Contrary to what our landlord may believe, there are now 4 independent entities living our house. RD, myself, the beard and the blog. There’s also Mini-D (or Mini-Crease) of course, but they don’t get counted till we can see the whites of their eyes. Rules is rules.
First I thought I would applaud her brilliant notion to start doing this. I thought it would be a fairly individual pursuit, but I was wrong – it’s been a discovery for us both, and rearranged the last couple of jumbled years into something that’s beginning to make a little bit more sense. As yet the blog has been quite benign – unlike RD, who is anything but – though I do sometimes if it might turn one day. Grow teeth, get lairy. Hit puberty, grow menopausal, make bad smells, sleep late, not fill up the car, all those things. It is something of a running joke round these parts that the wife has middle-child syndrome (I’m not even sure it’s a real syndrome or just a bid for attention) so perhaps this blog is our middle child now.
I used to think RD was plotting something of an erratic course, but reading the posts so far, it begins to come into focus as more of a curveball. A MacGuffin. In fact, that’s his new nickname right there. The boy’s got plans, all right, but he’ll be chuffed if he’s telling us about them. But the blog has brought some clarity to what we were caught up in, especially during that first long winter, and I think maybe we’ve begun to look further into the future than the next 5 minutes. It’s hard to know how much of this is just the normal, everyday stuff and how much is a little more specific to circumstances, of course. So, to reiterate, a brilliant idea, and one I’d have never thought off. Hats off to the beard. And a welcome tonic for the times when RD’s on a teething binge, or cracked on to the joys of shitting in the bath and then on the towel and then the bathroom floor, or indeed working it out the back of his nappy and up his back until it forms a tidemark just below his hairline.
Despite the boy’s myriad unique selling points, I’d say we’re only too aware that he’s gotten off lightly compared to some. Sometimes the biggest challenge – and I suppose we should be grateful that it’s only this – is knowing when he’s properly upset and when he’s just throwing a wobbly. Quite often one triggers the other, which doesn’t help. Whatever the development lag, there is an unmistakeable feral intelligence at work in that skull; unfortunately for us, he can’t tell us much about it as yet. Or maybe just doesn’t want to. He is busy enough banging/scraping things, stomach crunching and rolling onto his face, and there are only so many hours in the day. Also, the good news that he’s deigned to slip onto the bottom of the growth charts has coincided with a the more ambiguous news that he is officially classified as having ‘complex needs’ – umbrella terminology ahoy! – though really we’re no clearer as to what exactly they are, and whether they’re a permanent state of affairs.
I’ll wind this up now, as there’s nothing worse than a guest who doesn’t know when to leave, with a recently rescued photo, which I thought had been lost in the digital void.