Monday, 6 December 2010
"Down in the Dumps"
Shielding all vital organs, I grasped his giggling, wriggling form whilst attempting to reach over and manoever a t-shirt over his thrashing head.
He got away, grabbed his most recent version of a 'light saver' (the remains of a discarded toilet brush found in a junk pile near the beach a week ago) and went hurtling out the open door into the yard - gleeful and victorious.
This went on for the better part of half an hour until I managed to sneak up on him, grab him from behind and wrestle a shirt on. A pointless endeavour as it turns out, for moments later he had undressed and stood laughing in the corner as he whipped the shirt across the room, overcome with mirth. What fun.
Dumpie's N.F. ('Naughty Factor') has risen to an uncomfortable 10/10 I miserably told the husband when we spoke last night on the phone. I think Dumps is taking advantage of his Dada's absence by seeing how far he can push his Mama over the edge. So far it's Dumps 8 and Mama nil.
Every time we go to the beach, I spend a good portion of the time depositing Egg somewhere and begging him to stay put while I chase his little brother up and down the sand, trying to catch the little scamp whilst inadvertently putting on a show for tourists eating at the beach shacks. As I am not wearing a high cut sexy red bathing suit at the time, and at any rate do not possess the assets needed to shift the scene into anything resembling an R-rated mode, I imagine the image is less 'Baywatch' and more 'World's Mummies Gone Mad'.
I really have no recourse but to hold on for a few more days until the husband returns from his motorcycle odyssey - hopefully refreshed, revitalised, and ready to deal with his second-born son who is clearly in method acting training for a role in the upcoming remake of the exorcist.