I need a transporter.

My commute to work is getting harder.

The winter has set in in London, which means that when I leave the house at 7:15, it's still dark out. When I come home, it's dark out.

I'm lucky if I manage to wrestle into the train car amongst all the puffy coats, umbrellas, newspapers and elbows askew.

It gets so hot on the train that I take all my layers off.

I transfer to another train halfway to work. And I don't get a seat on that one either.

Before I get out of the train station, I put all my layers back on.

All of that takes about 50 minutes, and then I walk to my office (10 minutes).

I do this trip twice a day, because I love to work and I love my job. Plus, it's pretty entertaining people-watching on the train. I always make up stories about them in my head.. I wonder who's just broken up with her boyfriend... I wonder who has kids... I wonder who has something stolen in their bag... I wonder if that guy likes his job...I wonder if she's going on a trip somewhere soon..

But people-games aside, it's getting exhausting, especially being pregnant. Yes, yes... mama's a-cookin' again. Life is very exciting at the moment. And very hormonal.

I fantasize about living in a country house in a small country village, walking to work and walking back. And getting some farm fresh produce on the way home, for dinner.

Then I realise that I don't exist in a Norman Rockwell painting. I did when I was growing up, but I don't now. Someday, maybe. But for now, I hope I get a transporter for Christmas.

I'll send you my address.

It's been a year.

To the girl who takes me on new adventures, determined and full of wonder.

My heart has never known this much love.

Happy birthday, my magical creature.

I want. I don't need.... but I want.

I'm slipping into this new, strange phase. Consumerism. Specifically "things" that make me sound highly materialistic: Shoes. New clothes. Scarves. A new coat.

Is it because my birthday came and went, I spent the money going to a salon and got my hair glossed and taken care of... and it started me down a dangerous path of more more more?

Is it because my hormones are going nuts?

Is it because I want to be selfish and not just think about kids and family all the time?

Is it because I work hard at being a mother and I feel I deserve it somehow?

All of the above, probably.

See, the thing is (calculated justification coming up....), I actually need a nice pair of black boots for winter. Leather. Riding-boot style. Something that goes over jeans or with skirts. Flat heel. I have a pair of brown, faded beat up boots that I've worn with everything, and a different colour would be nice. And my fake-Uggs have a hole in the bottom of them.

I don't have brown shoes. I really want a nice pair to wear with jeans. Wearing Converse all the time is okay, but it would nice nice not to look like I'm 15 sometimes.

I want a big, wooly scarf. A lovely huge one that I can wrap around my neck like a big wooly blanket. A beige one, ideally.

Okay. I let it all out. It feels nice to confess my want, though I always feel guilty for doing so. Our money needs to be spent on other things at the moment, but I can't help but ache for just a few things to tide me over for the winter. It's perversely a constant reminder of how careless I used to be about money, flitting here and there, buying things that I wanted, indulging my desire for pretty things. Most were good purchases. Some were impulse. It's the opposite of how I deal with money nowadays.

Maybe it's intrinsically vain for me to say "but I deserve it because I work so hard and I don't really spend money on me!" I don't really have a right to say that. The mister works damn hard at his job, but he never says "hey, I work 16 hour days every day, I need that shirt!!".

Maybe it's a woman thing. Maybe I shouldn't compare myself to anyone else. Maybe it's okay to want something you know you can't afford, because it makes you appreciate the stuff that you do have, and makes you reinvent how you use/wear things.

Or maybe I should just raise my hand and say out loud: "Hi. I'm Myshka. I have a mild obsession with shopping, and I make no apologies for it. Pleased to meet you. And I really like your shoes."