Riding is terrifying

It has been quite a long time since I last rode and boy was it an experience. I was riding a pony, but don’t think dog-sized Shetland pony: he was taller than I am by several inches (and yes, Ollie, I realise that isn’t difficult…). I get vertigo standing on chairs so it was a trifle unnerving at first.

Also a factor that I hadn’t really considered was that the lesson was in French. Obviously. I have now learnt the words for heels, mane, trot (it’s… trot), reins (renes), and canter (galop – confusingly). It made things a bit tricky and at one point I was really frustrated because my pony was being lazy and cutting corners, and then kept yanking his head away and stopping if I tried to guide him. Ah well. Apparently I have a natural seat in a rising trot, which I suppose almost makes up for the bruises on my thighs.

The rest of the family went riding again in the afternoon, so both Baby Girl and I had a nap. Then we spent an hour and a half in the playroom playing the Choking Hazard game:

Baby Girl picks up something small enough to lodge in her windpipe and puts it in her mouth.
I run over and remove it from her.
She shrieks with fury.
Repeat until crying with boredom.

The thing about babies is that everything is exciting, everything is interesting and everything is a learning experience. Also everything is dangerous if you go about it in the right way, and somehow they always do. I was having longing visions of a padded room filled with squashy, indestructible toys that made no noise and couldn’t choke, strangle, trip, catch, cut or otherwise injure a small child but unfortunately this house does not come equipped with such a useful chamber.

Now everyone is in bed and Daughter Two is having a Mr Men story read to her in French. Reading the Mr Men and Little Miss books has become our “thing” but we both agreed my French is probably not yet up to reading and explaining a story, so she’s seized the opportunity of her mum being free to read to her and has gathered up all the books we’ve been skipping over. I’m about to attempt some grammar exercises but despite the fact that it’s 8.34pm I’m pretty much ready to hit the hay. Children’s sleep patterns are insidious.

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