No, I’m not pregnant.
No, we’re not getting a dog/cat/hamster/rabbit/gerbil/rat/guinea pig/chinchilla/horse/crocodile/wooly mammoth.
Something faaar more exciting.
Today we went to the Lovely Ladies Christmas fayre. (It’s not really called that but the ladies are actually really lovely.)
I am terrible at places like bootsales and fayres. I’m not awesome at picking up a bargain and each ten pence item feels like a win until I go home with a car full of crap no one else wants.
However, after meeting 82 year old Canadian Joan and having a lovely cuppa and a chat with her, we ambled around the hall…and I spotted him.
My gorgeous anatomically correct baby boy doll.
He’s slightly weighted and a little scrunchy. His outfit is handknitted (not by me but that definitely wins him brownie points) and he is just…
Well, you can see for yourself.
He’s mine. He is to go in my collection of doula things.
He is in for a life of being knitted for, being breastfed, cradled, worn, carried, pushed out of a probably knitted pelvis, having his nappy changed…
I can’t wait to play…I mean use him.