It dropped off today.
I resisted the urge to preserve it in a block of resin.
I wish I’d taken a video of Lola sleeping during her first two or three days of life: she used to do these incredible Bruce-Lee-style kung-fu spasms in her sleep.
She’d be lying there, peaceful and motionless, and suddenly her arms would shoot out to the sides above shoulder height. A really rapid, violent but graceful kind of motion suggestive of someone striking an initial fighting stance. Then immediately she would relax and be back in placid dreamland.
It was a bit scary at first but it’s not unusual, aparently.
“Talk about the nick of time and here we are, innit!”
(Dad’ll understand. Prolly.)
We’re off to a local kids-stuff jumble sale type thing. Isa’s shattered as Lola, having slept and fed peacefully all day, kept Mum up a lot of the night. Hopefully, an outing will tire her out a bit and she and Isa can spend the rest of the day crashed out on the sofa while we watch the Wimbledon finals.
On a different tack, I must get into the habbit of making little blog postings — I’ve not written any this week; I think because I’m thi nking I have to sit down and write it all at once. Silly boy.
Lola Cesarina Hooper was born at 09:12 in the Whittington hospital. Seven pounds and seven ounces of indescribable wonderfulness.
And many more at http://www.flickr.com/photos/hooperism/sets/72157594183786990/
Isa took some nice pics of our posh new living room a couple of days ago. I should really make a “before and after” set, though you can kind of work it out by looking at our floorboard project set on flickr and then comparing with those tagged june-24-ish.
Meanwhile, we continue to wait. Tum-te-tum.
Before
Watchet is where Mum and Dad have moved to. On the Bristol channel in Somerset, with a little harbour and marina.
Well, she’ll come when she’s ready–which wasn’t last Wednesday and probably won’t be today, which isΓΒ the due date reckoned by the hospital. Actualy, the due date reckoned by us (which, of course is the *correct* one) is next weekend. Maybe she’s waiting until then so as to validate our calculations. π
Anyway, it’s a strange period, fluctuating between anticipation and anti-climax and accepting “good luck”s from everybody.
A lovely day today, by the way; sitting out on the patio writing this — a patio of pristine concrete, thanks to Mike’s recent deployment of his pressure cleaner. Isa, irrepressible as ever, trekked into town today to buy sequins and lace and other stuff. The derth of such items in Crouch End is causing her to consider opening a haberdashery. Sounds good to me.
Mum and Dad are installed (largely by themselves) in their new home and escaped the tyranny of boxes for the afternoon by walking down to the sunny village harbour where some kind of fête was taking place.
“Hello Lola, it’s Daddy!” How bored you must be getting with that. I expect you to give me a suitably withering look when you finally make your entrance π Not that you’re late — it’s still over a week till the due date; it’s just that we’re ready and waiting and you do keep kicking Mummy’s bladder.
Anyway, I just thought I’d witter some random musings at you while the rest of the country watches England play Trinidad & Tobago in the opening rounds of the World Cup. No doubt I’lll be able to tell if we score from the shouts emanating from pubs and living rooms accross the city. Will you be sporty, I wonder; I really am not, though I am looking forward to taking you to the swimming pool as soon as it’s allowed. And I’ve got a cycling/camping tour of southern France pencilled in for whenever you’re ready.
Gosh, I’m making myself sound all healthy and energetic, but the truth is I’ve become terribly sedentary over the last year. A few salutes to the sun of a morning, some press-ups at night; I do walk, under load, to rehearsal and back every week, but I’ve not got on the bike yet this year and my promises to myself about enrolling in a gym or taking up that Tai Chi class remain unfulfilled. It’s all going to change. Honest.
I wonder when you’ll meet your grandparents. If things go well, I expect my Mum and Dad will be along pretty early on but they won’t be around at the birth because they have to move house the weekend you’re due. They’ve had a rotten year with Dad having a major operation and then a number of complications in its wake that kept taking him back to hospital, leaving him with chronic pain and discomfort and Mum with an awful lot of boxes to pack. Thankfully, Dad does seem to be on the mend now. *hug*
Well, I must think about starting the dinner. Your Mum is just finishing off with a hair client; she’s just powered up the hair dryer. (Ooh — big shout. Did England score?) Smoked salmon with scrambled egg and spinach, I do believe. Yes, somewhat breakfasty, but then was when we concocted the menu: breakfast time.
Right, I’m off. See you soon. (Yes, Lola: a hint :-))