It’s like having fancy clothes on and nowhere to go. Seriously, since Angie made us pretty I’ve developed some weird stage fright type of mindset. Nothing to say, occasional “ooh, I should write that down” only for it to instantly go “poof” and disappear on me, but really, just nothing to say.
I could regale you with stories like, for some truly bizarre reason, I’ve drunk TWO litres of orange juice in two days.
Or that today, I ate so.much.food. I’ve kind of felt ill all day, but kept eating all the same. Seriusly people, I ate about a weeks worth of food in a day today. What’s with that?
Or that on Tuesday night, when I put Felix to bed, he cupped my face in his hands and whispered, “you are the best mummy I could ever ever have wished for in the whole wide world” and I reckon you could hear my heart shatter into a thousand blissful shards of joy.
Or that today in a meeting I just went blarrrr about the saving the world stuff of late and how we won just because I was so sick of trying to downplay it and want to shout it from the rooftops that we won! we won! we won!
Or that this morning I whipped up a lemon sauce cake at 6:30 this morning for my boss (who HATES a fuss over her birthday) so we had “quiet cake” before this meeting I had to go in for – where I – probably highly inappropriately shared the we won! story – which was still warm. Delicious
Or that, after a week of thinking “surely not” have accepted that yes, Jasper is waving at me and yes, since yesterday afternoon, that would be clapping as well. And yes, that would be pulling himself up on anything to a kneeling position. The third child, gifted. That or just desperate to be noticed for anything other than how “good” and “nice” he is.
Or that someone heard Oscar calling out to Felix at the park on Sunday and remarked “how cute he calls Felix, ‘brother'”. And how fucking momentous that is, because he’s called him wawa (for brother) since he was born, and to have a complete stranger ‘hear’ that he is saying brother is progress on a scale never dwelled upon because it makes my heart hurt too much.
Or that tonight, while letting Felix stay up late and watch a Harry Potter movie way too old and scary for him, I managed to “oil his head” and FINALLY get rid of his cradle cap, which about two years ago Chef said to me, “I think that by age four, it’s just called dandruff”. Or how when he had a shower and we washed his hair after watching Harry Potter (the goblet one) and I was all “woohoo it’s all gone”, he cried and wanted it back because “I really really really liked it”. What can I say, I’ve bred a mutual cuticle picking, head-scab generating (and picking) child. I’m so proud.
But instead I just kinda go “nah” and stare at the screen. Weird huh.
So let’s just sit a while.