My name – Keris – is, as I’m sure you know, a Welsh name. But the Welsh spelling is Cerys. My entire life I’ve had people either asking me where my name comes from or asking me if I’m Welsh. A couple of years ago me and David went to Cardiff for the Carling Cup Final (or whatever it was called those days – oh, yes – Worthington Cup). We were talking to a Welsh friend of ours (well, his – she was a right pain) and I suddenly had the disconcerting realisation that I also thought of myself as Welsh. In fact, I think I even started to say something about being Welsh and then stopped myself when I realised that I .. erm .. wasn’t. How weird is that?
I bring it up because I discovered another example of my overactive imagination this morning. I’ve been testing the baby – Harry to his friends – with music. I’ve noticed he responds to certain types of music and I figured if Peter Andre turns out to rock his world I’ll have to start smacking it out of him now. We sat this morning trawling through the music channels on Sky. His favourite seemed to be some R&B track with rappers and women in hot pants bending over and shaking their booties. (Is that the correct plural of booty? Doesn’t seem right somehow.) Anyway he didn’t think much of Christina Aguilera – neither Can’t Hold Us Down nor (surprisingly) Dirty.
Then we got in the car and I put on Catatonia’s International Velvet. He liked I Am the Mob (bit concerned about these “gangsta” tastes already!). But he really liked Strange Glue. Well, he went mad anyway. And this is where the realisation hit. I’ll transcribe my thought process:
Ooh, he likes this one. Must be cos he can tell it’s mummy’s favourite. Or maybe it’s because I’ve turned it up so loud it made him jump and he fell out of his hammock. Wonder if he can feel my responses to music that I … hammock?
Yes, my warped little mind thinks that my baby son is sleeping in my uterus in a hammock. Of course then my warped little mind felt the need to furnish him a whole room – well, if you’ve got a hammock you need a minibar and a plasma screen TV.
Really, I shoudn’t be having a child. Sigh.