Matters started badly. The Princess decided against a long nap
and we found her standing by her bedroom door with doggy in hand and
the curtains drawn saying “Enough nap”. Alas. As we had
both been napping we were not of the same view.
We drove to this kiddie farm. The traffic was brutal. Many
of the tunnels which make Bxls an excellent place to be a motorist
(though a rotten one to be a pedestrian) were closed. At one
stage, herself asked “Are we going to France?” and I thought, well,
actually, we probably could have driven to France in the time it has
taken us to reach this Brussels suburb. And Mr. Waffle had
put his back out, and he was doing directions and the mobile which I
had failed to recharge was making pathetic “I’m dying here” noises from
the depths of my handbag: all of which tended to make Mr. Waffle
tetchy. And I begged the Princess to be silent while her father
consulted the map but she was having none of it. “I want to TALK”
she wailed. This did not improve anyone’s mood.
Hours later we arrived at the kiddie farm. There was an ice cream
van outside and, in probably the day’s only sensible move, we instantly
yielded to the Princess’s screams for ice cream. We trekked down
the hill to the farm. Well I waddled, Mr. Waffle walked hunched
to one side and the Princess trekked. It was a bit limited.
A lot of the excitements that would have been available had we arrived
somewhat earlier were over. The Princess was terrified of all the
animals and demanded to be carried. I couldn’t carry her.
Mr. Waffle was able to put her on his shoulder and lurch hump back of
Notre Dame like around the various attractions. I think it would
be fair to say that nobody had a good time.
We left about half an hour after our arrival. On the way home,
the Princess announced “I want to do a wee” and for the first
time ever, proceeded to wee in her car seat. After we got her to
bed, Mr. Waffle and I spent the remainder of the evening trying to get
the wretched cover off the car seat with a view to chucking it in the
washing machine. Sigh. We’re still recovering.
on 12 September 2005 at 11:31
on 12 September 2005 at 12:00
on 12 September 2005 at 15:16
Much sympathy xxxxx
on 13 September 2005 at 19:07
on 13 September 2005 at 21:32
on 14 September 2005 at 10:19
Thanks Lilo and a sweetie to boot.
Pog, good summary.
Minks, 2 sweeties and excellent advice, you are the picture of goodness.
HJB – I will discuss with him.
JD – Eh?
which will hold three car seats. On the minus side we will never
be able to park on the street again due to its enormous dimensions.
This morning I spent three quarters of an hour curled up on the bed
thinking this is sore. Are these contractions? You’d think
I’d know after last time but, really, you do forget everything.
Anyway, last time I was induced and the gap between my first
contraction and the arrival of the epidural was mercifully short.
I struggled to the phone to ring Mr. Waffle but he was off at a
meeting. I sent him an alarming email. And now, I feel
absolutely fine. So there’s a completely unnecessary panic.
Or perhaps not. Stay tuned for further updates.
on 14 September 2005 at 11:40
on 14 September 2005 at 13:45
on 14 September 2005 at 13:50
on 14 September 2005 at 14:14
on 14 September 2005 at 14:36
on 14 September 2005 at 16:40
on 14 September 2005 at 16:41
Then again, it is easy to be excited when its not your body parts that are being stretched to unnatural dimensions.
Prayers and best wishes.
on 14 September 2005 at 23:06
on 15 September 2005 at 00:21
Good luck. A sinner’s prayer is gone your way.
on 15 September 2005 at 04:42
on 15 September 2005 at 05:24
on 15 September 2005 at 09:12
on 15 September 2005 at 10:57
Cookie, I have dutifully noted your comments and matters will be rectified.
Locotes, you appear to be right as usual.
FT, keep praying. And yes I know, but Americans have cheap petrol. Do you know it’s 1 euro 40 a litre here?
JD, sinner’s prayers are particularly valuable, keep at it. And isn’t it great that we won, though no surprise etc.
SJ, yes 3 car seats is terrifying, frankly.
Poor old Mr. Waffle went for lunch with a Danish colleague yesterday
who told him that the car we bought is prone to exploding when
parked. A hunt on google reveals that this is apparently
true. But only in Nordic countries (something to do with their
excellent social model, or possibly the climate) and only for older
models. But he is now officially worried about the vehicle we
have selected to transport our precious progeny. In an effort to
ensure that he continued in this happy frame of mind, another colleague
whose wife is also pregnant reminded him that Sunday is car free
day. This colleague has got a special permit to drive on Sunday,
in case his wife needs to go to the hospital. To get the
permit, you need to get a note from your doctor stating that you
are pregnant and take it to the commune. I have refused to do
this. I think that, if we are stopped by the police on the way to
the hospital, I can persuade them I am pregnant. Or we can get a
taxi. But my spouse worries.
on 16 September 2005 at 12:48
on 16 September 2005 at 14:42
on 16 September 2005 at 15:06
Well you might think so pog but Jack shows an uncanny knowledge of Belgian policing.
on 19 September 2005 at 11:02
on 21 September 2005 at 13:09
She’s not as fond of Juliette as she is of T’choupi, the world’s dullest mole, but she is moderately fond. We possess 3* of these works and they are very true to life. Just a little bit too true to life. Let me give you some examples.
Juliette goes shopping.
She pesters her mother to buy chocolate cornflakes because she’s seen on the telly that there’s a present inside. She demands that her mother buys ice cream.
Juliette on the Farm
She sees piglets being fed by their mother (go on, you try to explain to a two year old what’s going on here). She watches the farmer attaching the milking machine to a cow (again a difficult one to explain – surely milk comes from cartons) while the cow flicks away flies with her tail. Juliette is warned to stand well back in case the cow poos on her.
Juliette has a little Brother (purchased for propaganda purposes)
Juliette wees all over the floor because no one is paying her any attention. This is clearly illustrated so even if one doesn’t read the accompanying text, it is quite apparent what is going on here.
I see that there is an offering entitled “Juliette celebrates Christmas” available in the series. Doubtless this is where young readers are told that there is no Santa Claus.
*Updated to add – as of May 2007 we appear to have about 16 Juliettes all with that delightfully honest take on the life of a small child.
on 16 September 2005 at 14:48
Juliette wets herself? Juliette sounds filthy to me.
on 16 September 2005 at 15:08
Chintzy, I’m appalled.
Jojo, you and me both, frankly, I’m amazed that there is other news available though I enjoyed your link to Brittany and Kevin’s site very much…
on 16 September 2005 at 15:55
I’m hoping to see a similar broadcast here some time soon (don’t forget the virtual baloons now will you?)
on 16 September 2005 at 21:52
Weeing on the floor? Is this book trying to give the children ideas?
on 16 September 2005 at 22:42
Comment Modified) If you want to see real kiddy-read mayhem, look no further than Katie Morag Delivers the Mail. Or in fact any Katie Morag story. Priceless 🙂
on 19 September 2005 at 09:59
Jojo, am even now investigating the technology for same.
JD, no more mayhem please.
Me: (Sniff) So where is this conference?
Her: Why do you want to know?
Me: Bet it’s in Dubrovnik.
Her: How did you know?
Me: Because it’s beautiful and people like conferences in beautiful places.
Her: Yes, it’s in the capital.
Me: Um, no it’s not, Zagreb is the capital of Croatia.
Her: Maybe it’s Zagreb then.
Me: Oh well, less glam.
Her: But it will be nice to be by the sea.
Me: Zagreb is not on the sea.
Her: Then it must be the other place.
Me: For God’s sake woman you’re going there next week.
Her: Well, you seem to know the place quite well, do they use the euro?
Her: They’re not part of the community then.
Me: Oh dear lord.
Her: Well what currency do they use?
Me: Can’t remember (it’s the kuna, if you’re curious, Mr. Waffle knew, of course).
Her: Tut tut and you were there and everything.
In other pregnancy related news, Mr. Waffle brought me home yesterday a
pile of Su Doku puzzles which he suggests I might like to occupy
myself with when I go into labour. Is this very endearing or
somewhat odd? Bit of both, I suppose.
on 16 September 2005 at 15:07
on 16 September 2005 at 15:11
on 16 September 2005 at 15:54
Su Doku an intense game of strategy that requires concentration, patience and a keen mind.
Labour an intense experience of pain and suffering that scrambles the brain, throttles your patience and makes you hop like a chicken.
A marriage made in heaven I’d say.
on 16 September 2005 at 16:01
on 17 September 2005 at 09:45
Still managing to look manly and sexy of course…
on 17 September 2005 at 21:25
Don’t they use the Euro? Turkey isn’t in the EU, and they do. In places I guess.
on 19 September 2005 at 10:01
Pog, yes, I fear so. And you will find out for yourself someday and then you’ll be sorry (snicker, snicker).
Loc, of course.
BHM, didn’t know they took euro in Turkey in spots, will bear in mind, if I ever go on holidays again…
on 19 September 2005 at 10:44
on 19 September 2005 at 11:51
Oh yes you will!
on 21 September 2005 at 13:10
Other news from the weekend, my loving husband was saintly and
took herself off swimming and to the park while I reclined on the couch
recruiting my energies. Car free Sunday passed without a sign of
a contraction. We took the tram into town and it was absolutely
jam packed. I stood towards the back and the man sitting beside
me looked resolutely out the window. I felt a bit sorry for him
because, he may well have had some dreadful leg ailment which prevented
him from standing and offering up his seat, but the woman squashed
beside me was determined to make him suffer. She asked me when I
was due and I said Friday. “My goodness” she said pointedly “you
really should be SITTING DOWN”. I said I was fine really, which
was perhaps not entirely true. She explained to me that her
first child had been born at home because she didn’t get to the
hospital in time and that I really should be SITTING DOWN. I
think both myself and the sitting man were quite glad to get off the
tram. Car free day included lots of excitements like a farm in
the city and bouncy castles and the obligatory wide range of food
available at any Belgian organised fun. All moderately
pleasant except for the moment when Mr. Waffle had to run around
looking for a toilet with a little girl in his arms saying with
increasing urgency “I want to do a WEE”.
The Affables dropped round on Sunday and I was once again struck by how
very nice they are and, dammit, even their 18 month old is the picture
of politeness (needless to say, the Princess mortified us by refusing
to let said 18 month old touch any of her toys). I am also
somewhat in awe of their stamina. They both have very demanding
jobs. They collect their little girl from the creche on alternate
evenings but quite frequently the parent responsible will bring her
home, give her dinner, put her to bed, welcome the babysitter and head
back to the office until midnight. And then they’re out partying
regularly at the weekend (when not working). And no, they’re not
even significantly younger than us. When they left, I said
to my loving spouse that we should try to get out more.
“Absolutely” said he. “Will we try to go out to dinner before the
twins are born?” Pause. “Next week?” he asked “I
suppose” I said. “But I’m really tired” he said. “Yeah me too,
let’s not bother”. Pathetic.
on 19 September 2005 at 11:47
And there’s always your late-fifties for going out… 😉
on 19 September 2005 at 11:59
on 19 September 2005 at 18:33
on 20 September 2005 at 05:54
on 20 September 2005 at 09:45
on 21 September 2005 at 13:12
Thanks Jack, that’s sweet.
Minks, you are very wise.
Oh, Kristin, I like it, closet speed freaks, but I fear it’s just not true.
SJ, well yeah, but it’s just less impressive…
Lauren, I feel we may take a leaf out of your sister’s book. Thank you very much for the sweetie.