Bleak Spouse

Hmm. Novelty has worn off with the snow thing. It's -8 during the day, -24 at night. Sort of past those 'fresh, bracing, nip in the air' type descriptions straight into 'I can't feel my extremities; those ice crystals on Emma's cheeks can't be good for her' territory. There is fun cold and there is not fun, freezing, freezing cold.

Going out for Emma means: nappy, vest, long-sleeved top, tights, trousers, woolly cardigan, all-in-one ersatz-ermine-trimmed pink snowsuit, balaklava. It takes about half an hour to assemble, and when finally she's ready I'm still in my slippers and Comfortable
House Slacks. The many layers render her completely immobile, which she hates, so I have a small window to get myself changed for the outdoors before the onset of a hissy fit. I strap her in the pram - another cross-making activity - and roll off to the park, about 5 minutes away. By the time we arrive my fingers feel frostbitten and my lips have gone blue. We linger for about 30 seconds or until my smug feeling of being in the fresh air wears off (1 min max.) Then it's home to central heating and a huge tankard of hot chocolate. And the Comfortable House Slacks.

This is how I start my day

I am woken up between 6 and 7am by the squawking of our golden-haired treasure. At this point, R leaps out of bed and gets her out of her little sleeping bag. Despite being by nature a morning person, I can’t muster any acceptable level of enthusiasm for being awake just yet. The prospect of 12 hours of incessant baby care and the warm pull of the duvet are too much for any leaping about. I stay put; a small mountain of linen and duckdown.

R gives me Emma to feed in bed while he has a shower. I only breastfeed twice a day these days. I would have stopped completely, but she won’t take a bottle. Then R takes her into the kitchen where he makes me a cup of tea and she rolls around on the floor and gurgles to herself. She is always in a very happy mood first thing.

My cup of tea is important, and my husband’s daily production of it is something for which I continue to be stupidly grateful. The terms are strict: it must be English Breakfast, not Earl Grey, nothing fancy, must contain caffeine and must be throat-scaldingly hot. It must be in a mug, a chunky one. No porcelain. It must be the colour of 20 dernier tan tights. Within two sips, taken under the covers carefully so as not to scald, I am awake. I stay in bed, though: I stare at the wall and think thoughts, usually not very deep ones. Like “Which area of the North of England is Linda Barker from?”. Sometimes I don’t even think, I just stare; imagine a computer on screen saver. Very little in the world would compel me to move in any way until my tea is finished. When the last drop is drained, I’m ready for anything.

snowed in

It's been snowing heavily on and off since yesterday. There are huge snowdrifts everywhere, making pavements impassable in parts, at least to middle-of-the-range-buggy drivers. It was beautifully soft and crackly under my size 6 hiking boots, normally reserved for rubbly mountain paths. The snow ploughs were out early this morning, creating huge walls of snow along the kerbsides and plenty of ready ammo for snowball fights. By the time I got to my groupe de mamans today, Emma's plastic-covered pram was encased in a 2 inch carpet of snow. It looked like a giant wedding cake. (Of course the best bit was getting inside, putting my gloves on the radiator and wrapping my chilly paws around a steaming mug of coffee.)

I was 8 the last time I got this excited about the weather. I could get used to this.

and another thing

I've had a haircut.
I didn't ask for a fringe, but I got one.
It's a bit Sophie Wessex. But I quite like it nonetheless.
I will post a photo when I'm feeling brave.

power back on

Power has resumed, hallelujah. It actually returned about an hour later - no need to light a single candle or even fiddle with a torch. According to World Radio Geneva, a cable collapsed affecting a 60km area along the lake. This just adds to my theory that Things Go Wrong Here Too.

Thanks for all the comments friends, foes, close family members, mothers of babies that I know. (I loved reading the Top Tens, by the way.) It was a bit like the cyber equivalent of having a cup of tea in a lively living room.

It has been drizzling all day, but GUESS WHAT: Emma is crawling. We have moved on from the all-fours-rock and the little bunnyhops across the room. Today there was definite hand/knee co-ordinated action -wobbly, I will admit, and punctuated by a couple of carpet bellyflops, but there nonetheless. We are minutes away from "I HATE YOU/ You're SO embarressing/It's NOT FAIR/ it's MY life and I'm GETTING my tongue pierced."

My baby!

Oh yes

Please someone write a comment. I am lonely again.
This time it could be something like "Gosh, a power cut. How inconvenient."
You see. It's not difficult.

Heart of darkness

A mild panic is beginning to surge in my inner being. There is a power cut. What? A power cut? In Switzerland? The land where civic affrontery is felt if a train is 30 seconds late?
Indeed-y, deed, deedy.
It is a winter afternoon. Darkness approaches. If I make spelling mistakes, it's because I can't see the keyboard. (Nice excuse, anyway.) Hurrah for laptops and their batteries.
I knocked on the door of the concierge and met his teenage son. "L'electicite ne fonctionne pas!" I wobbled, brightly.
"Mumble mumble mumble" said the teenage boy.
With Rob in England, Emma's food about to defrost and changing nappies by candlelight a possibility, it seems I will have to phone the gruyere-for-brains geronce myself.
A toute a l'heure.

Emma's top ten

1. Monkey.
2. Grabbing.
3. Eating paper.
4. Mashed banana.
5. Blowing raspberries.
6. Shrieking.
7. Rocking backwards and forwards on all fours.
8. Dropping toast fingers on the floor.
9. Bathtime.
10.Mum and Dad.

Jolly weekend

We have just been to the mountains for a long weekend with my Mum and Dad. I know, I know..please forgive the repetitive 'mountain' theme of late. I still think they're pretty amazing. I love the fact they kind of sneak up on you. You cross the road to get to the supermarket and ..BANG!...up they loom from behind a tenement building, sometimes glowing pink from the sun on their snowy peaks. You don't get that in Tooting Broadway. (Although you do get friends, the Lido and the Urban Coffee house. *Sob!*)

We were quite near Gstaad, so we drove through, hoping to catch a glimpse of Roger Moore or Sofia Loren in a big fur coat and 'Re-entry shield' style sunglasses. No sign of either, unfortunately, but we did get Emma into a cable car and transport her to a height of 3000 metres. She looked ravishing in her pink snow suit.

R and I spent most of the time mucking about on the nursery slope while M& D babysat. My highlight: hurtling down on a sled, scattering the junior ski school with my terrified screaming while my 64 year old Mama sat behind me giggling like a teenager. Respect.

In case there isn't enough cuteness in your life 

What did happen next

My finger stopped bleeding.
I went through quite a few plasters.
The end.

What might've happened next

I went to L'hopital with my bleeding finger. The doctors looked at each other knowingly and then at me: "Desolees, Madame...we 'ave no choice but to amputate."
So I went home, my left hand in a bandage and my left index finger already reduced to ashes by the hospital incinerator, to find two Martians sitting at my kitchen table eating their way through a mixed platter of Swiss cheese.
"Hi! Malcolm." said the first one, extending me a purple, three-fingered hand. The other Martian just raised his in welcome, a slither of Appenzeller clutched clumsily in it. It's the main reason we've never successfully conquered the universe, Malcolm joked. No opposable thumbs! His laugh was metallic and staccato.
"Is your friend OK?" I said, as the other Martian groaned and clutched his belly, dropping the Appenzeller as he did so.
He'll be alright, explained Malcolm, it was just Earth food making him feel sick. Not many of their guys came here for that reason. It was also why earthlings insisted erroneously on referring to their kind as "little green men, when actually it's more magenta, really," Malcolm went on, surveying with admiration his own skin colour.
His manner was a bit pompous, which annoyed me. "Why are you here?" I said, more brusquely than I intended.
"Oh, we're here to get Fritz out...talking of whom, Fritz? Fritz!!"
The bathroom door swung open, and there appeared a sweating pig in brown leather aviation goggles, dragging behind him a small microlite aircraft, with one wing missing, apparently ripped off.
"Sorry, Malc! It was quite a job freeing her from that blasted window, what! Excuse us, madame, enchantay" The pig took my hand and kissed it, keeping his tiny eyes on mine. "Must dash! Thanks for the lift, chaps."
I looked at Malcolm, who was helping his friend get to his feet. He explained he was sorry to rush but their spacecraft was parked in a resident's bay and they couldn't hang around. Fritz dragged the damaged microlite onto the landing and Malcolm followed, pausing only to let his friend vomit quietly into the umbrella stand.
"Sorry about that," he mumbled. "Should've stuck to the Gruyere."

Hmmm

I took my plaster off to assess the damage: claret everywhere.

Cue more kitchen roll and an even fatter plaster.

Stitches?

Idiote Maman

I don't get cross with Rob that much, but there is one thing I do get cross about quite regularly: putting sharp knives straight in the washing up bowl. You want to do the washing up, but hey, there's something good on TV, you leave it for a bit. "To soak." You come back to it an episode of The Bill and a glass of wine later, you plunge straight in having forgotten aforementioned knife: and there you are, fingerless, in the back of an ambulance. No need to watch Holby City.

So why then did I - who has rehearsed this scenario many times - put the biggest carving knife into the foamy depths? There wasn't even anything good on the TV we don't have. Why was it a surprise when the knife sank into my left index finger, which has only just stopped bleeding after 4 pieces of kitchen roll and a large plaster?

The worst thing is that I have now lost the moral high ground for ever.

Sri Lanka update: lots of water bore holes being repaired and pumps installed on East Coast. Jolly good. www.medair.org