Goodbye 2012, You Were A Special One

As 2012 draws to a close, I feel a tinge of sadness, as this year meant a lot to me. It is extra special because this is the year I became a Mother, the first year I experienced love of a truly unconditional kind.

I never knew I was capable of being such a person, and this has caught me by surprise. I have much to be thankful for, from the support from the Hubbers to the blessing (or maybe resignation) from my relatives that has made my 12-month sabbatical possible.

Every day I am learning and growing along with Baby K, and delighting in able be personally there to witness her achieving all her developmental milestones. There is no joy more rewarding than seeing your little one thrive under your care. Thanks to her, I have learnt to be more resourceful, more patient, more relaxed and indeed, happier.

However, being a parent also brought with it some lows. Resentment towards being constantly told how I should parent my child, needlessly judging others for their own parenting decisions, laziness for not wanting to think beyond my sabbatical (and for not picking up after myself at home), taking the Hubbers for granted at times and making things difficult for him at others. These things I am not proud of.

Looking ahead, I want to be a better, more positive person in 2013 and beyond. I want to be a good example for my daughter, so that she can be the best person she can possibly be.

All that has been distilled and encapsulated in a deceptively small resolution: No iPhone at the dinner table. In it is hidden the values of good table manners, valuing personal relationships with people face to face over those in cyberspace, properly enjoying my food, just to name a few. It's going to be tough, but it's also going to be worth my while. :)

Aside: This post grew from a FB status update, which I thought better off. Somehow, writing to all and sundry (and simultaneously, no one in particular) gives me a happily false cloak of anonymity. If you've cared to read so far, care to share what your new year resolution is? Otherwise, continue enjoying the (much real-er) cloak of anonymity and a very Happy New Year to you and your loved ones! :)

Baby K Can Roll Over!

In the days - nay, weeks leading up to Baby K's first roll over, I was all anticipation and excitement every time she tried to turn, first-time mummy that I am. I coaxed, I cooed, I coddled, all in the hope that I would be the first to witness her, well, first major-major developmental milestone.

The actual event, however, was a bit underwhelming. Her Godma was visiting, and was watching her while I was in the bathroom. After a while inside, I heard Godma saying "Good, good girl, a little bit more..." and I dismissed it, thinking that she would get stuck halfway 'cause her arm always got in the way.

When I got out, Godma informed me matter-of-factly that she had, in fact, performed a roll over. In my heart I thought that it must've been a fluke - Baby K had succeeded before when the bed was sunken thanks to the weight of an nearby adult, or when she rolled off of being propped up on a pillow. So I said calmly, "Oh, then you were very lucky. You just witnessed her doing it for the very first time," which I knew would make Godma's day.

I shared this with The Hubbers, and he too agreed that it was a fluke. Nevertheless we monitored her the rest of the day to see if she would repeat the feat. No cigar.

But the very next day, she really did it. In front of my eyes, but with no other witness save my iPhone. My daughter could roll over!! But again, I wasn't sure if it counted because her arm got stuck. I checked with Godma if her arm was stuck the day before as well - and it was.

:( So I did miss my daughter's first successful roll over. (For my own records, the historic event took place on Sunday, 21 Oct).

Anyway, now I have to really keep an eye on her. She's getting better and better at her tummy time, and indeed, has even started to enjoy it. Before long she will start crawling all over the place.

Sigh, how quickly babies grow. Sniff.

Why Mothers Are Sleep-Deprived

Wrote this last month but didn't get a chance to refine and post it, until now, with my post-shower insomnia. Thank goodness Baby K hardly spits up milk/poos in the middle of the night now. (Touch wood.)


Start: 3am

Baby wakes up, latch her on
She starts to fidget, wonder why, then... Oh, I see. She threw up milk.
Get up, change her clothes, try and nurse.
She poos.
Get up, change diapers.
She spits up more milk, this time on me.
Clean my tee. Nurse her again. She falls asleep.
Swaddle her. Realise swaddle is wet with milk.
Put her down to get new swaddle. She wakes up.
Realise new swaddle is too short to wrap her, get another swaddle.
That too, is too small.
Decide to make do and swaddle her anyway.
She falls asleep. Lay her down to bed. Lie down on own bed.

Smell spit up milk on tee. Get up to change tee.

Finally, sleeps.
Baby breaks free from swaddle, fusses.
Get up, frantically search for another swaddle. Finds one, re-swaddles baby
Hold her until she falls asleep.
Tuck her back into bed.
Silences the snoring husband with the bad breath.

End: 5am

Baby K's First Real Laugh

I decided to cook porridge yesterday, and so strapped Baby K into her carrier, facing her out so that she had something to look at and not feel bored, and went about preparing the ingredients. She watched quietly as I took out a carrot, some baby corn and enoki mushroom from the fridge and soaked them. Then, I took out the carrot and started to peel it.

That's when it happened; a soft, but excited, tickled sound. At first I thought it was just her making her usual baby noises, but I realised they coincided with each time my peeler went down the length of the carrot. The more I peeled, the more she made that curious noise. I slowed down, peeling deliberately. There it went again, that delighted little tinkle. She was laughing!

This was her first real, sustained laughter. She had let out squeals of delight and short little chuckles before, but nothing that lasted more than a fraction of a second. Something about the sound of the peeler was obviously very funny to her, more so than any other rattle we had held in front of her. I tried to peer over to see her facial expression, but as I'm not a giraffe, I obviously failed. I think I overpeeled the poor carrot as a result.

How I wish I had a mirror with me then! Shall try it out again with The Hubbers so we can both witness this developmental landmark! There is much we could potentially peel for hee entertainment, and ours.

Night Feeds: 5 Signs You Need More Sleep

5. You wake up from a side-lying nursing position to find your baby suckling. Judging by the clock, you had dozed off for the past one hour. You have no idea how long baby has been suckling.
4. Mid-feed, you nod off and almost fall onto your husband, who is sleeping blissfully next to you.
3. You suddenly wake up and realise that your baby is asleep on your lap.
2. You are awoken by your baby's cries and realise she had been sleeping beside you. You have no recollection of placing her there.

And the Number One sign you need more sleep:

1. You are awoken by your baby's cries and realise she had been sleeping beside you, your husband awake and trying to calm her. You have no recollection of placing her there. Thinking she is hungry, you try and nurse her. This persuades your husband to sheepishly admit that he had inadvertently squashed her as he was turning in his sleep.

You had placed your baby squarely between you and your husband, instead of by the side of the bed and next to you. :/

Of Poop and Pee

WARNING: GROSSNESS AHEAD.

So, poop and pee. No self-respecting baby would be pleased until they traumatise their parents with (at least) a couple of poop/pee disasters, more so if he were a boy. Mine's a girl, but that didn't stop her from entertaining herself with a few interesting episodes so far - and she's only 9.5 weeks old!

I can count 3 episodes from today alone. In the morning, I bid The Hubbers goodbye as he left for work and I was changing her diaper. She looked like she was done - don't they all - but just as I was applying nappy rash cream on her, uh, anus, she decided that would be the *perfect* moment to let out a stream of wet poop.

Cue: Picture of a 流沙包 oozing its gooey yellow contents on your finger. Ok, I don't have that. But here's a picture of a 流沙包 anyway:

Haha bet I just ruined that yummy dim sum for you. Anyway, that was relatively easy to clean up. The Hubbers could hear my yelp from the front door, though. (And he made his escape pretty quickly thereafter.)

Episode Number 2 involves poo as well. This afternoon, while nursing her, Baby K pooed again, as babies are wont to do.

(Aside: Now at this point in time I would like to ask if there are any other babies out there whose poop is so wet and watery that it tends to spill out of the top of the diaper? I don't know if Baby K is special in this respect, but she tends to do that. And it tends to happen in the mornings, after a whole 12 hours of poo build-up.)

I didn't expect that to happen this afternoon though, but it did. After she unlatched, I propped Baby K up to burp her, only to feel that all-too-familiar sensation of dampness on my hand. I took a whiff. BAD CHOICE.

So I whisked her off to the change table, where I discovered, oh horror of horrors, that a good amount of her poop had found its way halfway up her back, staining her pretty little bodysuit. I stood there, not knowing how to continue cleaning her. This was the largest scale of messiness she had created so far.

(Another aside: Did I mention that each time I change her diapers, I need to navigate my way through a rickety baby gate and avoid the efforts of a dog who constantly tries to mount my leg for attention? I need a better baby gate. That, and kidnap Cesar Milan.)

In the end, I had no choice but to strip her down and wash her up in the toilet sink - all awkwardness and discomfort - then wrap her up in her towel for a proper bath.

However, just as I was about to place her into the tub, I felt an odd sensation of warmth on my lap. It started out as a small, faint spot, but quickly spread itself outwards to form a bigger pool. Yes, indeed, she had peed in her towel.

At this point in time I had to laugh. "Baby K!" I exclaimed. "Thank goodness I decided not to change to a new towel today!" She looked up at me with her big, almond eyes, a look of pure, unadulterated innocence. Innocence that made me swell up with love, and gladness that I still kept my wits about me.

And so, behind all this drama was the moral of the story. Whatever happens, however bad it looks then, just laugh. Laugh at the ridiculousness of the incident, laugh even though you are handling it all a lone, laugh because it sure as hell isn't gonna help an ounce if you cried or lost your temper. Because in a while what took place will no longer matter, and all your efforts in nurturing your little tot would have paid off.

P.S. Sam, if you're reading this, thank you for teaching me the importance and power of laughter in trying times with the little one! This post is dedicated to you. :)

It Was a Long Long Long Long Night (And Day)

Last night was tough. I thought I had it all laid out nicely - she was tired, fell asleep at seven-ish, and we put her in the room where she slept till nine-ish. Then we fed her and put her back to bed, playing her lullabies. At around midnight, we woke her for the last feed of the night, and it was hoped that she would sleep for at least another 3, hopefully 4-5 more hours.

But she woke up at 1.30am. I nursed her and changed her diapers, then nursed her somemore and changed her diapers again (she has a bit of a bug going on right now). One hour later, I put her down and thought: this ought to hold her till at least 4am, if not 5.

I was wrong. She woke up barely an hour later, crying again and screaming at the top of her voice. This time she nursed for only a short while before falling back to sleep. The memory's fuzzy, but I think there was another diaper change at this time for the littlest squirt of poo. By this point in time I was delirious with exhaustion. While she was peaceful, I was making whimpering noises, perspiring though the fan was on at full speed. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH BABY K AND WHAT DID I HAVE TO DO TO GET SOME SLEEP??? I was totally fine waking up a couple of times every night to feed her and/or change her diapers, but this was bonkers. At this rate I wouldn't be able to function the next day.

Meanwhile, The Hubbers slept sweetly, oblivous to my pain. At one point I recall throwing my breast pad at him in frustration, upset that I had to go through this alone while he slept soundly on. I watched as the breast pad slipped down his tee in sulky rebellion, Sigh. I had to remind myself that this man needed to work the next day, all the while fighting back the urge to kick him.

But he did wake up eventually, when I was giving Baby K her latest diaper change. "Do you need the pacifier?"

"Ok, that might help. Could you help me get it from the steriliser?"

I looked at him. He had lain down and gone back to sleep.

!!!!

"I said go get it for me, not go back to sleep." I thought he wouldn't hear me, but it worked. Moments later he stirred, and left the room to get me the pacifier. (Which was left unutilised for the rest of the night, oops.)

He did help me out in something though, which was to swaddle her - he's excellent at swaddling - which enabled us to sleep for another 3 hours (finally!) undisturbed.

Unfortunately, the fitful sleeping was not so much carried over into daytime as it was mutated into complete and utter wakefulness.I had my hands full taking care of her. Basic acts of human sanitation like washing my face and going to the loo became irrelevant. Thankfully, she was kind enough to allow me to finish off my lunch - did I mention that was at 6pm? Minor detail.

At one point in time I was so beat that I carried her into the bedroom and told her "Mummy's going to get some rest." And crashed. Surprisingly, she just lay there and entertained herself for a good 40 minutes. Exceedingly kind of her. Honestly though, that nap was just what I needed to give her her bath, have the resolve to get her to sleep, and get some much needed chores done.

Will she continue her kindness towards me tonight? I sure hope so. I really do.

It All Looked Pretty Good in My Head

Motherhood is tough, man. Especially when you're going it alone most of the day.

When I set up this blog, I had envisioned I would be so bored at home, I'd be updating every day, or even several times a day, but I did not expect to be so caught up with taking care of Baby K I just haven't found the time or energy to do so.

Wanted to write about my confinement experience - that's three weeks gone now - and the first time Guinness met Baby K - that was more than two weeks ago - or even the day I moved back home from mum's, about a week and a half ago.

That said, however, I am enjoying the process of watching Baby K grow day by day - never thought I had a maternal side in me but surprisingly, I have been patient with her where normally I would have thrown up my hands in despair/frustration. And it's true, what they say about falling in love with your child. It reminds me almost of my feelings towards Guinness when he was still a puppy - being away from her makes me think about and worry about her, and holding her in my arms just brings such joy and contentment. It's weird, really. In so many ways having a dog is like a rehearsal for having a baby. Heh. 

It's a Funny Feeling

After nearly one month, I'm still getting used to this Motherhood thing. Nursing is a time-consuming and mind-numbing affair, so I'm rarely without my iPhone or iPad for company during these times. Sometimes, at a particularly engrossed moment, my concentration breaks because she moves or makes a noise and I look down at her, only to be mildly startled that I have a baby - my baby at that - sitting on my lap. Suckling on my breast which is miraculously producing life-sustaining milk for her.

And there are times where I catch myself being amused with her baby antics where normally I would be annoyed or at least unmoved. That's when I realise that I am slowly morphing into a Mother.

At other, less distracted times, I look down at Baby K, and it suddenly strikes me that this little being lying on my lap is an actual person. Not just a baby, mind, but a human being who will eventually grow up and have a mind of her own. One day, she will outgrow my lap, outgrow the home, and even outgrow me, to a certain extent (just hopefully not 100%).

Motherhood really isn't something that happens overnight. It sort of grows into you, creeping up to you bit by bit until you come to the realisation that you are now responsible for this little being for many years to come, and will continue to feel responsible for her long after she ceases to require it.

I think (I hope) I will enjoy the role for a while to come.

I'm Starting to Get Asked This a Lot

Singapore isn't really a pet-friendly society yet. To be specific, a dog-friendly society. The closer I got to my due date, the more I got asked: What about your dog?

The underlying statement seems to be that, with a baby in the family, it necessitates that the dog has to go, or at least be locked up somewhere lest it attacks and/or devours the baby. And perhaps some people have hang-ups about how animals could trigger allergies in babies.

I'm not saying that their concerns are unfounded. I have my concerns, too: that Guinness would be too rough with Baby K too, or that he would not welcome her arrival into our pack, at least initially. But as his adoptive family, we have a responsibility to ensure that we do the necessary groundwork to ease her into his life. We have to at least try, not throw up our hands and surrender the moment we know we're going to have a baby.

For example, once I found out I was expecting, we started enforcing the "No Jumping" rule strictly. We also read up on how to introduce a baby to the pet dog (for the record, before baby goes home, we should let the pet dog sniff some items of clothing she has worn before, to get acquainted to her scent).

And that's only the responsible thing to do, right? Once we make a decision to adopt a dog, that decision should be for the dog's entire life, and not until we experience a major change in ours lives, whether it be moving homes, uprooting to another country, or, in our case, the arrival of a new member to the family.

On that note, some links I find helpful on introducing the pet dog to the new pack member:

Tips from Cesar Millan
The Pet Friendly House
Introducing Dogs & Babies

Wish us luck!

The First Night Home

On Tuesday Baby K and I were discharged from the hospital and went home to my parents', where we will hole up for the period of our confinement. Away from the safety of the hospital and its nurses for the first time, I was a little insecure at first, but the afternoon turned out to be quite routine, and I managed to handle my first diaper change, first change of clothes and first tuck-in-of-baby quite uneventfully. Soon I felt pretty settled and confident. Even the graveyard shift seemed no different from my three nights at the hospital. One feed around midnight, and then another feed in the middle of the night. Granted, it was a little early, and she pooped in the middle of her feed, but it was still manageable.

But that changed around 5am.

Baby K started making a fuss again, and I got out of bed to nurse her. During the earlier feed, I had learnt that she liked to drop off to sleep without filling her tummy properly, so this time I wised up and offered the other breast even though she had unlatched voluntarily and seemed to be sleeping contentedly. But again, she went to potty during her feed, so I had to change her diaper again. (Again?! Diapers don't come cheap, Baby K!)

After that I thought she would settle down and be lulled into sleep, but her eyes remained bright, open, and looking up at me. Me, with my drooping eyelids and semi-hallucinatory mind. I tried burping her, but no luck. I also tried putting her down in her crib, but still, those bright eyes continued to stare up at me. Entertain me, Mummy, she seemed to say. Never mind that it was nearly 7am, and the sky had started to turn light.

Finally, running out of ideas, I decided to nurse her again.

And lo and behold, it actually worked. It took nary five minutes and she was out cold. It was just like magic. I could finally crawl back into bed...

When the door opened, and my mum popped her head in.

"Do you want breakfast?"

Oh hell, why not.

How I Officially Became a Mother

On Friday night, when I took my pre-bedtime pee break, I noticed my discharge had turned a dull brown, kind of like the kind you get at the end or beginning of a period. A tiny wave of panic went through me: was this "it"? The show that you get indicating that labour was imminent.

When I got out of the loo, The Hubbers was already fast asleep. I took out my copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and flipped to the relevant page. Labour could set in in a matter of hours, but it could also stretch to days, it read. I reached out and tapped The Hubbers.

"Hey. I have brownish discharge."

"Huh... what?"

"It could be a sign of labour."

"Huh?! Then how?"

"Dunno leh."

"Tell Dr Ching tomorrow..."

"... Ok."

Hmph.

The next morning at the clinic, I flipped through the book again. It said brownish discharge could be a false alarm. Ok, so maybe I wasn't having my baby yet.

"So, how are you?" Dr Ching's usual opening line.

"Ok... baby's head still hasn't turned down... and yesterday night there was some brownish discharge."

A short pause. "Any contractions?"

"No, nothing yet."

I had my ultrasound scan, which was ultra quick, and then got back down.

"Well, since it has come to this, we might as well get the baby out today."

A stunned silence. The Hubbers and I looked at each other.

"Huh?!"

"Well, then what do you want to do? No point waiting already, it could be anytime. If you wait, you may have one leg come out first, or the cord may drop out, do you want to take that risk or not?"

"But I... "

"You are already at 38 weeks. Do you think it is likely that the baby's head will still turn?"

I started to tear. Noooo! I didn't plan for a c-section! I want a natural birth! I'm afraid of the epidural, the pain after the op, and I feel I have no control whatsoever of something so major that's going to happen to me!

Dr Ching's tone softened a little, and started to reason with me a little more gently. The truth was, I knew I didn't have much choice. Which mother would want to risk her baby's precious life after carrying it inside of her for 9 full months? Also, even if I could wait, Chye couldn't. He had a plane to catch the night itself. If I didn't opt for the surgery, chances of him missing Baby K's arrival was very high.

So we discussed surgery options, the nurses made arrangements for an anesthetist and pediatrician, we made the necessary calls to inform our families, and then went to get our admission papers in order. Yes, I was admitted into the hospital on the spot. The operation was scheduled for that very afternoon.

The Hubbers had to rush home to bring my birthing bag and all the other things I needed for my confinement; he nearly couldn't make it back in time before I had to be wheeled into the operating theatre. Thankfully Baby K's Godma was there to keep me and my nerves company.

I had to undergo the epidural injection on my own first, though, and that was the part that scared me the most. I'm most sensitive about my spine. At salons, I always squirm when they shave the back of my head because the vibrations travel down to my spine, so what more a needle on the operating table? I was scared to bits. It didn't help that the OT was cold, which exacerbated the shivering that was brought on by the jab. Not too long after I was asked questions on pain levels using a pin prick as a gauge. But what freaked me out (and what made them increase the dosage of the medication) was when I felt a scalpel being drawn across my skin.

"I can still feel it! I can feel the knife!!" I panicked. And then I was knocked out.

The next thing I knew, The Hubbers was seated next to me, calling out my name, and the operation was already well on its way. I felt tugging and pulling in the lower half of my body, and almost too quickly, I felt a large mass being removed from my womb.

"She's out!" I said, or something to that effect. I can't really recall.

Then, the life changing wail of Baby K rang out in the room. I remember being amazed by how loud her cries were. Next, Plop! Someone placed Baby K's pale wet body on my chest. The anesthetist offered to take a picture. I managed to muster the brightest smile I could amidst my drowsiness. And a quick peck on her cheek later, they whisked her away to take her weight, measurements, and basic tests. The Hubbers went along with her.

And that was it. Baby K had officially arrived.

What happened next was rather anti-climatic, involving me lying sedately on the operating table while Dr Ching sewed me up while chatting about politics with the anesthetist. There was a lot of wheeling and waiting (and shivering), wheeling and waiting, before I was finally pushed back out, but the entire operation apparently only took about half an hour.

And that was it! How I officially became a mother.

Edit: It was the pediatrician who took our photo, not the anesthetist. I was heavily drugged, ok?

The Big Bloat

At this point in time, there are only about 3 pairs of shoes I can fit into for work. For a girl who has a 4-door almost floor-to-ceiling shoe cabinet, that's practically a tragedy.

Then again, I only have 3 days left to serve at the office before going on my extended leave. And, to put things further into perspective, roughly the same number of weeks to go before I reach full-term. So it's all good really.

The only issue is the water retention that is starting to plague my limbs, although I've been told that even then, my case is not a serious one (yet). I have to keep my feet propped up or risk developing pig's trotters for feet, which is easier said than done. Most days I just waddle back home with that familiar tightness in my feet and calves. I can now no longer sit cross-legged. I also need to prop my feet up when I go to bed at night. And every morning when I get up the first thing I examine are the size of my ankles.

But that's ok, it's all temporary. Only the size of my feet post-partum remains a question mark. Oh, for the sake of my beautiful shoes, I do hope they shrink back to their original size.

Pressed for Time

12 working days left. And OMG everyone wants a piece of me!! It's crazy!!! When before I was counting down the days with eager anticipation to stop working, these days I'm doing so with trepidation.

Still, I'm looking forward to ending this craziness. Not so keen to start another though. Haha.

On a Short Leash

The thing about living alone with a house-trained dog is that at the end of each day, you have to make a beeline home so that he can go for his poo-poo-pee-pee routine. The Hubbers and I don't really have a lot of leeway to play with for after hours plans.

With a baby on the way, even more restrictions are imposed. For obvious reasons, I can't be expected to walk a 20kg hyperactive dog anymore (well, I try to avoid it as much as possible), so whenever The Hubbers is working late we will have to call for back-up in the form of my brother- or father-in-law, who thankfully live nearby.

Still, I don't really fancy inconveniencing them, so I try to minimise all other requests. Take today, for example. It was dinnertime, I had taken my shower, but Guinness had yet to be taken for his walk. So I waited for my brother-in-law to show up and come back from the walk before I cleaned Guin's feet and headed downstairs to pack my food. To be honest, it was a waste of time, but we aren't exactly close so it would have been awkward to ask him to wait for me (in case I took longer than him).

Oh well. There's only 5.5 weeks left before I'm due. I guess it's inevitable that in my current state, certain freedoms and controls need to be temporarily relinquished.

So Unprepared

At 34 weeks along (or 34.5, I don't know, gynae is always shifting my EDD), my roosting instincts should really be kicking into high gear by now. Yet the nursery is still one hot mess, full of hand-me-down toys, play mats, funny-looking chairs/rockers, shoes, booties, clothes etc etc etc and even an unused computer table we have yet to discard. So much to do, so little time left.
Things at the office are still looking busy, but I stayed back on Friday night to send out a slew of emails to co-workers and vendors alike to introduce my replacement so hopefully come Monday I will be able to start washing my hands off my work tasks in earnest. 18 working days to go. I can't wait.

Half-way There

I'm going to enjoy this while I can - the honeymoon trimester, baby movements and awesome twosome time.

Hello There

Hello, WWW. I'm J, a first time mother-to-be. According to my app, What to Expect When You're Expecting, I'm 19 weeks and 0 days into my pregnancy.

This year will be a year of major changes for me and the Hubbers, but I have a niggling feeling it will be even more the case for me. We are both in our first year of marriage, so we are still learning to adjust to living together. We will both hit the Big 3-0 this year (well actually, he already has), and have to grapple with the implications of growing older. And of course, we are both expecting a baby we didn't plan for in roughly 5 months' time.

It doesn't end there, though. Career-wise, we will both be experiencing changes, he moving to a new job, me taking a leave of absence at mine. Yes, to devote some time to take care of the baby. At first I thought, hey, no biggie, it'll be fun! But the initial optimism has kind of worn off and now I'm a tad more uncertain. A LOT uncertain.

With the arrival of the baby, it will be just me, baby and our dog Guinness for the duration of a year. Will that drive me crazy? Watch this space.