Recap.

I'm going to make a concerted effort to post every day. At least for the next month or so, until it becomes a habit. I make no statement of guarantee on the quality of these posts, note. Roughly 85% of them are bound to be sedative drainage. COME FOR THE PROMISE OF SHENANIGANS, STAY FOR THE MONOTONY.

The christening has been and gone and as far as any potential God is concerned, my infant daughter's soul has been claimed by the Roman Catholic church. I wish I had more gossipy scandal to report, but the whole thing went off without much drama. I did, however, make a bit of an arse out of myself when asked by the priest to read out a prayer. I'd come down with a blocked nose the night before and was concentrating so fiercely on trying to open my mouth as little as possible - just enough to keep my blood oxygen levels stable, but not so much I looked like a gawping, slack-jawed moron - that I was startled to realise he'd handed me a prayer card and was looking at me expectantly. "Do..do I just start now?" I whispered, but as I did so, my nose released a stream of clear snot, which I had no choice but to dab away with the sleeve of my cream linen jacket. GROSS.
And then! I read the damn thing out, but not knowing from Catholic rituals, I failed to realise the last line was a congregal response. So then I startled in my seat when everyone droned the last bit, and stopped saying it midway through. I gave J the stink-eye which translated as "NO TIME FOR AN ECCLESIASTICAL CRASH COURSE DOUCHEBAG?"

And there were a couple of minor, hairy moments. One was when the priest invited us to rejoice, for the child was no longer a pagan, but now one of god's chosen people. Wtf? PAGAN? As for the other bit, he might be interested in a theological debate with the Jews over who's chosen and whatever. Another wee hiccup was when he approached my two elder children saying, "Now, you two won't remember when this was done to you!" and my son shooting me a "Mum? Errr...?" kind of look. Which was swiftly returned with a "SHUTUPSHUTUP DON'T SAY A WORD, I'LL BUY YOU A PONY OR A DRAGON OR WHATEVER SSSSSHHHH," glare.

I kept being referred to as J's wife, which, okay, no big. I did find a giant framed picture of Jesus with his (His?) sacred heart all on show in our suitcase when I was unpacking earlier this week, which I assume is from J's mum. I wish it had one of those battery operated pretend candles with it, because then I could justify hanging it in the name of kitsch. The rest of our five days there were really fun - calves and lambs on the farm for the kids to see, barrels of drink and plenty of craic. ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS!