When Pappa Kas saw the first pictures from our local postnatal group, he started calling the group of toddlers for the Skinheads. It is not the nicest name, but when said in an affectionate way I find it quite funny.
|Little Miss Nyhus|
Little H is definitely the baby with the least hair of the six of them, but I guess that was inevitable. I was called the bowling ball (affectionately I hope) due to my round head shape and no hair up until I was a year old, so I guess that she’s her mums daughter.
|Little Miss Castro-Nyhus|
Today most of the small ones have at least a little bit of hair however patchy, but the name The Skinheads has remained in our household and Pappa Kas always asks how the play-date with the Skinheads has been when the group has had its weekly get-together.
Being a part of such a group is great, but it’s also hard maintenance, as every time we meet it is time to compare. I cannot talk for the other mummies, but at least, shallow as I am, I compare. Does Little H drool less than any of the others? (no). Do any of the babies scream louder than Little H? (no). Has any other than my precious stains on her clothes? (no) and so on. We are often the last to arrive, Little H with snots under her nose and me with a wet patch on my sweater where I got spit up just as we were leaving the house. We’re always playing it cool though, happy as hamsters, concealing stains while laughing away the fact that I have forgotten Little H’s food.
But apparently I have fooled noone. My yummie mummy facade is a shamble, leaving the hiking shoes or not. Last Thursday one of the mummies confided: “When I feel like a slummy mummy for not having dinner on the table, when my husband comes home from work I say to myself: I am sure that Little H’s mum never has dinner ready for her husband when he gets home”.
Well last Thursday she had…