Thursday, 22 December 2011
Egg glanced over from where he was cello-taping various kitchen implements together in his latest invention. "That's true Dumps...I don't think you will."
If I'm being frank, the boys haven't exactly been angels this past week, but then again they are little boys and I can hardly expect them to act like little princes I suppose (although how nice would that be?).
If for any reason I end up dying young and the husband is left to raise our charges solo, I suggest he hook up with some perky young camp counsellor or activities co-ordinator...for that's what children really need. Bored, unchallenged children seek their own fun, and if (as Dumpie demonstrated yesterday) that means drawing a Christmas picture reducing your expensive, discontinued lip liner into a useless little nub - then so be it.
The boys are terribly excited about Christmas this year...ridiculously so. Given that this is undoubtedly the last year they shall believe in Santa (and I'm not even 100% sure they do - they are clever chaps and have already had vehement discussions among themselves about the improbability of a fat man gaining entrance via a chimney to deliver toys they haven't even asked for...not to mention the fact that many homes don't even have chimneys...) we are trying to make it as special as possible.
For the husband and I, Christmas is usually an excuse (and an excellent one at that) for guzzling bubbly, sipping fine wines and stuffing ourselves stupid with cheeses and homemade shortbread. However, given my current state of being 7.5 months pregnant (a really sexy look, believe me), the severe heartburn and limited stomach space I suffer from these days - not to mention the fact that I'm supposed to be tee-total at present...it doesn't make for the most indulgent of Christmases I reckon.
Having been together for twenty-odd years now, the husband was (understandably) delighted a few weeks ago, to catch me at a weak moment and declare a mutual agreement that this year we will abstain from giving each other presents. True, the prospect of shopping in claustrophobic crowd formations, aggressively trying to protect my ever-expanding bump, all the while seeking out my next toilet pit stop - well, hardly something I was looking forward to.
However, as Christmas creeps closer, I have found myself acquiring a few 'little' things for the husband - as to have nothing at all would seem rather churlish I'm afraid. This of course is the first he will have heard of this, and may right this second be reading this with a look of horror on his face and every intention of racing out to the nearest department store for some perfume or (god forbid) misjudged 'maternity lingerie'.
But I would just like to say, "Don't worry about it my love." For although I find practical gift-giving between lovers nothing short of depressing (excepting anything with an apple logo on it of course) I nonetheless feel that forgoing present giving altogether is even worse than gifting your other half with a new hoover or kitchen aid.
So really, I do not want anything (or want for anything for that matter)...truly. I just don't want to be one of those sad 'practical' couples who put common sense over sentiment. After all, if it weren't for love and all that gooey stuff, I wouldn't find myself currently knocked up now would I?
So if you're reading this dear husband, don't fret. I've got it covered. In the absence of anything trincketry or jewellery-box-sized under the tree this year, just know that come Feb, after baby boy numero trois escapes from my swollen stomach, I shall be anticipating something small and expensive to compensate for the utter hell I will have undergone to provide you with the much coveted fourth member of your future 'band'. Either way you won't escape unscathed :)
Posted by "Moaning Mum" at Thursday, December 22, 2011