D is for ... Down south
Yes, it's a bit of a stretch, but just stay with me, okay?? Sweeney's been down in Christchurch since October 6th, holidaying with his Nana and Grandad. He hitched a ride with Kimberley when she went down for the weekend, and stayed on to terrorise their cats and threaten the hospital-like sanitation levels of their house.
One of the things I really enjoy and appreciate about Sweeney is how much my parents enjoy and appreciate him. That thing about grandparents being more indulgent to grandchildren after being tough parents?? Well, it's playing out in Pioneer Lane at this very minute. I love seeing how chatty they are when people approach them about Sweeney, they look proud in a way I haven't seen since ...
Martin and I have been enjoying the flexibility that jettisoning your baby gives you, but we can't wait to see the little pooter again. I even spent this afternoon checking out blogs with pictures of babies on, and we both spent a mental amount of time gazing at a wee boy called Lias - the most beautiful child I've seen since Sweeney arrived. He's about 8 months younger than Sweeney, but has such a strong face already. His hands and feet are long and from the blog, it sounds like he's a sizeable chap.
Lovely, isn't he?? I even sent his mums a note about how splendid he looks ...

D is for ... Dogs
I've never been fond of dogs. I found Lassie torture even when telly was new and exciting. When I was wee, three or four, Mum had a chiropractor or osteopath whose rooms were behind his house. Where his enormous and really really loud dog was tethered. Even from behind a fence, that dog made my blood stop flowing, made me freeze on the spot and scream.
We had a friend stay for five weeks back in January, along with his dog Sarge. When I first met Sarge, he was a bouncy staffy-thing, muscular and gorgeous and fun. Enormously reasonable and easy to handle. That was nearly nine years ago, and things had moved on for Sarge. He was arthritic, which meant he couldn't jump or run the way he used to, so had become enormous. He would plod down the steps beside the house, and flop onto the deck as near as he could to Sweeney. Sweeney was just about crawling at that stage, and loved using Sarge as his playgym, grabbing his jowls or ears or lips to haul himself up and over. Poor dog, he put up with a lot.

D is for ... Drudgery

Drudgery is my nemesis, no doubt. It does me in in all areas of my life - housekeeping, the boring bits at work etc. When you're a girl imagining a life with a Significant Other and gorgeous, gifted offspring and a fulfilling career and a house that reflects all that's good about you, you don't imagine any of the following:

• the dishes, and the washing, and the vacuuming, and changing the bed more than twice a year,


• cleaning down the high chair and the area within a 5km radius three times a day,


• keeping your child alive with food, and maybe even keeping it interesting for you and feeling a little bit proud of it,


• a new job or project is interesting for a week or so, then it's just same old same old until your contract finishes or you die


• wanting to paint a room or do some other low-level DIY requires a morning spent at Resene or Mitre 10, then sanding and puttying and stirring and by the time you get to actual painting, you can't imagine why you chose that colour and in any case, it's time to put the baby in the high chair again and prepare yourself for half an hour of swabbing the floor. Again.

But as I mentioned, Sweeney's vacationing at the moment, so we've been eating bad food and ignoring the chores. The Coco Pops were a highlight earlier this week. The first week he was away, I spent every waking minute grateful that there were no nappies to change or bottles to make or teeth cleaning to negotiate.

Now I'm eaten up with jealousy, that my parents are getting his cuddles and his chats and dances and songs and playing with him in the bath and reading him stories and taking him to the mall to people-watch. I'll revisit this under H for Happy Medium.

D is for Depression

When I say that boring routine chores and such do me in, I mean they make lying down under the duvet for days on end, with or without some gentle sobbing, the only thing I can do. There are days when getting clean dishes into cupboards makes me proud of myself, and we've got a dishwasher, for gods sake. For the most part, Martin's been a pistol, and the counselling has given us both ways to deal with it better. Kimberley and my parents, and even some of Martin's family have been helpful when they can. Sweeney doesn't give the slightest toss. I have a plan for him to never know, that by the time he's grown enough to know that normal people get up every day, I'll be patched up and back on the road. Like a tyre.

D is for ... D'accord!
There are a number of things that have become shorthand for Kimberley and me. One of them is saying "d'accord!" to indicate agreement to the latest scheme on the books. It could've been "okey dokey" or "smellulater", but no, we're too classy. Obviously.

D is for ... Dumbass, Dork, Diddle, Dick etc

I was just sitting here, typing away, when I noticed the room had become freezing. So I mentioned this to Martin, asking why it was that it was so cold, when it's been quite nice heat-wise. Silence for a beat, then he said "the temperature".