Now you’ve let that particular notion out of it’s bottle, I think I’ll crawl in to the resulting space before said notion has a chance penetrate Vic’s pickled cranium and he realises that hom’o’nyms isn’t a funded refuge for down-and-out Liverpudlians.
On second thoughts, to hell with that bottle! The Highland Park looks far more comfortable – just got to make a little more room first…
Just to be clear: chortling gives way to gargling at this point
5.15am wake up, feel queer
5.30am decide bathroom is the place to hang out
5.45am remember that I have some gaviscon. Drink it.
6.00am revisit what’s left of last night’s dinner in a negative format
6.05am inspect two pieces of courgette with bemusement
6.20am feel queerer, blood pressure plummets, watch my fingers tingle
6.45am start doing a twisty wiggle to massage innards
6.50am explain to bleary and yet strangely wide eyed husband what I am doing
7.00am go back to bed trying to squash stomach in pure spite
7.30am mutter goodbye to traiterous husband
8.00am get up and sort children out
8.05am ring another mum to abdicate school run onto her
8.10am ring doctor
8.15am decide that daughter number one’s hair looks fashionable as is
8.45am display dressing gown and mismatching slippers at the door while tossing children out
8.46am go back to bed
9.10am get up again
9.11am go back to bed again
9.14am get up and have a shower in case the doctor has functioning sinuses
9.30am stagger to doctor, sans make up, watch locals run and hide
yadda yadda yadda, suffice to say, I now have a large collection of drugs - one of which is for COLIC - babies get that!! - a hole in my arm from giving blood, and an ultrasound to look forward too so that they can rule out gall stones.
Well, not that it wouldn’t be a celebration if there were to be the patter of tiny feet (although from my experience it’s more like the thumping of tiny fists, and usually somewhere quite painful) but number 3 isn’t planned.
I always fancied the idea of having three, but I did hope to do it with an accidental set of twins instead of number 2 child. Thereby maintaining that we intended to be responsible reproducers, but you can’t help nature. Unfortunately, twins doesn’t run in my family, so that was a pipe dream (geddit?)
Number 3 would be very resilient indeed if he managed to get past the coil however.
Seems strange to prefer gallstones and an operation to a tiny bundle of joy… but with numbers 1 and 2 now both at school, the idea of going back to midnight feeding and nappies that look like someone squirted the mustard everywhere is rather galling. boom boom.
It’s quite possible that it’s not gallstones at all, but maybe an ulcer. How much fun would that be. Right now it’s just hurting, which is annoying since I thought this was last night’s game. I don’t want to play again.
I’m guessing that the plethora of drugs you were given would not harm a little embryo in situ if such a one exists? Hoping that things settle down tonight and you are right as rain tomorrow morning, or at least suffering from a more welcome ailment.
I have to confess to projecting when I expressed dismay at the notion. While I adore my children and cannot WAIT for grandkids, the thought of carrying another to term–not to mention that mustardy stuff --gives me the icy shivers. Of course, a virgin birth is more likely in my particular case.
I would suggest a nice strong hot toddy, but the circumstances don’t really permit, do they?
Have Daddy make dinner for the little darlings and go to bed.
I wouldnt be too sure about that! If a dirty great boa constrictor, can get through your tiny little S-bend...then...? :confused: Ang on! Is Mr jockey shorts a snake charmer!!?
Mr BOXER Shorts does not wear jockey’s, were he to do so, i would probably suffocate from laughter. However it would probably be a safer option on those occasions where small children wake us in the morning, and Mr Boxer Shorts hasn’t noticed that the buttons are not buttoned.
And Mr Boxer Shorts is out on the raz. AGAIN.
And to ice the cake, I have to do the gymnastics run in the morning, which means rise, get girls ready, pack uniforms in bags, and deliver them to school an hour before normal time.
well, I read through the blurb on all of them before taking them, and they are all pretty much not recommended for pregnancy, but I really doubt it’s that. Or - if it is, there is a higher chance of an ectopic pregnancy when you’ve got a coil, which would be unviable anyway.
It was drama day, and it was me who had to pick up not just mine, but two other little darlings and take them there. I’d promised them a picnic, so I had to also make sandwiches and drinks. I managed to do that at about 2pm after I got out of bed at 1pm. It did free up the need to cook a meal for them after drama, so it was the better option.
And I made them put themselves to bed, as I was in bed at that time!
And like I said, Mr Boxer Shorts is out on the raz. Drunken bum.
Well, considering the implications, I am sorry I even thought of the other possibility. Sorry about that.
I have a friend (I know, hard to believe) who has an ulcer in early stage. The big thing is just eat boring. Rice, milk, chicken breast or white fish pretty much covered his diet. 2 weeks in he is much better, but it looks like a round of meds is on order.
Gallstones don’t sound good. I’ve never had them, but I did have a kidney stone, which was mercifully easy to deal with (a process called lithotripsy, in which the stone gets smashed up by ultrasound). Investigations had their interesting side, though. They can give you an injection that basically squeezes your waterworks until there is nothing left to give. Going from hospital to house (by bike) may involve visiting most of the bushes along the route.