It seems to be all about the wind so far this year.
1) the insane, gale force winds that have pulled down yet more fence panels (including the one that OH put up last week…which fairly demonstrates the extent of his DIY skills. Lucky it didn’t break, given it cost twenty quid just to get the damned thing delivered…) and kept us inside, going stir crazy, all day yesterday. Seriously, one more grizzle from DB1, just one more self piteous little whine, and I may have actually gone bonkers.
2) the equally insane winds being squeezed with alarming power from DB2’s bottom. He has just started on solids, and my word, does he like them. He’s noshed his way, with stoic aplomb, through bananas, peaches, weetabix, potato and sausage pie, special pureed fruits, stewed apples, cucumbers, soup…. that is just in the last two days. He’s approached food in much the same way as everything else in his life. He eyes it for a while, nods his consent gravely, then gets stuck in. It really is quite hilarious to see him study his loaded spoon almost with severity, before ramming it into his mouth. (or his forehead, or eye, as the case may be. In the incidence of the soup, he coated his face in so much of the stuff, that all could be seen afterwards was two twinkly little blue eyes peering from a fuzzy coat of bright orange sweet potato mixture.)
Anyway, this rapid and eager food consumption has led to some equally rapid and eager farting. Prior to this, DB2 has always been an alarmingly windy baby, right from the day of birth. Cheerfully firing off loud trumpeting parps here, there and everywhere, all with the same look of concentration, as though undertaking a particularly difficult maths problem or something similar. However, these food laden farts are something else. A particular brand of foul smelling wind that is quite eye watering if you have the misfortune to be downwind of him when he releases one. I do hope that this new type of wind passes quickly, as at the moment, the house is starting to smell like a sulphurous pit. (I’m fairly sure OH contributes to this as well.)
Wind aside now, today is also a significant day, in that it is the last day of my 20’s. Yes, in under ten hours, I will officially enter my 30’s, and place one foot firmly on the crumbly road to middle agedness and to wrack and ruin. It all goes downhill from here. Apparently, weight becomes harder to shift (so perhaps I need to hold funerals for my size 8 jeans here and now, and finally accept that they are never going to zip up over my mighty belly ever again…) 30 is the age most women experiment with Botox. I always wrote Botox off as viley vain and a complete waste of money, but now, seeing more crinkles on my forehead than a wrinkly bulldog pup, I start to think perhaps a surgical nip and tuck (and injection) here and there might not be such a bad idea.
Mind you, I then remind myself about the fact that, since giving birth to DB1, I’ve pretty much felt in my 40’s anyway. This then increased to ‘average age of 55’ when DB2 was born. This is what severe sleep deprivation for two and a half years, non stop, does to you.
I am old, my friend. Old. Old of mind, withered of body, and generally f***ing knackered. Sigh.