Bride in waiting

The baby who arrived on Christmas Eve is growing almost visibly. She's three months already - I'm sure time is speeding up. This is the kind of picture someone (naming no names) is bound to produce when she celebrates her 18th birthday. Or gets married.



And, no, it isn't a potty. Even I didn't start sitting my children on a potty at the age of three months. It's a new fangled gizmo that sits them up. I think it may be called a Bumbo.

She doesn't always look so serious.

Wittering

My husband says all I do on this blog now is witter. (At least I don’t Twitter.)
Anyway, I do sometimes witter about weddings, and daughters who once were brides, and what it’s like being the mother of one, not to mention a wife.
Last Saturday the husband and I walked from Archway to Islington. That may not sound far to North Londoners who walk, but it certainly felt far enough for me. The walking is part of his plan to get me fit.
On the way we passed Islington town hall. A group of smartly dressed people were gathered outside.
Must be a wedding, observed the husband. I said nothing. I find it hard to walk (at his pace) and talk.
A few minutes later we saw, coming towards us, a man in a suit and a woman wearing a smart dress and a hat, hurrying along the uneven pavements. They were clearly wedding guests – and just as clearly running late.
A little further on we encountered another couple. Also hurrying. It seemed likely that they had arrived by tube and decided to walk from the Angel.
It doesn’t look far on the A-Z. And it’s certainly not as far as Archway to Islington.
But I wouldn’t like to try it at pace in four-inch heels.