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
Sweetie(s) given
on 16 September 2005 at 14:42
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on 16 September 2005 at 15:06
Well you might think so pog but Jack shows an uncanny knowledge of Belgian policing.
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on 19 September 2005 at 11:02
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on 21 September 2005 at 13:09
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car
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
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on 14 September 2005 at 13:45
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on 14 September 2005 at 13:50
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on 14 September 2005 at 14:14
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on 14 September 2005 at 14:36
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on 14 September 2005 at 16:40
😉
Sweetie(s) given
Friar Tuck
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
Sweetie(s) given
on 15 September 2005 at 00:21
🙂
Good luck. A sinner’s prayer is gone your way.
Sweetie(s) given
Friar Tuck
on 15 September 2005 at 04:42
on 15 September 2005 at 09:12
xxxxxxxxxxx
Sweetie(s) given
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.
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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
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on 12 September 2005 at 12:00
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on 12 September 2005 at 15:16
Much sympathy xxxxx
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on 13 September 2005 at 19:07
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on 13 September 2005 at 21:32
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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?
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2. I will stop blogging and you will think that I have delivered twins
but, in fact, our computer will have collapsed. It keeps turning
itself off and sulking. Do you think that this is a good sign?
3. My stomach.
on 12 September 2005 at 10:00
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on 12 September 2005 at 11:57
You’re talking about the well-documented Pre-Sprogian era, followed by the Inter-Familian. I assume.
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on 14 September 2005 at 10:14
UC, you are wise beyond your years..
Pog, but I never thought it would happen to me.
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on 14 September 2005 at 13:57
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on 15 September 2005 at 10:51
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on 16 September 2005 at 10:24
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Dickensian Diseases
The Glam Potter rang to ask advice on vomiting babies; confidently advised probably fine.
I rang today to check on the well being of the patient. She has scarlet fever.
on 13 June 2005 at 17:28
I thought scarlet fever was one of those Hollywood illnesses that only really glamorous and/or tragic types get. What is it?I have a friend whose son has only thrown up once in his six years of life (not including baby spitups, obviously). I intend to make him my child’s role model. 
on 13 June 2005 at 17:31
KE is going to have the first baby that cleans up his/her own spitups and will probably change his/her own nappies.
on 13 June 2005 at 17:34
well you didn’t charge for the diagnosis, so no harm done then :)wow.
on 13 June 2005 at 20:58
Never knew why people got so excited about “Gone with the wind”.
on 14 June 2005 at 10:42
Scarlet fever always sounds so old-fashioned – like quinsey (no, no – not the sleuth) – and like swooning and smelling salts.
on 14 June 2005 at 21:25
Firstly, you will all be relieved to hear that scarlet fever is no longer as serious as it once was and little L went back to the creche today a well child.
HJB, um, I think that the course of antibiotics is helping.
Kate, well, L isn’t glamourous or tragic, just small and suffering from a rash and sore throat. And trust me, your child will throw up. No, really. On the plus side, as H points out it may well be able to change it’s own nappy.
Lexy, well, yes, except to my reputation as a know it all.
BHM, har. JD, har di har.
Yeah pog, I know, like palsy or possibly palsey.
on 15 June 2005 at 10:16
Yes – and ague …
Ed: That’s quite enought Dickensian diseases, thank you very much.
Birthday wishes
on 10 March 2005 at 13:58
Happy birthday! All the most special people are having their birthdays this week.
on 10 March 2005 at 17:42
And may the coming year be better than the last one, but not as good as the one after ….. Happy Birthday!
on 12 March 2005 at 20:37
Breith-l? shone duit [is fearr mall n? go br?ch] agus La’ Feile Padraig faoi mhaise freisin 😉
on 22 March 2005 at 08:57
Thank you all very much for your kind wishes and go raibh maith agat Jack. Special thanks for the sweetie Kate.