I've been mixing things up a little here at PottyMouthMama Headquarters. I'm crazy like that.
I'm making dinners the night before (casseroles and curries are my friends, beef vindaloo tonight for tomorrow). This is saving me time (and a serious case of dishpan hands).
I'm trying to tidy up small parts of the house all the time, in an effort to keep it tidy (Mum are you reading this?!).
I'm rewarding the Doctor via a star chart for tidying up his bedroom and packing up his toys.
I've become hooked on Masterchef.
I've found new compact fluorescent light bulbs that don't cast a blue light and make me feel like I'm in one of those anti-shooting up rooms (you know when you're out somewhere and they have that blue light). This is particularly big news for me, because although I use these bulbs, I've been really cranky about them. Welcome me into 2009 with this revelation.
I'm turning 30 in about eight weeks and still haven't completed my list. Better get my skates on, huh?
But before my birthday there is a little someone turning the big four. I can barely believe it. I've spent much of today reminiscing about my firstborn. Taking a walk down memory lane via our photo albums. Those first days with a newborn in my arms. Not to mention the pain and thrill of labour. The struggle to learn how to breastfeed. The incredibly steep learning curve. The fear of coming home with babe in arms. Watching our newborn unfurl as the days went on. And of course, that wonderful newborn smell. My big boy is turning four. I know this may sound strange, but I could always imagine myself with a baby, but I'd never foreseen a small person. Evolving. Developing his own likes. His own dislikes. So my thoughts are turning to the soon-to-be little birthday dude. A mixture of sadness, happiness and great, great joy.
