Today is a sick day. And I remembered, at three in the morning when I lay croaking pathetically and choking down a Lemsip – dudes, when I am ill, I mean it – that sick days don’t exist with a baby. Writing down this hoary old parenthood cliche almost made my fingers seize up, but just because something’s been said a lot by many people, some of whom are annoying, doesn’t make it less true (this is a LIFE LESSON; write it down).
So at 6.30am Henry started his I-think-I’m-awake-but-am-I-really hooting noise, which by 7.30am was the bored-of-my-cot yelling, and from then it was all
oh bananas I love them – but do I really – yes I do – wait that’s enough – ooh lights! – water running yessss – hang on a min there’s the washing machine – ok done with being wet now – enough with the towel rubbing already – vest? outrageous – oh good a bottle – pick me up pick me up pick me up – BRING ON THE MILK I’M READY WOMAN
which is our usual morning routine.
During which I felt even more pathetic, and was considering starting up a bit of low-level moaning. Except that if you moan and there’s no one there to hear it – no one who’s not currently half-in the washing machine, I mean – does the moan exist?
A deep question. That’s the Lemsip talking.
In the end I didn’t moan. Because two things occurred to me:
1. Timothy will be home later.
2. At some point today, Henry will sleep. And so will I.
It made me think about all you single parents and parents of more than one. How do you do it? I am in awe of you and your resources and your wonderfulness. Can we all just applaud for a moment?
Hope you heard it. That was for you.