My friend sat in my kitchen, surveyed the surrounding area and declared "I love your house. It's so......so grown up"
"Rea-lly?" I beamed. "Grown up! Wow! Who would have thought?"
I admit we have a lovely home. It is my pride & joy. I spent a long time furnishing, decorating & colour scheming every inch of it. I did a good job.
The reality is there are no kids to mess things up. You will not find a Red Elmo taunting the muted green kitchen, or a gaudy Wiggle to clash with my pebble tiles. There is no Lego scattered on my Mocca carpet. Not a grubby fingerprint on my sienna walls or Stainless steel appliances.
I babysat my 3 year old nephew last weekend for about 5 hours. He was an adorable arsehole. I was thoroughly abused for asking him too many questions. Did he want a drink? A bubblebath? A DVD? No. What he wanted was for me to stop asking sooooo many questions. Al-righty.
3 year olds are impossibly busy. And messy.
I screeched when he jumped on my chocolate brown leather sofa, squealed when he dribbled cordial on my cream floor tiles & followed him around like a bad smell clutching a dishcloth. He marked every surface. At least twice. Was it a territorial thing with 3 year olds I pondered?
Finding him behind my sheer venetian, pressed up against the front window, forehead resting on the glass was enough to make me whimper. I questioned if I really, really want kids afterall?
Yes. I do.
IVF number 3 looms next cycle. Our second FET. I am ready again. I think I would rather mop up Cordial than any more of my own tears.
The tears leave a nastier stain.
And soak up alot more Viva paper towel.
