Now, for those of you already in the know about our affairs, you will be aware that it is most common for the other half to have to jet off to some remote corner of the united kingdom, often at a drop of a hat. Leaving me to keep the home fires burning, as it were.
Ah, I remember those first few days, when the thought of husband being away for even a few minutes sent me into palpitations - throughout his two week paternity leave, when D had just been born, I pretty much panicked the whole time about how the hell I would cope. I panicked about the most bizarre things. What if he did a poo when we were out? What if he did a poo when he wasn't wearing a nappy? (In fact, I think it simply boiled down to 'what if he did a poo' full stop.) A walk down the road used to be a military operation without the husband in those early days, as I worriedly wrapped D in ridiculously large amounts of fleecy clothes to fend off any faint breeze that might waft through the air on our five minute march.
Then of course, I adjusted, as all mothers do. It soon became fairly old hat and I started feeling not a little bit smug at how well I was coping.
Then the other half went away for the night for the first time. Which sent me into new tremors of maddened panic all over again. What if D was ill? What if he wouldn't stop crying? What if he did a poo in the night? (there's a reoccuring theme going on here, isn't there.)
But then that became old hat as well. If D woke up, he was simply cuddled back to the land of nod, or if I was too shattered to bother rocking him all night, he simply came into our bed and kept me company. (I have to admit, I used to like watching him sleep - his one moment of peace before revving up and running mad like a crazed duracell bunny again...)
But then, since moving house, we've had the new challenge. The 'dealing with D alone for long periods of time' challenge, which I can tell you right now, combines beautifully well with the 'D can now pelt along the floor at 100 mph and is intent upon exploring everything he shouldn't' challenge.
These last few days have posed such a challenge. Here is an insight into my day so far:
12:30am - D wakes up. I don't mind too much and stoically think 'well, it happens sometimes.'
2:05am - D wakes up again. I avoid the temptation to simply stuff my ears into my pillow and pretend not to have heard, and go in again to deliver another quick cuddle.
4:50am - D wakes again. The words 'bloody child' can just about be heard whistling through my lips. Again, I trapse in, swearing that if he doesn't at least have a lie in today, there will be trouble.
6:10am - D wakes up, looking fairly perky. I insistently place him back down in his cot, over and over again, until he gets the point, that mummy is not ready to get up yet. Not in a million years. not unless he wants a crazy witch for a mother all day.
6:50am - D decides it really is time to get up now. I thank him for the 25 mins uninterupted nap time, and get him up. D grizzles whilst I remove his pyjamas and body slams himself on to his wet nappy, sending little sprays of wee across his mat. I sigh and wish other half's helpful pair of hands could help me out - especially as I know the washing machine needs emptying, the dishwasher needs emptying and D's breakfast needs making.
7:10am - We head down for breakfast. D kicks off because breakfast is not ready in 0.001 of a second. He literally chases me round the kitchen, clinging to my legs and screeching, while I try to make sure I'm pouring milk on his weetabix and not apple juice like I did the other day. Though I don't think D would mind, he quite likes apple juice.
7:30am - D kicks off again because he's still hungry after his weetabix and his muffin isn't ready yet. In fact, it's not even in the toaster yet. Well off the 0.0001 of a second window that he allows us for preparation time. He throws his spoon across the table in disgust, sending showers of crusty weetabix mixture across it and over the floor. I pretend not to have noticed and get on with the muffin.
7:50am - D's mood is lifted by the consumption of the muffin and he speedily raises his arm, indicating to me that he is now ready for his playtime. I lower him to the floor, where he promptly races over to the steps leading up to the hallway, climbs up them, then pelts down the hallway, shrieking with naughty little giggles and checking behind him to make sure mummy is watching this incredible feat. Indeed I am, especially when he decides to try to get up the stairs. Then decides to put his fingers in his daddy's shredder, which has been left under the stairs. Then tries to crack open a face painting kit that someone bought him for his birthday. Then tries to pull up the carpet in the dining room, which hasn't been laid properly yet. Then cries because he can't.
8:10am - D gets bored of the hallway and screams to be carried down to the kitchen again (he can't do stairs downwards yet!) Once there, he proceeds to scatter his lego over the floor as thoroughly as he can, ensuring that it is tucked right under the table, that pieces are hidden in the cloakroom, and under the chairs; then tugs on my legs and points until I realise that he's telling me that he wants to play with the recipe books. I dutifully get them down, watching with tired eyes as he then proceeds to scatter them as well. Though it is funny to see him pouring over the Delia Smith book (he really likes that one, it's a good choice for any discerning wannabee chef.)
8:15am - D hatches something unspeakable in his nappy and quickly makes sure that it will be even more unspeakable by bouncing up and down on his bum round the floor. I take him upstairs, uncover the damage and try not to gag, whilst D cheerfully tries to get his fingers in it.
8:25am - D is now bored of the kitchen, and even though I am attempting to sort out the shopping list, he is making it quite clear that he is ready to move to the lounge. Again, lots of leg tugging, lots of grunting, lots of pointing, and eventually lots of shrieking, until i give in.
And so it continues. They make for long days - these days of flying solo with D. Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way, and the amount he makes me laugh makes up for all those little moments where I want to sigh, but I must admit, there is something exceedingly nice about the other half walking through the door, D bounding off into his arms and me finally being able to sit down with a squash in front of the tv for 10 mins. Oh, the simple things...
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