An astrologer offered to do my astrological chart. Exact time of birth is important, but I could only tell her I was born in the early hours of the morning, arriving before the nursing home breakfast was served.
Trying to figure out my birth ‘window’ had me remembering …
Of course, when I was old enough to want to know what kind of baby I was, I asked, and my mom told me.
I made not a sound when I emerged, she said, just lay there eyeballing everybody, placidly blowing spit bubbles. Ma also told me I looked like a Botticelli angel, an adorable cherub.
That was the light side of my chubby character. The dark side was way more interesting.
My two biggest infant crimes seem to go hand-in-hand with the oral/anal phase of development.
I waddled into ancient, chalk-white dog faeces and ate it. We didn’t have a dog. Heaven only knows which wormy stray deposited my food parcel in the garden. Ma found me with the evidence in podgy little fists, crumbs and drool on my chin (yes, it was that dry).
Also, my refusal to be potty-trained seems to have left an indelible impression. Here, long-suffering Ma is full of details. I sat on the potty, obedient but non-compliant, for an eternity, with a marked absence of movement. The moment (the word was stressed) Ma gave up, stood me up, and pulled up my pants, I’d toddle a short distance away, stop, and concentrate deeply while my cherubic countenance went a tell-tale pink from exertion. Ewww.
(A psychologist is going to have a field day with all of this).
A relative told me I was an impossible baby to babysit (on the mentioned occasion, at least). I cried so copiously and flamboyantly behind the cot bars the young man (my aunt’s younger brother, who was doing a good deed) called for reinforcements because I was taking him to the edge of a nervous breakdown. He phoned his mother and said Help, nothing I do makes her stop. He was a dab hand at taking care of things, but my distress was altogether another things. To his credit, he remained fond of me despite this rocky start. Well, I think he did. I don’t think he offered to babysit me again. Did anybody?
Other than that, I was a pink cheeked, sweet a-a-a-a-a-angel.
As are all babies. You were extra-extra-extra angelic, I’m sure …
That’s why you read my blog. You’re adorable.
2 thoughts on “Look into My Angel Eyes”
Here we go again…….you always manage to leave me in fits of hysterical laughter!!!! 🤪
More anecdotes from your past would be most appreciated TeaShell…….much love xxxxx
😁 Lots of love to you Lucienne6 ❤️