Wow. Our young’un, Mr DB2, is one today. In fact, this time last year, I was being very unceremoniously knocked out with a whopping great dose of general anaesthetic (due to a miserable and intensely excruciating messed up epidural) and prepared for his little lordship to be dragged forth from my belly. Incidentally – the reason for DB2’s birth being yet another emergency c section was that he had fallen asleep. Seriously. I kid you not. According to psychologists, birth is one of the most traumatic things that a human goes through in their entire existence, and yet DB2 managed to kip right through it all.
Ironic then, isn’t it, that when we want him to sleep these days, he has bugger all interest. But hey, I digress.Let’s return to the big day.
DB2 actually woke in a real old grump this morning. (at 5:30am). I forced OH to get up with the kids, given that I had suffered immensely the night before. (try going to bed at midnight, then being rudely awoken at 3am by your eldest doing bizarre fake sobbing noises, then just as you settle him at 4:30, at 5am, your youngest then decides that using your person as a mattress is far preferable to an ACTUAL mattress. What I’m trying to emphasise is that I had served my time already that weekend. Paid in full. Time to cash in on a bit of shut eye.)
DB2 seemed cheered though to discover that there were a load of empty wine bottles downstairs, waiting to be popped outside for recycling. I came to this conclusion when I realised, with great alarm, that he had seized one of the bottles, and started sucking on it avidly, like some crazed old wino. I’m pretty sure he drained out a few dregs as well, before I could seize him and remove him from the vicinity. I did note however, that he had gone for the expensive NZ sauvignon blanc as opposed to the cheapo Pinot Grigio, which at least reassured me that he was showing a modicrom of taste. Honestly though, watching him chugging away at the bottle really made my mind take an undesirable leap into 17 years in the future, with him propping up some bar or other, completely rat-arsed, before falling off his barstool. (like his father.) Sigh. All this to look forward to…
We had lots of family and friends over to mark the occasion, and determinedly went ahead with the BBQ, despite the frequent warnings from the MET office and the BBC website that heavy showers were on the cards. Sure enough, it did rain. But we all said balls to it, in a very gung ho, British fashion, and sat huddled outside, shivering and noshing on our charcoaled meat (or in my case, vegetarian) goods, leaning as far into the middle of the table as possible, to try and get under the fairly tiny and inept parasol. The kids didn’t care though, ours or our friends. They were just all trying to see who could eat their food in the most messy and downright unappealing way, before lobbing it on to the floor. The joys of children!
Business partner (who was present with her OH and kids) and I made a very concerted effort not to discuss business (well, not much) and to simply take a step back for a while, and enjoy watching our group of tearaways demolishing their environs with great enthusiasm and gusto. It was actually cracking good fun to get stuck into playing musical statues, whilst dancing away to ‘Mambo No. 5’ (a relic from my long forgotten ‘Now 50’ CD…oh what classics we discovered? Anyone for a bit of ‘Heaven is a Halfpipe?’ or ‘Let’s Dance’ by that classic boy band of the 90s, Five? Hmm. Nope, thought not.) Even though I think business partner and I were a tad too overenthusiastic compared to our spouses. And our kids. All this, and not even fuelled by alcohol! How’s that for having fun, eh?
It’s been a great day. But now, I must wipe a little snivelly tear from my eye, as I realise, with a sad certainty, that my last little baby (for it is a definite that we will NOT be having any more) is on his way to not being a baby anymore. Which then leads me to wipe away another tear, at the awful realisation that, in the not too distant future, I’m actually going to have to cope with two toddlers. Oh dear God. Help.