Much ado about nothing

Firstly though, do I get to complain that my favourite black cardi fell apart in the wash yesterday morning and it's only about 3 years old, if I probably should've been hand-washing it but I've been throwing it in the washing machine for about the entire 3 years?

I really liked that cardi.

Also, I'm going to knit a scarf. I think. I'll just have to remember how. I didn't think it'd been all that long until I did the maths and realised that I'm getting older and it's actually been a good 16 years. There are kids out there who weren't born when I knitted my last scarf that've nearly finished high school. Cheery. Aside from that though, I'm quite enthusiastic about the idea. Especially after going out in a howling southerly the other day for an appointment with my obstetrician and finding that where previously, in Auckland, a scarf has always been a handy accessory, here, in Wellington, it's a necessary means of preserving life. I'm still working out how big I want it, but based on last week I think probably if it covers me from head to toe and I can wrap it around myself about 10 times I should be good. I'll post pictures after I've been to visit this woman. Love her store.

And now, Much Ado.

With baby girl getting closer, we've been conscious that she'll need somewhere to sleep once she's done her stint in the hammock, and that the cot was still very much occupied by Cuinn. We had two plans. The first plan was the obvious and what most people would do - move Cuinn into a big boy bed. Snort. Whatever. The very thought filled us with such a feeling of general terror that we much preferred plan two which was to buy a second cot. Yes, we really are that wussy.

As it played out, last week's visit to the obstetrician indicated that baby girl will likely be needing her cot about as quickly as Cuinn did (he was about 3 weeks old from memory when he was dangling out of the hammock from the knees down) - the littlest ginger is measuring bigger even than Cuinn (big enough that my obstetrician did her measurements 3 times in disbelief) and we realised that with her only being about 14 weeks away tops, we were possibly too embarrassed to buy a second cot after all, tempting though it was, and we really didn't want to do the transition and bed-battle with the little ginger after the littlest ginger arrives (you know, why I refer to either of these gingers as little really is beyond me at this point).

So, this week, the husband has the week off, and I have a couple of weeks of putting my feet up a bit too, so we figured that the timing is probably as good as any to bite the bullet and undertake intensive kid-wrangling as we made the transition. Except, for once, we were ready, willing (in a relative sense) and braced for what lay ahead of us, but the little ginger it seems was even readier and willinger and took to his bed like a duck to water and that's been that. The husband and I have been walking around, looking at each other and grinning like (relieved) idiots at how simple it's been. How beautifully, wonderfully, unusually straight forward. Complete non-event. Blooming marvellous. Amen.