We've been teaching Ivy some sign language and it's backfiring slightly. Either she's been chronically underfed or desperate to communicate because since she learned how to sign 'food' she's been at it constantly. From the moment of waking -'Food?', in the bath -'Food?, in the car - 'Food?', having her nappy changed -'Food? Food?'. Meanwhile, when she does eat she has a joyful new habit of throwing everything at high speed into all corners of the room, including handfuls of yoghurt and full cups of milk.
Otherwise, we're lurgy-struck again, with hacking coughs and streamy noses. Keith is all tucked in and Ivy sounds like a 2-stroke engine. I'll be so glad when we're over this phase. Banana is all well though, kicking away in the happy knowledge that in his quest to build brain-stem and form a pointless appendix he is stealing all of Mummy's mojo. Start as you mean to go on, my little friend.
We had a great run down to Kangaroo Valley for a friends wedding last weekend. It was beautiful; on a little island on their property. Ivy had a great time crawling after the bigger kids and getting her white stockings well muddied up. Shame I forgot the camera, and then made a nong of myself at the end of the night. Having squeezed my 5-months-pregnant belly into a little black dress and stockings I was desperate to get back into my trackie dacks before driving a drunken Keith 2 hours home. Back at the empty car-park paddock in the near-dark I peeled all my gear off at the boot until I was only wearing a little pashmina round my shoulders. 'How funny if somebody came out now...Woo-hoo!' I said to Keith, lifting up the pashmina and doing an little shimmy. 'Somebody behind you Rach', commented Keith mildly, as a stranger walking by said 'Woo-hoo...' in the awkward pause that followed.
Here is Ivy practicing her new walk, where she looks a but like Frankenstein, only drunk.