Because this is happening…
Imagine, if you will, a time when you wore something other than sweatpants. You went to meetings, you had a ‘phone voice’, you had ‘Things To Do’ on a list. On your desk. A desk that wasn’t in your house. You may have even had a boss.
A boss who had more than one tooth.
And now, Fridays aren’t the same. The closest thing you have to meetings is cake time with other mothers. There is a lot of cake. Remember when you didn’t like cake?
Now, you have an Elmo voice. That voice makes your kid laugh. Your other voice says, ‘please don’t put that in your mouth’ and ‘Dude, why are you in the rubbish?’
Fun was maybe going to the movies. Or the pub. Or both. Because you could. Now, movies live in the Netflix. And you are asked to leave the pub, because the sleeping child strapped to your chest isn’t allowed in.
Because maybe she’ll wake up and bite people with the one tooth in her head.
But I digress.
My point is this. Fun is different now. Fun is simpler.
Fun is putting your underwear on your kid’s head. And a pair of sunglasses. Just, y’know, so the underwear doesn’t fall off.
That’s what fun is.
Or is that just fun for me?
My very patient child. Channelling Sophia Petrillo. Or something.
And so. what do YOU do for fun?
Isla clearly doesn’t like it when we interrupt her reading for a photo op…
And her reading tastes have changed since we returned home…
What’s your kid reading?
Share a photo!
We are just back from Isla’s first trip to NY. More on that, and other stuff, later.
For now, Simon’s Cat makes a lot of sense. Except, y’know, I wouldn’t do that first thing.
You are six months and a bit. You are my Monkey, my Strumpet, My Favourite Baby.
The first time I held you, I told you you’d been here before. And there’s an old soul shining out of your bright blue-grey-silver eyes.
On a somewhat related note, I’m sorry for thinking that milk-blister made you look like a tiny version of Nanny McPhee for your first few days. I take it back. And I promise that wasn’t the reason I cried a lot.
I cried because you are beautiful. And because I’ve loved you forever, and I recognised your face from my dreams.
I cried because you have elbows.
I really can’t remember my life before you. And your last two weeks of baking really were a different kind of forever.
But you’re here now. We’re here. And your Dad still has all his hair. You have his eyes and my mouth. Make of that what you will.
You look just like you.
Your favourite thing to do is pull my hair. And dance. Sometimes at the same time. I still love you.
You like pears. And shrieking. You seem to prefer me without my glasses on. And if you’re pretending to like country music because it makes me happy, keep doing it. Humour me, I’m your mother.
Right now, your spirit animals seem to be giraffes and sheep. Your Dad is still working on the penguin thing. Humour him, he’s your father.
You don’t like squash. Or socks.
You eat books. Your favourite is Sheep In A Jeep.
You like to turn things upside down. Keep doing that.
And I’ll keep prying my hair from your amazing little hands. Hands which aren’t very far from your groovy little elbows.