Nope, I’m not going to jump on the band wagon and write about the Large something-or-other Collider, although I’m sure that I could go off on tangents about religion and offend a few more of you. I’m talking about something much closer to home. Unfortunately it is baby related. I say unfortunately, because the day I got knocked up I swore to myself that this blog wasn’t going to become some baby site where all I did was talk about swollen ankles and breastfeeding. But it’s harder said than done, because that really has become my prime focus these days and I’ve always written about whatever’s on top.
My latest project is the nursery. Most of the furniture arrived this week so the room that used to be our spare bedroom is now going to belong to the babies. Great in theory, but until now it has been the realm of the cats. They had cat nests on the spare bed and they would sleep there when the sun was on it during the day. They can’t understand why they’re not allowed in there any more. I guess they haven’t heard the horror stories about cats smothering babies. We don’t communicate that intricately so I haven’t really explained it to them.
But I had a brainwave. I filled the cots with balloons. I figured that should a cat jump in, it’d burst a balloon and get the fright of it’s life – never to jump in again. I do have a secondary fear that the fright might cause it to evacuate its bladder or claw its way out of the cot destroying the paintwork, but I guess those outcomes are better than a dead baby.
And last night it happened. Chico jumped into the cot-that-will-be-Israel’s and burst a balloon. He didn’t quite react as I expected. He just stood there frozen in place. I guess he was playing dead. Not ideal if there was an actual baby beneath him.
So it’s back to the drawing board.