September 9, 2011
For a while now, Ollie's been more keen to walk rather than sit in the pram, reminding us again that time is against us, and he's growing up so quickly. He holds onto my hand (otherwise he knows the alternative is sitting in the pram and he doesn't want to do that) and walks along at his toddler pace, pointing out letterboxes and telling me to 'look at the cute little flowers', stopping now and again to pick one, and then another one for his brother, or poke his nose into someone's mailbox, telling me whether they've collected their letters or not. It's cute, although it does take a lot longer to get anywhere and I am becoming more concerned about living on a main road.
Max, he sits comfortably in the front of the pram, with his muslin, thumb in his mouth, listening to the conversation between his mum and his brother. I can't help but feel he loses out when Ollie is now so communicative and Max is not quite talking, but actually, I think it's good for him. He hears constant chatter, which is more than Ollie had at that age and it feels as though any day now, his language will explode. Speaking of 'that age', Max is the age his brother was when he came into the world. 17 months old. It may sound crazy but it's making me think about how awesome it would be if there was another little soul in our lives... though it might be sensible to wait a little while. Three kids under the age of three would be nuts.
So that's about all that's happening. There's the usual too, piles of laundry, yearning for a hug from my mum, a wish for a holiday in the French countryside, bone-aching love for my husband and increasing dissatisfaction with my day job. And is it me, or does it feel like things are about to change?