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So if we hard Brexit the army brings us food and medicine? For free?
#hardbrexitnow
Tonight, after her mum had put her to bed, Phoebe called out for me. I responded via the baby cam in her room. “What is it?” I asked. She shouted one word a bit indistinctly. “What was that?” I asked. She shouted it again. I wasn’t sure what I’d heard. “It’s boobies,” said Catie. “She’s started saying boobies.”
“Boobies?” I said back through the baby cam and Phoebe giggled. “Is that funny, daddy?” She asked me. “To be fair,” I replied, “You waiting til after lights out and then just saying it like that is pretty funny. As long as you only say it once and leave it there.” She giggled in a self-satisfied way. And then said boobies a few more times. For her, it is the repetition that makes it amusing.
I was both delighted that my daughter had discovered a new rude word and was getting such glee from it, but more so that she was testing her material on me and seeking my approval and advice about her joke. Also good comic timing. Daddy? Yes. Boobies. Without the daddy it is nothing. But if brevity is the soul of wit then that’s about as good as you can get. She’s going to go far.
Meanwhile our son was refusing to go to sleep (a bit unusual, he generally prefers to go to sleep straight away and then wake up every hour and finally refuse to go back to sleep at 5am). We took him back downstairs to tire himself out as we ate dinner. He aggressively jumped up and down in his jumperoo as if it reinforce how not tired he was. You have to laugh.
I’d been looking after him all day on my own (whilst Catie and Phoebe went to another birthday party) and he’s an exhausting little dick. I love him and want to eat him, but it’s hard to keep up with him and his desire to throw himself off everything and find the one thing that he isn’t allowed to eat in the vicinity and eat it. He has the ingenuity of a Colditz escapee. I the relative safety of his high chair we suddenly caught him moving a strip of blue plastic to his mouth. How had he got that? He’d managed to peel it off the chair itself. For a child who seeks death so regularly he is a pretty happy chap though. If occasionally a bit whiny.
Is he really any more difficult than Phoebe was at the same age? Or does the second child suffer from not only not being able to have 100% of your attention, but also not having the originality factor. Stuff that might have seemed adorable for a first child or at least excusable is maybe not so funny the second time round. I guess we’ll find out when he first says “boobies”.
Maybe we’re just more tired this time. It’s unrelenting.
It’s also easily the best thing that has ever happened to me. Whilst at the same time being a living Hell that makes me yearn for death. Except I can’t bear to think of them growing up without a dad/not remembering their dad, so I can’t even take the easy way out.
Sorry if I am repeating myself. But that’s what my life is right now.
Boobies make it all worthwhile. But in a different way to how they once did.
