Tuesday 15 February 2005

the way to my heart is through a filet of beef

When we woke up yesterday morning, we exchanged Valentine's cards and I gave Paul a "Valentine's cracker" (that's not a euphemism), which was frankly a bit rubbish. Similar to a Christmas cracker, the package promised me lots of Valentine's-related festivity for him but managed to only deliver a little pop, some cufflinks, heart-shaped confetti, and a piece of paper that said "Happy Valentine's Day". The doorbell rang later in the afternoon and Jasper scared the life out of a delivery man trying to shove flowers through the door at me. Paul had one dozen beautifully deep red roses sent to the house, accompanied by a little bottle of bubbly for post-baby celebrations. For dinner, Paul made us an absolutely delicious beef stroganoff using filet steak from our local butcher, with asparagus and horseradish mashed potato. Did I mention that my husband is a wonderful cook? Yes? More than once? Never will I take this for granted, ever. It was a lovely day and our last Valentine's as a duo. Nifty, that.

Heather and baby Rebecca came by for a visit yesterday afternoon, bearing gifts of baked goods (this is the other way to my heart, in case you ever need to know). Jasper delighted in slurping Rebecca's hands and face whenever he had the chance as he has quickly learned over the past year that small children tend to be covered in food, effectively creating a crawling lolly for his enjoyment. As she got a bit more brave with him, she crawled towards him squealing excitedly - which in turn caused him to scamper backwards away from her with that look on his face he gets when I come towards him with the vacuum. I'm thankful that he is excellent with babies, but I have a feeling that he is going to be completely perplexed by the new hairless pink puppy that is about to invade his home.

Oh dear, it's been at least an hour since I've lounged around doing nothing. I simply must get back to my sofa, if you'll excuse me.*

*I won't be able to brag about my fabulously indulgent lifestyle soon, so I'm getting all the gloating in while I can. Otherwise, saying "I've had no sleep, I haven't left the house in six weeks, and my boobs are constantly leaking" isn't exactly much to be envious about. Please humour me.

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