For the past few weeks, I've been very much living on my own little 'Planet Happy' when thinking about our building works. For those of you who are computer buffs, it was a bit like 'Little Big Planet' in my head, lots of lovely little scenes of me skipping blithely through perfect shiny kitchens and polished, gleaming bathrooms, with big friendly builders waving and saying hello.
This morning was different though. 'Little Big Planet' disappeared in a puff of noxious smoke. What replaced it was an image that actually made me whimper out loud with panic, much to D's surprise. Instead, that horrible, turgid beast, REALITY, hit me.
The reality of no kitchen for two weeks. 'It'll be alright!' I had breezily said to hubbie, only a week ago. WHAT??!! What was I thinking?? A whole fortnight with no cooker, no washing machine, no sink... in short...ARGH!! How am I going to cook meals? How am I going to wash up? How HUGE is the pile of our stinky smelly clothes going to be?
Then, the additional reality of NO BATHROOM. No means of washing. No means of giving D his bath. No running water.
I suddenly had awful visions of D crawling round, hair matted and caked in food, face as grimy as a Victorian chimney sweep, smiling cheerfully as another fly alighted on his food stained clothing.
I had visions of hubbie and me, huddled round the microwave, like desperate cavemen round a campfire, fishing out yet another revolting ready meal.
Oh, the horror, the horror.
I am probably making a little too much of this. It is, after all, only two weeks. But it is going to be two weeks of HELL.
Now, I need to pull myself together here. Eyes on the prize. Keep the visions of pristine perfect kitchen/diners, with happy sons toddling round in it. Keep the image of relaxing under a shower that doesn't involve you sitting perched on the most painful bathmat in history (seriously, I know it was only three quid, but it has these spikes like bloody nails digging into your vulnerable buttocks), holding the shower head over you, while it decides whether it's going to douse you in boiling hot or arctic water. Keep the image of TWO toilets. No more racing downstairs every morning to be the first one to have a desperate wee. (I normally win though, just for the record).
Deep breaths. I can do it.
On an entirely different note, D has been tough work these past few days. The tantrums and all out strop-attacks have continued unabated. Today's fury was leveled at the spaghetti bolognaise that I served up to him. To be honest, I'm not sure I blame him. It came from a jar (his first ever jar food!) and it looked like something a wild animal might sick up in the garden. It smelt pretty much the same. I wouldn't touch it. But...(nashings of panic) if he won't eat from jars, what on earth am I going to cook for him (without a cooker!) for the next fortnight?? Man (and baby) cannot live on Philadelphia and toast alone!
Oh darn it, I'm worrying again, aren't I. I think this might be a theme over the next few weeks...
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