Are we there yet?

Another fortnight, another doctor's appointment. Today was classic obstetrician stuff, 50 minutes of waiting and approximately 3 minutes with the midwife and 2 minutes with the obs. Not even my obs, the substitute for when she is on holidays. He was, however, quite convinced that bub is head down, and claims that he has never seen a kick that has moved his heartbeat ultrasound thingy before. Call me crazy, but I reckon that's unlikely.

Just in case I had considered taking up Christianity and attending church regularly, Sunday's little effort has certainly ruled that out. Just getting there was a majorly stressful exercise, never mind the fact that Charlie started getting worked up the moment we stepped inside. And the aforementioned stress resulted in no toys being taken to distract him.

Ben had a ball. We could only hear him once or twice, so that was merciful. The minister also did a pretty good job of making an address that was appropriate for an audience of very mixed background.

So now we just have the Christmas concert to look forward to...

Capitalism is insidious

This past week we have instigated pocket money for the nearly 5 yr old. This was largely triggered by my inability/unwillingness to do much housework, and specifically any vacuuming. I really can't vacuum, 5 minutes of it leaves me with a very sore back for 2 days. Crash is very averse to it, but has been doing some. He decided that the best way to vacuum the wooden stairs was with a dustbuster, so I duly purchased one. He then decided an even better way was to get the kid to do it with the dustbuster, so he offered pocket money.

We eventually settled the terms at $4 per week in exchange for at least one stair vacuum, 5 minute cleanup done each day without whinging and other requested assistance, also sans whinging. Continued whinging after suitable warning results in 50 cent penalty. This week of course, novelty has overruled and we have had a super helpful child who has volunteered to do all sorts of things and got his $4 on Friday afternoon.

The first drama was that he felt he had been duped, as he was give 2 x $2 coins, not 4 coins as he expected...

Then last night we were discussing what $4 might be able to purchase, and after some consideration he asked "but what if I need to borrow some more off you?"!!! After Crash's hysterics died down, we pointed out that children have to save, not borrow.

Sheesh, $208 annual income and he wants to know what his borrowing capacity is!

And now, I have to get the family ready for church. Yes, church. Ben is singing (using that term in the broadest possible sense) with the pre-school and we must, of course, be there. I am simply not considering how the 2 yr old is going to behave, although we will take some toy vehicles. Better get underway. *Shudder*.

Yrrk

How any female who has ever done the pregnancy thing could subscribe to intelligent design I do not know. Never mind child birth itself, which was definitely designed by committee, probably an international one requiring translators, just getting there is badly designed enough! Constant nondescript discomfort, heartburn, more bodily fluids than can be itemised, back ache and shear exhaustion just make it all seem so much like the work of an intelligent, benevolent being.... NOT. And then people constantly asking me if I am well, to which I have to answer "yes" because none of this counts as actual unwellness. Does contribute very successfully to a shitty mood though. :)

Last week I went to the birth centre and after much poking and prodding the midwife announced she had no idea which way up the baby was, so that's encouraging. I was amused that she seemed to think I should know.

I also now appreciate further the fact that the baby gets the equivalent of foot long valium before labour starts, having felt the delightful combination of kicking squirming baby and strong contraction. And they're just braxton hicks....

On the plus side, the baby now has clean sheets for its bed, although I need to buy a new mattress for the bassinet, so there is nothing to put said sheets on.

Kid speak

Since the death of his grandfather earlier this year, Ben has been trying hard to really understand death. A while ago, in an effort to move on from the idea that death is being in a box where mobile phones don't work, I tried to discuss the various theories that exist on what happens after death.

At the time, Ben was singularly uninterested in the Heaven theory, but was keen to tell the kids at pre-school that when he dies he is going to come back as a baby in another family...

Yesterday the subject came up once again (as a natural progression from the circus!) and he informed me that "some children and adults believe that when you die you go to England". Hmmm....