Now that the wall of Alcratraz has been errected, the house has fallen quiet once more. No more anti-social brats popping over, maybe because we've stuffed every nook and cravice under our neighbours fences with dry holly an then back it up with a wall of breezeblocks. Or maybe because we've had more rainfall in the past 5 days than the past three months, but I would prefer to think the former...

As I'm currently suffering with cankles, as mini-hd grows and manages to lodge limbs behind hip bones and ribs at in opportune moments, the rain has come as some sort of solace, although the heat build up makes it worse. And me tetchy. Maybe it's the heat or the fact that my body has finally given into withdrawal symptons at the lack of my favourite tipples, or worse even the realisation that we're shortly going to be parents and that I have the almightly feeling that we're not at all prepared for it.

That and I have no job to go back to.

The lack of job worries me somewhat in so much money, but the fact that possibly for the next year or so, I may be out of work which just leaves me mini-hd and facing the dire possibility that I could very readily turn into mumsy Sim. This probably in some aspect, is re-inforced by the lack of choice in maternity wear you can buy in the Mouth of Ply and how those sack cothes make me look, as someone in work has commented for the last 7 weeks how utterly huge I look. Cue Sim, stage left, running out of the room, faking a crying fit whilst sobbing that I was no longer attractive. Cue colleague extracting size 12's from mouth under the glare of the ladies that share their office, never daring to mention a women's weight again.

So whilst I am admittedly getting technically bigger and I only have 8 working days left, I can at least say that my evil sense of humour is still at the forefront. Adding to this, Girlpants has tried to solace me with the fact that we can teach the child lies.

I suppose there is some hope after all

Brats.
Bloody anti-social sodding brats.

I've been absent for over the last month as Girlpants and I have been teased, plagued and intimidated by a pack of bratlings who have found it funny to not only use our home as a thoroughfare to the back of the flats which back onto our garden but have also found it amusing to climb up a tree on the council land at the back to access our garden so that they can run havoc in the gardens and throw various missiles at our set of homes. At first, both we and our our neighbours have ignored them all but it's all taken a rather serious note, which for me, kicked in when Girlpants had to go away for work and I was alone in the house.

I'm not much of a wuss - I tend to call a spade a spade and usually would have no problem going up to people if I have a problem. But the things with baby bumps is that they tend to make mammas-to-be feel a bit more vulnerable. Mainly because it's not just me but now mini-hd, and to be home alone with unknown people banging on the windows at dusk was a little worrying. And because it would appear that I'm disabled, now I’m pregnant, which in turns means that all and sundry have been fretting... Apparently I'm quite delicate despite the fact that I can swear like the best of them when I occasionally stub my toe.

So when the 8 or 9 year olds came this weekend, Girlpants was not amused. He chased them out of the garden, and they came back, yelling that the fat lady should run.

At this point, I would like to point out that I am pregnant. Not fat. And previous to this, I was considered voluptuous...

The second time, he went to the back of the flats and I stupidly went into the garden to basically yell. But then I fell, catching myself on knees in a very undignified manner. Cue everyone - family, friends and neighbours worrying. So Girlpants remained in the garden as he heard them yell they were coming back. Which they did. Armed.

I make myself feel awfully old when I think to myself that I would never have acted this way in my day. Family was everything and my parents always knew where I was. But somehow I doubt the same could be said for this 10+ strong group of children, who came along with thick branches, bricks and in one case, a 3ft long metal bar, as they attempted to climb back into the garden. At which point, Girlpants took the bar off them and called the police. The boys in blue turned up promptly and rounded the toerags up, taking them home to their parents for a sound talking to...

But now Girlpants is fretting. He's worried about me and mini-hd, and as he's worried, I'm worried about him. He's also worried about the house and damage that could be done to it, but as we've reasoned, that's why we have insurance and as long as our little family is fine, then that's all that's important. But now he's come up with his own version modern of a moat for his castle. I have found from experience that when men get and idea in their head, they tend to exaggerate to make it the best it can be. And Girlpants has a whammy. We're going to build up the wall at the back in order as a deterrence. Not just any wall. A 6ft wall. However, to do so, we have to cut down some quite old trees at the back which I have become very fond of so I will be posting up some pictures shortly to see if anyone can help me identify some of the trees we have to cut down to replace them.

Bloody anti-social sodding brats. Not only costing us for a wall but now I lose some beloved adopted garden friends as a consequence. and I can't even have a stiff drink for dutch courage before the felling commences. Bother!

As Girlpants is still away, I thought that I would help him out with his chores. In our house, I clean the house, I cook a variety of home cooked from scratch, shop within the budget and look after the little living things when they're ill in the night, malting tumbleweed like no-ones business or need feeding early in the morning - the only line I draw is cleaning the fish which as far as I'm concerned is man's domain. Girlpants chores are basically all the DIY's and the laundry. But as I'm actually missing the man as this is the longest he's been away for the longest time, I thought that I would help out with some of his chores. Not the DIY as apparenty I'm too disabled to hold a screwdriver due the half labotomy that I've automatically got with pregnancy on the NHS. o - I decided to help out with the other.

Gentlemen - I read the manual on how to use the darned washing machine.
Ladies - I sorted out colours and managed to complete two washes.
All - I forgot to both throughly lint the cat blanket plus put in aside for it's own wash and presumed that it could all be put in together.

And now Girlpants has some very furry chinos and shirts. And I have less than 24 hours to sort it out.

I won't mention the state of the underwear....

Girlpants has abandoned me for a week. And all in the name of jollies.

I have become a bit possessive of spending time with Girlpants of late, howver I don't begrudge him the couple of days wine tasting in several vineyards scattered either side down the Rhine Valley with views to die for in the land of Deutsch this weekend. Not that I'm green with envy. Because I know last night he was in a basic foam bed on a University campus in the middle of nowhere. And whilst he may enjoy the wine tasting, it will be surrounded by talk of work and the German efficient long working day.

But how does a girl keep herself busy when she's barred from shopping and DIY in the home on the long lonely weekends without the solace of gin? Well folks, the addiction rears it's ugly head again. That's right - reality TV is here for the summer, although with any luck, I can avoid the trap that is BB9. However, there is the joy known as "Got Talent". And I do believe, ignoring the irritating Cheeky Monkeys who denied the well deserved and south-west homegrown Flava out from their top spot, I do believe that 2008 is the year of dance.

But whilst Britain's Got Talent is now over and the final top three were the same as my own, I now have a vaccum in my life and no Girlpants to pick on the next week. So what is a girl to do besides look across the water..?

Well - maybe it's not all dance. And I am such a mug for reality tv :)

Advice for those first time parents going for their scans...

Number 1 - Remember to tell the sonographer that you want a photo that you would like picture to ensure that you get a good snap, unlike so:

And secondly, prepare yourself for the baby to look at the camera when the picture is taken and therefore looking like an extra from Stephen King, as so:

Ladies and Gents - I might just be having an alien...

For some awful reason, the last month or so, I've become an avid worrier.

Whether it's my number on worry of money because my job may not be renewed in September, getting the DIY jobs in the house done or even second guessing myself on choices already made, each night I seem to wake in the night in a slight cold sweat. Last night was no exception...

It's probably because Girlpants and I spoke about when I should leave work - the outcome is leave it as long as viably possible mainly for the money but also to allow for handover of work. When finally winning some of the duvet back from the thief that is Girlpants, and I finally managed to settle down, I started to dream that it was August already, that I had just left work and was finally starting to relax around the house. And right at that moment, just like a nasty cold virus at the weekend, the cramps started, with the occassional twinge at regular intervals as you do.

Needless to say, Girlpants treated it like a conference and took it all in his stride, even stopping to make me a name badge. For some readon the character Kyle from Southpark needed to be strapped into his car seat which was a maxi cosi - the best on the market don't you know... before we set off to try and make our way to the local hospital via the quickest route possible. Which didn't really work as meanwhile, all the cars around me were going slow whereas the buses were ready to take everyone out. And everywhere around me was roadworks with the obligatory rather large road workers with trousers halfway down their bums, using huge evil drills to take up huge crevices of tarmac, revealing all underneath.

I dreamt that bump was not too large but I still managed to make it to the hospital and give birth in 4minutes 35seconds. Even with the length of it's tail which refused to break off. Slowly, I realised that mini-hd looked remarkably like a cat.

And in the background, I could hear a constant drilling, whilst Sir Alan Sugar then walked in and yelling at me that I was fired.

And as I woke up in a cold sheen of sweat, reaching for a glass of water, I came to the realisation that I really really do hate the dentist.

Bugger buggery and botheration... How did I managed to miss that? PCSO Bloggs has tagged me - quite some time ago only I was too wrapped in big bellies and a sooo cute teddy bear snow suit that smells like a baby to notice...

Dear God - put me out of my misery and shoot me now...

So here are the rules if you decide to play along:

1) Link to your tagger (please visit PCSO Bloggs here and wave hello!) and post these rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3) Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs
4) Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
5) Duck as you face the vitriol of those you've tagged realise the crime against blogging you have just committed....

So here is goes....

1. I am a NCIS freak. And CSI, Bones and Morse. I even watch the repeats.

2. I currently weigh less pregnant, now than last November, drunk. A fact which is rather sad but hopefully my new healthy lifestyle is and will pay off

3. I am due to start a masters in forensics in September. Girlpants has even offered to buy me a suit to help...

4. I'm quite quite sure and have argued on several occassions that Bambi's mother tasted wonderful with blackberries and a mustard salad. In other words, I love steak, roasts and am a carnivoire of the highest order.

5. I am exactly 21 days younger than Girlpants. Apparently to the hour...

6. I miss gin. I really really miss my gin. This baby better love me without a doubt nor whim nor tantrum!

7. I hate marmite. And the fact that some advertising tycoon persuaded Paddington Bear to sell out. The gits.

Unfortunately it's late and I must decide whom to tag...via comments! :) Am going a visiting now!

Sorry guys :(

Out and about, entertaining Professor Lovely last night in an Italian restaurant, the conversation took a sudden turn as Girlpants and I were about to tuck into our meals.

Dr God's-Gift - We've made the calculation that you made your baby on the night when you came over to ours for supper...

Can you hear that clang of a bomb hitting the floor? The constant light chatter suddenly ceased as 7 sets of jaws dropped and turned, including mine. Which is a shame as the aroma from the cherry sauce was making my mouth water...

It's slightly disconcerts and then makes me deeply cringe to think that some of our friends have been sitting at home trying to calculate when Girlpants and I, well.... ahem! For want of a better phrase - indulged in hanky panky. Mulling on other people’s intimate lives is a bit like thinking of the Queen sitting on the proverbial throne. I've never done that in my life. There's a reason why if anyone asks, my siblings and myself were made in test-tubes. Some mental images are just not needed. The only time I think I ever tried the people sitting in front of you naked technique was before an interview board where the chair person grilling me had the biggest and hairiest mole on the end of their nose that you could imagine.

Lucky lucky me. Professor Lovely attempted to cover my blushes, regaling us with how his eldest was conceived on Christmas Eve. But nothing, no nothing could compare to Girlpants clumsy attempts at humour to spare my blushes. By adding to them. Whilst I could see each person suddenly trying to mentally calculate any marital shenanigans whilst eying us both up, he entered the fray with humongous size twelve’s:

"When everyday is a sh*gfest, how could we possibly we work it out ourselves??"

Cheque please!

Whilst the flu has finally subsided, I'm steadily becoming more aware of the parasitical life form within my belly. Ignoring the constant stuffed up nose, the hay fever for which there is no pill that I can take, the restless nights as I can no longer lie as I usually sleep and the back ache in my coccyx makes sitting at my desk and generally standing the proverbial pain in the derriere, in general, Although you would never know if you saw me from behind, the big fat belly I'm developing kind of gives it all away.

But joy of joys, apparently when you're up the duff, you're prone to bad dreams. Leaving out the usual cheese induced feverings, so far in my dreams, Girlpants as cheated on me in my dreams with Stacey and for which, I couldn't forgive him for the first half hour of being awake. There have been ghosts, Alien v Predator with the obligatory alien burst out of my chest/belly for full affect, gigantic cats, the re-occurring waking dream and the crouching tiger, hidden Sim flying through the air and beating up Alexis Colby dream.

Needless to say that morning conversations with Girlpants have been fun. But the last few nights have been racked with even more anxt as various people I know have been giving me words of advice and have filed me in with their experience and therefore knowledge of my "impending motherhood doom..."

Did you know that:

1. active mums make active babies
2. if you stretch too much when you're up the duff, then the baby stretches too and is prone to being strangled with the umblical cord
3. if Girlpants put the pounds on, I'm more prone to be carrying a girl
4. my baby will be bald when born as I've not experienced any heartburn

So....I have milked 1 to it's full effect, 2 has given me nightmares and Girlpants belly in 3 will only be influenced by mini-hd, as opposed to being caused by his own gluttony with the 2 kilo box of Hotel Chocolat. In comparoison, I totally expected 4....

That and I'm hoping that sproglet will be under 6.5lbs...
Any old wives tales for that??