Nearly christmas!

Woo!  Although it’s snuck up on me a bit this year, what with the baby and all.  I doubt very much that I’ll have all the cards and presents and stuff done in time.  But, eh, that’s life.  At least we’ll have a tree by the end of the weekend, and that’s the important bit.  For me.  For to feel Christmassy (which I, at present, do not, really).  We had the chimney swept and so E saw her first real fire (as well as her first snowfall, the two extremes in one week!).

I am falling apart a bit, it has to be said, in the cold.  My fingers! They crack and chafe! Oh, the agony! Oh the torture! Oh the slight discomfort!  I’m sure it wasn’t this cold last year.  To add to all this, my lovely Thinsulate fingerless gloves have had coffee spilled on them by… someone… and now my hands stink of it. Boo!  I need a trip to the dry-cleaners… and a hat…

Obligatory baby addendum

She sat up, unaided, for a good few seconds this week.  She rocked about, but didn’t fall over, she corrected her balance without guidance.  I reckon she’ll be sitting properly by, oh, my birthday, say.

Yes, that is a deadline.

Not really.

Hello!

You still here?

Oh, she’s making more consonant noises, too.  She has discovered the letter “G”.

Power and influence

I just mentioned on Twitter that I didn’t consider asos’s weekly email “Treat” of free delivery particularly treaty.  I went on to list treats which would be acceptably treatsome – chocolate, wine and porn – and was somewhat embarrassed and yet oddly proud to have asos’s Twitter account reply.  This is the joy of Twitter.  Previously distant institutions become bored people behind a keyboard, representing the brand.  Celebrities are right there, and you can call them a dick if you feel like it (and want to be blocked by them).  It won’t last, of course.  Celebs will get bored and businesses will cease to be arsed employing someone to piss about on the interweb all day.  But for now…

Baby update!

She’s cuuuute.  Good lord, yes.  And six months old, too.  Half a year!  I started thinking “Do that again and she’s a year old.  Do it 35 more times and… no, no no no no”.  You have to pull yourself back from the precipice of melancholy quite often, being a parent.  It’s reached the point where I can hear her breathing in her sleep, her lungs are big enough.  Before, I used to sometimes sneak over to her basket and put my hand under her nose to feel the breath on my skin.  Reassuring, and odd. I am enjoying this.