right then...

...I'm done moaning, agonising and going on and on about things. From now on I have banned all baby related introspection. Not all baby related thoughts will disappear though, it may interest you to know that I still haven't decided whether Mr McMuffin or Gypsy Tart gets the choice task of scooping my poo from the birthing pool. My midwife says women don't actually poo that much, if they poo at all, but I rather like the idea of having one of them on alert. The pool is just part of the the natural approach I plan to take. I suspect this plan will only last until the first contraction hits, then I'll be shouting for a lift to the hospital and an epidural.

Mr McMuffin is trying to upgrade our stereo from his classic kit, to something a little smaller that actually works. He is in love with the £15 amp he bought and no doubt will write about it soon. I caught him trying to take it apart last night, but I warned him that the miniaturised monkeys that make it work would escape, so he's left it well alone now. I have to wonder if it's only got to be a priority as he couldn't cope with having poor quality sound at high volume to drown out my screams of agony. I have to say though, Back in Black has never sounded so good.

We're braving the crowds today and going christmas shopping. Mr McMuffin only has a couple of extra presents to get, whereas I've got to do the whole lot. I'm very tempted just to get another herd of goats, or maybe a nice lttle toilet block, but as I said before, he's not that middle class.