I've started so I'll finish.

I sometimes wonder if 'Lord of The Rings' is entirely responsible for my almost pathological incapability not to finish a book or watch even the worst movie until the end. There are a few notable exceptions; 'Middlemarch' (in which it seems I'm not alone), in fact if anyone has got through it you have my undying admiration, if you enjoyed it-seek help, 'The Great Gatsby' and 'A Bodyguards Story' (something about Princess Diana I must have been given) spring to mind. Still overall I've sat through countless horrendous movies and read numerous bad books just because I have to know what happens.

Now I know blaming this on Tolkien seems outrageous, however I believe I have grounds, so here I state my case. For as long as I can remember I've wondered what happened at the end of that book, I could remember the scene in the inn where the Nazgul, shred the bed thinking that Frodo's in it, but after that nothing. I didn't even know what it was from! Finally the summer I turned 11 I read the book, and it was like I'd made a huge discovery. Talking to my Nan a few years ago I found the reason, apparently when I was a toddler she'd borrowed the old BBC readings of the book and was listening to them and doing the housework. I was on the floor playing, seemingly oblivious, until that scene. At which point I burst into tears. She turned it off and only listened to when I wasn't in the room from then on.

So I put it to the jury that Tolkien in collusion with my Nan has condemned me to spend my life fighting to reach the end of a myriad of inane movies and uninspiring books. Now as punishment I suggest reading 'Middlemarch'.

The Madness of Mummy Dear.

Last night involved a very hard and in-depth chat with the Fella, which no doubt will make it into a blog when all decisions are final, and I've calmed the raging emotions. Though while I touch on the subject I would like to say: 'Peanut, any decisions we make are what we genuinely believe will give you the best possible life. We both love you very much' Moving on....

I can only say it moved from the sublime to the ridiculous. Having got off the phone, I shooed the rabbits off the bed, and in Caramel's case off my head, and settled down for my nightly sleep attempt. It basically goes toss and turn to find a position which makes neither my boobs, back or belly ache, start to doze off get up to pee, rinse and repeat as the shampoo says. Just as I got to a doze my phone rang, it was the Fella. Turns out Mummy-Dear's getting even odder than usual. She's attempting to join the technological revolution and has put some photo's online then e-mailed the Fella to 'check out my pic's'. OK. There were a few categories 'Friends', 'My Jewelry' (she's decided she can make her own, I'm reserving judgement) and 'Family'. The Fella took a token glance through knowing she'd ask and was taken with a sudden urge to phone me when a picture of me at Christmas 2004 was in the middle of the family album. Not a group shot, not a shot of me and the Fella, just me! God knows how she got me to stay still I hate photo's, I appear to be drinking larger and as it was Christmas day at the Fella family I can only assume I was drinking anything that came to reach to survive.

It still begs the question, what the hell am I doing in the 'Family' album? She remains ignorant of the existence of the Peanut, and I've so far managed to hide in cupboards until the danger passes when the Fella suggests I go to visit with him. Is it some new form of psychological warfare? Has she finally mellowed? Or has she just accepted that she can't get rid of me? I guess we must agree on one thing; 'Thank God for friends, 'cos you don't get to pick your family!'

Babies, Bunnys and Butties.

'I just faked a sonogram.' Miranda, 'Sex and the City'

Now I know exactly how she felt! It all started ominously, the Fella took charge of alarm setting 7 to leave for 8.30, not a difficult task, unless given to a man. He's working between two phones, switching the sim card, for some charger related reason which has never been fully explained, and setting his alarm genius boy fails to note he's not changed the time when the clocks went forward, 6 am love being woken at 6 am!!! Still we get to the hospital, locate a parking spot, locate Anti-Natal arrive 20 minutes early. All good.

We're sent through to a huge, and empty waiting room. Called through for the scan, so far so normal. The Scannist? It may not be the job title but it should be and I'm sticking with it! So the scannist checks my name and quires if I used to have a different surname, the Fella's to be exact. I say no but it is his, should she scan him instead? Not a flicker, the woman is humorless! Goo goes on, scanner applied to belly, I didn't have to take out my belly bar which surprised me.

Scannist sharply: 'Did you drink water this morning?'

Me: 'Yes' (In fact I'd drunk half a pint more than required, in the getting ready panic I'd forgotten the first glass.)

Scannist accusingly: 'You're bladder's not very full.'

Me meekly: 'Sorry'

Peanut pops up on the screen, and despite my initial worries mostly due to my inability to ever do those 'Magic Eye' pictures, I can see it clearly. It seems to be waving, though in fact I think it was going 'What the hell, stop pressing on my walls'. It's sprawled there, on it's back looking for all the world like it's by a pool in the south of France, all it needed was a cocktail, defiantly takes after Daddy. We look and the Scannist points out the heartbeat and, rather patronisingly, the hand, head and feet, (glad its got them though). She's looking at us clearly waiting for something, I manage an; 'Aw', what I'm thinking is; 'That's freaky, I can see my insides and there's a little person in there moving.' The fella manages a; 'Hey, its got my nose', then a; 'There's only one in there right? Another one's not hiding behind it?'. She looks at us in pure disgust. Anyway she does some measurements and tells us it 12 weeks. To be honest we were quite relieved, in a long distance relationship you can be pretty sure when the act necessary for conception took place, but when the Midwife looked at the dates she was saying 11 weeks, by that count I was having the son of god. The she turns and pointedly asks if we'd like to buy the pictures, we'd already decided that we'd get the next one's when it's baby shaped and doesn't have an alien head, so the answer should have been simple. Should have been, but her tone gave you the feeling if you said no she'd have been straight on the phone to social services telling them we were unfit parents. So we have four pictures of a big headed baby, on cheap paper, and not a clue what to do with them, we keep telling each other that they'll be nice to have one day, and the various grand-parents will like them, we don't convince ourselves.

When we got back I was supposed to throw a few things in a bag and go home with him for a few days, nothings ever gonna be that simple when yours truely's involved! I've got two house rabbits, Jasmine a big, black, lop ear, who thinks shes a Labrador, and plays dead on command, and Caramel, a smaller, lion-hair who refuses to hop preferring to baby crawl and makes strange 'murp' noises for attention. Jaz has just finished moulting and Caz has just started, in November, in Wales, in the freezing cold, they're not bright! So I had to groom her before I went anywhere, I notice this weird thing on her eye, it looks like a popped blister, I get her blink a few times but it doesn't move. Check over Jaz and she's fine, Caz doesn't seem bothered but I'm worried. Luckily my vet's great and I got an appointment that day but not till ten past five. 6 hours after we should've left. Still had to be done.

While we're waiting we head to Tesco to get some in car munchies and plenty of fresh veg to leave for thee rabbits, assuming of course the Caz is OK and I don't have to stay with her. We grab sandwiches, chocolate, grapes all the usual suspects and head home, in the car all I can think about is that butty and how much I want it! Of course the second we walk through the door I devour it and it's soooo good. I've been like that with food for the last few weeks as soon as I but it I eat it. I'm on a four Weetabix breakfast, from a girl whose' morning meal used to consist of two pieces of toast and a vat of coffee. I'm eating 5 meals a day, my hard won 28" waist is now 35", and I've put two inches on around the hips, you'll find no complaint about the inch on my bust though, yet I've actually lost 2 pounds in weight. Pregnancy messes with my mind.

Vet time comes and through we go with Caz, he looks at her, and wanders next door, and returns with a syringe, I think; 'Arrgh, needles' and simulatainously; 'Oh god it serious'. The vet takes off the needle, tips it on to a cotton bud and wipes Caramel's eye, it's saline solution. He shows me her eye through the funky light and spends a few minutes fussing her and telling her how cute she is, the little madam normally doesn't like people in general and men in particular but she was ready to follow him home. With my purse £20 lighter for what boiled down to sticky sleep in her eye and several hours late we drop her home and begin the long journey to the Fella's. Of course we stop for more sandwiches on the way!

Troubleshooter

Well I've had to get rid of my pretty layout but I've solved the problem of the right hand sides of posts being cut off! Yay!!

Blog a little, Blog a lot.

After weeks of neglect, now I fear my keyboard may go on strike for better hours. However, writing here has gotta be better than fighting with the Fella!

Eventful week, America has a Black President who's pro gay marriage. I'm in shock, good shock. His acceptance speech was amazing and I love the fact that his first promise as the 'most powerful man in the world' was a puppy for the kids!! Jessie Jackson in the crowd started me crying. Can we have Obama when America's done????

More personally, the Fella's heading down this evening for one night only, not unfortunately to celebrate Bonfire night and watch the fireworks but because tomorrow I get my first scan. Excited? I think terrified or confused would be more apt. The appointments at 9.25 and I've got to drink a pint of water an hour before and not pee, do these people know I'm pregnant?? I've got a morning routine; get up, pee, boil kettle but don't yet make tea as it's time for a little light vomiting. Make tea and whatever breakfast takes may fancy, put it to one side, pee. Eat breakfast, pee, shower, pee you get the drift, I am a leaky watering can. They want me not to 'empty my bladder' for an hour???? It also occurs to me, and I realise the unlikeliness of this scenario, but I never skimp on things to worry about, what if all they can see is my half digested Weetabix in there? Amusing, yes, but I don't want the Fella to think he's got to add milk to the Peanut!

Which links neatly into the next set of worries, the Peanut! What if the scan shows something wrong with it? Or worse what if it's got it's Dad's ears, I know it's only 85mm long, but they might show up. How about the possibility of Peanut actually Peanuts, or Mixed Nuts if you will. There's a history of multiple conceptions on both sides, but they don't end well, and I don't have the best history of fetus staying in utro either!

The receptionist, bet you never thought I could find a problem with that! We've not made the situation public yet, or informed the family's, partly because I'm worried about history repeating itself and partly because I want my Nan and Gramps (who brought me up) to be the first to know and they're toddling round France or Spain in the Camper Van till the end of the month. So with the secrecy finding out who the receptionist was, was not great. He's an old drinking friend of mine, I went to school with his brother whom I'm still in touch with and is a housemate of another friend (she's a month of blogs in her own right), who works with the Fella's sister. One phone call, or drunken slip up and the cat is well and truly out of the bag. Receptionist is not one of the more discreet people I know!

But I do get to see the Fella, and watch his face go a funny colour when he realises Peanut's coming, ready or not!

Oh god I need to shave my legs!

Mr & Mrs Smith

Writing can be cathartic, and hitting publish on yesterday's post was exactly that. Because even with all the bad points there's still more good, sometimes it just takes something silly to remind yourself of whats good and making a mistake yourself to remind you of human fallibility.

Yes, I on some level seemed to decide that if the Fella could be selfish so could I. We talked last night about what really needed to happen, and that he has to face reality at sometime. Then having made some reasonably adult decisions I launched into a crazy attack on Mummy-Dear. Then refused to go for the obligatory Christmas visit/ character attack, or go ever. In what I can only assume was a desperate attempt to prove his commitment to his new found consideration the Fella agreed!!!!! Of course half hour later I'm so guilt ridden at my own hypocrisy I call him back and say of course I'll go over it's selfish not to. But still to err is human, to forgive takes chocolate.

On to the good. Last night 'Mr & Mrs Smith' was on telly, and on a totally random tangent, Vince Vaughan is in the movie in which Brad and Angelina met, he later ends up with Jennifer Anniston, coincidence or conspiracy?? Back to the plot.... we'd been to the cinema to watch it years ago and said at the time it was us with firearms. So I settled down with a wedge of chocolate cake and a glass of Dandelion and Burdock, not as good as a glass of wine or a nice vodka and coke, but needs must. The Fella 200 miles away sat down with Lemsip (he's got man flu, bless) and a larger (so no I'm not giving him sympathy). Yes, we watch movies together, apart, a legacy from the early days when even though he was only a mile away Saturday mornings were spent watching hangover telly over the phone. Let the texting and comedy comments commence, plus regular phone calls in the ad breaks.

Angelina: 'Why do I get the girl gun?'

The Fella: 'You'd totally say that'

Me: 'You'd give me the girl gun!'

The Fella: 'I'd swap'

Me: 'Only if you ran out of ammo'

The Fella: 'No, weellllll, maybe'

Or my personal favorite:

Me: 'Please tell me your Mother's an actress'

The Fella: 'Sorry, I'm the bloke I brought the real one'

Me: 'Dammit'

And that's the thing, we just get each other, we may blow the house to pieces, but we work it out in the end, and even when it gets bad I wouldn't swap him for any other guy, except maybe Ben & Jerry.

That's even made me feel quite sick! Normal transmission shall return from now on.

Though rereading not sure if this post is about the Fella or Mr Cadbury.......

one million and one

Welcome to the culmination of a million attempts to drag a post out of the swirling vortex of confusion which is my mind. I've tried and tried to put into words my current train of thought but am failing miserably, mostly because I don't know what I think myself. The optimistic side is seeing the way things could work out, the cynic doesn't believe in happy ever after and the pessimist seems to fight through and take control.

But they say time gives perspective, so prepare for the wobbly screen as we travel back through some of the highs and lows of the relationship that led to this point (and the longest post) : cue weird time travel type music, plants shrinking and other associated special effects.

The Year: 2000

The Place: The Unreality of High School

17 and after oh about 6 months of skirting the issue, comic flirting and general sick making displays we celebrate the end of the school year in traditional fashion, a pub crawl starting the second school lets out. After a few drinks in the local bars we walk to our regular haunts, normally this would take around 20 min, me and the feller took so long they sent out search parties! Who of course failed to spot us, being too busy looking under bushes to notice us walking fully clothed, sorry people no gratuitous sex scene here, up the street. Though the conversation did stray repeatedly to the fact that 'my balls hurt'. The romance! The end of the night and this is before every teen had a Mobile phone (not much before mind I got mine the next Christmas) and he promises to call at 11 the next day and we'd do something. Knowing the alcohol consumption I find this unlikely.... but still (and to this day I've never admitted this to him) I was up dressed and debasing my normally tom boy self made-up and sitting by the phone by 11:02.

12:30 he finally calls!!!! (Though he admitted in drunken soft moment recently it had taken him about 45 min to work up the guts to call, bless) And so a high school romance is born, its hardly Bronte but still............

There were the usual teenage spats but a year later off we went to Uni, and home for Christmas and the inevitable break-up. We were young no real blame, no real surprise. The recriminations got a bit nasty though and we stopped speaking.

And in the background, judging me, was Mummy-Dear!

Fast forward a few years and I'm about to turn 21, a lifetime of events for another day have gone by and I'm studying Drama at a local college before making my second attempt at Uni. A long day after a very late night led me into the place of all evil or McDonald's due to a general couldn't be bothered to buy food and had nothing in the cupboards type scenario. I sat down with one of their crispy chicken salads and book, when from next to me a voice says 'Hi'. I look up and see the fella blocking my escape route, looking round my only weapons are 4 cherry tomatoes (which we both hate) and a plastic fork. With no recourse I reply. He'd been in line a few people behind me with his Mum (who incidentally hates me) getting a Happy Meal for his niece who wasn't feeling well. 20 min later he's still sat at my table chatting when Mummy-Dear appears at the window looking for him. The rest as the say is history. He told me a few months later he'd been stood in line thought 'nice ass, wait I know that ass.' How should one respond?

BUT, its also the start of many problems, he as now was living up north and had returned for his summer after uni before going back, I had another year of my course and Uni to follow. I trawled up every month 7 hours on the bus each way! He spent Saturdays doing Tae Kwon Do and going for a pint afterwards while I cleaned up after his flatmates. He came home at Christmas, and for one of my shows. There was also another girl, he'd been sleeping with her behind her boyfriends back (out of character in his defence) a few months previous to our meeting. She took umbrage to him not being at her beck and call and began sending text about what I can only assume was her premature dementure as she kept forgetting to put on underwear. I found these when he'd not spoken more than two words to me for three days, I shouldn't have looked, they shouldn't have been there to find. He apologised, saw her on a night out, she tried it on, I found out blah blah blah. The twist is she knew how to play him, I don't do girly can't look after myself, he has a saving people complex. She played the girly card he ran to her aid, I went insane. That was a 4 month interlude, he says nothing happened I believe him. There was a lot of good stuff too.

And in the background, judging me, was Mummy-Dear!

Somewhere in all this he'd proposed I'd accepted. We argued I wanted small and intimate he wanted a circus. The time for my move to uni and for us to move in together had arrived, but for several weeks I'd been saying it wasn't such a good idea, my Uni was only two hours from where he was living, with the problems we should take more time. The fella became temporally deaf.

We lasted a month.

This sounds like it was all bad and it really wasn't, but its the bad that leaves me in the state I'm in at the moment.

It was just after Christmas and I was nostalgic, so I e-mailed to see how he was. We kept in touch and as we were both in Wales at the same time met foe a drink....... And back on the same roller coaster again.

Now, comes the crux I get extra funding for my teacher training by doing it in Wales, so the plan was do it move up there. Of course pregnancy put pay to that, and originally he was going to move closer to here and I'd go with him so I still had options. In a moment of madness I said I'd move to the Steel City if no suitable work was forth coming. He stopped looking. I've been to the doctor and have masses of info, in two visits he's not even glanced at it. Even little things like he was going to get me a pregnancy belly bar haven't materialised. We've had a blazing 4 day row. He's admitted he in 'not very considerate' but he's 'trying to change'. 'will take more of an interest.' I don't know if I can believe him, move 200 miles to be with him and I'm worried I'm gonna be stuck at home, seeing no one while he carries on with his life.

And in the background, judging me, was Mummy-Dear! (and we haven't even told her yet)

Nans' are always right.

I've been suffering from a general apathy recently which has left me with the motivation to do precisely zilch! The combination of no job, having to leave my course and the ever amazing gastric pyrotechnics seem to be the cause.

However, I've snapped out of it and my usual over excitable is back!! And whats more its back to stay!

That's not to say I'm not still crying at random moments, yesterdays highlights included, Dr Doolittle 2 when the bear gets the honey, when the fella text just to say hi, and at a car advert. Today I nearly started bawling when I took a short cut through the park to find the local thugs had been setting fire to it again, and the park-keeper (how very 1950's I met a park-keeper!) was trying to clean it up!

My sloth did give me plenty of time to think, and I was looking at some old diaries, when I remembered saying to my Nan, 'If I die suddenly burn my diaries, don't read them.' Her response was to tell me that all diarists (is that's a word, if not it should be) want to be read, because they write to someone else. I refuted this at the time, but now here I am blogging my thoughts online, assessable to anyone with a modem.

Which leads to another question just a new form of the diary, or the ultimate ego trip?
Are bloggers' writing for themselves, or to try and entice others into their world to satisfy their own egos? Now I should be answering this in a long and dry essay, BUT I did my degree so sod it!

Off to visit the fella this weekend, and look at some houses, here's where it all gets real!

Fear and Loathing in Anti-Natal

Anti-Natal appointments, sound easy right??? Maybe if your not me!

Firstly I got into the doctors surgery to find the waiting room full of babies!! Crying babies!! Way to put a girl off before we even start!! So I get into the consultation room, with the midwife feeling have run gauntlet of toddling children, breastfeeding mum's and gawping babies, and the worst thing is the babies have a better grasp of what is going on than I do!!!

And the questioning begins, my history the fellas history every birth in either family for the last 500 years or so it feels! Amazingly enough I can answer them, but couldn't remember my boyfriends address, how dumb did I look??? I mean I know he's got a horseshoe shaped kidney and his blood group, but not where he lives!! About half an hour into the appointment my brain has turned to mush and I've stopped taking in anything she's saying. Anyway we make appointments for some blood tests and she tells me my scan date will come through in the next week and finally after an hour I'm free to leave.

Carrying a huge bundle of leaflets, magazines and badly photocopied information, I begin the long walk home. (At this point I feel I should explain that I live in a village in the middle of nowhere, that gets a bus every two hours, in theory!) So here I am trying to sneak up to my own house without the token gossipy neighbours who have nothing better to do than hang out on doorsteps and scrutinise everyone else's movements for gossip fodder, seeing the glaringly obvious see though maternity wallet! No doubt the joys of the text message would have the information flying across the channel to my Nan before you could say 'baby bump'.

The good news is that I'm allowed up to 6 cups of coffee or Coke a day, way hey! So I settle down with a coffee some choccie biscuits (hey I found one benefit, I'm off the diet for the first time in 18 months) to read the pack. First the important thing, what can I eat? No soft or blue cheese, no shellfish, no pate, only well cooked meat the 8 page pamphlet listed pretty much all my favorite foods! Not a good start on to the next pack in which I discovered Sickle Cell Anemia, Down es Syndrome, Syphilis, the possibility my body may develop anti-bodies to the baby's blood and many more exciting complications. By this time I've completely lost the plot. When the fella having finished work calls. He asks me how it went then starts on a comedy routine about how I may as well get used to a life without Stilton and Rare Steak 'cos once Peanut's born we'll be so skint we'll have to live off toast and baked beans. Just typical of his humor which normally makes me giggle hysterically before joining in, but boy did he misjudge the mood! I went off like an atomic bomb, 'Do you really thing that's funny?', 'Am i supposed to sort that as well while you swan round up there eating curry and going to theme parks?' (He'd had a weekend away with his friends last week) before slamming down the phone.

I ran round the house ranting to myself scaring the bunnies in to hiding in corner's before finding myself coming to my senses crying on the stairs with the rabbits desperately trying to make friends with licks and nose taps. Of course I called the fella back and spent 10min justifying my totally irrational behaviour, rather well even if I do say so myself.

Note to Self: Take a deep breath, count to 100 and let rip anyway!

Reality Packs A Punch

Hey Ho, The plans are rapidly spiraling in to a huge crash! I've been re-examining dates and realise there is no way I can do my PGCE this year! Not so good, and not gonna go down so well with the family. So I phone the fella hoping he'll give me some sympathy, typical bloke he heads straight for the logical cop out 'it's up to you' 'and if that's what you really want'. Like I have a choice!! It means that I could move to him rather than him having to come home tho, a choice I put to him, which he put down to 'hormones' then told me he had to go out.

Am I being irrational? Yes. Tough! I'm seriously stuck between a rock and a hard place either

1. he moves down here and grumps madly about it, and his hugely interfering mother, who by the way thinks I'm evil because I don't agree with every word she regains control of his mind and my life.
2. or, I move up there where I know no-one but his friends.

What's a girl to do?

What is an Iggle Piggle?

There are 3 easy steps to complicating your life

1. Complete uni and move home to be able to afford to study for PGCE (teacher training)
2. Get back together with your ex-boyfriend, who lives 200 miles away.
3. Suffer a 'wardrobe malfunction' and become pregnant.

Yes I have managed to do all these things since August! So it seems a good point to start a blog in earnest, not least because we've decided not to inform the family and friends for a few months until we have a sensible plan.

Currently the plan seems to revolve around the fella moving home, or to a reasonably close city (as opposed to the villages we grew up in) and me toddling off to join him. All very well, assuming he can find a job and I can somehow manage to gestate and complete the first year of the course simultaneously! Hey I can do that!! Right?

So i spent today with an Argos catalogue on my knee making a list of nursery items we'd need. Which leads to the question what is an Iggle Piggle?

Igglepiggle, played by Nick Kellington, is a blue creature similar to a teddy bear. He always carries his red blanket with him, and tends to fall flat on his back when surprised. He arrives at the beginning and leaves the Night Garden at the end of each episode in a boat, for which the blanket doubles as a sail. Igglepiggle has a bell in his left foot, a squeak in his middle, and a rattle in his left hand. His best friend in the garden is Upsy Daisy [3]. He is the only character not to sleep in the Night Garden, apart from one time when he fell asleep on Upsy Daisy's bed, and also the only character to walk on the garden path. Igglepiggle is clearly not a native of the Garden but a visitor.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_the_Night_Garden

So there you go - how could I not have known that, he's on everything!! Of course that's the simplest question, more complex ones include, do i need a changing mat as well as a changing station? Will the fella let me get Eeyore blankets even though they're pink and it could be a boy? Apparently no boy of his is having pink sheets, my counter point that the donkey is blue doesn't seem to carry much weight. And finally am I evil and neglectful because I can't understand why a mini-bath to go in the bath is now a requirement - I mean a sink was good enough for both me an the fella! And surly bending over the bath will just give me a bad bad back.

All this for a woman who's now suddenly gone cold turkey on the smoking!