Just to really stick it to me, my right breast is red and swollen and burning hot thanks to a bite I recieved as a parting gift from Grub at bedtime last night.

Because, you know, the universe was worried it hadn’t fucked with me enough.

I feel like death but actually surprisingly cheerful for someone whose right tit looks like exploding.

It’s the sunshine. I can’t stay mad at the universe when the sun is shining.

Also, the Grub, despite feeding like a rabid piranha, is soooooooo cute at the moment.

She came out with a new word today which illustrates just beautifully that she is a [insert surname here].

“Bum”. Clear as a bell, perfectly articulated, on demand.

She’s one of us. Only just 15  months old today and she’s saying “bum”. That’s my girl.

Also, operation sleep-in-own-bed is going well, really well.

So, despite the mastitis, and the pelvis and my thumb and other assorted maladies, fuck you right back universe!

I win.

I am feeling indecisive.

I keep reading other people’s blog posts and then marking them to comment later because I never seem to have the time, right that minute. I mean to come back and comment later but I almost never do.

I have sick babies again, and Foxtel (to those who have enquired, we do have the IQ and it is now being well used to record things) both of which are keeping me very busy. Ooh and let us not forget the oven, which has been used to create something at least once each day since it was connected. There has been cake wallowing left and right.

I have had a rather all-consuming pregnancy scare. I am still a touch dubious about it but two pee-on-a-sticks later I must suppose that my bizarre pregnancy-style symptoms are either in my mind or a sign that my hormones are just doing something odd. Unfortunately, despite PMS style mood swings, I still have no periods so I am prone to paranoia about a fifth child. Especially when (as happened on my birthday) we have one of our patented “crap contraception moments”. So, I have what I call “burning tits of fire”, which has always been a dead-certain sign that I am up the duff. As I am not, I suppose it is just a feature of Grub’s around the clock feeding or something. It is messing with my fragile mind.

Beefcake is back working today, which has been surprisingly lovely. You wouldn’t think it would be different at all, considering he is still here in the house, cluttering it up. But it is. When he is working, everything goes just fine. There is total harmony. What terrible creatures of habit we are.

The big kids are still on holidays and, despite the fact that they are both noisy and smelly, I am mostly enjoying their company, although Rhubarb’s love of Spongebob is driving me slightly mental. Every time I leave the room with the tv on I come back in to find it (or something equally awful) on the screen.

I used to manage to blog almost every day, or at least several times a week. Where did I find the time to do that? How has that time just evaporated? Who bloody knows.

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We bought Pudding some goggles for swimming. He now wears them in the bath and shower and “I looooove my goggles, Mummy”. They can also be used for superhero dress-ups.

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Poss is progressing nicely with her orphanage for wooden peg people, I must remember to post pictures. She worked on it all day yesterday and has built up a complex narrative surrounding the evil live-in caretakers of the orphanage, a Mr and Mrs Carton (or Mr & Mrs Sassy she can’t decide). They have lovely insect themed wallpaper though, so does it really matter?

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Tomorrow Rhubarb embarks on a four-day rowing camp with his new school. The idea is to take the new year 8’s away with the rowing team for them to meet other new kids and older students as well as begin training for the upcoming school rowing season. He has the anxieties now, which is making planning and packing difficult. I wouldn’t force him to go except that I know he will have a ball and how cool will it be if he can make some friends and not feel so lost when school starts? Anyway, he hasn’t said he doesn’t want to go, just that he is nervous and he is certainly very surly indeed.

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The g key on my laptop is intermittently not working so I have to go back through everything I type and insert the g’s.

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I just got up and went to the toilet and there were specs of dirt and twigs sprinkled all over the bathroom. It looks as though someone carried our dog in there  after she’d been for a roll in the grass and shook her. I also noted small piles of dishes in the hallway as well as a pair of Pudding’s undies.

Beefcake will have a fit if he comes home to find that I have moved these things, or tidied up in any way. He’s taken the children out for lunch. We’ve already had a little bit of bickering this morning over our very different standards when it comes to housework. Mine being that it is ideal to try and clean some things sometimes, for example, stacking the dishwasher and cleaning the loo are things I like to see done. Beefcake works on the philosophy that nothing ever needs to be done today and that people who clean regularly must have OCD.

A friend of mine lived with Beefcake in between houses and before I met him. It had been an all male sharehouse and she reported that it was not uncommon for him to sit down, find a box of three-day-old chicken wings on the floor next to the chair and have a little snack. Apparently the bathroom was so grime encrusted it took her an entire day to clean it, which she said she had to in order to use it without dry retching. He has improved a touch from those days, he has learned to refrigerate food at least.

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I watched eight hours of William and Mary yesterday on dvd and I plan to watch more today.

Ah, times up. Grub is awake. Count yourselves lucky that I haven’t got more time to share.

Edited to add:  Beefcake was concerned that his “having a fit” could be misconstrued. To clarify, he is concerned about me wearing myself out and wants me to rest. I am therefore banned from housework. It is only out of concern for my welfare and his having a fit would not be the loud and shouty kind but more of the carrying me back to bed kind. Just to clarify.

Better baby?

I woke up this morning in agony. I have a fever.

I’m writing this with one hand, lying in bed.

Precious Grub has been feeding all day. This should help but it’s agony.

I feel as though I’m dying.