Friday, June 22, 2012
My life is all about the guilt. Guilt about sitting and knitting instead of tidying up, guilt about not making anyone's bed, guilt about serving up fish fingers for dinner (again), guilt about letting the kids watch too much telly, guilt about not reading anyone's blog, guilt about not even writing on my own. Extra special guilt for not even bothering to do the big, "He's one!" post.
But guess what? He's one! And the poor little dude didn't even score a card from us (more guilt). I'm guessing this is why the third child is usually the one who's happiest to role with the punches as they grow up since punches is all they've ever known (figuratively speaking of course).
Mind you he is very good at letting us know he's around. Especially when I attempt to supervise homework and he's trying to climb up my legs having been perfectly happy five seconds earlier to inspect the contents of the bathroom bin (for the fourth time that day). But gee whizz, just as I'm about to explode with the stress and guilt of it all he'll flash those (eight!) teeth of his and drop his head to the side and I wonder what on earth we would've done without him. Probably had better dinners and completed homework but where's the fun in that?