Midnight at the oasis

The pile of wrappers from the Fry's Chocolate Creams bars is formidable. It took until 22:45 to get Linnea down to sleep this evening. I can't imagine what could be causing her all this agitation -

- unless it's the fact that her mother is a psychotic raving panic-manic sugar-snorting nailbiter from Halifax (except that I've never been able to bite my nails, ew, gross) and she's picking up on my stress.

Yes, that could be it.

I have indulged in retail therapy. A bunch of stuff from Amazon, including "Here Come The ABCs" by They Might Be Giants, and shirts for me and Linnea from here. I'm working on another one but I'm bad at getting graphics files up so it could take until I realise I can't afford them.

I was going to take Linnea swimming with Rob this weekend to show him how she's learned to swim without me - she uses a float under her arms, and paddles with her hands and feet, all the way over the the ladder, which she climbs, so that she can run over and jump back in - did I mention she's only one and a quarter? - but I have a period and so I can't, because I'm still not able to use a simple tampon, dammit. He'll have to take her on his own and I won't be able to be there. My mother-in-law can witness the joy instead.

Never mind, Rob and I will get to spend some quality time together on Monday, in hospital.

Thanks for all the feedback on the pomes, by the way. I really appreciate it.

Carnage and crisis, terror and tragedy

This evening, after Linnea was put to bed (relatively early: 9 pm!) Rob and his parents went out to fit the carseat int he back of their car so that she could be transported around while I'm in hospital tomorrow. You know, so that I can be collected from hospital, that sort of thing.

It's a narrow residential street - cars parked either side, space for a single vehicle in the middle. It's one-way so this isn't usually a problem. Most people drive at reasonable speeds so no-one's wing mirrors get chipped.

The car was parked under a streetlight. To fit the carseat, Rob was leaning in the road-side door with the door open, when a van of some headlight-free kind drove into the open car door and bent it backwards. No-one was hurt. The driver of the van, however, started shouting at them - fuck this and fuck that - so I got automatically frightened and had a nice cosy panic attack. Eventually the driver of the van demanded that we call the police, which I was pleased about, because I was beginning to get afraid that he'd get violent; his manner, certainly, was very violent.

I have just about stopped shaking. I'm drinking sweet tea. The police have been and gone. The drivers have exchanged details. The driver of the van apologised for his attitude when he got out of the van, for which I thanked him through tears of relief. I am immensely grateful that Rob was leaning into the car at the time, so he was not hit. I am immensely grateful that we were putting the carseat, and not the baby, into the car at the time.

I'm not thrilled that my father-in-law may have to go home this evening, late and awkward, and leave Linnea alone with my mother-in-law tomorrow. Nice lady, but Alan is so like Linnea's daddy that she accepts him without question - the same way my mother is so likeme that she accepts her without question. There's always - every day - a period of introduction between Linnea and her Farmor, and we'll have to get through that period tomorrow morning as we're rushing out to hospital for my not-a-real-op.

I've been deriving such comfort from knowing that she'll have a Dad-a-like with her. Damn. Damn damn damn.