Where is this year going, on the one hand it seems like The Baby has been with us forever and yet how can he be a whole eight months old already? I find it strange to think that this time last year he was inside of me. He's such a charming little boy, he really is the sunshine in a world of grey. He's desperately intent on being as mobile as possible, having not been happy at simply mastering rolling, he decided within a few weeks to crawl, pull up and cruise. He's now practising the new art of standing when we let go of him, something he can manage for a mightily impressive 40 seconds. In fact he's realised now that he doesn't have to 'fall' when he feels his balance waning he either grabs onto something or else simply bends his knees and sits down instead. Awfully clever. Takes after his Mummy, obviously.
He keeps eyeing gaps and spaces with a shuffling of his feet as if to look and think about crossing a difference will over-ride his actual inability to walk should he attempt it. The arrogance of him assuming abilities that are so far beyond him, comes from Daddy.... obviously.
The Boy Child had a class trip to a local church upon which he declared it was 'too jesusy' that's our little Heathen! He's also decided that at yes, age 6, he has a death/thrash/black metal band called 'Raining Metal ' he will wear on stage red leather pants, a black leather jacket, bullet belt and cocks paint (the darling meant corpse paint, bless) His first three songs will be called Suffocation, Certain Death and........ Eat Shit. Upon getting home from school he'll say the obligatory hello's then run upstairs shouting 'I'm doing a gig' ripping his shirt from his torso he'll wear his guitar, topless, in his room with the lights off and Iron Maiden blaring on his tv and video (yes, Video...we're awfully retro don't you know) He's an absolute maiden geek and frequently bores the pants off of us with random facts. He knows who's written what, he performs it and even their personal headbanging style He's currently practising writing in the Slayer font.
The Girl Child has taken to nursery tremendously albeit surprisingly well. However, we're not actually sure that she talks there which is a shame as she's been talking fluently and rather frighteningly well since she was a young toddler. She's still such a darling yet with an edge of precociousness about her and a need to constantly correct people. Her sarcasm skills are also blooming and she is the absolute queen of sulking. She's currently obsessed with art and writing which she is actually teaching herself, clever little critter that she is.
The Husband is definitely a keeper, whilst I was contemplating the grim prospect of the beast of our turkey and the giblet situation he gallantly charged in and pronounced 'it's okay I'll fist the bird for you and get them out' My Hero. This gallantry may or may not however be connected to his vendetta against The Turkey after all 6.6kg of it in it's frozen state turned his big toe rather black when it fell upon it. His extraordinary stamina and immunity is persisting to such an extent that once again he bemoans about the fact everybody gets ill except for him and that he'd quite like his turn for once. He is indeed the exact opposite to me and my especially shoddy immune system that culminated in me having a horrific cough for over four weeks straight, god bless Ventolin I say. Indeed.
Well best go, presents to lay out and a somewhat tired and agitated baby with gammy eyes.