Wednesday 13 October 2010


[Sadly, the photo above is not the King]

So the King smiles at me now. And not just the ‘I have wind…oh wait, it has passed' kind of smile. They are the genuine ‘I know you, and I’m glad to see you’ smiles that make three months of no sleep almost bearable. I said almost. Don’t worry, I’m not going to turn into a drippy mom and start telling you about every move the child makes. Although, I personally think he is a lot more entertaining in his three short months than let’s say, X Factor. But that’s me.

But of course as the King always likes to remind those under him who holds the power, he does not give courtesy laughs. He’ll look at me long and hard when I’m trying to crack him up as if to say, 'sorry, but you can do better, that's just not funny.' However, for some reason he loves the way I saw elbow. I’m sure in his little British head he’s thinking, ‘god mom’s American accent is hysterical. Such annoyingly harsh vowels.’

I’m starting to worry however that he will never learn his own name. The problem is I just can’t use it. I’ve deemed him a variety of food-oriented names instead (perhaps I’m starving?) like peanut, or peach, or the frontrunner...fat sausage. Okay okay, it’s a bit mean, but over here sausages are highly regarded, and when I call him fat sausage, it sounds incredibly endearing I swear to you. The worrying thing is that he is starting to respond to it. I’m thinking that would be a tough burden to carry once he starts school. “In the back row, yeah, Fat Sausage, I’m talking to you! Stop messing about!”

He also likes my singing, and I can tell thinks my smile is pretty good, and well, I’m sure one day, he’ll even think my cooking is pretty darn tasty. And the best part, he forgives me when I let on that if he doesn’t stop crying I may sell him to the gypsies.  See, the kid already understands my sense of humor (I'm joking I swear). Which of course makes me think that maybe we have kids just so that for a few short years we feel utterly and unconditionally loved, admired, and idolized. It’s like a sure thing in the confidence-boosting department. That is of course until they get to that age where we suddenly lose our shine and become the mom that won’t stop singing, makes stupid jokes and cooks the same meal over and over cause her culinary skills are that of a school cafeteria chef.  Until then, I apparently rule….under the King of course.
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