The lawn kinda got away on me while we were busy popping Ollie out, so as a bit of a new father’s present, I hired a big nasty self-propelled mower for half a day. What a beast!
I’m desperately clutching at straws to find words to describe how things have changed (both physically and emotionally) in the days since Ollie appeared. We’re at home now, and he’s snug as a bug in his room, and it seems totally normal. Which in itself is totally bizarre.
On an entirely different note, I was swiping my Foodtown card at the supermarket yesterday, and started to wonder: ‘just what the blimming heck does Foodtown do with all this data?’. We use the card because it ends up saving about $10-$15 on a $200 shop, but I am also dimly aware that it logs all our purchases against the “late-20-something, white, agnostic, partially-sane” demographic (you did tick that one on the last census didn’t you?).
Why is it that a freshly mowed lawn is equally as aesthetically pleasing as an untamed field of wildflowers?
I presume it’s to do with her hormonal gears engaging and cogs spinning. It’s almost like she’s expecting the baby to come charging into the house like the Fab 5 from Queer Eye, throw open the closet door and scream “oh no darling, this will not do!”