Somebody went to hospital twenty-five years ago and all they brought back was this lousy mountain man.
Happy birthday, Hairy Boy.
Love you xx
Some Royal baby jokes from Twitter, via The Huffington Post (don’t ever complain that I’m not on the cutting edge of news…)
One evening Jessica found her husband Mike with his head cocked looking at their baby’s cot. Silently she watched him.
As Mike twisted and turned looking at their infant, Jessica could see on Mike’s face a mixture of emotions: disbelief, doubt, joy, surprise, enchantment and scepticism.
Mike did not usually show his emotions and his unusual display brought tears to her eyes. Jessica put her arm around her husband and gently asked, “A penny for your thoughts.”
“It’s amazing!” Mike replied. “I just can’t work out how Mothercare are able to make a cot like that for only £49.99.”
Did you hear the one about the pregnant woman who went into labour and began to yell, “Couldn’t! Wouldn’t! Shouldn’t! Didn’t! Can’t!”?
She was having contractions.
Being a parent changes everything. But being a parent also changes with each baby. Here are some of the ways having a second and third child is different from having your first.
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your pregnancy is confirmed.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.
Preparing for the Birth
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don’t bother practising because you remember that last time, breathing didn’t do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidural in your 8th month.
1st baby: You pre-wash your newborn’s clothes, colour-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby’s little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can’t they?
1st baby: At the first sign of distress – a whimper, a frown – you pick up the baby.
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your 3-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing.
1st baby: If the dummy falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the dummy falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby’s bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.
1st baby: You change your baby’s nappies every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: You change their nappy every 2 to 3 hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their nappy before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, BabySwing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home 5 times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn’t squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.
Think of a time you let something slide, only for it to eat away at you later. Tell us how you’d fix it today.
It wasn’t so much a sliding as a tipping.
It was 1991. Tory Boy was about ten months old.
My younger brother was staying with us in our Johannesburg flat. The Hub, Little Brother, Tory Boy and I decided to walk to the nearby SPAR to pick up a few bits.
The Hub pushed his beautiful baby boy in his beautiful bright-blue-for-a-boy pram. We got about twenty yards from the building’s entrance when a wheel of the pram caught on the gravel and Tory Boy tipped right out, face first into the ground.
I swear it was nervous laughter on my part.
My brother laughed because I laughed (I’m very infectious). The Hub wrestled with the pram, swooped up Baby and yelled at me the terrible mother who laughed when her baby fell face-first into gravel, all at the same time.
My response (I swear it was nervous laughter on my part) has always eaten away at me. Mostly because every time Tory Boy brings it up the Hub glares at me and refuses to believe that it was nervous laughter on my part. Tory Boy doesn’t actually remember the incident but the story impressed him first time he heard it and he likes to remind me of it. Often. At least once every time he comes home, as if I don’t have enough guilt just bearing the title, ‘Mother’. I wouldn’t mind, but he doesn’t even have any scarring from the facial gravel indents.
To fix it, I’d have to have a do-over. Next time, they can go shopping without me.
mainly poetry, also quilts, pictures, life-writing and the occasional short story.
Where is the heart of Stockport?
notices and reflections in ministry
The adventures of little read writing Hood
An Overlooked British Evacuation