All posts filed under: Short Stuff

Baby un-friendly decor

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The baby is mastering the arts of both eating solid food and blowing raspberries – she likes practice these skills simultaneously. This milestone causes me to pause and reflect on the day we chose the fixtures and furnishings while renovating a few years ago (while pregnant with baby #1). “There’s no reason we shouldn’t choose white shagpile carpet, white chairs and bar stools, and a sleek white-and-chrome dining table with impossible-to-clean-crevices” we mused. “Children don’t NEED to be messy; we’ll just teach ours to be really clean” we smugly reasoned. What a couple of asshats.

Dry

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Scottish stubbornness + Italian martyrdom genes = Amy sat with stoicism and powered through the two dry WeetBix she’d chosen for breakfast, refusing to concede she’d made a bad call and should really accept the milk on offer.

Best day ever

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“Mum! I waved at the lawn mower man and he waved back at me! It’s the BEST DAY EVER!” Right. So that’s two years and nine months of days filled with dancing, singing, play dates, baking, zoo trips, beach trips, park trips, swimming, Christmases, Easters etc., completely upstaged by a wave.

Knicker thrower

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While attempting to pay for Jeremy’s socks in a menswear shop, I pulled my wallet out of my bag with a bit more enthusiasm than strictly necessary (it looked like it was tangled in a nest of wipes, muslins and Sophie the Giraffe). The sheer force dislodged a spare pair of Amy’s knickers from the depths of my bag, and sent them scudding across the counter until they finally came to rest on the computer terminal. The red-faced (male, just-made-through-puberty) shop assistant pushed them back across the counter to me as I gibbered on about them belonging to my daughter. Judging by the look on his face, combined with the fact that the only daughter in evidence was a three-month-old, I don’t think he was buying it. So now I just look like a crazy lady who a) attempts to seduce shop boys by flinging knickers at them, and b) wears pink knickers with owls on the front that are obviously too small. Could have been worse, I guess…they could have been a pair of …

Rustle rustle

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When trying to sneak back to bed at 4am after re-settling both baby and toddler, the once soothing and inviting rustle of the duvet suddenly sounds as obnoxious and loud as someone struggling to open a stubborn packet of chips in a movie theatre during a crucial-yet-quiet scene.