Things went well enough this weekend. We are still settling in to the new place, it's starting to look more and more like people live here rather than a bunch of hobo's.
Rico drove out Friday with our wayward cat. It was great to see him, and awesome to see Rupert doing so well. It seems that he was a dream passenger on the 8 hour trip out here too. What a little freak. Rupert is setting in well, and while the other cats did a lot of hissing and growling at him for the first couple of days, everyone seems to be getting along nicely now.
Friday night we took Rico out for supper and then to see a movie. We went and saw 28 Weeks Later, which was okay. It wasn't everything that I had expected, but it was passable. I like the idea of an actual virus for a zombie movie, it makes it much more believable, you know? That night I had running-away-from-zombie dreams all night long though. Usually I can handle dreams like that one, but my sub-conscious played dirty pool and kept throwing Mary in there.
Saturday morning Rico headed home bright and early, and Ian and I went over to my dad's place to pick up Mary and to wish my step-mum a happy birthday. Mary was sweet, Michael was happier than I've seen her in a while, and we had some of the best doughnuts I've had for breakfast. The rest of the day was wasted away by napping and bumming around the apartment.
Sunday we bought a new TV. Yay! It was more expensive than we had planned on purchasing as it is a fancy LCD thingy, but it sure is nice. Now all we need is for the cable people to come hook it up and I'll be happy.
Mary's been awfully cute these days. Any time I go out without her and Ian, I ask for a kiss. She gives me one, and then runs to find Ian so she can drag him over to me and demand that he gives me a kiss too. It's awfully sweet. Her vocabulary is expanding leaps and bounds too, she now uses 3 and 4 word sentences sometimes, and everything she says is much easier to understand. If she's upset she'll often tell me what the problem is, which is a wonderful thing. Last night I tried to get her to drink the last bit of her milk with supper and she said, clear as a bell "I don't want it, Mum!" I could have done without the huffing, arm crossing and sulking after she made that declaration, but wow, I was impressed. Not everything is impressive with her though. We have decided to wean her from her bottles and it is not going well. We are down to 30 minutes of heart broken sobbing at bedtime, but I feel like such an awful person when she begs pathetically for a "bottle'a'mahk" while sobbing at her door. We just started Saturday, so hopefully it'll get better soon.
As for the other baby, the one still in my belly. I want it out, now. Only 3-4 weeks left. I am looking forward to going from the misery of sleepless nights because I can't get comfortable to the misery of sleepless nights because I have a screaming newborn to tend too. Why on earth do we do this to ourselves again? Someone, please remind me...