I <nothing> Dubai

I obviously don't love it.  I don't hate it either.  I nothing it. 

I have not made any friends.  I am still chugging along with this.  I've invited a couple of people for coffee.  We've had a nice time.  Our children have played together.  I suppose I ought to be trying harder.  Maybe I need to ramp up the chattiness and sparkle.  The not terribly impressive truth is that I can't be arsed to be all friendly and chatty and perform like a dancing monkey.  I'm just not feeling it.

Sprog has started playschool.  I'm not massively impressed with it, but neither do I have any qualms about leaving my firstborn there.  It's fine.  It'll do.

People imagine us living the life of Riley in the sun, on the beach, in a villa, with a pool - so glamerous.  We live on a dusty building site.  It's ugly.  I fight a daily battle to keep as much of the desert out of my house as I can.  The air conditioning has been broken for a month now.  It reaches 38 degrees some days.  The fly screen is ripped and I can't seem to find anyone who will mend it.  Mr S did it with duct tape, but Sprog ripped it all off.

I go to some toddler groups and chat politely with the other mums.  Fuckit.  I've done all this once.  I just can't be arsed.

Wilfie is achingly beautiful.  He has started to talk - little sounds that he knows what they mean, and he shouts them at me, grinning, beligerent and shy all at once.  He stands up and wanders about pushing his high chair in front of him.  He crawls with demon speed.  He laughs and waves and claps.  He is still a boob monster and it's more than I could dream of to take his milkies away.  I love the way he troughs in, completely selfishly and inelegantly with no thought of thanks.  It is his right.  Then he grins at me.  He is very cuddly.  He has no intention of moving out of my bed.  He wakes twice a night for a feed.  He eats everything I give him, even curry, but he particularly loves tomatoes and oranges and any sort of berry.  In the bath he likes to stand up and then bob up and down, shrieking with laughter that the slapping sound his plump buttocks make on the water.  His favourite thing in the world is still his sister.  He follows her around like a puppy, bobbing his head and dancing to make her laugh.  He dances as soon as he hears a tune, and sometimes just jives to the tunes in his head.  He has been bitten six times on his forehead by a mosquito.  It is not a good look.  He is still beautiful though.  Sometimes I feel sad that the only people who know this darling little boy are his father, his sister and me.  No one else knows him.  Mostly I feel lucky to have him.

Sprog has cottoned on the the scrumptiousness of her brother and learned to use it to her advantage.  A tense moment in the Splog house was expertly navigated thus:
Me: SPROG!  What on EARTH have you DONE?  It's everywhere.  I TOLD you not to touch and you KNEW that was naughty.  Who do you think is going to clean up this mess?  And what do you say to  mummy?
[fraught silence]
S:  Hey everyone!  Everyone look at WILFIE!!  Isn't he CUTE?!  Look at him awwwwwwww....

So yes.  I am still here.  Dubai is still crap.  On balance I am very lucky.  It leaves me with little to blog about.

I'd better go and make some pancakes.