:(

I left my handbrake off this morning and thought, oops, you always do that twice, makes sure it doesn't happen again - this afternoon I went to collect maternity jeans I'd ordered from stupid Next - but I didn't bring my confirmation letter, and they wouldn't give them to me, even though I got the reference no from a friend, who got her friend to log into my inbox. Arse! Like I'm some opportunistic size 16 pregnant woman on the roam to pick up and pay for other people's maternity clothes.

Then I got home, stopped the car, opened the door and rolled back into the gate post(I stomped on the brake but missed!) and bashed my door. It wouldn't close, but my skillful husband fixed it by hitting it with a mallet! (Possibly with some more delicate mechanical manoeuvres too).

This is my punishment for getting carpet people to come measure for an estimate for new carpet tomorrow. My wonderful, generous godparents gave me a generous, generous cheque for my birthday and I thought I'd see what a carpet might cost. But it seems like every time I get a little extra money, I bash the car - the last time I got tax back, was going to buy a bed, and scraped the door off the neighbour's gate, as Cassia had been screaming bloody murder for 40 mins, and my neighbour had parked his ambulance in the driveway.

Sigh. I'm a dolt. And even when the pregnancy is over, I'll still be in a breast feeding, sleep deprived haze for six months. I need a minder.