The Babies Room And Twerking Like Miley Cyrus
Without Prejudice
My daughter is turning into Babyzilla. For a week we have worked on the Nursery, stripping out, painting, sanding, scrubbing what used to be a teenage boys room, getting it ready for a girl, after seven, count them, seven boys.
The two dogs, the Husky and the German Sheperd, trailing after the expectant Mother like demented stalkers. We looked it up on Google and dogs can sense the hormones in the pregnant woman and feel protective. One sits outside the window watching us decorating the room and looks wolfish with a gleam in her eye, we try to ignore her.
Yvettes nesting instinct is kicked into high gear and she is just as exhausted as I am. But she won't stop and neither will I. I of the sore strapped wrist and buggered back and she of a twenty five week pregnancy. We keep the boys out for most of the time, it's the second week of the school holidays, enough said.
The first week of the holidays is a relief from early morning school runs and filled with thoughts of sleeping in. The second week is trying to refrain from committing mass genocide as the boys become boisterous and a little bored. They all inspect the new room and stupidly make comments like,
"You didn't make this much fuss over us when we were born"
That's a dangerous thing to say to a pregnant Mother of heavy girth armed with a paint scraper.
The boys think that the girl is going to be "more special " than them. After we have both wiped away the tears of exhaustion and mirth, Yvette explains to Zach, the second oldest at 18, that no one was more spoiled than he, coming along five years after his older brother. Zach, of the Emmalunga pram and the eight hundred dollar crib.
This time we have done it all ourselves and anyone wanting a big gross out experience should spend two days cleaning out a teenage boys room. The detritus of stick books, moldy food, a small panda, not a live one thank God, a childhood bear, snatched up by teenage boy and put in new room, clothes that smell of testosterone and sweat, paperwork that has to be sorted and saved. It is a huge task but Yvette and I are determined.
She's very clever this second oldest daughter of mine as she said at first she would have the baby in with her. She knew I wouldn't like that idea and as long as we kept the pink to one room I figured the slothy band of seven boys wouldn't complain. They have all been in to inspect it. The little ones Acer 5 and Cruz 3 love it. And Acer wants a bed in there so he can wake up to his little Sister.
" I will help her " he states.
" I will get up in the night and change her and feed her "
The little boys have been practicing on a new born baby doll that was their Aunty Lauren's. Cruz opens up the baby nappy and wonders why her willy has fallen off. He's sad for her. But inspects the whole realistically area of anatomically correct doll right down to the missing appendage. He is confused.
Yvette is in a constant hurry as she knows I am off overseas in four weeks and her urgency knows no bounds. She is a relentless Slave driver and we work from early morning till late at night. She working just as hard as me. We make the males do all the heavy lifting. It's sunny today and we will get out all the hard rubbish as quickly as we can. We are now both buggered but we find new inspiration in each other's energy. She down one minute and me the next. We rest in between and bar the boys off to be self sufficient.
But last night was Spanish meatballs night and although they started the preparations, Mummy had to dish up and the kitchen was full of hungry males following their Mum around. Once fed they disappear to their rooms to finish off their challenges on Grand Theft Auto five. She has bought them a copy each. And her partner, Pete, has one too. He the father of the two younger boys and the soon to be daughter and Stepfather to the other five boys for the last six years.
They are best kept out of the way and fed and amused, then we can just get on with what we have to do. Her nesting is extreme and we have to clean and wash everything that goes into the room. I laugh and say by the time the baby is 14 she will be locking the door on her and not letting her out. Pete says she can go out when she is 30. We all laugh. As when Yvette was 2 she was dressing herself and climbing out windows at 4, little beggar.
We turn the radio up loud and delirious at one in the morning, twerk like Miley Cyrus, laughing and giggling. No curtain up yet so we imagine the next door neighbour, the grumpy Keith, peering in and being gob smacked. You just never know. We know the boys won't be peeking in as it might involve work, so we are just on our own and tears roll down our cheeks in laughter.
My daughter is turning into Babyzilla. For a week we have worked on the Nursery, stripping out, painting, sanding, scrubbing what used to be a teenage boys room, getting it ready for a girl, after seven, count them, seven boys.
The two dogs, the Husky and the German Sheperd, trailing after the expectant Mother like demented stalkers. We looked it up on Google and dogs can sense the hormones in the pregnant woman and feel protective. One sits outside the window watching us decorating the room and looks wolfish with a gleam in her eye, we try to ignore her.
Yvettes nesting instinct is kicked into high gear and she is just as exhausted as I am. But she won't stop and neither will I. I of the sore strapped wrist and buggered back and she of a twenty five week pregnancy. We keep the boys out for most of the time, it's the second week of the school holidays, enough said.
The first week of the holidays is a relief from early morning school runs and filled with thoughts of sleeping in. The second week is trying to refrain from committing mass genocide as the boys become boisterous and a little bored. They all inspect the new room and stupidly make comments like,
"You didn't make this much fuss over us when we were born"
That's a dangerous thing to say to a pregnant Mother of heavy girth armed with a paint scraper.
The boys think that the girl is going to be "more special " than them. After we have both wiped away the tears of exhaustion and mirth, Yvette explains to Zach, the second oldest at 18, that no one was more spoiled than he, coming along five years after his older brother. Zach, of the Emmalunga pram and the eight hundred dollar crib.
This time we have done it all ourselves and anyone wanting a big gross out experience should spend two days cleaning out a teenage boys room. The detritus of stick books, moldy food, a small panda, not a live one thank God, a childhood bear, snatched up by teenage boy and put in new room, clothes that smell of testosterone and sweat, paperwork that has to be sorted and saved. It is a huge task but Yvette and I are determined.
She's very clever this second oldest daughter of mine as she said at first she would have the baby in with her. She knew I wouldn't like that idea and as long as we kept the pink to one room I figured the slothy band of seven boys wouldn't complain. They have all been in to inspect it. The little ones Acer 5 and Cruz 3 love it. And Acer wants a bed in there so he can wake up to his little Sister.
" I will help her " he states.
" I will get up in the night and change her and feed her "
The little boys have been practicing on a new born baby doll that was their Aunty Lauren's. Cruz opens up the baby nappy and wonders why her willy has fallen off. He's sad for her. But inspects the whole realistically area of anatomically correct doll right down to the missing appendage. He is confused.
Yvette is in a constant hurry as she knows I am off overseas in four weeks and her urgency knows no bounds. She is a relentless Slave driver and we work from early morning till late at night. She working just as hard as me. We make the males do all the heavy lifting. It's sunny today and we will get out all the hard rubbish as quickly as we can. We are now both buggered but we find new inspiration in each other's energy. She down one minute and me the next. We rest in between and bar the boys off to be self sufficient.
But last night was Spanish meatballs night and although they started the preparations, Mummy had to dish up and the kitchen was full of hungry males following their Mum around. Once fed they disappear to their rooms to finish off their challenges on Grand Theft Auto five. She has bought them a copy each. And her partner, Pete, has one too. He the father of the two younger boys and the soon to be daughter and Stepfather to the other five boys for the last six years.
They are best kept out of the way and fed and amused, then we can just get on with what we have to do. Her nesting is extreme and we have to clean and wash everything that goes into the room. I laugh and say by the time the baby is 14 she will be locking the door on her and not letting her out. Pete says she can go out when she is 30. We all laugh. As when Yvette was 2 she was dressing herself and climbing out windows at 4, little beggar.
We turn the radio up loud and delirious at one in the morning, twerk like Miley Cyrus, laughing and giggling. No curtain up yet so we imagine the next door neighbour, the grumpy Keith, peering in and being gob smacked. You just never know. We know the boys won't be peeking in as it might involve work, so we are just on our own and tears roll down our cheeks in laughter.
