Egg is very upset today. It has dawned on him that because he joined choir and an after school drama club, he will be expected to don (and I quote) "a stupid, stupid, silver hat" and sing carols around the after school Christmas Fair this afternoon.
He burst into our bedroom this morning, accidentally jumping on my ankle - almost spraining it in the process - and practically BEGGED me to get him out of it. He said he is too shy to do it and that everyone will laugh at him. I sighed...one of those pesky parenting conundrums: get him out of it like a superstar cool mum, or teach him to be strong and do things that he's scared of so he can become a better, stronger person.
I of course went with the latter, but have planned a sneaky escape for him if things go pear-shaped and he really is miserable. One crocodile tear and I'll have no choice but to save my little Egg from social suicide...we'll see.
On another note, in what was either enlightened genius and pure good luck OR crazy pregnant woman hormones, I impulsively bought our Christmas tree while out shopping this morning. It was there, all 6 ft of it, plump and gorgeous and it just felt like it had to be ours. I emptied my wallet on the spot and am taking delivery of it later today, but am now suffering the first pangs of buyers remorse and wondering whether it's going to be greeted by disdain by the husband - who is prone to splash out on obscenely priced and way too tall trees in a rather Griswold manner. Hmmmm....
And so life continues on...I have approximately 9 more weeks in this fat suit before a screaming, squalling bundle of joy arrives to join our shambolic crew. Can't believe how fast this pregnancy has gone, but hey I'm not complaining. I'd be lying if I didn't confess to being mildly petrified about the logistics of labour at a hospital a good 20-30 minutes away in traffic - especially considering Dumpie came so fast that he was born in the bathroom.
And of course, having no car somewhat livens up the scenario a tad.
On the plus side, being the hyper-organised, multi-tasking freak that I am, I pretty much have Christmas sorted: posh Christmas crackers (with silver-plated pressies inside no less - check me out), a rough menu planned out for indulgent stuffing of our respective tummies (though how much room is left in mine for food at that point remains questionable), and all the presents pretty much bought.
Sadly there is one problem I don't quite know how to undo: in a fit of 'man-shed-rearranging' a few weekends ago, the husband unearthed my obviously 'not hidden well enough' box of xmas presents, left it in the hallway, and was as surprised as I when a short while later the monsters came upon it and started pulling things out exclaiming excitedly.
So do I gloss over the whole thing and possibly dispel their belief in Santa Claus forever when they discover 'He' left them the exact same presents that they came upon that fateful day? Or do I defy the recession, go out and buy them a load more presents, thereby ensuring we are buried - avalanche style - in a mountain of remote-controlled plastic come Boxing Day?
Off to mull over this conundrum by way of orgasmic pomegranate inhalation....adios