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Hopefully not literally but I have been doing a lot of shopping recently for someone of my usual anti shopping disposition.

It seems to me that shopping for babies is a bit like shopping for weddings in that it is primarily a social occasion and luckily for my bank balance I have relatively few social shopping opportunities so I’ve limited my damage to a few key items:

Keith had been whinging about the current change bag for some time and trying to convince me that a £90 leather satchel was an appropriate alternative. Luckily due to the woeful stock control of White Stuff I was never faced with that moment of standing at the till wondering what level of epic mistake I was making and instead I found and have bought a far more suitable alternative.

See, practical enough to keep me happy  and manly enough to please Keith and with the merest whiff of leather satchel about it as well.

Next on my hit list was a Bednest because as I’m sure I had mentioned before, we’re planning on co sleeping with this little chickadee until she is 6 months old, at which point both kids will move into the larger back room where there is at least 20ft between them and us and a nice thick wall with an actual door to keep their chaos away from our ears.

Only slight fly in my co sleeping ointment is that I managed to coincide the decision with the worldwide shortage of aforementioned co sleeper so the prices of second hand versions have been going up while the new ones have been unavoidably detained in the sustainable forests of China. Still, I managed to bag one for £50 less than the new price and all I have to do now is drive to Cambridge to collect it.

Oh and find some sheets for it that don’t bore the bejesus out of me. If anyone has a stash of funky unisex/ slightly feminine brushed cotton lying about that I can cut up and turn into sheets, please let me know before I swallow my own tongue at the sight of more pastel shades.

The last piece of baby action for the week was the momentous occasion of us dropping off the pushchair for slight modifications. And by slight modifications I mean complete redesign because I’m an idiot and didn’t do my research properly.

Keith was violently opposed to the idea of getting a double buggy and only under duress and the threat of epic hissy fit did he eventually concede that there might be room for a double buggy in our lives as long as it was this one, which is the double version of our current single.

Yeah no problem darling, they’ve only been out of production for 12 years.

I somehow managed to find one at a reasonable price on eBay which only came with the seats, and not the bassinette you can see in the picture which was fine because we got a bassinette with the single. I congratulated myself on being a money saving genius and rubbed my hands with glee while it was collected for us by family friends and dropped off by Mr B senior.

So happy was I that I fair skipped into the garden with the bassinette in hand and a tra-la-la on my lips.

It didn’t fit.

Turns out I should have looked here before bidding because it says right there, clear as day, singles and doubles do not mix. Oh and you can’t buy new bassinettes any more. 

Still I made a good attempt at making it fit but pretty soon my tra-la-la was more SONovaBITCH and I was trying to think of some way of digging my way out of the inevitable I-told-you-a-double-pushchair-was-a-bad-idea lecture I knew was hovering in the kitchen watching my progress through the window.

Anyway, as luck would have it, we know a man; an incredible car interior upholsterer who has both the technology and the skill to turn my minor SNAFU into a workable solution. He seemed confident it wouldn’t pose too much of an issue and I’m confident I’ve avoided the worst of the lectures so fingers crossed by next weekend I’ll be collecting a fully working pushchair.

That’s actually is no bad things because I am now 30 weeks pregnant, which is in the right ballpark of numbers for this baby to actually be born.

Clearly she is related to Alfie so the chances are slim that there will be any baby action this side of Christmas but there is a slight frisson of excitement building about her arrival, because this girlie is the Michael sodding Flatley of babies and frankly I don’t know how much longer my body is going to contain her.

The left hand side of my ribcage hurts all the live long day and people have actually asked me if I’m OK because they think I’ve just startled. No, no, that’s not me, that is my unborn child rocking my whole entire body with the force of her kicks.

Now if you would please call me an ambulance I fear I may need a rib replacing. 

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