I know – I know. I know I have a few ‘issues’ regarding my oversharing tendencies and unapologetic storytelling of my childrens’ devilish antics, and I am completely aware that they are quite likely to sue me when they progress past youtube clips of chipmunks and finally one day read my blog, which is actually their blog, only they don’t know it and they didn’t consent. Apologies to my boys, then, although, it must be stated that if they behaved nicely, there would be nothing to talk about. So it is actually their fault, if you think about it.
And so to photos of the new baby. I am in love, and he smells delicious, and his hair is fluffy and his ears are a bit scaly and his little mouth all pouting-fish-like and I CANNOT GET ENOUGH and so I must photograph him at all times, and post it on Instagram, which makes my feed repetitive because all the baby does is sleep. So I have to take different versions of him sleeping, so I don’t forget, and so you can all share in his sleepy loveliness, and so you don’t forget. This addled, hormonal logic makes sense to me, even if I have made some of my less baby-lovin’ my friends block me.
Just for the record, it will all be over soon, I promise. I shall return to photographing the dog, failed cakes, sample sale queue lines and perfect Ottolenghi flat whites just as soon as the baby starts to seem less like an extraordinary gift. Until then, a rehash of the last 7 weeks! You know you want it.
So that’s it, then. A house full of boys and a dog and their residue and so many discarded socks and slightly-damp trousers and bits of drawings and chewed up pencils and sharp lego bits and piratical maps and scrabble pieces pushed down drains and stolen packets of Haribo and homework and dog hair and acorns and half-read papers and invoices and lip balm and keys, always keys.
THINGS I AM CONCERNED ABOUT:
1. We had a seven-seater Renault for getting kids to school in the rain, and trips to National Trust places and trips to Westfield to buy stuff from COS, but we all got a bit too numerous and large for it, and so Mark sold it and bought this:
Now, that behemoth has to take us to school and to Devon for Christmas, but it is terrifying to park, it smells like a mechanic’s overalls, it rumbles and growls like an army truck, the radio won’t work and the GPS isn’t plug-in-able, there’s no automatic locking system, the driver’s door won’t unlock at all and so you have to reach across from the passenger side with a screaming baby in one arm to flick up the lever, the alarm keeps going off unexpectedly and IT IS TOO BIG TO GET INTO WESTFIELD! No more mid-week shopping for me, then. And the boys sit opposite from each other in the back, a perfect distance from which to kick each other in the shins until we have to pull over and deal with the escalating shrieks. It has made me wail twice, I’m not ashamed to admit.
But it is kind of cool, though, eh?
2. Kate Middleton had a baby six weeks earlier than me, and her stomach is flat and teenage-like. I do not understand. Baffling. Was it all just a fat suit and she surrogated Baby Prince George out in order to retain her waif-like figure? Pffft. Whatevs. Baby Otis is better looking, anyhow.
3. Robin Thicke. Dumb name, dumb misogynist. A bit of a dick all round. But I am conflicted, Dear Reader! Because I really like that terrible, feminist-principle-compromising song! I cannot help singing it, and I turn it up when it comes on the radio! (Which of course, it no longer does, because of the behemoth’s non-radio-status). I am aware of the wrongness of it all, and I won’t play the album much anymore nor dance around the kitchen, imagining my bosoms to be as perky as that lady in the video. (I actually bought the album. I KNOW. I know.)
1. I got the diamonds for my birthday, and they are amazing.
Thanks to Mark, and to Baby Otis. The dazzling sparkle detracts from my under-eyebags and milk-vomity shirts quite nicely.
2. Halloween pumpkin gathering. We did this yesterday:
It was a giant pick-your-own pumpkin extravaganza in Surrey, with only a little bit of blustery rainy weather and poisonous fungi. We have succumbed to Autumn, and it feels good.
3. TV. Obviously, Breaking Bad has come and gone and we have to find something else to fill the aching void. Mark is watching Justified, which is seven kinds of stupid, and I am waiting to unleash the reputed delights of Six Feet Under. Any further suggestions would be very gratefully received.
Righto! It’s now time to make a lasagne and do washing and scold some boys and breastfeed and take stuff to the laundromat and work on my abdominals. Ahem.