I'm staring over at my guinea pig right now. It's shuffling about in its little pink cage, ooo-wheeeeping away cause it's got a chunk of carrot. Hmm.
It's name is George. And it likes to poo. Lots.
It was no special occassion, getting George. I'd been in 'Pets at Home' the previous week, and got a cuddle of this little squealing baby guinea pig. It was so damn cute! I wanted to be its mummy. (LMAO not sure I'd be latchin that wan on...) It was tiny and needy. That was enough for me. I felt (yes, for a guinea pig) a rush of motherly love and a desire to whisk it home and shower it with ... urm... spinach leaves.
So the following week, when I was wandering through the shopping centre, I couldn't really stop myself. So we have George.
He bites. Men, mainly. Oh well, the thing is a good judge of character.
But the purchase all stems from a hormonal instruction to breeeeeeed again. Chrissy turned two and my body clock thumped me. Another bambino? Yey :-) In a bizarre rose-tinted fashion, my heart skipped a beat and had me dreaming of being pregnant again, having a womanly swollen tummy (if I'm honest, I have one of those, but it is far from desirable...), getting all ready for our new arrival and then caring for a tiny new life again. Has me smiling all over, that...
Then there's the annoying lifestyle practicalities that come in and burst my bubble. Money (yawn), pain of prgnancy and childbirth (blah blah blah), breastfeeding again (yipee - sorry, this has gate-crashed negative list heh heh), potty training another child (somehow) and the blinkin naughty step all over again. Then there's the childcare issues and, worst of all, dividing my attention between three kids, instead of two.
I was chatting to my friend, a mum of three, today. We were having a pleasant conversation about banal, civilised topics, and the possibility of another baby just popped out. 'So, me - another baby, wouldn't that be fab?!?' A random, ill-advised blurt, with a slightly wild edge to it, and a manic grin attached.
My friend stopped on her tracks, polite conversation suspended and alarmed look across her face. She glanced over at her ever-smiling youngest daughter, and turned to me with a serious look on her face. 'My third child was the end of my life. I adore her but I urge you NOT to do it!' She has a way of getting to the point.
I nodded over to my sister-in-law, who is heavy with her second baby, due in six weeks' time. 'That doesn't make you clucky??' So it's just me. Perhaps I'm buckling to current trends, trying to be 'in' and go with the flow... My big sis is pregnant, three months I think. I feel it would be lovely to be going through pregnancy at the same time as her, and slightly resent that she didn't organise her family planning in accordance with mine... Then there is my other pal, a little baby bouncing on her knee, tiny, dribbly and ever happy. And to send me off on one, my oldest friend from school whispered in an excitied hiss in my ear today that she has a bump! This is not helping!!!!!
So I have not reached a conclusion. But there is time yet! :-) About the same time every month I am convinced I want another baby, and for the rest of the month I am happy as things are. And this means... feck knows.
I gonna go get George out. If he poos on me, or even thinks of nibbling me, he's getting put on the naughty step...
