It's officially Spring and we have a foot of snow and there's not a prancing lamb or a daffodil to be seen. It's getting a tad depressing.
Here in Germany, home of the hypochondriac, at least there is a name for my disgruntlement: Frühjahrsmüdigikeit. Spring tiredness! It's an official, recognized illness. In fact, should you feel a touch groggy and fed up after a long winter you may find yourself being sent, by your doctor, for a Kur, basically a two-week health farm jolly, paid for by your health insurance company.
One tries to stay on the good side of ones GP here.
I'm pretty much knackered during all four seasons so I'm particularly fond of Spring for allowing me to whinge with professional back up. However, general lethargy that manifests itself in me grumping at the alarm clock is apparently insufficient to qualify me for said Kur.
Damn it!
Undeterred, I decided to head off to our local spa nonetheless.
It was at said spa that Finje took it upon herself to flaunt her developing womanhood. I should say we don't have a good track record at spas. When Finje was about two she zoomed in on a poor unsuspecting chap and his young son in the (unisex) changing area. Obviously wishing to demonstrate her expanding vocabulary and pointing enthusiastically at their nether regions she said, "Look Mama, großer (big) Penis, kleiner (small) Penis!"
Slightly awkward. Whilst the young lad was looking understandably abashed, his dad, having come off better in the classification, was thankfully laughing like a drain.
The male genitalia has ceased to fascinate her, thank goodness, but she had more in store for me.
Sitting in the warm, bubbling jacuzzi, with an oddly contented grin, she began to lift and then drop her bottom in and out of the water. After a while I asked her to sit still. Now having begun to giggle, she announced to the other eight people trying to relax in the tub, "But it makes my nuni feel good!"
Any slight hope that they might not have understood Finje's special word for her special place soon perished as I raised my mortified head to witness our fellow bathers either snickering or looking anywhere but at my mini Meg Ryan. Refusing to be embarrassed by what at the end of the day is only nature, I replied:
"Marvellous Darling, marvellous. You carry on."
What the heck, it's not for me to mess with a girl and her water jets.
Is it?