Question is: can he?

Leo feels like dancing
Because of you

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XucbKof0HcU

The first time ever I saw your face

Every time I feel down about the demands of being a parent, and a parent-to-be, I google image an ex boyfriend. This always comforts me, although not because it brings back any nostalgic pleasure, nor because he was ugly. There is no nostalgia, and he wasn’t ugly, in fact I found him quite dashing (even if most of my friends found him strange, weird, “challenging”). The memories his photo brings back is one of icky disgust. The sort of “eugh, I fornicated with that!”, the hope that no one in the world remembers our tryst, and that he, most of all suffers from some sort of early onset dementia where he can’t quite remember my name, and therefore track me down. The thing is, his image shows me what could have been, rather than, thank god, what is, even when the “thank god” bit is the furthest thing from my mind, pre the google image viewing. So thankyou, Mr Icky, for reminding me to stop bloody complaining, for reminding me of what counts, and most of all, for what might have been.

Please, do not smile

I don’t like other people smiling at me because I am pregnant or because I am walking along with my toddler.

When I am with my toddler, those cute smiles others love giving “isn’t he just adorable!” are not appreciated. Why? Because I live with him. He is cute. He is adorable. I know this. But when I am walking up the supermarket aisle I am actually concentrating really really hard on making sure he does not smash/eat/scream without my approval. This is hard work. Your smiles do not make it all worthwhile, I get my fulfilment without your affirmation.

And please do not smile at me waddling along the street heavy with my unborn. I am uncomfortable, my hips hurt, I am possibly wearing urine soaked underwear due to the perilous state of my pelvic floor, and quite likely my underwear has long ago crawled up my arse crack due to my uncontrollable expansion. And I am not enjoying this. If you really care, come do some washing/cooking/babysitting for me. I would appreciate that.

emesis

I found out this morning that milk curdles in the stomach. Even though I'd never seen this before, it seemed vaguely familiar, like we had to do some science experiment in year 9 where we curdled milk with our stomach juices. Or maybe it was that girl who threw up her ice-cream during one of our first holy communion ceremonies. Sure it was ice cream but it really stayed together.

Bivalve molluscs don't have pearls

Have you ever cleaned mussels? Perhaps before a BBQ?

As you stood there pulling away the beard did you think of Women? Did you feel a strange sort of liberation, tearing the hair so easily from the bivalve. A little brutal perhaps, but mussels don't have nerve endings. They also don't have pearls. Imagine if they did. Little albino spheres, there for pleasure. But no need for wax. Only a firm pair of hands.

The Frenzied Anus

"We use the web to confirm our own partisan views and link to others with the same ideologies. Bloggers today are forming aggregated communities of like-minded amateur journalists...where they congregate in self-congratulatory clusters. They are the digital equivalent of online gated communities where all the people have identical views and the whole conversation is mirrored in a way that is reassuringly familiar. It's a dangerous form of digital narcissism; the only conversations we want to hear are those with ourselves and those like us."

Andrew Keen, The Cult of the Amateur.

The Shy Sardine*

Sardines are a very shy fish, and the nets used to catch them are of a very fine thread and mesh.

*New York Times, 1920.

Also quoted in The Golden Tampon Anthology, 2009.