I was watching D as he yanked himself up on his walker today and I was suddenly struck by how quickly he'd changed, in a short period of time. Literally a couple of weeks ago, he was still impotently floundering around on the floor and screaming for his mama to move him. What happened? When did he turn into a one man mobility machine?
It made me feel strangely nostalgic, for those early days when he still looked like a little scrunched up red potato and didn't do much else other than feed, sleep and poo a lot. (god, yes, it was a lot. Well, perhaps I don't miss that part. Newborn baby poo really is quite nauseating.) And then I started thinking... 'wouldn't it be nice to perhaps, you know, maybe, possibly, you know, like have another one?'
Argh! What am I thinking??! Thinking of another baby whilst D is a military mission all by himself? What if the next one was as sleep-shy as D was? (oh god, the mere thought of two babies who don't sleep at all during the day...how would I cope??)
But still, the thought remains, like a little tempting glittering nugget in my brain. It would actually be...quite nice. Oh sod it. Yes, I admit it. I am broody again. Oh my word. If I carry on like this, I'll be one of those saggy, knackered women who's got 8 kids by the time she's 40.
Mind you - I'm now looking at my glass, which is currently sitting on the sofa next to me, and more to the point, is full of a healthy shot of sambuca, and thinking - am I ready to relinquish booze again, after only having just rediscovered it?
Dilemma. Booze or baby? Morning sickness or hangover? Tough one.
Ha ha!
No comments:
Post a Comment