It is absolutely pissing it down, and the light of day never really arrived this morning – clouds, slight fog, and persistent rain is what it’s all about today. Fortunately the rain held off for the weekend’s rendering endeavours, so we now have what looks pleasingly like a proper building going on out there. I keep meaning to post a few pictures, but every time I sit down to do it, I either forget, run out of time, or encounter some sort of horrible Photobucket/iPhoto catastrophe which I always intend to sort ‘next time… or… later… or…’. You get the picture. (Or not, as it were.)

Anyway.

I think we are going to take the witchling to see a cranio-sacral therapist. Well, I say ‘think’; I mean ‘yes we fucking are because seriously: sleep, I needs it’. (And if any of you out there are feeling your little fingers just itching to type the words ‘harden your heart’, or ‘let her cry’, or indeed anything which isn’t a version of ‘poor you – have a cup of virtual tea and a chocolate biscuit’, then please restrain yourself. Sleep-deprived I may be, but I am still not up for letting her cry, and I still don’t believe that a four-month-old baby is manipulating me. Here endeth the sermon.) It turns out that a good friend of mine has a partner who, as well as being a gas-fitter and qualified plumber, is also a Reiki master and cranio-sacral practitioner. Heh. Who knew? So, if all goes to plan, Wednesday will see me piling into the car with the witchling and heading over to visit, passing perilously close to a rare breeds centre en route (I covet more chickens, despite knowing that e has two Aruacanas with our names on them; they are as yet too small to go in with our chooks, largely because they would simply walk through the larger-guage chicken wire that we use) and probably chanting ‘remember you can’t afford it’ throughout the entire drive. (That sort of chant covers most things at the moment, I find; largely, if it has a price-tag, I can’t afford it.)

See, the thing is that I am notoriously crap at deciding when That Day has arrived. You may recall such indecisiveness from the ongoing comedy-horror that way my FIVE-YEAR PhD study. Barely a day passed without me saying ‘that’s it! I am categorically quitting! I am SO DONE WITH THIS! It is a life of woe, mixed with a little misery, with just a hint of SORROW AND EXTREME POVERTY thrown in for good measure!’ Yet I stuck with it, kicking and screaming from time to time nonetheless. The reason for that was not that I am a persistent kinda gal with determination and [insert lots of other feisty-sounding adjectives here, please], but that I find it really, really, really hard to call time on things I find difficult or challenging in some way. Thus, despite the lack of sleep and the fact that I am wandering around most of the time in a gentle shade of fog, the thing that’s made me consider doing something differently in terms of baby-wrangling is not my own feeling about it, but the fact that I think the witchling is not getting enough sleep either, and that explains a fair quantity of her not-feeling-very-happyness. (And yes, that should be a ‘y’ in the middle, there, because it’s not ‘happiness’ I mean, but happy-ness. All clear? Right. Carry on, then.) So, we will try cranio-sacral therapy, putting to one side my experiences with the slightly crumbunctiuos therapissed I encountered when pregnant. Let’s hope it helps. It would be really nice to rediscover what the inside of my eyelids looks like.