Rambling Christmas Wife & Mother

A Hole has started to form at the end of my sock. I can just see the pink flesh struggling against the fabric. Wriggle, rub, stretch. A little more appears. Hello toe! I wonder, if the connection to my brain were severed, would the toe still feel the confinement of the sock? Would it still itch to escape and feel the breeze against it? I also wonder at least once a day if all my wondering is leading to a slight breakdown in communication between my sense of fantasy and sense of reason. You see, there appears to be a bit of a blurring between the two. Not the I mind. It makes life a little more interesting. Hello my dearest reader. I extend to you the warmest silky embrace of a welcome to my little world. I wont try to reason it into words because that would spoil the fun. You see we’re about to find interest in boredom and question why we do what we do, and say what we say. It’s Christmas and I’m sat at my computer wriggling my toes. No real reason other than the fact that I always have, wriggled my toes that is. I like the sensation of my second toe rubbing against the edge of the nail of my big toe. It helps me focus my thoughts and annoys the hell out of my husband when I do it in bed. My sister rubs her feet on the carpet when she watches television and my mom deeply enjoys having her feet squeezed, neither of which does anything for me. In fact I think they’re both strange. I’m not really sure where we’re going with this, I suppose it’ll become something when it’s ready to but until then it’ll just be a collection of the things that happen in my head when those tiny bits fizz and meet. I like the computer generated images they create for programs on the discovery channel to explain what happens in your brain when you think. It’s like a tiny conscious firework display, amazing. I have two children, one is small and just beginning to be and the other is bigger but still at the beginning. I created them in my head before they became real. The first was a masterpiece of imaginings, but almost complete fantasy, whereas the second was a little more realistic. Ophelia was a miniature Goddess growing in my womb, she was the saviour of our world, she would be prime minister, president of the world and a beautiful hippy who was totally at ease with her appearance although of course she had nothing to be uneasy with as she was to be breathtakingly perfect. She is now two and is breathtakingly perfect, but with jam in her hair and a snotty nose. Amelie is 9 weeks old and is also sporting this seasons designer snotty nose. When she was being created inside me I already knew that she would be perfect, perfectly amazing, just like her sister. For her I hoped for nothing more than good health and happiness because I’ve decided that nothing could ever be more important to a parent than achieving the peace that comes from knowing that your daughter will grow up to be a strong, healthy, happy woman. Would you like to know what I’ve had for Christmas? 3D home designer. PC CD-ROM (pretty fab prezzie from lovely squishy husband) Smelly things galore. (what can I say, I’m a mommy therefore I smell?) Chocolates (I’m a mommy therefore I need sugar highs?) A phone book (I’m a mommy therefore I have enough friends and relations to warrant a phonebook?) Socks (Not a clue, I hate having my feet covered, as previously mentioned) 4 Hairbrushes (I’m a mommy therefore cannot keep track of hairbrushes I already own? Or possibly I’m a mommy therefore I don’t appear to own a hairbrush?) 2 Photo frames (I obviously don’t spend enough time with people so need pictures of them around to remind me of them!) 3 Diaries (I have no memory which is 100% accurate, I gave birth to it along with my placenta) I haven’t yet seen my mommy or my sisters, of which there are 3 and they are all testament to my mothers general amazingness, So hopefully (fingers seriously crossed on this one) I will be dazzled by ingenious gift choices in the morning. I’m off to hit the sack in readiness for the four million times I will have to get up in the night to feed my tiny hungry hippo. Also, just for you, I will wiggle my toes and think of a good question for us to ask ourselves tomorrow. The question for this evening is; Why do we wrap presents for our children when they are too young to unwrap them themselves meaning that we have to unwrap what we, ourselves have wrapped?

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