Lola appears to have naturist leanings.
Yesterday after morning playtime in her cot (ie, she “reads her books” and bangs lego about while mummy drinks that first blessed jasmine tea of the day) I went in to find her naked, except for her nappy. Thank God she hasn’t figured out how to wriggle out of that yet. My mum loves to tell a story (gross alert) about finding me in my crib completely covered in my own poo, and not only that.. I had finger painted it all over the cot and wall. The horror.
There is not a lot of logic to Lola’s streaker tendencies… she LOVES the street. Yet she fights all attempts to put a coat or shoes on her to actually go out into the street. Yesterday I had a long and heartfelt lecture on this very subject from her that went something like this: “Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. Nah…. Naaaaaah. Nah nah.” The last nah nah sounded a lot like “So there”.
Still no sign of the word Mama, or mum, or mummy… just dada, chicken, fish, mariquita (ladybird), caca (a big favourite), poo (you can see this looms large in our lives), and so on. The important stuff.
Away from the cot, I am being sucked into a big ongoing news event here and find myself staking out police stations and courts with my huge belly… it’s actually not a bad technique as people who would normally be a bit stroppy with the journalist hordes are actually quite sweet when they spot the intrepid waddling hack that is me right now.
And this morning we are going to my baby shower. Another one. I am actively embarrassed to be having one, so soon after the last one, but a lovely friend wanted to do it for me, and who am I to say no. I tried to say “no presents please.. maybe just some nappies if they really want to buy something”. But don’t think that message was received. I really meant it though… we have all of Lola’s stuff at the ready, and I know a factory which sells its Pima baby onesies etc for next to nothing if you get them on a good day. So Maxi is going to sleep in pink pajamas, and hit the streets in Lola’s more unisex offerings with perhaps the odd boyish onesie.
Boy’s clothes don’t seem to be nearly as much fun as girl’s clothes, from what I can see. Lola has three tutus, pants with little rows of frills along her butt, a huge collection of bonnets and little hats and beanies, sparkly pants with sequins and the girliest of dresses. Boys just seem to get shirts with an aribitrary tractor or hammer logo. Where’s the joy in that? I am curious to see how people react to a baby boy on the street. When they see Lola it aways triggers big gushy comments and swoops in to stroker her cheek. Do people gush as much with boys? Maybe I will have to gush even more to compensate. This post is turning into stream-of-consciousness, and for that I apologise. The stream of my consciousness is a meandering and strange thing to behold lately. Only 28 days to go till my due date. Still not registering.