Laurie started crawling last week. Well I say crawling, but it's more of a tummy based heave, not dissimilar to what I'd imagine a WWII soldier dragging himself from the trenches with a sniper wound to one leg would look like. He's getting around anyway. Swiping Lego, breaking up puzzles, pouncing on the cat.
Rufus is less excited than the rest of us by this achievement, he stands and watches him and then says, in voice with just a touch of sarcasm : "we'll done Laurie". Every time I expect him to add: "you can sort of crawl, how totally not amazing, now sod off and leave my Lego alone." But luckily he hasn't.
Laurie has also reached nine months. This next stage is my favourite, nine to 18 months is when little people appear, walking, talking, laughing and being fun. I have three months left and I'm back to work. Which is sad because I know the best bits are coming. But then he'll be two and I'll be desperate to have others to share the tantrums while I sit eating cake in the semi civilised world of the office.
Laurie reaching nine months has also prompted the start of the "when are you having number three" chat. As a mother of boys I'm always asked if I going to try for a girl. Like that's even possible. Like if it were I wouldn't have ordered one in the first place - mainly because I had no idea how lovely boys are.
I have momentary panics when I flash forward 10 years and my house is full of teenage boys. That smell of lynx deodorant that never quite does it's job, combined in a heady mix of feral hormones, dirty sock and gawky too-big bodies. I'm not sure I want tribes of their friends lounging on my sofas playing video games and farting into the cushions. And I'm quite frankly terrified of what I might find in their bedrooms. Though actually it's already started - I was making Rufus' bed the other day when I noticed a mark on the wall - upon closer inspection I realised it was a collection of bogies. When confronted he said "I was making you a picture mummy!"
Sometimes I think it might be nice to have some girlyness amongst all that testosterone. I'll miss the fripperies, the hair clips, the bracelets and My Little Pony, crafting afternoons and tutus with stripy tights. But do I really want to swap lynx for impulse? Hormonal boys for PMT and I-hate-my-mum tantrums? For door slamming, boy angst and nail varnish in the carpet? Probably not.
I adore my boys and for now I get to be the centre of their world. What makes me sad is that one day they won't be mine anymore. Some girl will come and steal their hearts away from me - and while I hope they'll be happy I know I'll be a bit bereft. Without a girl I won't get to plan another wedding or be mother of the bride, I'll have to work hard to make friends with the women who are breaking my heart but hopefully making my sons happy. And I will try hard to keep them close without stepping on toes.
But still all of this couldn't entice me to have another baby. For one, it could be another boy to break my heart a bit more. Because you can't help but love boys, they're so cuddly and sweet and far less independent than girls. They seem to need their mummy more. For two, I don't think my body nor my mind could cope with another pregnancy. The sickness still haunts me and my stretch marks and crepey tummy are a daily reminder of the perils of being that fat again.
No. I'm done. My family is complete. I await the stench of lynx with open arms and imagine myself at 40 in bed with a book while daddy takes them to play some form of sport in the rain and all the mum's of little girls are sat in a cold ballet
Just please someone take me shopping so I don't suddenly decide that it 's ok to live in track suits and not own accessories.
Mrs Jones is a far from yummy mummy with a penchant for M&S fudge bars and a mojito on a Friday night. She became Mrs Jones in 2009 and a mummy in 2010. In 2011 she is attempting to remember her own name and not put washing powder in the dishwasher....