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.'

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.