I’m pretty obsessed with Australian Masterchef. I tape it and watch back to back episodes when Mr B is working late and I have control of the remote. I even had a dream in which one of the judges was my husband. ( It was Gary, if you’re a fellow fan and you need to know whether it was him, George, or Matt I was married to.)
Anyhow, some of this gourmet goodness must be seeping out of the telly and into the general ether of our house, as the other day, Little B presented me with this playdoh creation…
Cue the usual conversation with a 3 year old upon being handed something you’re told is food:
“Oh thank you darling, that looks lovely! I’m going to eat it all up for my dinner. What is it?”
“Horse in Lemonade.”
Horse. In Lemonade. This from a girl who’s palette extends to chicken dippers and fish fingers with lashings of ketchup. I expect Heston Blumenthal to be knocking my door down within the week…
This is how Little B chose to walk to playgroup this morning. Doesn’t she look like a Victorian nanny out taking her ward for a morning constitutional? Check out how she’s wearing her cardigan.
During the walk she told me that her feet were in the water, so she had to use the bridge. I had to swim beside her because there was no room on the bridge. Then the bridge broke, so I had to lend her my hovercraft to go the next part of the journey. But oh no, the hovercraft has broken down… Luckily there was a hot air balloon beside the fence, so we used that until it crashed into a tree.
Then she started doing monkey impressions.
Walking to playgroup is fun.
I got the lovely news this morning that one of my old work friends had a baby last night. Well, actually his wife had the baby last night, but you know what I mean. I ogled the little picture of the newborn that he’d sent me, then wrote back a message of congratulations. I asked how the mum was, whether they’d chosen a name, and I almost asked what weight he was. Then I stopped myself. I really don’t need to know what weight he is – as long as he’s here and he’s healthy, what does it matter? 7 months ago when Littler B was born, I started to get a bit incensed at all the comments on her weight. She was a perfectly healthy 7lbs 10, but long, so complete strangers would ask her weight, then say things like “No, there’s no way she’s over 7lbs! She’s so small!”, or “Really? She looks about 5lbs, are you sure?” And, being a polite and well-brought-up sort, I would smile or shrug, whilst thinking to myself “Well of course I’m sure you idiot, she’s my bloody baby and I’ve checked the red book 10 times now because of people like you being so rude, questioning me, and commenting on how small/big/fat/thin my daughter is! I’m completely knackered and traumatised after the 11 hours of painful labour, have had no sleep for 3 days because the baby thinks night is day and I can’t sleep while she sleeps because I have an older child who’s nose is completely put out due to the arrival of her sibling , but thanks for making me question my sanity about the one thing that I actually do know about this baby. ”
So next time you’re about to ask the weight of a newborn baby, stop and think about whether you really need to know…
And to C and O, proud new parents, congratulations, he’s an absolute stunner. Welcome to the confusing, challenging, wonderful world of parenthood.
As if it wasn’t enough her getting me up very early, within 10 minutes of her having her bottle, she threw up over herself, the sofa, my new cushion (from Matalan, isn’t it lovely?), and my pyjamas. Cue a stealth dash upstairs to get clean dry clothes for us both, very very quietly so that I don’t wake child 1. I could pull off a rare gems heist I’m that quiet… And for once, things go right and child 1 remains asleep. Yay! Small mercies and all that.
The holidays are over. And I couldn’t be happier. I know I’m not supposed to say that, but I’m so happy to be back into our normal routine of playgroup, ballet classes, library visits and mums and tots groups. The holidays for me felt like an endless exercise in how to keep two small people entertained. We did the Easter egg hunt, painted some eggs, made rice crispy cakes, went to the park, went for a cycle ride – that put the first morning in. The problem was that my husband was working lots of long shifts. He worked over the holiday weekend, and was away overnight. So I was on my own with the kids. There were no mums and tots groups, no playgroup, no classes to attend, no organised activities. For a whole two weeks. And then they both got sick. And then I got sick. And with all the coughing, spluttering, sore throats, ears, and high temperatures, there was not much sleeping going on at night. Which meant that everyone was tetchy during the day. We were not ourselves.
So I for one am glad to be ‘back to porridge’. Porridge is warm, comforting, healthy and routine.
I like porridge.
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