The summer holidays are here and so most of my days at present are spent with both an 8-week-old and a four-year-old.
I’ve been impressed with the help the four-year-old has been giving me. Happy to fetch things and protective over his new brother.
He’s not doing much for my self esteem though. His most recent gems include:
“Why is your belly still so fat”
“I bet the baby thinks your boobs smell disgusting as you haven’t had a shower”
“can I electrocute you?”
I’ve also been delighted by the extra stress my dad has added to the art of Lego card collecting, where he has introduced the idea of not only collecting one set to put in the book and one set for swaps but one set for snap, meaning even more cards to throw all over the floor 10 times a day.
Meanwhile, my husband and I are arguing over who is looking at their phone more and who pays the least attention to each other. Whilst in the midst of this particular argument, he deduced it was definitely me. “Why?” I said. “Because I’ve had my penis poking through the fly screen at you for five minutes and you haven’t noticed…”