One of Kittencat's friends was having a birthday party today at a play centre near Marple. Kittencat preened for the occasion, and with hairband and about a million hair clips positioned about her head she ran riot with all the other three ish year olds for a couple of hours. One of the other mothers (not a scissor-skin terminator style hybrid of scary like in Coraline, but a real mother of a real child) had a 7.5 month old with her along with her three year old, and I took him for his bottle whilst she took her daughter to the loo. Yeah. He was nice. Babies are nice. I have decided I want one. Another one. I kinda want to have another at some stage anyway, though I'm not entirely sure how that's going to come off, but it brought home today that I'm probably about ready to spawn me another child in the next couple of years if the opportunity came along. At least, it doesn't scare the hell out of me like it would have done six months ago. To make matters worse, Cattenberg reminded me that if I wanted to take advantage of having a year off with full bursary, as is the lovely condition of if I were to molest a boy (or find a lovely willing participant for a sexless, turkey baster centred evening of fun) and knock myself up during my course, I've basically got a window of somewhere in the next 6 to 18 months. Cheers for that. On the plus side, he was highly, highly complimentary of my parenting, so, you know, if anyone fancies turkey basting a child... If the broodiness doesn't calm down, maybe I'll start an interview process or something.
I'll no doubt grow out of it again by tomorrow morning, but a little part of me is broody as hell today.
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