Whatever you put on your head determines your superhero defining feature and name, don a hat become Hat Girl, Edgar puts a box on his head he’s Box Boy, or Bucket Boy or Cat Boy, Blanket Boy, Jug Boy, Soup Boy, today I was Pants Girl. We’ve not really ventured into the world of recognisable superhero characters yet, I’ll admit the violence frightens me, the boys are only 3, plenty of time for that. But Box Boy (to be announced loudly, clearly, deeply and grandly; “BOX BOY!”), or Pants Girl, they’re welcome here. Silliness is welcome here.
Today I had to pick Rufus’ vomited up, regurgitated, and very partially digested mango pieces out of the washing machine. Jon’s endless, naked and heroic efforts to rinse all Ruru’s bedding in the bath during the lost hours of last night were not completely successful. But full marks for effort. That was a low point of today, the mango chunks, shame, I’d been really into mango and I’m a tough crowd when it comes to fruit, but I’m certainly off it now, as I’m sure poor Rufus is too. Such a champ last night, after having the sick washed out of his ears, hair and entire bed he cutely asserted, “I like your sparkle nose Mummy, I sit with you now!” There’s no denying all I wanted to do was scoop him up and take him to my bed, but the fear of that being filled with sick too outweighed my desires.
A few weeks ago Rufus was going through a horrible phase and I disliked him most of the time. Rude words, pushing, shouting and hurting everyone but it’s passed and he’s cute and insane again. We’ve recently had 2 opportunities to be alone together, just for a couple of hours, at appointments that are best attended without his twin brother. They are twins, they were born on the same day, but their similarities end there though. Rufus was referred to a paediatric physiotherapist after his government-iniated 2.5 years health check, for many little reasons but mainly his lack of physical confidence and tippy toe-ing, this has lead to us spending time with a paediatrician. I have been worried, since he used to keep too still in my tummy, I’m less worried now, to the point I feel I’m wasting the paediatrician’s time, but they’re keeping a close eye on him, and he is a little, for want of a better word, different. I think he’s just taking his own sweet mystical time about certain things, quite right too, I always have done. I don’t know that I want him given a diagnosis or a label for him, in such subtle cases I fear it could do more harm in terms of people’s preconceptions than good. I just want him to be as happy in this strange world as he can be, and if they, the NHS, can help with that I’ll take it. Good God he’s awesome, a real charming, kind soul, and if he could have anything on his head it would be a rainbow, RAINBOW BOY!