DB2 just wasn’t having any of it today.

We all have our off days. I have to give it to him though, at the tender age of 4 months, DB2 is more adept at making everyone else in the world realise it than anyone else I know. It’s not even a simple case of screaming either. In 4 months, DB2 has mastered a wide variety of noises to express his displeasure. Among them, the ‘growl’ (yes, he really does growl), the ‘muffled howl’, the ‘shrieking banshee’ and, the latest sound effect, the one I simply like to refer to as the ‘buffalo on heat’, which is simply a repeated, deep, resonant bellow.

Poor thing though, his teeth were obviously giving him hell. His fat little cheeks were bright red and he was drooling a small river down his three chins (you could literally white water raft in the dribbly foam. If you were a really small person.)

This is what we all had to contend with today, whilst journeying to Exeter to visit our friends and to frantically work on the business. BP (short for business partner) and I attempted to finalise wording for the garments, whilst DB2 gnawed and salivated and bellowed over the top of us.

OH took DB1 off to romp in the park with his little friend E (BPs eldest), though watching DB1 and E together is sometimes somewhat painful. BPs husband once described it as ‘watching a lioness take down an impala’, which was highly accurate. Most of their playing consists of E taking DB1 down, like a New Zealand All Black rugby tackling a daffodil; then DB1 getting very hysterical and shrieky about it all (in a somewhat girlish way, if truth be told.)

After a generally busy and tiring day, what we really fancied when we got home was all bundling on the dilapidated sofa and watching a nice film. I said ‘what we fancied’. The reality was DB2 reaching all new levels of gum gnashing and grunting, and DB1 grizzling and whining because he didn’t like the programme that happened to be on. ‘Don’t like chocolate cake telly!’ was his heralding cry at the children’s cookery programme. (funny, I think a telly made of chocolate would be pretty sweet. Get it? Get it? Sigh. My gags are wasted here, I can tell…)

The evening only got better, as, whilst administering some calpol to the misery addled DB2, he managed to swiftly bat the spoon mid-pour; not only sending most of it flying all over his person, but sending the rest of it completely down the wrong way. Cue lots of anguished choking and puking, until OH and I were both coated in a heavy, viscous layer of sticky children’s medication, phlegm and regurgitated milk. Not to mention both of us by this point were complete bundles of shredded nerves. ‘Can he breathe? Can he breathe?’ panicked OH at the time, looking aghast at our purple faced screeching offspring. Er yes, given that he is making the most god-awful sound at the top of his lungs and has managed to sustain the quite unbelievable pitch and volume for well over 20 minutes; yes, we can presume that yes, indeed, the little man can breathe.

Oh yes, and DB1 decided to do a dump on the carpet.

(that’s not a lie. He waited until I took off his nappy, went and hid behind his table next to the bookshelf. And did a poo. On a book as well! Oh the travesty! Crapping on literature! I mean, ok, it was a crap book (even crapper now, heh heh) but even so. DB1. You menace.

It really was a perfect end to the day.

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