MORE DISTRACTION

So effective was the distraction that you may have missed key information hidden deep within my last post.

My amniotic fluid is stable, my placenta is winning beauty competitions but they still want to induce me. Tomorrow. At least, I have to go to the hospital tomorrow, with my cases, one for me, one for Rufus, who already needs more stuff than me and he's not even out yet! Whether they actually get around to giving me the drugs tomorrow is anyone's guess. It may be the following morning.

Anyway, enough of my yacking! (Anyone who can tell me the source of this quote wins a pair of throwaway hospital pants. Used or unused. Your choice.)

I never got around to showing you my €10 bargain from Le Monde Allant Vers, the depot vente where I go for all my €10 bargains. This time it's une commode. Not as one might suspect a grown-up potty for the incontinent (or a shit-chair as the Tall One so succinctly puts it) but a chest of drawers.

It is made of plywood. It was brown and really quite nasty, although rather... erm... commodious which is what attracted me in the first place.

On the excellent advice of John Wallace, I covered it in sous-couche (undercoat) then used a water-soluble, quick drying wood paint in blanc cassé.

A bit of artful trickery with some sandpaper to make it look distressed and you have something that could, possibly, be in the same room as THIS (see below) without blushing. Check out the posh Scandinavian crib in the background, courtesy of the Tall One's lovely sister.

Please don't focus on the last piece of grey and pink rose-motif wall-paper behind the posh Scandinavian crib. Blame the medics. If they'd let me go another few days like the Clark Kent look-alike intern that did my scan suggested, we'd have had that mirror down and that wall paper off before you could say "nesting instinct". I have a fantasy that if things start to go wrong, the intern will shed his glasses, turn into superman and rescue Rufus from my womb without the need for surgery. Do you think it would be cheeky to ask him to sort out the wall-paper too?

THIS is my gorgeous antique 'shabby chic' French armoire that I paid a fortune for in the UK (Ah... those bygone days when I had disposable income) that JL kindly repatriated for me when he came to collect Ash. Although it looks gorgeous, it was never really much practical use as a wardrobe as it is too shallow to allow a full adult-sized coat-hanger to sit sideways in the manner required by 21st Century life.

However, as a baby storage unit it's perfect. And I should add that it is extremely practical in that it is what's described as a "knock-down" wardrobe, i.e. it comes to pieces and is held together in the most ingenious fashion by 2 bolts and 2 wooden brackets. Nothing else would get up my cute French stairs.


That's your lot. Distraction over. Tick tick tick...

Oh my. DO you think there's ANY chance I'm going to sleep tonight?

THE MYSTERY OF THE AMAZING REJUVENATING PLACENTA

There have been dramas. There has two days spent doing nothing but washing baby clothes and hanging curtains(me); and painting walls and ceilings (the Tall One). This allocation of tasks has nothing to do with gender stereotyping and everything to do with body size and mental application.

However, having been told that my amniotic fluid is disastrously low and my placenta is looking dangerously old on the Monday, I arrive, suitcase in hand expecting to be induced on the Wednesday only to be sent home again.

Subsequent scans reveal that my fluid levels are fine and that my ancient placenta has rejuvenated itself. We're ruling out Botox on the grounds that if my placenta decided to slip off for a spa weekend it would have to take the baby with it and that I would definitely notice. Everyone's a bit mystified but it means I'm given a get-out-of-hospital-free card that is valid until my due date; now agreed to be the 14th January.

I KNOW that my baby is fine. Obviously given that I have no medical experience and no previous experience of childbirth they're not about to take the chance that I'm right; and in their shoes I'd probably do the same. But watch this space. When the time is right, I'll be able to say:

JE VOUS L'AVAIS BIEN DIT