‘You’ll miss this when it’s gone!’ people tell me.
I like to remember this when I’m watching the slow seep of faeces under my fingernails, or engaged in a full-body wrestle with a boy and a supermarket trolley (‘Bend your legs. BEND THEM. BEND. YOUR. LEGS’). Then I do a hollow laugh, likely as not.
Actually, I know they’re right. The brain is a tricky beggar, and airbrushes out the worst bits once enough time has gone by. I’ll forget the number of times I texted Timothy in all-caps or locked myself in the loo for five minutes. I’ll get used to having no stains at all on my trousers around the mid-thigh-snotty-nose level.
That’s why I collect these text messages to the husband in one place, brain. So that I’LL WIN IN THE END.
Here’s my last six months’ worth of notes from the trenches. Weep.
Teddy is poorly enough for us to have to stay in under a duvet this afternoon. We’re watching Happy Feet. Is it me, or do these penguins react to dancing in a sort of…sexual way? I feel uncomfortable.
What I really wanted for my birthday was a cowpat cake, so thank goodness we filled that hole.
Just arrived at Tesco. Dentist went about as well as it could, given the adult: child ratio.
Ted is a menace. Dentist is about the loveliest man alive.
They are not in a great mood, so pray for me *horror face*
I swear H actually just said this [while watching The Avengers for the first time]
H: ‘Where’s the Increbibble Hulk?’
Me: ‘He’s that man over there. He hasn’t changed yet.’
H: *sigh* ‘Can someone tell him he needs to be a superhero and not a man in a pink jumper?’
Today was the first time in this kid’s life that I said he had to eat some cheese toastie or he couldn’t have a yoghurt. It went super well.
H, looking at the completely dried up frog puddle: ‘I can see a few tadpoles…they’re not moving though.’
Me: ‘Mm, perhaps the rest moved to a different puddle?’
H: ‘Yes, or probably they died.’
No one ever told Teddy how to eat an apple and he’s just discovered he loves them, so he’s winging it.
Ate all of it bar the stem.
Some Tesco men are all jolly and help you in with your bags. Some Tesco men look like serial killers, and stare from your front door while you laboriously empty a hundred items into your front hall. Guess which one we had today?
So Sainsbury’s keeps their pregnancy tests behind the pharmacy counter. Which only had one waiting person when I first arrived, but they took so blimming long that by the time it was my turn there were seven or eight listening people.
I’m sure I looked well in control of my life asking for a p-test with two shrieking toddlers in the trolley. Wanted to shout ‘IT’S ONLY A MEDICALLY ADVISED PRECAUTION, JUDGERS’, but felt that would go too far.
Ted’s first time on a bus.
He’s singing a self-penned hello song to the assembled. Defo doesn’t have his brother’s confidence issues.
T: ‘Whezzer apple, Herry?’
H: ‘I threw my apple around the room so many times I can’t have it back.’
So far H has wept over
1) the chocolate sauce on his porridge being in his tummy rather than in the bowl, and
2) the blanket being ‘too fluffy’ on his bottom.
It’s a hard old life, eh?
Milkshake meltdown. I never learn.
[Tim: He’s a junkie. One is never enough.]
I’m in SS. Both boys ok.
By which I mean Sunday School. I haven’t jollied off to join the Nazi secret police.
I have never been to Costco before opening time before. Everyone’s queued up at the door with trolleys like it’s an episode of Supermarket Sweep.
THE BULK GOODS WILL STILL BE THERE IN FIVE MINUTES, PEOPLE.
‘Daddy’s gone for a run’
‘What is it?’
‘There’s a big fly in the house and I have to gun it!’
H is listening to a song I have just realised is about sexy times:
‘This song is about NIGHT EXPLOSIONS, Mummy. How curious’.
Good news! I have just about jogged enough for a single digestive biscuit. Living life.
I told him the Night Explosions song was about fireworks. So help me, I’ve already given him the anatomically correct name for my ladyparts, and I’m not ready for anything else down there yet.