A Month of Babies...Bruises...and Bands

Okay okay...I hold my hands up.  Have totally fallen off my self-imposed blogging bandwagon I am angry that I have failed to issue forth even a minute missive on the goings-on of the past month...for they have been fairly significant.

Firstly (given that, rightfully so, a new little person on the planet trumps the husband and I pulling a 'Sonny & Cher' - or more like 'Kurt n' Courtney' - for the first time ever) a few short weeks ago I became an Auntie...yes, me!

My gorgeous baby sister issued forth from her loins a most precious little boy child (if it hasn't already become obvious to all and sundry, it appears as though my three sisters and I are destined to only produce heirs of the male variety...'winkie farmers' as it were) who is as cute as a button, with upturned nose and a rather startling brunette thatch of hair.  He weighs about as much as a ripe melon and secretly I'm jealous that he gets to wear all manner of adorable 0-3 months baby clothes, when all mine came home from hospital in age 3-6 month gear.

It was a harrowing labour, and sneaking Eggie past the snarky receptionist at the hospital with a giant tray of rice krispie squares (my sisterly attempt at an inventive post-labour snack), it was no surprise to find my little sis receiving visitors on the ward looking like an escaped princess from a Disney film, despite having been in labour for nearly two days.

Anyway, here's a pic of the little munchkin for all you lovers of small kittens and cuddly babies...

'scrump-diddly-umptious'

Obviously for reasons of privacy involving social media blah, blah, blah, I cannot reveal his true name, but suffice it to say that Squitty's moniker for him is even better, and therefore from here on in, my new little nephew shall be referred to as (and I quote) "New Cousin Zebanay".

The other big news this past month was that I took up running.  Again. In typical shallow (fashionista) fashion, the lure of the new Lululemon black ruffled Pace Setter Skirt was too difficult to resist and thus I purchased this wildly expensive item simply because it was simply too adorable and thus had no option but to take up running again just so it could get an airing, after having back-burnered my running career for almost two years now.

But that's not the point.  One morning I was pounding away on the pavement and thought I'd give off-piste a go, veering onto the grass only to go catapulting headlong several metres upon meeting an upturned root I hadn't noticed (so captivated had I been by Ghost Poet on my ipod). Face down, caked in dirt and gushing blood, several worried onlookers rushed over to see if I was okay (i wasn't damn it) but I simply blinked back the tears, painstakingly got to my feet and for reasons which fail me now, forced myself to hobble around for a final lap, sobbing as I went, and freaking out young and old alike.

the sexy knee in question...one week after

After a tearful phone call to the husband, the sympathy I had been awaiting never appeared, for that night, on HIS way home, he and his beloved bike met an unexpected pothole unawares and he limped up the stairs an hour later than usual that night with wounds as horrific and deeply gouged as mine - only on the opposite leg.  If I didn't know better I might have thought some serious one-upmanship might have been at play here.  (I need not tell you the absolute state of our bedclothes for the next week as we gingerly rolled about, trying to get comfortable at night, our matching sores weeping like mad and making any physical contact impossible.  We still have souvenir stains on our 800 thread count sheets and I have been banned from wearing any non-Mennonite issued clothing (ie. above the knee) until such time as my nasty looking wounds are fit for human viewing (so sayeth my not unreasonable sister, who still blanches every time she catches sight of it).

Anyway, if this past month began with brilliant news, then descended into near fatal dour direness, then I suppose the events of this past week once again tilted the life balance back into favourable, as the husband and I got the chance to perform in the SAME band, TOGETHER (I kid you not), when we performed at our friends' amazing wedding last weekend.

Despite having been saddled with a ten song set not technically in tune with either my personal tastes or vocal range (an eclectic playlist straddling everything from 'Fever' by Peggy Lee to 'Shook Me All Night Long' by AC/DC), by all reports it was a success, and was tremendous fun to perform. (So fun in fact the husband and I were probably momentary candidates for a 'Sliding Doors' scenario had the devil in a blue dress come and tried to tempt us with an alternate life as rock stars, trading our weekly Waitrose shops and habitual school runs for champagne bubble baths and private jets. Alas...)

I'm also fairly sure that Eggie and Dumps (who no doubt took great amusement from seeing their parents wailing to strangers on stage as opposed to in the kitchen yelling) will never forget the scene...just as I will never forget Eggie wandering onstage after the first number, totally oblivious to the fact that we were mid-set, wanting to show me the footage he'd just shot on his ipad...right there and then bless him.

So here we are, at the end of another busy cycle, our home newly back on the market with yet another agency, ready to begin the whole hellish process of not just selling/buying/moving home, but also the nightmare of open days, registration fees, tutors and interviews as we attempt to procure a suitable place for our eldest to continue his studies next year. I'm already tired at the prospect and that particular circus hasn't even barely begun (sigh).

And then of course in the meantime I'll have to use my carefully honed interior decorating skills to strategically place pillows and other odd bits of mismatched textiles around the home for the foreseeable (paying special attention to our bespoke bloodied duvet) to hide the numerous yoghurt/mud/cereal/wine stains that litter nearly every square inch of every single piece of furniture in this house, during the many scheduled upcoming 'viewings'.

Kill me now.  Seriously.