Got it

About a week ago someone I knew asked me if the house that we live in now could be our 'forever house'.

After I stopped gagging at the ickiness of the term, I answered no. But, aside from the fact it is only rented, I couldn't really give a reason why. Yes it has a bizarre layout but there is lots of space; yes it is only three bedrooms but how many rooms do we really need; yes it backs onto a wood but hello, it backs onto a wood! How cool is that?!

As I generally spend every moment of my existence pondering crap, I spent many an hour contemplating this question: what was the actual reason I did not want to live in this house forever.

And this morning I finally put my finger on it.

You cannot prance around the front room pretending to be a pop star unless you are happy with every neighbour and passer by seeing.

It seems the bin men found my super cool rap goddess moves and mouthing to Iggy Azalea just hilarious.

Reading the baby's mind. Again.

Rex is a baby of few words; many sounds and grunts, but few words...

Hmm. I've always come downstairs on my bum or by being carried, but that was before I got so good at walking. Turns out I can travel much more quickly by plunging forward on foot. Do the maths. Going downstairs is awesome, walking is awesome. I should walk downstairs!

Why has everyone put trees inside? And put sparkley things on them? Ooooh, I can reach the sparkley things! Bop. Bop. Ha ha ha ha ha! I can pull them off the tree! This is AWESOME!

 

I love dancing! Mummy, make the people on the magic box sing and dance! Yes!!!! No! Not this song! I HATE this song! You are a stupid Mummy! Change it! I demand you change it! Here is the smaller magic box that lets you change the picture on the big magic box! Do it! Muummmmmmyyyyyyyyy! Good Mummy! No, hate this one too! Next! I said next! No. No. No. No. Wait.... YES! I LOVE THIS ONE! I am rocking these dance moves! I am awesome! No, don't sing Mummy! You are ruining it! RUINING IT!

Stairs? Anyone going to the stairs? I could use a little help with the door.

Next door's cat is in the living room! I LOVE IT! I love cats! Strokey stroke stroke! Cats cats cats!

Nana's house! Brilliant! No bottom stair gate so I can get to the stairs, answer phone within reach with buttons to press AND a dog to chase! Best. Day. Ever!

What is in your glass? No, I don't want MY drink. I want YOUR drink. Don't say they are the same. They are not. No, don't pretend to pour your drink into mine, I know you aren't really doing it. Oh you went there.... you are just embarrassing yourself Mummy.

Lunch. This isn't where we usually eat lunch. Who are all these people? What are you trying to give me? A cream cheese sandwich? No, I don't want that. Don't even try to give me that cream cheese sandwich, I know I like them at home but I don't trust this place. You're an idiot for eating here. I refuse to eat that here. Let me down, idiot! Let me just take a lap, then I'll try it. Don't force it in my mouth! Wait, that's good. Yes. Yes, I like that, OK, maybe they aren't so dodgy here! Give me another bite. I SAID GIVE ME ANOTHER BITE. No, you know what, I'm done. Let's find some stairs, are there any stairs in this joint? What about a dog, is there a dog? I like dogs. I like dogs. Did you get that? Dogs! Get away from me with that cream cheese sandwich, I am OVER it. Find me a dog or we're done.

I want out of this highchair! This place looks awesome, I bet I could run really really well in here. So what if you are still eating? I don't see how that is my problem. Seriously. Fine. I will just bang my spoon on the table. Yep. Look at me fellow restaurant patrons! Look at me banging my spoon! Going for the ignore me technique Mummy? Mistake. I will add shouting to my repartee! RA RA RA RA DA DA DA DA DOH DOH DOH DOH! They are all looking Mummy! That's right, you order me an ice cream. Result.

Ooooh, a pretty lady AND she has brought me ice cream. I love her. Let me just do my cutest smile and bat my eyes a bit. She is smiling at me. Just add a bashful giggle. That's right lady, lap it up. I am so sweet aren't I? Mummy, are you paying attention? You could learn a lot from this woman, she falls for my obvious charms and brings me ice cream.

Hey, my nappy is off! There's a crack down there! I should put stuff in it! My hand, or a toothbrush! Cheerios! A sock!

It is worth dying your hair just for the commentary...

So I dyed my hair brown earlier this month. After being blonde for the past 12 years, it is fair to say that the reactions have been mixed.

Debut (to friends at a party) -

Boyfriend to girlfriend: "Please never dye your hair."

Debut (to a relative) -

Relative: "Look at these uneven bits you will have to grow out."

Me: "Yeah, those are their on purpose actually."

Relative: "Oh. You missed a spot here thought, it is just kicking out instead of lying flat."

Me: Yep, did that on purpose too."

Debut (to another relative) -

Relative: "Well I suppose brown is the thing right now...."

Me: "Mmmmmmm...."

Relative: "It is definitely too dark for your face, not natural looking in my opinion."

Me: "Yeah... this is my natural colour..."

Debut (to my fabulous Father-in-law) -

Father-in-law: I LOVE it Liv! It really changes your face! Wait... that came out wrong..."

Debut (to Rex) -

Me: Do you like Mummy's new hair?

Rex (pointing at my head): Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! No no no no no! (Hands me his bobble hat, still pointing at my head)

Merry Christmas to you all!

He takes after Great Nana in stubbornness

I come from a long and prestigious line of stubbornness.

I have always refused to give in on 99% of things, my mother will swear black is white if she needs to, my Nana cut off her nose to spite her face on more than one occasion and my great nana? Stories about her were legendary.

It was thought that, with each generation the stubbornness got significantly lesser so I had hopes that my child would be comparatively normal.

Not so.



Rex absolutely distraught that I wouldn't let him eat all of the chocolate eclairs in Sainsburys. Life is hard for him.

This morning Rex presented me with one of his favourite books, it is basically an encyclopaedia of animals with lots of bright pictures.

He turned to the page of the jungle animals.

He pointed at one.

Rex: Dog

Me: No baby, it is a cheetah.

Rex: No, dog.

Me: No, cheetah.

Rex: No, dog.

Me: No, cheetah.

He started to get cross.

Rex: Nooooooooo! Dog!

Me: Rex, it is not a dog. It is a cheetah.

Rex: Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! Dooooooooog!

Me: Listen, right now, I know more than you and that is definitely a cheetah. Or possibly a leopard. Or a jaguar....

Rex shut the book, stood up and went to play with his xylophone.

He is available for kids' parties

I am a sucker for adverts.

I laugh at them, I cry at them. I have been known to argue with them.

So, it was with eager anticipation that I awaited the Christmas John Lewis ad. What can I say? I am sad and I have a one year old. Advert porn and a growing wine consumption is all I have. Having seen it online, I was eager to show it to Steve. I don't know why, he hates that sort of thing and then berates me for loving it. Glutton for punishment.

Picture the scene; Steve and I are at the lower end of a bottle of wine, the baby had gone down to sleep remarkably easily which meant, of course, that he had woken up and, in our slightly tipsy wisdom, we had decided that, rather than try and settle him, we would bring him downstairs and let him sleep on the sofa/us. Of course. So, we are uncomfortable on the sofa and, in the middle of Most Shocking TV Talent Show Moments (Chico on X Factor... LOVE IT!), it came on!

Me: This is it!

Steve: Cartoon bear?

Me: Yes! Concentrate!

We watch in silence. The advert ends, I turn to Steve, hope written all over my face.

Steve: I was really expecting a hunter in there at some point.

Next week he is going to the optician

Last week I got a very panicked call from Steve.

He had gone to the supermarket and just parked the car,

Steve: Liv, Liv!

Me: Yep, what's up? Did you forget something?

Steve: (in a whisper) No, I am in the car. I have just parked up near the recycling bins. Now listen...

Me: Why are you whispering? Is everything ok?

Steve: (still in a whisper) Ssssshhh! I can see a body.

Me: What?!

Steve: It is just laying there by the bin.

Me: Are you sure? A body?

Steve: Yes. Just lying on the ground. And people are just ignoring it! I am going to get out the car and have a look. Stay on the phone.

Over the phone I hear the clumping sound of Steve getting out the car. The sound of his feet slowly walking. His paced slowed. I literally held my breath.

Steve: Wait, oh wait.

Me: (completely worked up now) What is it? Are you ok?

Steve: It is just some bags of clothes. Someone must have put them there in front of the textiles bin.

Me: It is clothes!!!!! You mistook clothes for a body? A human body?

Steve: Easy mistake. I am going to take a picture for you to see how body like it is.

Me: Sure.

Steve: It really does!

Me: Sure. Oh, um, Steve, even if it had been a body, why were you whispering?

Steve: In case the killer was still about. Of course.

Me: Ah. I see. At midday on a Saturday. In a busy Sainsburys car park. I get it.

OK... it is a tad body like

He is here all week people!

Today we were in the car. We pulled into our driveway and, because the baby was asleep and it was pouring down, we waited a moment.

The top 40 was playing on the radio and I was googling curtains on the ipad. Obviously.

Steve turned to me and, with an earnest look in his eye (incidentally do you like the name Earnest? Too old man? Really?) and took my hand,

'Liv, when I die will you promise me one thing?'

'When you die? Why are we talking about this? Wait, why are you dying before me?'

'Don't be ridiculous Liv, I know you have thought about it, check out our respective family histories, you will be at least 90 and I will be lucky to make 65! Come on!'

I eye roll my eyes.

'OK...'

Steve continued,

'Anyway, promise me this one thing'

'Alright, come on, you are actually starting to worry me!'

He cleared his throat...

'Liv, promise me that, when I die, you will buy a dog, a tough, cool looking dog, and name him Steve and tell everyone that I am living in him.'

I stared at him,

'Seriously Steve? A dog? So you want me to be a crazy lady?'

'In a word, yes. I think that, if you asked them, it would be most men's fantasy.'

'No, most men's fantasies are their wives dressed as nurses or sexy secretaries or naked with a beer, not dying and having their wives name a dog after them and pretending that they are, in fact, that dog.'

Steve was adamant,

'You are wrong. Wrongy wrong wrong.'

I paused,

'Fine, I agree, I will do that, and you will be a poodle.'