As you can tell from the cartoons I draw they are, in some ways, a love letter to my kids. A celebration of them via the exaggerated versions of themselves that are Rowdy and The Bobcat.
Now I’d have more little cherubs were it not for finances and the knowledge that if I have any more not only will I/spouse/both have a meltdown but we have enough trouble giving the two we have the attention and time that they want and need. Also me and pregnancy are not pals.
Before we met, Sven had not only decided to have 6 kids, he’d even picked out their names: Elspeth, Roisin, Grainne, Lachlan, Ruaridh and Seoras.
The kids know this. They are making repeated demands for the other 4. I had already negotiated Sven down to 3 when my pelvis gave out again and I realised trying to chase after a wilful, energetic toddler whilst using crutches was the stuff of which nightmares are made.
Rowdy wants – nay, DEMANDS – more minions for her army of ‘cuteness’ which she smugly assumes will bend to her will – even on the abundant evidence that the minion she already has is only 50% max. on board with that arrangement.
Also, neither of them actually know how babies are made. We’ve offered to explain, human body books have been glanced at but we think Rowdy still wants there to be some magic involved, so doesn’t want to know know yet. (The Bobcat likes the movie ‘Storks’.). I’m not claiming there isn’t magic involved (*massages Sven’s ego*) and it is slightly more romantic than “er…there’s a ….procedure…that mummies and daddies …go through” which I used to try to make an inclusive statement about breeding methods in 2019. It made it sounds like I was making a cameo in Star Trek. But it is more romantic than this: