Monday, 5 August 2013

One little frog

Today I cried for only the second time since the pills kicked in.  Speaking as someone who used to blub at the Cancer adverts, pictures of my kids when they were small, and even the thought of Truly Madly Deeply, five months is something of an all time record.  And yet there I was, at work, sobbing.  Le Petit Frog is hopping off to another pond, and leaving me, like my ginger cat, bereft.  Lest you wonder why the cat cares, well his beloved frogs are of the small, spotted, hoppy variety, 17 of which he's brought home in the last months, legs and feet awebbed and waving, and in so doing, depleted the entire frog population of the neighbourhood.  We lost three, but all the others have been repatriated to other homes in the vicinity of a pond, by means of the tupperware box that has now been named the frog box.  Bf carries them tenderly to a nearby park by the council estate of White City, where he sets them free, often being watched by a gaggle of drunken Polish workers - migrants of a different sort, who must feel the English are very bizarre.

My Frog, though, is my dearest colleague who is also leaving us after almost 5 years, for pastures new, and life in our pond will be very much depleted, as he really does bring a smile to my face every day, and brightens up the office.  I've said before that work is the new family, and it's always gutting when one of your dearly beloved family leaves the nest (okay, mixing my metaphors here).  Not one for gushing, I am bereft to be losing my office son.

However, the second reason I cried recently was when I heard that my real family may well be increasing, albeit second-hand.  Apparently, my husband is trying for a baby.

With another woman.