Thursday 2 February 2012

Seeds and babies

So, okay.
I look after a boy and a girl three days a week, and sometimes my mornings with them are entirely normal.
Well, as normal as time can be when there is a fiery five year old red head that asks a lot of questions and a two year that will pick up his wooden hammer and start to hit various parts of your body if your not paying close enough attention.
You know, fun times.

So, we're driving to school and my radio is broken (jump starting disaster, don't ask), so with the lack of music to distract her ears, Amy instead fills the silence herself and amps up her nonsense babbling and question asking, which I'm mostly fine with, but sometimes I just think I really need to get the radio fixed.
But whatever.
So early this week, we're about four minutes away from school and she asks, "Becky, when are you going to pregnant?"
So I reel off my usual answer (because this is an entirely usual question for her) and tell her not until she is probably in year four at least. 
She's in year one now, and can't entirely understand how long it is if I say, probably not for another three years, but if I say not until she's in year four, she gets it.

Then with the extra four minutes until we pull up at school, I decide to dive into her little five year old mind and ask her where babies come from.
At this point I'm definitely thinking that this could blow up in my face, but very quickly she tells me exactly where babies come from.
Well, not exactly where they come from.
The five year version that she is very sure of.

So for when I want to get pregnant, I have to remember to send Ross out to the shop that only Dads know about and get him to pick up some seeds. 
They can be any kinds of seeds apparently.
You know, strawberry, orange, apple.
Then he brings them home to me, where he has to say that he loves me.
Then I put the seed in my mouth and swallow it with a glass of water, and then it goes down into my tummy and grows into a baby.
Then when my tummy gets so big there's no more room for the baby to grow, I have to go to the hospital where they cut me open with a really sharp knife and pull the baby out of me.
I was pretty surprised with the last bit, but then I remembered that her Mom had caesareans with both her pregnancies, and that explanation of how babies come out of your belly probably is a lot easier to explain than the alternative.

Wednesday 18 January 2012

This one's for you

Here are the reasons why I haven't posted anything in a while.
Well, mostly I just really haven't felt like I could be bothered to.
And seeing as this is my blog and I can do what I like with it, that is reason enough.
But if your looking for a more legit reason (read: excuse) that is mostly boring, then here it is.
I hate reading posts on other people's blogs that have only been written because they feel like they have to post everyday so they just post something that is b-o-r-i-n-g because they can't think of anything else but omgosh absolutely have to post something, because holy cannoli think of the followers! What will the followers think?! 
And I didn't want to be that person, so I just took a little break.
And I have a dissertation on the go too. You know, no biggy.
Is it biggy as in piggy or biggy with an ie? 
Well really, I'm thinking to myself that that doesn't even matter. 
I've said once already that this is my blog, blah blah, so I'm sticking with biggy as in piggy.

I was thinking all of these things over while I was stood at the sink doing the washing up and I thought to myself holy Hannah Montana, I really hate doing the washing up.
And then I thought that a lot of people probably do a lot of their serious thinking whilst they're doing the washing up.
Now personally, I would choose the shower over the sink, both for personal hygiene and for deep thinking any day because then I can use up all of the hot water and wind Ross up, but we all have our preferences.
Am I right?

Anyway, what I'm basically saying is, I'm back, baby.

Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMA!
I dedicate this nonsense transmission to you.