In which she whines about being 33 weeks up the duff

I feel rough as chips. My beautiful Elf child vomited three times in the night. Saint Robert of Scho got up first each time and cuddled her while I picked last-night's curry chunks off her duvet and the Afghan rug. But we all got very little sleep, and this morning while we are staring and dribbling like zombies, Mistress is marching round the house shouting, in a very merry state.

I am not sleeping well generally, either. My joints hurt. I wake up every time I need to turn over, a bit like a tank doing a 3 point turn. I need bolstering by strategically-placed pillows. And babes has got his/her head wedged firmly against my bladder, as if having an already-shot pelvic floor isn't bad enough.

But now, reasons to be cheerful!
- My friend Al coming to see us this weekend
- The awesome Ms Mac and her commenters have done all my research for me about preparing for a Swiss Christmas
and
- I quite like my new haircut! I was given a bit of a fringe, which we all know is only ever a rainy day away from a mullet, but that's something I've managed to avoid. So far.