* Cheryl *'s photostream  

Abigail's favourite toy. He is much loved, and therefore much walloped. He also has a dent in his beak where Rhys tried out his new teeth; they work.

He came with the name Jacques, but we thought Percy suited him better.

Abigail showing her playmat who's boss!

...are made for, well everything really. I live in the blummin things at the minute. I have worn heels twice (literally) since this time last year. They are lovely and comfy, but I may need to add a bit of variety soon.

They're lying where I kicked them off, while Abigail was feeding. It's been a tough day - jabs for the baby, combined with teething, makes for a rather rubbish day for the both of us. We've both had a rather attractive whiff of Calpol and vomit, but [Scarlett O'Hara] tomorrow is another day. [/Scarlett O'Hara]

I'm not exactly a 50s style housewife - anyone who's seen my house can vouch for that one. And I've been heard to say "you'll never wish you'd done more ironing on your deathbed" more than once or twice, but I really did think I'd have a tidier house while I was on Maternity Leave. Oh, the naivety!

On the plus side, today has been a much nicer day than yesterday's jabs horror. We don't smell of Calpol or sick and Abigail kindly got me out of packing the dishwasher by requesting a cuddle instead. Much nicer for both of us.

We sing part of this song at Wiggle Jiggles - it's lovely and calming!

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth!
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat- a- cake, darling and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby. Babies don’t keep.

Ruth Hulburt Hamilton 1958