Little Fish has taken to insisting that I "Wake up, Mummy" Apparently I am asleep and dreaming her existence. Which leads me to wonder whether, if I am dreaming this, is this better or worse than the reality? And do dreams really come with this level of smellovision (noises off: "wake up, Mummy, I did a poo")?
I had to write a letter today, a letter to people I've never met, talking about a child they don't know, and presenting a potted history of the past twelve months. Trying to find a balance between concentrating on the negatives and showing a miserable existence, and between ignoring them altogether and presenting a perfect fantasy life. Information about our family life but focused on one child, ignoring the others completely, yet not presenting one child in isolation. Choosing five photographs from the 500 possibles. A year in review, editing out funerals and family weddings, focussing in on the minutiae of daily life but only a small proportion of it. Editing without lying, being real without being too personal, but remembering that these people have a right to the most intimate of information.
It's been an interesting exercise. How do you boil down a year into a handful of pages of A4? This blog doesn't contain half of what happens in our lives; trying to concentrate that further, producing "essence of our life". I'm glad I only have to do it once a year.
And now I must go and make ourselves smart. Little Fish has been invited to a birthday party, and my presence has been requested. It's a disco party for 3-6 year olds. Pray for us!