26 January 2007

Can I See Your Permit Please Chickie

Chickie was delivered at 4pm by a fatigued Glam-Nan. Chickie immediately let it be known he was unimpressed as he stared at me accusatorily as if to say, “how dare you dump me at Nanna and Grandad’s whilst you had a lie in, lounged around in your fluffy wear until 12pm and pranced round the house singing peace perfect peace is the gift of Glam-Nan and Snowy”. He was further antagonised by the addition of a barricade to the kitchen, impeding his regular jaunts to the pots, pans and tray cupboards he loved emptying out so much.

Our previously open plan house now features Controlled Baby Zones. Zone A, the lounge. Zone B, the dining room. Zone C, the Kitchen. Access is granted at the discretion of mumagement.

Since his return, he has cried constantly. Not proper crying, just tearless attention seeking whingeing. Unfortunately, my lack of regular exercise left me unable to catch up with mum’s car as she drove back to her peaceful little world where she woke to bird’s chirping and a cup of freshly brewed tea a la Snowy.

That evening, a girlie trip to the cinema was planned. As much as I was looking forward to it, it occurred to me that it probably wasn’t quite the routine buster I needed as all I’d effectively done was trade sitting down in front a small screen for sitting down in front of a big one although there was the crucial addition of Pick’N’Mix.

As there were no chick flicks showing, we opted for Babel. BIG mistake. Like it’s name suggests it was chaotic and confusing and after 2½ hours of gruelling viewing I felt drained. I know it’s nominated for zillions of awards but if I wanted dreary and depressing, I would just lock myself in my house during the winter for a week, which has the added benefit of being free.

Sniffing Chickie's head fluff on my return home and snuggling up to a snoring Accountant made me thankful for the simplicity of my predictable life.

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