Is it ever acceptable to answer the phone on the toilet?
This isn’t something I’ve done myself, you understand. No no, it’s the (self proclaimed) Northern Love Machine (from hereafter known simply as the NLM). He did it last night. And it was a number two! Apparently the man from Virgin was none the wiser. But even so…
It got me thinking, the NLM is so completely unembarrassed by anything to do with the toilet (he once got himself locked in a toilet halfway through a private tuition session and had to be rescued by his pupil’s father who took the door off it’s hinges) that maybe it’s just me. Our daughter, baby Frog, seems to have inherited her father’s complete lack of shame in that department too. I’m always the mum at baby and toddler groups whose daughter makes a real song and dance of filling her nappy. I have to carry on talking and laughing while the squirming child strains and grunts and turns bright red as she takes great satisfaction from having a really good poo. I’m hoping she’ll grow out of this phase, unlike her father.
Anyway, I’m not trying to make some clever connection between “blog” and “bog”. And I’m aware this isn’t the most savoury of ways to introduce myself to the world. Please forgive me. I ramble when I’m nervous..
But it’s got me going. It’s got me started in my new venture, part of the New Me. The one who has more time on her hands after saying goodbye to weekends filled with Sambucca and shopping in Primark. The one who has survived the first few months of babydom and is ready to peer outside again and see what the world has to offer. The one who enthusiastically signed up to an exercise bootcamp last night after a couple of glasses of wine. Oh dear.
Better leave it there for now, I can hear Frog straining again.