Well, you are… actually partly correct: I didn’t forget, exactly, I just got a bit distracted by other stuff for a while there. I’m back now, though, so here’s the lowdown…
I got this c/o the kind people at Juniqe, and, well, it’s funny because it’s true, isn’t it? (Er, you can all feel free to jump in here, and be all, “Oh no, Amber, we’re sure you’re every bit as interesting in real life as you are on the Internet!” if you like – I will not be annoyed.)
This is actually destined for the living room, but it proved absolutely impossible to take a photo of it there because of the glare from the sunlight coming through the window, so I moved it upstairs to take this not-at-all staged photo in the office, instead. And, actually, writing that sentence had convinced me that, hey, I’m not that interesting on the internet either, am I, so let me just note that you can buy it here, and we’ll swiftly move on to…
Yup, just like every other basic blogger out there, I got me some Glossier. I went for the Generation G matte lipstick in ‘zip’, and I’ve worn it every day since it arrived. This is a bright red, but not an OTT one, and because the texture is almost balm-like, it’s really easy to apply, and is probably the only red lipstick I can apply right from the tube, without having to faff around with lip liner and a brush. Here’s what it looks like on:
Awkward selfies are awkward.
(Yes, I’m wearing false eyelashes in these: because THAT’s how bad my natural eyelashes look now. I swear to God, the second this baby’s out, I’m getting extensions – I’d actually pay someone to come and do it in the hospital, if I thought it was at all possible…)
Twitter’s new 280 character limit
I know this has been pretty controversial for them, but I for one am actually quite happy to have more room for my tweets. I mean, you’ve read my blog: can you even IMAGINE me trying to stick to 140 characters for ANYTHING? Exactly. I haven’t used Twitter “properly” for years now – I’m just one of those annoying people who has my blog set to auto-tweet – and one of the reasons for that was the fact that I always hated writing out a tweet, and then having to sit and endlessly edit it, to get it to fit in the space: or, worse, having to use numbers as letters, or sacrifice grammar or punctuation to do it. Honestly, I haven’t really missed Twitter in the time I’ve been away from it, but my follower numbers have dive-bombed as a result of the lack of interaction, so I’m hoping the new character limit will inspire me to use it again. Follow me here, if you want to find out whether I actually follow through with that or not…
(Also, I’m honestly quite shocked by all the people who think they HAVE to use all 280 characters – like, what do they think will happen if they don’t manage it? Or the ones saying they “can’t be bothered” reading that much text? I’m guessing they’ve never read a book, then? Or, er, my blog?)
These were a (very generous) gift from Terry, after a particularly stressful week / month / year / two years. So, kind of a ‘push present’ I guess you could call them. I’m bracing myself here for the inevitable, “But how will you WALK in them, especially with a BABY!” comments, but honestly, I walk the same way I always have, and even if I couldn’t, I would still love to look at them, so…
It was mac n’ cheese. And it went EVERYWHERE. On the plus side, I guess cleaning it up was good practice for all of the times the baby will apparently do this exact thing, only with poop, huh?
The car needing yet more repairs
The car obviously knows it’s going to be getting sold soon, so it’s doing its best to express its displeasure by requiring us to spend more and more money on it. Honestly, I can’t say I blame it, really: I’d be the same if the people I thought were going to love and cherish me forever suddenly announced they were sticking me on Gumtree.
(Can you tell I’ve still not come to terms with the idea of the car being sold? Because I have still not come to terms with the idea of the car being sold…)
And the washing machine
Last week, it randomly occurred to me that our washing machine must be due to break down soon, because, for two years in a row now, its broken down on either Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day itself, and, even although the current machine is only seven months old, I wouldn’t want to bet on it not happening for a third time.
The very next day, the washing machine broke. And, OK, it didn’t break down COMPLETELY this time, but it did start doing a boring, annoying thing that I can’t be bothered to explain here, and we had to call the manufacturer and get someone to come out and fix it. Which they didn’t, actually: the repair man blamed our water pressure, so now we’re having to get someone out to look at THAT. GOD.
This rounds off a four-week period which also included the total breakdown of Terry’s computer and the shower in the en-suite. This week, I backed up my computer: it seemed like the best thing to do, under the circumstances…
I mean, this is ALWAYS a problem, obviously, but I’ve noticed that since I got pregnant, there’s a certain group of (mostly older) women who seem to assume that I’m just going to give into the patriarchy now, and be a good little housewife or something. So, I’ve suddenly started getting a lot of questions about what I’m making for Terry’s dinner, plus a bunch of statements that make it clear that these people think the baby will be my sole responsibility/interest, and that Terry will have no parenting responsibilities at all, because he’s a MAN, SILLY!
This is honestly really odd to me, because Terry and I have always divided the chores etc pretty equally (He cooks, I clean: it works for us because I hate cooking and he hates cleaning, but some people just CANNOT GET OVER the fact that I don’t cook a nice meal for my man every evening…), and are planning to do the same with baby-related stuff. We’re really lucky in that we both work from home, so we’ll both be here for the baby, and able to share things, but honestly, the comments implying that it’ll just be MY baby, and that I’ll be lucky if Terry “helps out” now and then are REALLY starting to grate on me. I think I need to get some kind of, “PLEASE DON’T PROVOKE THE PREGNANT LADY” sign to wear around my neck. Oh, and on that subject…
People who tell me that my anxiety will hurt the baby
Or, “anxious mommies make anxious babies!” or whatever. I’ve had this kind of comment a few times now, so I asked the midwife I saw at the hospital last week about it, and she said that not only is it categorically untrue, it’s also a pretty unkind thing for people to be saying to me, given that I haven’t exactly CHOSEN to be anxious, and that I’m doing my best to control it. So, knock it off, people, seriously.
The Conjuring right before bed…
… and then being too scared to go to the bathroom during the night, because I would obviously – OBVIOUSLY – see something reflected behind me in the bathroom mirror. I did eventually pluck up the courage to go, but I kept my eyes shut the entire time, because, as we all know, if you don’t see the ghost, it totally doesn’t count, does it?
Why is this “awkward,” I hear you ask? Well, have YOU ever tried walking to the bathroom and then peeing with your eyes closed? I rest my case.
Last week’s freak out…
… when I had a shower, then knelt on the bed for a few minutes afterwards, to chat to Terry. When I stood up again, I noticed a bunch of bright red blood spatters all over the bedsheets, so I instantly started shrieking at Terry to CALL AN AMBULANCE, SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THE BABY, only to discover that, actually, I’d just cut my knee while I was shaving my legs in the shower: whoops. Or when I was trying to shave my legs in the shower, anyway: it’s hard for me to even SEE my knees these days, so that’s probably how I managed to slice ‘em up good. On the subject of the bump getting in the way, meanwhile…
Having to get Terry to help me put my boots on…
… because The Bump is so big now that I just can’t bend down properly. Unfortunately the boots in question are elastic-sided ones, which are tricky to get on and off even when I’m NOT pregnant, so we ended up in this awkward kind of WWF-style stance, with Terry huddled at knee level, and me kind of leaning over his bent back, trying to get my foot into the boots. Then, when we got home, I had to basically lie on the floor while he dragged me along by my heels, trying to get the things off again. I guess I won’t be wearing THOSE boots again until the baby’s here…
Speaking of Terry:
Terry announcing to a room full of people that, “Amber’s belly button is about to run out!”
This expression actually comes courtesy of my mum, who, when she was pregnant with me, apparently worried that she was about to “run out” of belly-button, because it had reached that stage where it’s all stretched and weird looking and just about to POP. GOD. Well, mine has now reached that stage too: it hasn’t popped yet, but Terry is oddly fascinated by it, and apparently thought his entire family would be, too: THANKS, TERRY!
(Yes, I know I just told the entire internet, but that’s, like, TOTALLY DIFFERENT, isn’t it?)