I was sitting in our local branch of the popular chain of coffee shops that rhymes with bosta yesterday, child-free, attempting to get some work done while Nick was at home with the children and I realised that Nick was at home with the CHILDREN.
I have two of them.
I am responsible for TWO CHILDREN.
I know I’m a bit slow on the uptake here, considering Indy is coming up to four months old (let’s take a moment there… I mean, what the smurf is that about too?! Four months?! How have four months passed!?!) but I blame the fact that my CHILDREN have eaten my brain.
There we go again: Children. Plural.
I wrote about being hit by the reality bus when I was pregnant with Indy, but yesterday it really struck me hard.
I don’t feel responsible enough to have two children… I mean one is like: “I have a child, but she was a surprise and that’s fine. We’re parents, but we only have one child so we can sort of continue as normal and don’t have to buy a house or anything to accommodate this new person. It’s pretty insane that we grew a person, but hey, that’s the miracle of life.”
However, two is like: “I have children. Plural. And we planned to have one of them. Which is a crazy grown-up thing to do. And I grew two children. Myself. IN MY WOMB. And I birthed two children. Myself. OUT OF MY LADY GARDEN! And now I have to parent them. And think about buying a new car to accommodate ALL the stuff that comes with CHILDREN. Oh, and buggy boards. And wait a cotton picking moment, I have the same amount of children as MY MUM. And I’m a mum. To children. Plural.”
Indy is starting to develop from a small mewing, milk-demanding munchkin, into this no-napping, attention-seeking, little human, and very soon I will have two children shouting at me from upstairs to bring their respective cuddly animals up with me once I’ve made my
second fifth cup of tea of the morning, and complaining that they “don’t like sausages anymore” despite that fact that they consumed half a packet of cocktail sausages just yesterday (“I did like them yesterday, but I don’t like them today.”).
Pass the prosecco, and, um, bring it on?!
If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the larder, secretly eating cake.
In the words of my fictional soul mate, Bridget Jones: “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!!”
Ps. You know I’m not usually sweary on here, and I hope it doesn’t offend anyone, I just felt like this post justified it. Plus it’s a quote, so it doesn’t really count. Fact.