We need to have words.
Over the past 5 and a bit months (I’m past trying to work it out by weeks now) we’ve been through some really good times. Well-timed times. The ones that make people call you an “easy” baby. Like, when you’re cute and flirty with visitors but then crabby when it’s just you and me. Those times. They’re great. They make us look like a team.
However, there have been a few times recently when I really would have appreciated a little whisper in the ear.
You could have told me you’d wee’d yourself whilst I was wearing you in a light grey stretchy. I’m not sure whether people thought it was urine or a leaky boob.
You could have told me to put my boob away before I answered the door to the postman. This is probably the reason we now have a female postie.
You could have had that explosive poo before we went out, and not in the car seat, and then trailing it into the buggy and then all. over. yourself. The mums at the soft play really appreciated you stinking the toilets out.
You could have let me know I had a breast pad stuck on the back of my leg before going out.
You could have told me you needed your nails cutting rather than just scratching your face so much that you looked like Edward Scissorhands.
You could have told me to shave my legs before going swimming.
You could have told me I forgot to put your neoprene nappy on.
So before I make a monumental tit out of myself or the both of us again, have a word?