I know, I know - Dear So and So are a Friday post (go and see Kat's for proof of this) but I'm in a Dear So and So kind of mood so thought I'd live it up a little. You know, go a bit craaaazy. Living the dream and all that because I feel like it.
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Dear God or whatever it is that dictates fate etc.
I have a very lovely friend. She is just gorgeous and kind hearted and lovely. I don't know how she does it, given the sucker punches that have been slung her way but she always, somehow, risen above it and carried on. So the latest one today, the real humdinger of a bitch of a haymaker of a punch, is a step too far. So could you just stop it now? Enough, as I tell my children at least twice a day, is enough.
Yours in genuine indignation at how mean you can be,
Pants.
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Dear Sam,
I do apologise. I know you could roll weeks ago and were really getting quite effective at rolling. But then I stopped putting you on your front because, selfishly, I'm not ready to deal with a moving baby. And now you've forgotten how to roll. I did get a little bit told off by the Health Visitor for not getting you to practice it more. So I will put you back on your front again but could you promise me that you won't roll just yet.
Guilty Pants
PS - don't even think about crawling, or you'll never be put on the ground again.
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Dear Health Visitors,
This is a graph. On the horizontal line is the number of weeks old that the baby is. On the vertical line is how much he weighs. Sam is 23 weeks so we count across to 23 and then up to 6.9kg (which you have just weighed him at) and put a mark where the 2 lines cross. Please can I not have to teach you this again?
Full on narky Pants.
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Dear Ductal Thrush
Back away from the boob. I have the drugs to hit you again and I will not hesitate. So ... go ahead fungal punk ... do you feel lucky? Well? Do ya?
Clint Pants
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Dear Fired Earth/Farrow and Ball
Oh what an error it was to enter your shops. I love you, but I can't afford you. Never again must I darken your doorsteps, for it has taken me weeks to come to terms with what you sell versus what I can buy.
Sobbing real tears of envy
Green Pants
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Dear self,
Get a grip. There was a time you would have looked at yourself and gone 'Tiles?! You are obsessing about tiles?' Next you know you'll be in a pickle about door handles and wanting to talk about different types of kitchen work tops. Oh, you already are. You need a new, ridiculous adventure to plan. It is ok to obsess about airfares to distant places, it is not ok to obsess about Fired Earth tiles.
Hear me well or you will be a hung out to dry Pants.
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Dear William and Kate,
I hope you get to enjoy your wedding. The whole wedding fever seems bit overwhelming to me so it must be complete chaos for you. But above all, just remember that you are marrying each other and ultimately, the colour of the table clothes (nor what anyone says about them) won't matter one tiny bit.
Congratulations and the best of luck, not for Friday but for the rest of your lives together,
Union Jack Pants.
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Dear Boys,
I'm not sure if it is because we've spent so much time abroad, but your old mother has gone all Royalist in her old age. I vividly remember waving a flag at the Silver Jubilee in 1977 (best party dress on too, must find the photo). I remember being woken up by my parents to watch Diana and Charles' wedding on the big colour TV my parents had rented especially for the occasion. We were living in the US then, being British was suddenly incredibly cool. We're going to a Street Party on Friday, so I hope that you will remember this wedding as fondly as I remember the earlier Royal events.
Lots of Love,
Mummy. x