It seems that the Home Office mustn't have spotted Philippa bunny-earing Her Maj, because despite her antics, they've now gone and given her a British passport. No more waiting in the queues with all the riff-raff at British immigration for her.
Young Larry will be a British citizen, born in Britain, to two British parents. And yes Dad, I know it is all terribly wrong but I'm afraid he will also be an actual Englishman!
But of course he will be a little Aussie battler too, so by the time we get him all passported up, we'll be a 7 passport family.
And while on the subject of Larry, just a quick progress report: we're now going to ante-natal classes which are a tad scary, especially the bit where they get a baby-sized toy doll and squeeze it through a model pelvis.
Philippa continues to grow ever more bumpy and has luckily not been afflicted with backache and puffiness. She also missed out on morning sickness so I guess she has been very lucky overall.
Madness and panic is setting in as we try and get prepared for Larry's arrival. We're moving house next week to a bigger place, and we will need all the room because we're already mounting up vast amounts of baby-related equipment from various generous people. Phil's work colleague Sue gave us a baby basket, car seat, bouncinette, and sundry bits and pieces, Mel has sent a mountain of baby clothes, Marg Sawyer has donated a play mat thingy, and Mark O has bought us a Baby Bjorn. You'd never believe that a critter so small could use so much gear.
He's officially due on 3 March, so we're battening down the hatches and trying to get ready for him to arrive anytime after about 20 Feb. It's all a bit mental really.
Here's a nice calming pic from Hampstead Heath last weekend. Its been freezing this week, but nice and bright which is some compensation.
