Remember you've got to file my warts!

Friday coffee morning today! Me, sister, Glam-Nan and Chickie frequent our favourite cafe. Glam-Nan always has a large cappucino with LOTS of chocolate sprinkles and a cheese scone, sister always has a Moccachino with a fruit scone and I, being a little more daring by nature, decide on the day what I feel like. Chickie throws whatever we give him back at our heads. He's still not eating but still alive so that's encouraging.

Sister updated us on her eldest's warts. Hands are still firmly attached and, following my advice, treatment has been stepped up to include nightly filing down of the warts. Yesterday she was knackered and her husband kindly offered to do all the clearing up so she could relax. Just as her bum hovered inches above the soft, padded comfort of her sofa, a voice shouts from upstairs, "mum, don't forget you've got to file my warts!". It's moments like that which make parenthood so very special.

I decided it would be a nice touch to make my christmas cards this year, despite, buying loads in the sale last year. As such, I felt Chickie should be the central theme and that he would look good as a reindeer. A set of antlers, a flashing red nose and photoshoot later and voila.

Gave Chickie a bath this evening. Within a minute, I looked down to see a small, brown submarine drifting from a botterly direction. I tried to convince myself it was a toy. Deep down I knew it wasn't, especially as he didn't have a submarine, and he had, as feared, deposited a little something special for me in the bath. This presented me with a dilemma as I had just run the bath and put him in it but now it was soiled and kind of defeated the purpose. However, I couldn't face having to get him out, keep him toasty and re-run another bath at just the right, non-baby-burning/freezing temperature using the little whale bath thermometer, so I did what any other mummy would do when faced with less than spring fresh water and scooped the poo out with my bare hands? I don't know when barehand poo touching became acceptable but I've crossed a line where I don't gag or so much as turn my nose in disgust. Poo is just a big part of my life.

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