Button Moon is a great children's tv show from the 70s/80s where every episode we're off to Button Moon to follow Mr Spoon....and see what craziness lurks through the telescope. Lucy loves it. Of course I don't advise sitting your children in front of TV all day unless you need a break/ a wee /to clean /cook / brush the dog/ change the kitty litter and whatever else cannot be achieved with a screeching baby in tow.
She watches it almost everyday as I believe it fits the formula - pre-toddler babies need shows with one narrator and basic shapes and images. Most cartoons etc are too busy. Puppets really catch the eye. Okay - I believe this mainly because I read it somewhere but also because Lucy seems to agree.
In between this Button Moon tv madness the phone rings. It is the crazy model agency that 'took Lucy off their books' after I said Hammersmith for £18 was not possible...
"Is Lucy available for a casting tomorrow?"
"Well she is, but the last time you phoned you were incredibly rude when I explained I couldn't get to Hammersmith and told me you were taking Lucy off your books, so please make sure you do and don't call again." I heard her take a breath and I hung up the phone.
The rush, the power of payback, the karma of it all led me to phone my husband.
"You WON'T believe who just phoned." I told him what happened and what a dude I had been.
"Oh" was his reply.
How often are Godparents supposed to see their Godchildren? Once a year, once a week, once a decade? I guess it depends how close you live. So I wonder why the Godparents that live furthest away see Lucy the most, while the one closest came to the Christening and that is about it...
Right then! I am moving 7000 miles away to a warmer climate at the end of the year. Then Lucy will see everyone at least once a year...I am turning 30 in a few months and as I reflect like an OAP - my one piece of advice for having a child would be...
...don't let it change the essence of you.
My one piece of advice for getting married would be...
...don't let it change the essence of you.
As for getting older....use moisturiser. That's all you need.
Whoever invented teeth should have just LET THEM APPEAR GRACEFULLY. And - if need be - disappear just as gracefully... whether youre 8 months or 80 years old teeth are not friends - they are foe.
Lucy never sleeps because great big giant white bastards are beating through her gums on a daily basis. But they don't just appear, they crawl in slowly, pushing strands of gum out, bleeding, tearing and generally looking awful. Nevertheless, despite the pain and agony in my child's mouth she can muster the energy to scream and cry like a Mogwli as water falls past midnight...
The truth is, nothing works like a bottle of milk even if it is about 200 oz a day over what she should consume and she is developing a belly like a darts player.
I have had enough. The travel cot has gone up in our room and no more musical beds. If she screams in the night, she will be an arms length away not a dog, a cat, a baby gym, some discarded dirty clothes, a couple of hangers and hoover away.
Just as I am explaining to the modelling agency who have given me a days notice that there is no way I can get Lucy to Hammersmith as much as it sounds great (ahem...) the woman on the other end of the phone turns. Like milk gone off she curdles and I can hear her turn a shade of puce...
"WHERE DO YOU LIVE?! (shouldn't she know this?)...you do realise that these assignments are all in London?"
"Yes thanks...the last two were easy enough to get to but I don't know how I can get an 8 month old on the tube from Liverpool St to Hammersmith without recreating the tunnels to allow for ample lifts and extra toilets." 30 seconds goes by with heavy breathing and no helpful reply (like - I see your point, we will send a limo).
"Right then!" the shockingly rude bitch says "I will take her off our books!"
" Please do. For the 2p an hour she gets she would do better as a Chinese factory worker..."I didn't actually say that last line but HONESTLY. I was totally shocked by how rude the booker had been. She had obviously had a bad day convincing mums to travel to Hammersmith. And before caling me she must have had a look in the mirror...
...before it slapped her.
