My hormones are going crazy right now. Like a stereotypical expectant mother I’m tearing up over Tom Fletcher’s new baby announcement on my lunch break and cooing uncontrollably at other people’s pregnancy bellies or the sight of tiny baby clothes.
Viewing the world through my new rose tinted baby goggles has both good and bad points. I’m feeling all loved up and motherly so I’d like to think Mark and Logan are reaping the benefits. I got up an hour earlier than I needed to today (a considerable victory when you’re growing a tiny person who is draining all your energy!) just so I could have breakfast with the hubby and make sure he had a ‘proper’ lunch to take to work with him.
Despite this, the complaints I got from him were pretty much endless…
His porridge is too hot, his porridge isn’t thick enough, I didn’t get up early enough to cook pasta, I’m going to make him late over a pasta salad, I’ve grated too much cheese for his dinner, his pasta is going to fall out of his (broken) lunch box.
I assume this change in attitude from avid appreciation to stringing complaints together is him (subconsciously) preparing me for life with a child. Although, I must admit, when he starts his ungrateful moaning (as per this morning) I already feel like I have one!
So when he’d finally packed himself up for work and all I had left to do was sort Logan, I had new found appreciation for those big brown eyes blinking up at me.
He set off running up the stairs, as if to say, come on let’s get you ready first. Don’t worry about my breakfast. But I shouted him back down, filled up his bowl and he scoffed the lot. Licking the bowl clean for good measure and making sure he’d got every last morsel from his beard like I’d just fed him the best thing ever. Also known as the same bowl of food he has every day!
Then he laid patiently on the bed while I showered, blow dried and straightened my hair, got dressed and brushed my teeth. All punctuated with the odd fuss and cuddle because let’s face it, hormones have made me soft and I can’t resist his little face. Plus, he’s far too lovely not to humour me when I want to kiss his little head with a toothbrush hanging out of my mouth.
When I grabbed my keys from the bedside table he knew it was time for his walk and ran straight downstairs. I had no make up on but he didn’t notice… or care. He still upheld his daily duty of defending me from other super dangerous (mostly elderly, old age pensioner) dog walkers (his bark is worse than his bite).
Then when I flopped on the sofa for a drink before setting off he came and cuddled up next to me – despite the fact in just 10 minutes I’d break his heart by walking out the front door without him.
He really is a little love. I’m so soft on him at the moment. I find myself defending him when Mark tells him off and I can’t help but secretly giggle to myself when he does something mischievous that he shouldn’t.
I’m sure the hormones are driving me a bit loony but he’s a little legend. All he needs is the odd bowl of food, water, somewhere to go to the toilet and 10 minutes of playing fetch every now and again and he literally devotes his whole self to you. No complaining, just loyalty and pure appreciation for every second of tummy scratches and few seconds of attention. He’s become my miniature schnauzer shadow!
OK, yup… hormones are definitely making me mad!