightly warm but it has changed temperature. Meanwhile my body temperature is entirely normal, so no fever or anything. Basically, this isn't going to last until next Thursday. Damn. DAMN. None of the other docs at the surgery know anything about my neck. they won't go through my notes, you can guarantee it.

I... I'm just going to try and surf to find the right antibiotic but since it's officially in the "rare" category, I know that there's not exactly a welter of information out there. Could be a good thing I'm just about to stop breastfeeding.

I am going to shut up about it a bit now because you will have gathered it takes up quite a lot of psychological space when it's going. I don't want to make myself a gibbering wreck. I would though, just like to say out loud:

AAAAAAAARGH.

Update.

blimey the net resources are a hell of alot better than last time my neck was giving me gip. Here's an incredibly extensive article on Cystic Hygromas at emdicine.com. It's suggesting intravenous antibiotics (gee thank you!) but it also says that Hygromas do not occur over the age of 2. Bong! Wrong, sir. Mine appeared when I was 10.

However, that's a good primer to print out and take to Mr "What the hell is a cystic hygroma" GP. Having said that though, that might utterly antagonise someone who is supposed to be in a position of knowledge. Ah, fuck them. I fucking HURT.

Neck / chin

Ok so it's stabilised in a reddened area to the left of my lower jaw, and my temperature has remained compltely normal. It hurts when I open my mouth.

I've got a Doc's appointment eeeeiiinn a week. Let's hope I last that long.

Yes. It is freaking me out.

Breakfast breastmilk

...is no more.

Mackay has given Nora her milk in the morning for two days now. After tomorrow we'll take it in turns.

Next steps:
-Drop the evening feed for a bottle in another two weeks
-Probably feel rather sad
-Then attempt to get her to drink milk from a cup. A ha, a haha.

Boy does she hate it when you give her milk in a "sippy-cup". She refuses to acknowledge that hat kind of disgraceful behaviour can be countenanced. I drink from a tit or a teat. That is it. Water and juice belong in cups, not milk. Don't you know anything?.

Hmmmm. Not for long, young lady.

In other news, Nora has take to, hilariously, lying down as flat in the bath as she can (when the water's draining out) and sucking up water. She also drinks water from her various play objects whilst splashing about. Pointless telling her off, I mean - why tell her off? I used to do it. I can remember doing it, even.

My initial milk related thought is - ok, those Postman Pat & Bob the Builder melamine mugs (well, *you* try getting any without logos) that we practice with drinking juice from at tea time - suppose we bring one up, and I pour some nice water in and just give her the mug - no helping to hold it. She could really practice not spilling any, given that the water would be cold when it dripped down her. Suppose she got her proficiency level up with those, then we gave her supervised milk in open cups? Gawd knows. One thing's for dure - she will never drink the massive 7 to 9 oz's per time she does now.

Anyone else had these bottle / teat / cup nozzle / etc related issues? I can't be the only one.

Headache. Tense, nervous headache

(slight - uheh, yeah. "Slight" - moan)I've had a headache on and off for about three days. It could be fumes from the tedious amount of gloss paint which now adorns our skirtings, or it could just be... uh... a tense, nervous headache.

Meanwhile to add to the tense and nervous woes my cystic hygroma has been wrestling its way in to my consciousness over the last couple of day for the first time in about eight years. It seems to have swollen up under my chin slightly to the left. I've also got the telltale feeling of weird pressure inside my lower palatte. you can demonstrate the feeling yourself by getting your thumb and pushing it up in to the area under your tongue, from underneath your chin. Hmm - feels good doesn't it. Now think of that all day! What a delight.

It's weird, disconcerting and it brings back far too many ghosts from my god awful childhood (to tell the story in 10 words or less: Me: circus freak; other kids: evil bullying bastards. Depression ensued). So, I must now phone the docs so I can get it checked out by zee specialist, although they will shrug their shoulders and say "We can do nothing, madam" and I must also battle the inevitable traumatising insecurity and wish to go and hide in a cupboard until all the bad stuff goes away.

But you see, the trick is, I never did go and hide in that cupboard, when i was a young'un. I was too bloody minded / stupid (take your pick) so I toughed it out. Had no friends, hated school with a passion and took solace in lonely reading in libraries but then again, since when were any of those particularly bad things? Er, apart from the first one. I say all that and it is true but, it ignores my tendency to show off, which was very much on display at the time. Ok, at the risk of entering a state of melodramatic weeping, the Hygroma stopped me from going in to acting or singing. It made me horrendously depressed: I didn't brush my hair or teeth, I didn't wash properly and I ate *enormous* amounts of food. and then I used to go and sing in assemblies and school productions! Obviously a masochist from an early age.

So try being the parent of a fat girl who looks like a circus freak (not, by the way, an exaggeration), and explaining that there's not really much point her going to any of those open auditions for kids in musicals up in London - because she is a fat girl who... (etc) only without saying the end bit. Bless them, they tried very hard.

Never quite got to the cutting holes in my arms stage thank christ. It was that bloody minded obstinate ego shoving its way through, that was.

See what I mean? My Cyst awakens, Kraken like, and my consciousness is invaded with unwelcome visitors from the past. Go on, piss off, the lot of ye.

The new "Doctor Who"

We had to watch 2 episodes together on Sunday night.

It is absolutely, and utterly mental. Zombies, shapeshifters, people being bumped off in all directions - and in the middle of it all a gurning speed freak Doctor.

We laughed a lot. A Lot. It is good fun. and Mark Gatiss wrote the Zombies episode! Can you believe it!

Words

Going down to Bradford on Avon acted as something of a powerhouse under nora in the speech department. Partially I think because McK's parents aren't as aware of her shorthand, so she felt a bit more compelled to speak, but also importantly, Mck's Mum used to be in social services and had quite a lot of training in speech therapy for one reaon and another.

Next thing you know, the words list has expanded. I'm expecting this to be the last short list, since her word list seems to be growing exponentially:

Moon (of course. Dan :)
Knee
Up
Down
Mummy (at last!)
Ball

... agh. and some others I forget. To be revised shortly...

Oh yes:

Aaa-pull
Poo (with a very soft "p" so it sounds almost like "Foooo")
Wee

...you know... you start with the important stuff. Yesterday Dahh-dee made its first appearance, and this morning Nooo-aaa.

As ever, eternally fascinating to us, but not exactly world shattering events in themselves. Like I care what you think!