It's all about food.

I'd like to pretend that I'm suffering from pregnancy cravings, but in truth I often have phases of intense affection for particular combinations of foodstuffs, so I can't really be sure.

But the past few weeks have seen two wild and fulfilling passions enter my life.

1) Corn on the cob, smothered in very salty butter and then dipped into chilli and ginger sauce.

2) Philadelphia cream cheese with hot lime pickle

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Don't worry Weightwatchers, you can count on my custom from July 2006 onwards. In the meantime, maybe somebody else could try these out in large quantities and tell me if they really are the ambrosia I think they are?

Scantastic

As a geriatric mother, I have the bonus of extra chromosomal tests, etc, to reassess my risk of having a Down Syndrome baby or one with Trisomy disorders. This involves a blood test, followed a couple of days later by a detailed scan primarily looking at the thickness of a fold of skin at the baby's neck. The resulting information is keyed into a computer alongside my age, and then revised odds are spat out by the program. This in turn then leads to a recommendation as to whether to have amniocentesis. It's all a question of relative probabilities in that amniocentesis itself carries a 1-2% risk of miscarriage, so it's obviously not worth undergoing lightly. Some people of course don't want to know either way, and that's their choice. But I felt that I needed to know.

It was also a great chance for D to attend a scan, seeing as he missed almost all of them last time around, having the immense rudeness to be in a different hemisphere. Like a solar eclipse, witnessing the real thing is incomparable to a snapshot photo record. And so there we were, able to discern the new baby in all its smudgy glory, wriggling about and gulping amniotic fluid with gusto.

I have luck in bucketsful, really. My risk of any abnormalities with this pregnancy turns out to be that of a 23 year old rather than a 39 year old. I have lost no time in reminding D that he is married to a 23 year old - well, on the inside, anyway. He's gone from toy-boy to sugar-daddy in the blink of an eye.

Toddlerworthiness.

Along to the Child Health Clinic today for H's 18 month check. Never sure how much faith to place in the utterings of some of the Child Health nurses (was thoroughly castigated once for giving the H solid food before the age of 6 months, and occasionally the advice undergoes a complete U-turn over time, viz, "Sterilise everything!" "Don't sterilise anything - we've changed our minds!"). But I did glean a couple of potentially interesting things today. Theory 1 - the H is fascinated by wheels and cars, and this explains why he is not keen to use pencils or crayons. Hmmm. Allegedly toddlers tend to focus on either one or the other. Theory 2 - late walkers are usually late talkers, as the brain can only concentrate on one thing at a time and the talking bit only kicks in once they are properly mobile. Not sure whether the H disproves that theory, as despite walking late he has over twice the number of words at his disposal that he "should" have for his age, or whether it means that he is about to get even more vocal now that all his motor skills are finally in place, and never shut up, like his father.