In no particular order, here’s a list of things I reckon Angus has learned about his mum over the past 7 and a bit weeks:
- His mum’s breasts have probably proven to be somewhat of a disappointment. Angus arrived in this world expecting to be met by a plentiful bosom, one that would provide both nourishment and a convenient headrest. But, sadly for him, the taps are dry and he has been forced on to the bottle, which he has hit hard. And although initially he may have had a soft place to rest his head, after weeks of steady deflation, like air from a leaking tyre, Angus now finds that the boobs serve better as handholds to scale Mum’s chest and snuggle between her neck and shoulder.
- His mum’s breath smells like coffee and chocolate. Instant coffee. Chocolate flavoured protein powder. That’s because during the day, his mum requires one energy shot after another to keep going. Chewing is a special treat she gets only after Angus has gone to sleep for the night.
- Despite the weeks of coaching, his mum remains a little bit rubbish at speaking baby. She has started to recognise certain gestures and that Angus does actually make different types of sounds, but most of the time she still has NFI what they mean. Although when he headbutts her she does understand that he wants to be fed. Immediately.
- His mum, quite clearly, enjoys wearing clothes stained and damp with his spit up. If there are any chunks she will wipe those away but otherwise she seems happy to keep wearing the outfit for the rest of the day. Often, she will actually sleep in said outfit and continue wearing it the next day, just so that she can add more layers of spit up to it.
- Perhaps an extension of above – his mum has zero fashion sense. Despite an abundance of cute outfits in his drawers, his mum rarely coordinates colours, let alone top with bottom of a set. There are days when I reckon Angus is glad that we remain largely housebound, so no one can witness his shame. And on those few occasions when we have gone out, I bet he is grateful that he lacks the postural control required to sit up, because it provides him with a legitimate excuse for lying down and hiding out of sight of passersby.
- His mum has a bit of a potty mouth. If Angus’s first word rhymes with duck or spit, you can blame her.
- His mum sings and dances with gusto. It’s unfortunate that she is rather shithouse at it but give the lady points for effort.
- His mum is his cook, cleaner, entertainer and comforter. So his mum is either his superhero or his minion. Actually, she wipes his arse at least 3 or 4 times per day, so I’d go with minion.
- Most importantly he knows his mum loves him very, very much.