Nevermind that I selflessly hand over my body to be abused day in and day out...that I forsake my beloved lingerie for dire limp maternity bra's, all in the name of sustenance. I guess it counts for nothing that I sacrifice my favourite tops to splatterings of 'Organic Vegetable Medley' and spontaneous spit ups. At the end of the day, the first word Noah says is of course, "Dada". Loud and clear. Proudly spurred on by our excited clapping and idiotic wide-mouthed parroting of the same two syllables, he continues to grin and blurt out, "Da-da-da-da".
Today Egg got into my bubblegum stash (again) and walked around noisily chomping with his mouth full while proceeding to plug in every single electrical item in our home: mini travel kettle, mobile phone charger, nite light, computer, fairy lights, etc. Noah followed closely on his heels, panting excitedly and chomping on power cords contentedly while drooling on the sockets and trying not to get accidentally stepped on.
Jay and I did a last minute ditch of Egg on the Aunties this afternoon before hightailing it down the rustic Walworth Road to our neighbourhood Turkish Shop and stocking up on fava beans and hummous. We then stopped back at our flat long enough to procure a fine bottle of bordeaux (courtesy of Auntie Kenz), some breadsticks, olives and a couple of our finest wineglasses. Then it was over to our sunny bench in the park where we caught the last perfect rays of the weekend, nibbled, sipped and chatted happily (a bit too happily it must be said, given that we imbibed the vino in record time and drew disparaging looks from onlookers eventually...though this could be due to the fact that I was breastfeeding openly while simultaneously draining my wine glass with an empty bottle at my feet and gesturing loudly about something or other).
Now though, I am headed to bed, and must stop this incessant typing because according to jay it is the most annoying sound on earth and he is off to Sweden tomorrow for four days and needs his beauty sleep. It has just dawned on me that before he returns somehow i will have to get through 12 baths, 12 meals, and probably around 12 tantrums. I imagine I'm looking at around 12 poo's as well - none of which are shaping up to be (scuse the pun) toilet-bound. Yippee.