The Benefit of Being A Breeder.

I have had the best night's sleep. Last night, I hung out with women who've bred girl children and they were accompanied by their offspring. There were three of us. Six children. One boy child. My worldview has been turned upside.

I daydream sometimes, about what flavour child I'd like to produce next time around. And for the most part, I've wanted another female child. In fact, I've mostly wanted an exact replica of The Daughter, because she is the most glorious human ever.

But then I spent a holiday with The (groovy) Nephew and thought that, actually, a man child would be quite lovely too. Boy children are different. They like destroying their mothers' make-up a whole lot less than girl children. And they do not throw tantrums when they are unable to wear their favourite dresses with tulle skirts. They prefer to capture ants and spiders. And use bits of grass, sand and twig to create obstacle courses for said insects. (Girls would try and cut the hair of the spiders. Or put them in naughty corner for not finishing their supper.)

They are different, are small children. And they're both super kiff. They're all fun. And, as you know The Pant likes to have (very) fun. So, I'd recently come to the decision that, if I had the choice (which I'd clearly not have), I'd like a boy child. A pigeon pair. One to capture insects and exercise them. And one to make them look beautiful.

But then last night happened. The women had retreated into Precious Jo'burg Friend's bedroom with full glasses of wine to peruse her latest crafty purchases. (Vests. Label. For fifty bucks. Steal.). And then the girl children descended on us with tubs of cream and busy hands.

And they took turns in massaging our heads, backs, arms, legs, feet, hands, faces. The one child had such strong hands, and massaged so flipping fabulously, that when she finished I asked her for her bank details so I could EFT her the grand I must surely owe her.

I was so slick with cream, that when I hugged this child's mother goodbye, I slipped right out of her grip and spilt down the stairs into a puddle in the corner. I am so laid back, that I'm close to falling apart. And the fact that daughter of Precious Jo'burg Friend has just spent an hour massaging back and arms (bribery, to get me to do some rad outings with them - and it's working!) adds, undoubtedly, to my state of absolute relaxation.

And so, while I'd love a boy child of my very own, I am officially of the belief that each household should, by law, have two girl children. One for the back. And one for the feet.

Thus, after my sabbatical, I'm looking for a rich man. I need to breed. Twice more.