Took a few minutes yesterday taking this photo of the unexpectedly clear water – it’s often a little murky up here with a mix of small twigs, turbulent sands, and cow poo. It wasn’t until I got back to the beach that I saw that Katie had found a complete fish skeleton that she was trying to swallow at speed, in its entirety, before I could take it off her. Dogs are like perpetual toddlers it seems in their need to put noxious substances into their mouths. At least children grow out of this tendency – until they reach their teens and discover alcohol, that is. One of our daughters was very proud to get into a pub underage this week, as she was only 17 years and 360 days old. The other twin is of course technically a year older, due to a mishap that sadly disfigured her drivers license last year, interestingly only her date of birth was affected. Anyway, tomorrow that will all be academic, as it will be 18 years to the day that John Tait was hovering over my perineum, holding the forceps threateningly in his hands; while Simon stood at my side, looking at once bored, irritated to be missing the rugby that he had tickets to, and also rather unimpressed at both my feeble attempts at pushing and my intermittent complaints about how much it hurt.
Happy Birthday, girls!
ps. On further reflection, it’s possible I’ve discussed the events of the girls’ birth before, in a previous post. In any event, they’ve requested, as a birthday wish, that I never mention my perineum again. And in the words of Jane Austen – on a different topic, mores the pity – I am in receipt of your proposal, and am minded to accept it.