Why is it that when you are watching the Food Network and get inspired to make something you’ve just seen on Diners. Drive-Ins and Dives that your brain forgets to remind you that in TV Land, everything is prepped and ready ahead of time.  So when the Jamaican lady says she just throws boiling water on her saltfish for two hours and then cooks it up, you think .oO(totally soooooooo much easier than changing the water 342 times throughout the day. Let’s do this!)

Only you put your fish aside to desalt and forget that in that two hours you should perhaps be mincing garlic, slicing onions and peppers and chopping tomatoes.  Or maybe you could be getting everything for your rice and peas together instead of watching Ellen Barkin on Anderson and thinking how much fun she’d be on a night out while you add her to your list of imaginary friends.

And then, when you start the prep and get the rice on its way, you check on the fish and RASS that fish is still salty as shit! So you start some vigorous water changes and shake the hell out of it to try and rinse as much of that salt out because, sure your children have been little ratbags all day, but do you really want to take it out on them by sucking all of the moisture out of their mouths?  Of course not.  Because then you will have to spend the rest of the night making them feel better and you’re already in a panic because it’s XFactor night PLUS the finale of Dancing with the Stars.

Your only option is to do what you can to get that saltfish sorted out and ready for dinner and in the meantime you make a note to tell that Jamaican lady that she is too full of chat when you one day wind up in her restaurant on some road trip because damn her coconut drops looked sooooo tasty.

And then, because you are a superstar you wind up with a meal that reminds you that if your husband ever gets too sick of your constant lazy and crazy, you’d happily marry yourself because YUM.

 

22.11.11 Saltfish and Rice and Peas .. Noice

22.11.11 I need more toys

I know.

He’s cute.

This often works in his favour.

It is extremely hard to have those super huge brown eyes look into your yours and deny what they are asking for.

Except when you are sat in the middle of the basement that looks like it has been raining Toys R Us for 40 days and 40 nights and the owner of those eyes turns to you and says:

I need more toys, Mommy.

B3 , Hamster

20 / 20

It feels like 10 minutes ago that we were packing up the house in England and preparing for a whole new life in Canada.  Only at that time we didn’t realise that a whole new life included a whole new life.

Then we went for that first ultrasound where we lost a month in our lives in the matter of 20 minutes.  Not in the way we lost something in that ultrasound back in June, but in a good way.  Or at least once we digested it, it was a good way.   When we – or at least I – realised that an arrival at the beginning of April was better than one in May because it meant that we were one month closer to me getting past that 6 month barrier where I go from totally freaking insane to borderline insane with a splash of normal.  And let’s be honest, my household cannot handle my complete crazy for too long.

So it sank in that we were having an April Fool and when it’s in a different year, it feels a safe distance away.  Like you have all the time in the world to prepare for the upheaval that a baby brings.  And you pretend it is not November because that means it is almost December which means it is almost next year.  But guess what?  Not only is it November, it is the second half of November and just like that we go from no baby on the way to half baked.

That’s right.  We’re on the 50 yard line!  It’s no longer a count up, but countdown.  20 weeks down and 20 weeks to go.  That’s it.  Except my mother believes that this is a boy and that he will follow in Noah’s footsteps of being late.  I agree with her on the boy, but I would like to hope she is wrong on the late bit.  I’ll allow a few days either side of the date, but I’m not down with over a week.  Not when I make babies the size of large watermelons.

And although they say this baby isn’t huge, which they said about Amy *ahem*, the feet speak otherwise.

Big Foot

So yeah, let’s keep growing bigger and stronger.  But concentrate more on the stronger, okay?  I’m still trying to master sneezing without peeing my pants over here.

 

Thinking

You go ahead and think that over.  If you agree to my terms, I promise not to name you “Roswell”.

November Remember Baby 043

Let’s start this post out with a photo.

 

There's Only One In There!

 

BAM.

It would appear that my lack of updating on this baby has resulted in a seed of jealously growing inside my belly right next to that baby that I don’t want to call Hamster.  Especially when, let’s face it, it looks likes I’m housing a full grown wooly mammoth rather than a tiny furry rodent.  My efforts to mask this pregnancy worse than any sitcom with their big purses and standing-behind-the-sofa shots has spurred this baby on to turn it’s bachelor pad into a Beyonce and Jay-Z sized nursery.  That’s right, there’s currently 2200 sq ft of baby house going on under that sweater.

At least it feels like it.  And it certainly looks like it.

I mean, let’s roll the clock back 4 years to when I was 19+4 with Noah.

BoB on Board

 

That is exactly one week more pregnant than I am in the photo by the falls this time around. There is a slight difference. And by slight, I’m talking an entire litter different.

I do not have an 18 week photo handy of Amy/Cheese.  However, I do have this:

Big Cheese

That is a full 7 weeks later with Amy than I am now.  And the belly is approximately the same size.

What the what?

I’d like to say it is all down to 3rd baby = slack muscles.  Or even better .. the difference between H&M Mama maternity jeans and Motherhood Maternity jeans, but I can’t.  Well I kind of can.  H&M were so much better.  Comfier, better fit, snugger on the bump.  I mean really? Pantyhose like material as the secret bump cover?  Who even thought that was a good idea?!?!

All I know is that I’ve gone from being convinced that there is a bouncing baby boy growing in there, to hoping the ultrasound on Friday uncovers a hidden twin or triplet.

That and I really shouldn’t wear grey and no lipstick.  The washed out lips almost distract from the watermelon in my sweater.