'Ragey' where I live is a funny word. It can mean a number of things and it can mean nothing at all. In an existential sense it just 'is'. 'He's a ragey, she's a ragey' etc etc. It has taken me nearly 8 years to decipher what the hell is being said up here. When the little man was born the nurse who was in the room at the time turned to us and said 'Ooh you have a ragey one there'. Having been up for 25 hours and just watched my son being born I was not in the best mental or physical state to challenge her. So it became a bit of a running joke with me and The Chancellor especially in the early stages of his life when he was a little bugger and cried ALL the time.
However with all stages and phases the crying stopped and we eventually had a nice child, until he becomes a teenager that is. ANYWAY, to bring me to the point of this post. Sundays are now pretty sacred for me as I used to work on this day(which I hated) and it is the second weekend day of The Chancellor, so I get a rest. So this morning as I snooze snuggly a noise enters my head which is impossible to remove. WAAAAAAAAAH, WAAAAAAAH, WAAAAAAAH. I roll over to try hide under the duvet and pretend I haven't heard it. WAAAAAAH, WAAAAAH, WAAAAAAH. This is perhaps the worst noise in the history of everything, except for perhaps Coldplay. So it continues and I am forced to push back duvet and swing my legs out and confront a VERY ragey baby and an already pissed off Chancellor. Neither of these things are good for me. Then comes the game of trying to find out what is pissing him off. Is it wind? Is it an internal anger at one's own psychological problems? Or is it teeth? Probably teeth.
The Chancellor speaking to to the little man- 'It's meant to be a relaxing family Sunday morning, but you get me up at 06:30 cry for 3 hours and then cover me in bogies!'
This does not bode well for me...