Sometimes I remember I have a blog and I pop along and write something. It's not always important or interesting but it helps me keep up with the idea that one day I might go back to work as a journalist and it generally helps if you can write properly.
I say this because of late it seems my conversation consists of phrases like
"James do you need a clean nappy?"
"Oh look at the Wiggles James?"
"Where have you thrown your dummy now James?" and
"Stop being a whiny child I'm only sat two feet away from you".
Now, while they are proper sentences, they're hardly going to win the Pulitzer Prize. Although I'd have to work for an American newspaper to win that anyway and that's so not going to happen. But, I digress.
James has a number of nicknames and, of course, as parents always do, you tend to refer to things by their "child friendly" name, so the cars become the papaps, the dog is a doggie or a wuff wuff, milk becomes milky and the cellular blanket is now a blankee. So everyone once in a while it's nice to remember I'm an adult to and that I can talk about things which have nothing to do with poo or sleeping or food intake or weight gain.
We have a book club that the mums who met at a number of baby groups in town get together at to be "adults". This month's book was Kurt Vonegot's Slaughterhouse 5. I have to say, it's one of the oddest books I've read but I did enjoy it in a strange sort of way. I couldn't quite get my head around what it was supposed to be, history, anti-war, fiction, factual, a good read or just plain old confusing.
Next month's book is Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I want to burst into song ala David Essex in War of the Worlds whenever I hear this book title. You know, the whole Jeff Wayne concept album with narration by Richard Burton. Anyway, I'll shut up now.
8 months ago