Thankgoodness It’s Friday…Er I Mean Sunday

Friday was my first proper full long day without anyone popping by or hubby coming home for lunch. That is, first full long day taking care of the two and a half week old and two and three quarters year old. It was never going to be a walk in the park…

The day started with Babe refusing breakfast and insisting on a mummy milk tank up. Some people might be scorning me for pandering to her. But I’ve been quick to realise that if I say ‘no’ she wants it all the more. And this is not just about nutritional physical hunger, but emotional security hunger. She’s having to go through the biggest change of all, and she needs me to make this as easy as possible. Never the less it infuriated me a little until I gave up and resigned myself to it, and took the time to be thankful for the hug and peace and quiet.

After a steady start, at 9.10am (ish) I decided it was high time I showered and dressed. I was feeling a little irritated because hubby had explained he had a parcel due to be delivered and asked me to wait in till it arrived. I wasn’t relishing the prospect of entertaining the needy toddler in the house all morning.

So shower it was. I really needed it despite the bath the night before. I just seem to stink of milk all the time, fresh milk, stale milk, regurgitated milk, snot infused milk (yup we got colds), milk any which way you can think of. I had a small window of opportunity to exploit, with which to shower and get dressed before baby Boyo called for me to tank him up some more, scrape some poop off his bum or simply be there to hold him. After setting everything and everyone lined up in the doorway to the ensuite, I dived in to attempt to have an enjoyable shower. Well that was a bit delusional, Babe decided part way through that she wanted to join me in the cubicle and started stripping off and attempting to open the doors while I tussled with her to keep the door shut and rinse off my shower gel. Then baby Boyo decided that he wanted ‘in’ on the commotion and began groaning and getting generally fussy. So I sped up, and gave in to the idea of still smelling milky even after a shower (albeit a very short one) and attempted to dry and dress in record breaking time.

30 minutes later, dressed and nappy changed (obviously the baby not me) and enjoying a momentary minute of sanity, we went down stairs to muster up some creative activity to wile away the morning. Then Babe announced that the postman had been, handing me a card. “We missed you”

I missed the delivery man, oh poop…in all honesty it was something a lot stronger than that. I was so frustrated. Damn that stupid temperamental door bell, damn that stupid delivery driver for not trying harder to get my attention and damn him for not leaving it with a neighbour. DAMN! After a few irrational post labour, tiredness induced tears I looked on the bright side. We could go out now at least, yay!

The plan was to catch the train to go do a bit of wine and nibble shopping as we had friends coming around in the evening (yes a social life, this is quite impressive for us) and feed the ducks, geese and swans. My intention to leave by 10.15 for the 10.30 train was dashed when Babe decided to pee herself again and Boyo made it clear that some last minute milk was in order. So we left at 10.30 instead to have plenty of time to walk to catch the next train. That was after baby Boyo had milk sicked-up down my top and bra as I put him in the wrap carrier. Indeed it was effective winding, but kind of defeated my shower and change of clothes. Really why did I bother? I stank worse than I did an hour ago. But I’d showered for the day, so psychologically I felt better and ready to face the day.

The trip was going well, we’d not been eaten alive by the birds we were supposedly feeding with bread, (although I’m sure they had designs on the three bears handing the stale crumbs over). That goose was virtually sitting on my lap.

As I said, going well until Babe announced she needed to pee and gestured to squat down by one of the church walls or on one of the graves. “Nooooo not here” I blurted out, “that’s disrespectful”. I assumed this was one of her outdoors moments of boredom which she was hoping to spice up by squeezing out a tiny pee. So I distracted her with a trip to the cheese shop.

So in true tag team style, it was now baby Boyo’s turn to test my coping skills. Mid order, just about between asking for that blue cheese I’d been craving for the last 10 months and passing down a handful of tasters off the counter to keep Babe quiet. The man pipes up, clearly wants a bit of milk. So I jumped to action stations and whip out the milk supply, all while grabbing Babes coat (she’d decided it was now too warm) and attempting then failing to answer a call from hubby. Short feed over, cheese paid for, husband called and toddler weather proofed, we headed on our way to the deli. This was the most successful part of the trip, all went smoothly and I even got to eat some of the free cake samples. I now had fancy stuffed peper thingies and falafels. And was able to press onto the wine shop without a hitch.

Aha, we were on the home straight now, the park, the train and the final walk home. But I’d forgotten something, and so had Babe. Then we got a tough reminder in the park, as she peed herself again (for the third time in the day but sadly no where near the last). Baby Boyo needed nursing and we had no change of clothes. We had about ten minutes to faff around with removing knickers, nursing the baby and then headed off to the train station, with Babe walking like a cowboy from soaked trousers.

Upon getting in the door home I then had the mad dash to get Babe sorted before baby Boyo was due his next feed.

Thankfully it all got a bit better from there, until Saturday which was the day from hell with colds, exhaustion and grumpiness from all.

Thank goodness it’s Sunday! I hope everyone is in better spirits when they get up today. If I’m honest it’s not boding well for me, it’s been a bad night with a snotty unhappy baby.


2 thoughts on “Thankgoodness It’s Friday…Er I Mean Sunday

  1. Pinkoddy says:

    Least you’re not bottle feeding – imagine all that with the faff of sterilising, sorting and heating bottles.

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