Monday 4 January 2010

Who The Fuck Is Larry Anyway?

The baby is now too big for the moses basket. I have moved the cot into our bedroom and put the basket in the cupboard. It’s incredible how fast the wee girl is growing, some of her vests are looking a bit tight and one of her pairs of jeans is too little. We put her in the cot and she flails about a bit, gurgling, burbling, gargling and babbling. The cot has a mobile of wee animals on it that plays a tinkly tune. I’ve seen far too many horror films to ever find it relaxing, but the kid loves it. She looks as happy as Larry.

I’ve been saying things like that lot recently. I don’t know who Larry is. I have started to talk like a parent. When the baby is crying I accuse her of being a ‘grumpy boots’. I got a woolly jumper for Christmas and used the word ‘toasty’ to describe its comfort and warmth. I might even have attempted to express my enjoyment of the Christmas dinner by saying ‘yummy’. I don’t know where all this stuff is coming from, i'ts just spilling out of some secret subconscious recess of my head. Lynne thinks this is hilarious but I just want my brain back.

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