I apologise unreservadly now

We were watching X Factor on Saturday night.

It was quiet, calm, the baby was in bed and actually sleeping which is remarkable in itself.

Steve and I were sharing a bottle of wine and a bar of chocolate when suddenly:

Steve: Remember Misha B?

Me: From a few years ago? She could really sing.

Steve: She was a twatbox.

High ho

Rex has now started at the childminder - he is going all day on Wednesday and Thursday mornings in the hope that this time will give me the opportunity to get some writing done and therefore bring in some pennies!

I, of course, was overly angsty about it. I spent time explaining to Rex about how he would be able to play with other children and that I would get him at the end of the day and we would have a chat about his day and a biscuit. He nodded sagely and then threw a balloon at me which bounced off my head.

I felt he understood.

Each session he has happily waved me off while simultaneously trying to reach the wires behind her tv or kiss one of the girls there (who says boys can't multitask?!) and, from the little reports in his book, he has a fab time.

I come home. And feel quiet. It is weird how you miss a little whirlwind deconstructing the house daily, putting bread crusts in your glass of water, changing the tv channel (to the girlsxgirlsxgirls channel, every time. Seriously. Luckily we don't actually receive that channel so all he gets is a blue screen....) and emptying the cupboards.

I sometimes feel a bit emotional, my little baby is getting grown up and I miss him when he is off learning new things.

And then I remember I can watch last night's Great British Bake Off in peace. And paint my nails. And eat my lunch without having a one year old stick his spoon in my bowl every two seconds.

And I feel less sad.

Return of the blonde

We were driving through the Yorkshire Dales on the way to the Lake District. It was gorgeous and the views were breathtaking.

Tootling along a road at the top of a valley, I noticed poles by the road used to mark how high the snow was each year.

I was confused.

'Steve, how can the snow get that high? There are houses down in the valley! People can't live in them can they? If the snow gets that high here then they would be, like, 25 feet under the snow!'

Steve nearly swerved off the road.

'Snow doesn't fill up does it! It lays where falls. It isn't like filling a bath! Otherwise your mum's house, at the bottom of the hill, would be constantly under the snow in winter. God, Liv, it is like when you asked why the sea was always down the hill and not up!'

A change

On Monday I had to call the care insurance; we bought a new car at the weekend and I needed to change the policy. When on the phone the operator, a cheerful Geordie named Rick who teased me about the Tigers beating Newcastle United on Saturday, asked if there were any other changes to our policy we needed to make, occupation he suggested.

I paused.

'Yes', I hesitated, 'my employment has changed'.

'Right', he responded, 'I have you down as a Public Relations Officer, what are you now?'

I paused again.

Hesitating, I wondered whether I should say 'Writer', what I am trying to become, except I haven't been paid for a writing job yet.

Rick cleared his throat. The pause had been too long. He tried to be helpful,

'Try and think of key words and we will come up with the closest match'.

'OK', I took a breath, 'Stay at home mum'.

'You mean 'Housewife', that is a good fit yes?'

I gulped, 'Housewife. Yes. I suppose so.'

And so my life has changed.

When I am not so tired....

So the baby turned 1. Seriously, this is terrifying. He has somehow evolved before my eyes into a walking, running, very opinionated human being. He can use a fork by himself, he can follow instructions (shut the door, pass me the book) and do the actions of several rhymes; the latter two, admittedly, depend massively on mood and the proximity of any type of snack or baked good but they can be done none the less.



He is close to talking. He has pretty much mastered 'no' which tends to be said to himself with a shake of his head just before he does something he is not supposed to or if I offer him broccoli. He may say a few other words, he seems to skirt around 'yes', 'this' and 'dog', dog in particular was used with vigor tonight when we went to a safari night. We may have to work on that before he tries to bring home a jaguar...

I love him such an incredible amount, my heart swells at the thought of him, I break ino a broad, nose spreading grin when I look at him and, one day, I would love to give him many brothers and sisters (we are still negotiating specific figures).

One day.

High horse

Rex has a lot of books. As well as being pretty much addicted to buying them, we also ask for them for every gift for him and are members of the library. This week Rex selected a book about the bath. Steve was reading it to him...

Steve: Duck on a rope.... soap! This book is truly awful! Roo, you have got some great books from the library before, I particularly liked Wonkey Donkey, but this one is shocking! I mean look at this: bumpy seahorse! That's a lie! Seahorses aren't bumpy! The author should ask David Attenborough! And Sir Attenborough would tell him - seahorses are not bumpy.

There is a brief moment of quiet.

Steve: You know, even if seahorses were, in fact, bumpy, which they ARE NOT, then what a stupid thing to tell a baby, how would he even know? It is not like he sees a lot of seahorses is it? Not like dogs and cats which he knows, for he has witnessed, cats being soft and dogs being waggy... Stupid book. Duck on a rope.... I mean....

He is full of wisdomosity

Steve: You know when you publish your blog? I guess, as it is mainly about me, I should get 50% of the profits...

Me: Right...

Steve: I am, after all, your inspiration, your muse if you will.

Me: Well, do you copyright everything you say?

Steve: Yes. A teeny, tiny gnome follows me around and notes down everything I say.

Me: (peering behind him) That is clearly false.

Steve: He is invisible.