Baby Photo

I came across an ultrasound of Louis the other day when sorting out my paperwork and it prompted this post. Now I’m not one for surprises. I wanted to know whether I was having a pink one or a blue one. When the radiographer told me that she’d spotted a willy and I was having a boy. I was secretly pleased to have been let off the hook as far as all that My Little Pony and Barbie nonsense was concerned. Give me a squirty Nerf gun over a dolly any day.

It was nearly always this way. I was a tomboy in my childhood, through and through. Attempts to make me confirm to the feminine stereotype failed woefully. I was far happier grubbing around in the dirt rather than preparing to be a mini domestic goddess. For instance, I had one of those dolls with a hole in its bum so that wet its nappy. Other girls would have dressed her up and pushed her around in a tiny pram. I squeezed her middle and used her as a water pistol!

I’ve found evidence though of an uber feminine moment in my early life. Back along I was at my parents house. I was leafing through old photos and found this grainy one from the ’60s. I didn’t recall seeing it before. Yes, it’s me. I’m in the arms of my dad’s sister, Auntie Chris.  Even though I say so myself, wasn’t I completely edible? In spite of the buzz cut hairstyle I totally rock the girlie look.

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