Thursday, 30 March 2006

one more before we go

Jack in the box:

Jasper now accepts the fact that everything is no longer his:

"I wish, I wish, I wish I was a fish":

Wednesday, 29 March 2006

sweet merciful crap

"The Grizzlies and Krispy Kreme Doughnuts have teamed up to create 'Baseball's Best Burger.' The burger, which was debuted at the Grizzlies' December 10th sale, consists of a thick and juicy burger topped with sharp cheddar cheese and two slices of bacon. The burger is then placed in between each side of a Krispy Kreme Original Glazed doughnut." [source]

Surely this is a sign of the apocalypse.

reasons why i never joined any mother/baby groups #563

I talk to Jack all the time (usually about totally nonsensical things), whether we're at home or roaming about in public. This I have no problem with. What never ceases to perplex me are mothers who talk at their kids in a non-stop, high-volumed frenzy. I kept encountering a woman and her small baby at Tesco the other day. The one-way conversation went something like this: "You like that kind of formula, don't you? Yes you do! Shall we try another one today? Yes? Shall we? Shall we give it a try? Look at those dresses! Aren't they pretty! You like dresses, don't you? Oh yes you do! Dresses are pretty!" at the speed of someone who just mainlined 12 litres of espresso, talking to someone with potatoes wedged in their ears. The baby was around 3 months old and probably not getting a lot out of the conversation, and the mother was turning blue from not taking a breath for twenty minutes. Frankly, if I was an infant, I'd be rather frightened by the whole thing.

Kids need to be spoken to - this is how they acquire language - and need attention. Kudos to mums and dads who involve their children in what they're doing and maintain that all-important running commentary. But please, enough of the manic, demented children's television presenter shouting.

Your children will thank you...if they can get a word in edgewise.

it's a mystery

On Friday, I'm being whisked away for a birthday meal at a mystery location, which I've been informed is "somewhere nice". I've bought a fancy new frock and everything. All I know is that we're heading for my in-laws' earlier in the day and we're taking advantage of their free childminding services that evening. How very exciting!

Every year since my Rome/engagement birthday surprise weekend, Paul reminds me that the current birthday won't be quite as elaborate. It really doesn't matter, though - I'm the kind of girl who thinks Pizza Hut or a good burger makes for a scintillating dining experience. I'm thrilled by meals cooked by other people (especially Paul), my idea of heaven is a lie-in, and my favourite day trip is to the seaside. I'm a simple gal, really. Buy me a 2kg bar of Toblerone and you're my friend for life. Send me Kraft Dinner and Peanut Butter Cups from home and I'll love you forever. Clean my house and I'll be permanently indebted to you.

But just because my affection can be bought with prepackaged macaroni products, I'm not easy, just so you know.

Sunday, 26 March 2006

a happy mother day

I'm so very proud to be this wonderful boy's mummy.

i like commercial holidays, so sue me

At nursery on Friday, my son made me a card with his handprints and pencil scribbles on the inside:

and today, I got some lovely flowers that came with a lovely balloon:

This evening, Paul cooked us a fantastic roast beef dinner with a very chocolatey dessert. I cried when I got my card and I had an amazing day today. Poosticks to anyone who says that Mother's Day is just commercial pap. Poosticks, I say. Scribbly cards are what it's all about.

Happy (UK) Mother's Day, you excellent mamas.

Friday, 24 March 2006

come home - all is forgiven

Oh Summer, where have you gone? Do you remember the days when you'd shine brightly upon us, bathing us in your sunny goodness? I fondly recall when I'd open our French doors, sit outside sipping wine and watch my husband grill something on the barbeque. We'd turn the music up and ignite our citronella tea lights (that fizzle out after an hour or two), switch on my funky fairy lights, and listen to toads procreate in our pond. We spent long evenings with you, watching dragonflies gobble up mosquitoes, periodically spotting the weird neighbour kid bouncing up and down on that godforsaken trampoline. We lit the chiminea and sat in front of it all night, coming in smelling of smoke and covered in ash.

Oh Summer, where have you gone? I want to switch off the boiler and wear strappy sandals. I want to put my heavy coat and boots away. I want to change togs on our duvet. I want to enjoy frozen alcoholic beverages without needing to put on a sweater.

Summer, please come back. Isn't the southern hemisphere done with you yet?

Thursday, 23 March 2006

an open letter to my workmates

I feel I must apologise to the people who sit close to my desk for the following:
  • The uncontrollable tickly cough I've had all afternoon. It must be like sitting next to a chain-smoking old man.
  • The whistle in my nose. I couldn't hear it because I had noise cancelling headphones on, but when I took them off, I was mortified to hear the sound of a dying recorder emitting from my left nostril.
  • That sneezing fit I just had, and all the sniffling and nose blowing afterwards. I know it's kind of gross.
  • My loud voice. Every time I speak slightly above library level, one of the developer guys near me whips his head around and glares at me. Perhaps he's secretly in love with me. Ah, that must be it.

Thank you, that is all.

just say no

My little boy has recently learned how to shake his head "no", which has been making me giggle to no end. I love it when he shakes his head when he knows he's about to do something naughty. For example, Jack's got a fixation with splashing around in Jasper's water bowl; whenever he goes near it, I usually say "No, Jack". Now when he approaches it, he stops, looks at me, and shakes his head "no" with a cheeky smile. It doesn't actually prevent him from doing the deed, mind you.

I forgot to mention another first from last weekend: Jack now has his first pair of proper shoes. Now that he's toddling about a lot more and they take the kids outdoors at nursery, he was in need of sturdy footwear. I can't have my son gallivanting about in socks. He is the proud owner of "Fozzie" shoes from Clarks, size 4G. The saleslady wanted to see him walk in them to make sure they fit properly, but Jack was so taken by his new shoes that he just stood there, held his foot up and stared at it, grinning. Perhaps he's inherited his mother's fascination with shoe shopping.

And finally, yet another friend has announced her pregnancy. A woman from our antenatal group told us that she's 11 weeks pregnant (her daughter is about a week older than Jack). I think I'm gonna have a lot of cards and presents to buy come Autumn.

Monday, 20 March 2006

a weekend of firsts

First time in a big boy booster seat:

First time on a bouncy castle:

First try of his very own home ball pit:

First haircut:

Friday, 17 March 2006

beating towels against a rock by the river

Our washing machine packed it in early this week, leaving us with a mountain of dirty clothes by this morning. I am amazed at how much laundry one small person can generate, coupled with a husband who runs or goes to the gym several times a week. So by this morning, things were getting dire. What was left in Jack's drawers either didn't fit him anymore (I've neglected to migrate the 9-12 month trousers to the loft) or wasn't warm enough. Scrambling to assemble an outfit, I debated about sending him to nursery in his pyjamas, a snowsuit, his Grobag with holes cut out for his legs, or the beaver Halloween costume my mother sent*. Luckily my laziness paid off and the pile of birthday clothes that hadn't been put away yet (and thus hadn't been worn) came to the rescue. Ripping the tags off a shirt and funky Baby Gap jeans, we were set for the day.

If the washing machine repair guy hadn't been able to fix our machine today, we would have been either knocking on the neighbour's door with a large bag and pathetic expression, or down at Tesco purchasing cheap babywear. All I've been thinking all week is "Please don't let Jack get the stomach flu."

*(Please note that I didn't seriously consider any of these outfits and this portion of today's blog was for comedic purposes only. Please do not ring social services. Thank you.)

Thursday, 16 March 2006

donuts. is there anything they can't do?

I kept meaning to try a Krispy Kreme doughnut just to see what all the hubbub was about. We finally got a shop near my parents in Mississauga, which we travelled past several times a few years ago but never managed to go into. We passed many Krispy Kreme outlets on our American travels, but didn't go inside. I stood outside of the Krispy Kreme in Bluewater, but the queue was enormous and I was hugely pregnant at the time. I couldn't stand in one spot for long, not even for a doughnut. Last Christmas, I vowed to finally get a taste of that deep fried goodness, but once again, we merely passed it on the way to and from various shopping excursions. So finally, my friend Susan offered to bring some doughnuts to me after visiting her mum in London. After several years, I finally bit into a Krispy Kreme doughnut.

It was pretty good, but kind of weird. More cakey than doughy like a regular doughnut, and incredibly sweet (which is a common thing I noticed about most American foods since moving here). I had a Tim Horton's doughnut when we drove from Toronto to Montreal, which I preferred. It's likely got more to do with what I'm used to rather than what actually tastes better. Speaking of doughnut shops, I asked my brother-in-law where cops hang out in this country as there are very few doughnut shops. He wasn't sure, so answers on a postcard, please.

I was telling my friend Em today that I seldom have non-baby things to blog about, and it's a real struggle to come up with something for this blog...which should be painfully obvious from today's post. Please feel free to clink any one of the links on the left for more riveting reading.


What do you do when both hands are full but you want that piece of toast in front of you? Dive in face first!

Demonstrating his floor sweeping talents.

Wednesday, 15 March 2006

light reading

I'm going to request my maternity notes and any other records the hospital may have, mostly out of curiosity and partially so that I can have immediate access to them next time round. In a way, I'm really looking forward to reading through everything to get their "take" on the situation. On the other hand, the thought of reliving the weeks before and after Jack's birth makes my stomach feel a bit funny. Either way, I'm sure one day Jack will find it fascinating to read about his scan measurements and the results of his mother's infinite urine tests. For those of you in the UK, apparently you can get your records free of charge within 40 days of your hospital stay. After that point, you will have to pay a fee (anywhere from £10-£50) to get copies or you can view them at the hospital for free. I believe that they keep your records for something like 25 years.

I was surprised when I didn't get my maternity notes back when I was discharged from hospital. I carried them around with me at all times from around 20 weeks onwards, until they got dog-eared and crinkled from being stuffed in my bag. I took them out periodically to read through my midwife's scribbles and study Jack's scan data. By the time I ended up staying in the hospital, the midwives had to staple extra pages to the back of my notebook. Pages and pages of various people's handwriting filled my book, detailing my visits to the Day Assessment Unit and chronicling my days in hospital. The entries ranged from blood pressure readings to details like "mum feeling weepy today". It's full of things that I've forgotten about, little tidbits that will be important again one day. It's mine and I want it back, dammit.

Or at least I think I want it back. Maybe I'll just keep it in a drawer for a while.

Tuesday, 14 March 2006

i *heart* my husband's relatives

Paul's oldest brother, his lovely wife, and Harry the Dog came up for a visit last weekend. They absolutely adore Jack, and I love how much they're taken by him. On Saturday, they took the dogs and Jack out for a stroll and on Sunday, they took Jack into Cambridge for lunch and sightseeing. It gave me a chance to finally attack the garden and chop my way through the jungle that is our backyard. I can't really do any work to the garden when Jack's around because there's nowhere to put him to protect him from potential dog poo, a deep and very cold pond, or yummy looking rocks/dirt/weeds/bugs. I managed to cut back most of the overgrown plants, although the pond plants are beyond my powers and require a bulldozer. It was lovely to work on the garden with two waggy dogs following me around. Roll on summer.

Jack was coughing a lot at night and kept waking himself up. At one point, I was cuddling him back to sleep but every time I tried to put him down, he let out a very pitiful cry of "mama mama mama mama!" I know I complained that Jack wasn't communicating yet, but I didn't really want it to happen like this. Breaks a mother's heart, it does.

Jack hadn't been walking much lately, so it was surprising to see him walking most of yesterday afternoon. He stood up with his two little feet spread wide apart, toddled across the room, fell down on all fours, turned with a look that said "Am I great, or what?!", and got right back up again. He kept it up for ages, absolutely thrilled with himself. Is it just me, or does it seem like kids learn skills in batches? It's like one day every few weeks they demonstrate a dozen new talents.

While I was vacuuming yesterday, I turned around to find Jack mimicking my back and forth movements with a broom I'd left against the wall. He was sitting on the floor pushing the broom across it, and did this happily the entire time I cleaned up. Wonder if I can teach him how to run the washing machine?

That is all.

Friday, 10 March 2006

shocked and dismayed in godmanchester

I quite enjoy the television programme "Ready Steady Cook", especially if you hit the mute button whenever Ainsley opens his mouth. For those of you not in the know, it's like a game show where contestants bring in a bag of ingredients (usually costing less than £5) and celebrity chefs have to whip up a few dishes in under 20 minutes. I always found it quite impressive, particularly when contestants would bring in bags containing things like pickled eggs and Mars bars. Before the chefs begin, contestants explain why they chose the items they brought in while the chefs wrack their brains thinking up ideas. Then they cook like the dickens and end up with around four or more different dishes, and the audience votes on which chef's food looks tastiest. With me so far?

Right, so, yesterday I made a horrifying discovery. Contestants do not actually pick what they bring! A message posted by a former contestant to the BBC web site stated that she didn't get to choose the items in her bag and had to make up reasons why she included these items. I started to get suspicious a few weeks ago when one of the chefs said "I was thinking about this in the car on the way over..." when he was considering what to make. Now how would he be able to think about something he supposedly hasn't seen yet? Eh? EH?


and now, back to the baby babble

We got Jack's MMR appointment in the post yesterday, and I'm not sure what to do. Maybe I should take the day off in case he reacts badly to it, but then maybe he'll be perfectly fine. Maybe he won't react until days afterwards. Maybe I'll be the only one who cries, like the other three times I've taken him in for immunisations. Do all children react badly to the MMR shot?

So after my post about Jack not gesturing or communicating, I picked Jack up from the nursery, put him in his car seat, and he pointed out the window and made some sort of noise that may have meant "Goodness, look at that. How very interesting." He has actually been making more sounds that seem to relate to what he's looking at. For example, he'll toddle after Jasper shouting "DA!" repeatedly as Jasper runs in the opposite direction. It makes me wonder if I'm simply not recognising Jack's attempts to say words. We went out with friends for lunch last weekend and one of the girls (who's Jack's age) was playing with a mobile phone. She looked at it and made a noise that to me sounded a lot like "uh", but her mother exclaimed enthusiastically, "That's right! Hello!" Either we (parents in general) are interpreting any noise that may remotely resemble a word as an attempt to talk, or our children are in fact communicating with us. Who knows? Either way, I'm just not going to worry about it anymore.

The nursery workers were very excited when I picked Jack up on Wednesday. "He stood on his own! And then he WALKED!" they told me, genuinely pleased. I always feared that Jack would take his first steps at nursery and I would have to hear about it secondhand like this, but to my great joy, I was able to tell them that we had already witnessed it at home and yes, it was very exciting. It was the first time he'd done it at nursery but I am eternally grateful that we saw it at home first.

Nose picking seems to have stopped for the moment. He has now moved on to sticking his face in my chest, shaking his head back and forth, and going "bwahbwahbwahbwah!!" I have no idea what this means.

Thursday, 9 March 2006

oh, was it supposed to be fun?

Why mothers should be offered caesareans

Jo Revill thinks that traumatic or potentially dangerous births can be avoided if women opt for elective caesareans. She argues that it's an issue of choice, and that encouraging women to have a caesarian is "doing both mother and child a great service." Here are some excerpts from the article with my comments below.

"We are fast approaching the point where logically we should encourage women to have a caesarean whether or not they have a medical or psychological reason for wanting one."
No. We should inform women of their birth options and the consequences of each, and then let them decide what's best for them. One birth choice shouldn't be "encouraged" over another, particularly when it involves elective surgery.

"By having a planned surgical delivery, you simply avoid the biggest risk factor of all: the possibility of an emergency caesarean."
I might have a problem with my appendix and tonsils one day. I think I'll saunter over to my hospital and have them removed, just in case. Having a caesarean to avoid a caesarean seems like flawed logic to me, but maybe I'm missing something.

" taking away the unpredictability, pain and fear associated with normal birth you may be doing both mother and child a great service."
Because as we all know, major abdominal surgery is predictable, painless, and has no emotional consequences. Especially if you need to recover from said surgery on no sleep whilst taking care of a tiny human being. And being its sole source of food.

"Some 30 per cent of women [who have vaginal births] suffer urinary incontinence afterwards."
Which is from being pregnant, not from giving birth vaginally. C-section mothers suffer from this too, because the pelvic floor is weakened from carrying a baby.

"The guilt that a woman can be made to feel for exercising choice can be terrible. When Kate Winslet had to undergo an emergency caesarean for the birth of her first child, Mia, the actress admitted she 'felt a failure' in some way."
How is an emergency caesarean a choice? How can Winslet's situation be compared to someone who elects to have a caesarean?

My main concern with this article is that is omits some fundamental issues about caesareans. There is no mention of the increase in ectopic pregnancies, uterine rupture in future pregnancies, bladder and bowel complications, adhesions, and difficulties breastfeeding in c-section mothers. Like Revill's sister, my surgery itself was fairly calm and downright civil - it was the recovery that was unexpectedly difficult and traumatising. For her to infer that a surgical birth is always going to be calmer, less painful, and a better experience than a vaginal birth is simply irresponsible journalism. Of course women should be allowed to make birth choices, but it's hugely important that these are informed choices. Otherwise, we're perpetuating the misconception that c-section recovery takes 6 weeks and try to avoid the vacuum and car for a wee while, dear.

I will try for a vaginal birth next time, but there are specific situations in which I will opt for a c-section. If there is no choice but induction, I will choose a repeat section, for example. I am not opposed to caesareans; I am opposed to misinformation. Shame on you, Guardian.

Wednesday, 8 March 2006

just don't call me a b*tch

You know how dogs experience phantom pregnancies? I think I'm going through that right now. I know that I'm not pregnant (really), but I keep having symptoms that I haven't experienced since I was carrying Jack. I had heartburn for almost a week (which I never experienced before I was pregnant, and it went away when Jack was a week old), I've been nauseous off and on for a while now, I've had non-PMT weeks where I've suddenly bloated one size up, strong cravings, weird dreams, the whole lot. I have been having this recurring dream in which I find out that I'm pregnant, then I go into a panic because I realise that I've been taking numerous cold tablets, asthma inhalers, and other very bad things for teeny tiny babies. It's all been a bit weird.

So many people I know are pregnant right now - I must be experiencing sympathy pregnancy. Give me your nausea, your bloating, your cravings for dill pickle popcorn. I will feel it with you! I truly am very much looking forward to being pregnant again - scared witless about quite a few things, but looking forward to it nonetheless. It's just that I've got to get into better shape before this happens. I have a theory that the high blood pressure at the end of my last pregnancy (thus leading to intervention and the c-section) may have been due to being very overweight. Well, that and being stressed out by numerous people forcing me to pee into a plastic jug for 24 hours and sticking me with needles, unsuccessfully attempting to draw blood. But I digress. The plan this time is to slim down to a healthy weight, get into shape and get my heart as fit as possible, and hopefully avoid a repeat of last time. Ideally, I've got about 7-14 lbs. left to lose (the weight ticker above is really the countdown to my first goal) and lots of running and weight training to do. Then I think it'll be time to start trying for Jack's sibling before I get too old to be bothered.

Perhaps this phantom pregnancy is a trial run? I'll pass on the 'roids, thanks.


I think I want to learn how to knit. Forget the fact that all the celebs have taken it up, I just feel like my life might be enhanced somehow if I could make a jaunty scarf or a very small blanket. I'm not one for artsy crafty things, but there is something therapeutic about the click-clacking sound of knitting needles. I'm fascinated by my mother-in-law's ability to expertly loop yarn around a finger and perform mysterious movements with knitting needles without even looking. I like the idea of a quiet moment in front of the television, click-clacking away after a very long and demanding day. Some people do puzzles to relax. Some have been swept up by Soduku-mania. Some people drink heavily. Me, I want to make tea cosies.

I'm still cool though, right?

Tuesday, 7 March 2006

half baked

My father-in-law offered to toast some bread for my sandwich. He put the bread on my plate and I noticed that only one side had been toasted. Now here comes one of those "I'm not crazy, YOU'RE crazy" moments I often have in this country. Apparently, most English people only toast one side of the bread (the outside) when making a sandwich such as a BLT. I never even knew that you could do such a thing in a toaster, let alone thought about how the toast will get soggy if it's toasted on the inside. It does make sense, though. When you make a cheese toastie (or a grilled cheese to us North Americans), the inside isn't toasted. Think about it! Or not.

Residents of the UK and ex-pats may notice my habit of writing posts about the differences (usually culinary) I've noticed here. I truly don't want to come across as a whingey tourist; the kind that compels you to shout "If you don't like it, go back to [insert city of origin here] and your supersized nachos!" Besides, it works both ways. I am certain that at this very moment, there are thousands of British ex-pats in Canada who are staring at a plate of poutine and wondering which circle of hell could have produced such a dish. They recoil in horror as we douse everything in ketchup, flee in terror from our numerous peanut butter-flavoured food items, and gasp in disbelief at our pogos. While much of my writing includes phrases such as "Good lord, what is wrong with you people?", it's always written out of love. No, really.

For any government officials who may be reading my blog, please take this into consideration when I apply for citizenship in the near future. I love England and the Queen is really excellent. Thank you.

i thank yew!

I have always maintained that the most useful (and supportive) advice I've ever come across has been from other mothers. Many thanks for all the replies to my last post, you lovely mums. You will always be infinitely superior to those bloody "Your Baby This Month" emails from which I really should unsubscribe.

I think my concern was more about Jack's non-verbal communication more than his first words, because I'm sure that many babies don't talk at his age. Jack doesn't point, wave, clap, shake or nod his head, which I thought he would be doing by now. I'll definitely keep up the question asking and the Let's Point Everything Out and Make Associated Noises game, though. My barnyard animal impressions are usually a big hit during suppertime.

Jack's latest fascination seems to be with nose picking - not his; everyone else's. If he is within reach of your nose, he will take one pointed finger and proceed to poke it up your nostril. This is not limited to people around him either, he'll also try to pick the noses of people on television. I dread to think how many noses his finger has been in by the time he comes home from nursery.

Friday, 3 March 2006

i know, i know, i know

I am usually not the fretful type. I often complain about The Very, Very Annoying Books - pregnancy and baby books - that insist that at certain months, certain milestones "should" be reached. I tend not to read them simply because they make me cranky.

So having said all that, something is starting to bother me a bit. Jack doesn't really communicate with us, and I'm starting to wonder if we should be doing something to encourage this. I'm starting to get concerned because he doesn't make many gestures (like pointing, clapping, waving, etc.) or sounds particular to an object or person. He constantly "babbles", making all sorts of random sounds like he's having a conversation with himself in a foreign language. I don't think he's said any words that he associates with something specific, like "dada" for Paul. He'll flap his arm up and down when he's annoyed, but doesn't point or reach for whatever it is he wants. I suppose to say he doesn't communicate is inaccurate; it just doesn't seem to be getting more specific yet.

I think it's got to do with the desire to spot some sort of sign that Jack is trying to interact with me. I hold things up and tell him what they are, in that over-enunciated manner we normally reserve for non-English speakers and the elderly. I ask him questions and wait for an answer, as he glances at me with a frown and carries on chewing the remote. I sing to him, make all sorts of animal noises ("Dog! Woof!"), and read books to him. I point excitedly at objects and gasp, "Look! What's that?!", which usually causes the dog to come bounding into the room because he thinks something really exciting is happening, while Jack makes an escape to investigate the washing machine.

Maybe he is communicating with me, after all. He's probably trying to tell me to leave him alone and stop being insane.

Thursday, 2 March 2006

bring out the huskies

"Pupils in the north of Scotland and parts of Wales are being told to stay at home for a second day following snowfalls of more than 10cm.

Forecasters say snow will hit more areas overnight, including parts of the south, with temperatures as low as -7C." [source]

10cm and -7C, eh? Sounds like the time of year for restaurants to re-open their terraces in Montreal.

Wednesday, 1 March 2006

drown me in syrup and call me a flapjack

Every year I bang on about weird English pancakes on Shrove Tuesday and this year, I am pleased to announce, is no different. Okay fine, I'll accept the fact that many Europeans enjoy the thinner crepe-like pancake as opposed to our North American fat n' fluffy variety. Crepes are nice, especially when you slather them with Nutella and stuff them full of bananas. What I cannot get my head around is the concept of Jif lemon as a pancake topping. For those of you not in the know, Jif lemons are those plastic squeezy lemons filled with lemon juice often found in the fruit and veg section. English people like to put this stuff on their crepey pancakes and sprinkle sugar on them. Good lord people, WHY? You can get maple syrup here - use it! Enjoy it! Savour the sweetness that is the pancake topping! Why torture yourself with the sour taste of plastic lemons when you can slop syrup all over your chin with wild abandon?

They had English pancakes at the nursery yesterday, but apparently Jack wouldn't touch them. After supper last night, I gave Jack a "Canadian" pancake.

Being part Canadian, his stomach must reside in the Canadian half.

all the small things

Shopping for newborn baby items during PMT week makes for one very emotionally-charged trip to Mothercare. Our cousin Gail gave birth to a little boy on Saturday, so I took Jack shopping for baby things. As I picked up the teeny tiny newborn clothes, I couldn't help but "Awwwww!" at everything. "Look at this!" I said to my confused-looking son. "You used to be this tiny once! Awwwwwww. Looooook!" I grinned and fussed over sleepsuits, itty bitty socks, soft teddies, and wrist rattles (I even found one called "Baby Jack"). I left Mothercare feeling incredibly broody. Not broody enough to consider getting back on the pregnancy train just yet, mind you.

Some pictures from the weekend:

Jasper makes a lovely chair.

"Where's Spring?"

Jasper makes a lovely pillow, too.