Today, not unusual for the UK, it rained a lot. That meant I couldn't play outside with my little boy. No farm up the road to see the moo moo cows and ba bas, no swings in the park.No going swimming either. We're off for his lesson tomorrow. But we have the garden centre.
That's right. The mecca of having 'given up' for any self respecting grasping at youth GRUP.
Well balls to that. My boy loves it. Running amok amidst the, just in, glittering chistman trees. Pointing in awe at the womderfully kitsch gnomes and outsized frogs. But that's nothing next to the petstore.
He can spend hours gazing into the fishtanks, trying to touch the turtles through the glass, cooing over the 'babbits'. Then there's the parrots and stuff.
He loves tapping the cages of the birds and watching them flutter all over the place. Scratch that. It makes him laugh so hard he'll give himself a hernia.
There's magic in the way a toddler laughs. It's never put on like a grown up. It doesn't require a social setting or the right mood. It's a force of nature. He's happy, it's funny and he laughs. That's it. But Will just doesn't laugh, he explodes, dribbling like a demented idiot, guffawing from deep inside his little belly.
Nothing in this world could make me happier that he does.
Except for having another. Which is lucky because it's coming on Wednesday.
There's so much to look forward to, while at the same time feeling determined my little boy will never feel like he's missing out now there's a new one…and feeling equally resolved to be as close to number two as the chestnut flash we already have.
So that's it for two weeks or so (genuinely this time). While we get used to not sleeping again, move house and get used to being four rather than three.
Bye for now.
NORTHERN PLANNER 