How is it possible to have two children so different? The only thing Sproglet and Sproglette have in common is they both sleep until past 7am. Hurrah. That is were any similarity ends. Sproglet looks like his Dad (with a smidgen of my eyes thrown in) and is all me in personality: people pleaser, loves social occasions, talks non stop, likes to draw, loves books and climbing (I loved me a spot of climbing at Brimham Rocks when I was a nipper) and generally has a smiley disposition. When folk smile at him in the street - ever since he was a baby, he beamed back. On hols in Sardinia two years ago he announced 'chao' to anyone who crossed his path.
Sproglette however, isn't so, how shall we say - smiley. In fact she NEVER smiles, unless Sproglet is near, then she will giggle and laugh and be ultra cute. But in the street when people coo that she looks just like a doll, so petite with a rosebud mouth and big blue eyes, they coo and coo and nada. She just stares at them, sometimes with a frown as if to say 'that all you got?' She looks serious - always. She hates to be held by strangers, wants constant attention and has a fit if god forbid you leave the room to perhaps go for a wee for 2 minutes. She is grumpy, wants entertaining and can only sit through a movie for 5 seconds. Sproglet meanwhile went to see Ratatouille at 13 months and was transfixed. He doesn't even blink, he loves films so much. But the wee lady - nope. She likes Mickey Mouse god help us, and only his Michael Jackson tones can illicit a smile from her lips. So Micky and Sproglet and bananas. The only things she likes. A fussy eater - no jars or bought baby mush for her, oh no, only fresh blended veggies for the diva.
I cannot believe I have two kids that are so so different. Clearly Sproglette looks like me, but is her father in spirit - mildly grumpy, likes to sleep in, hates most people - but he likes his own company, which she has yet to do.
Feck only knows how I am supposed to get packed with this little menace hollering every time I turn my back to open the wardrobe. Sproglet, ever the helpful child - was counting out his pants today in preparation, and selecting his 'travelling' outfit. In short, I am terrified come Sproglette's teen years. two of her Dad in one house? Recipe for disaster.
Right, where did I put the Calpol?