Week one is over. I took a half day today. Shortly I will be off to see the Princess perform in a concert at the end of her course on the music of the Maghreb (salaam alaikum to you too). I am particularly looking forward to hearing the number about the sleeping camel; various versions of which we have been enjoying all week. I digress. So, I put in four and a half days. And it was fine. We even went out to a friend’s birthday dinner last night. The boys both have coughs and conjunctivitis (the consequence of communal child care, I fear) but we are heartless second and third time parents and we went out anyway. It’s going ok. Bon weekend.
Knight in shining armour
Me: Did you slay any dragons today, sweetheart?
Him: No, but I told one to feck off this morning.
Goodnight
Me:Â Sleep tight sweetheart.
Her: Why can’t you wake tight Mummy?
Him: Actually, that is possible.
She might have a point
From the Dutch Mama:
“Will you be mortally offended and never speak to me again?
Would you not stop breastfeeding those two strapping big young fellas? Yes, of course, breastfeeding is superior to bottles, but not so superior that it’s worth putting yourself (not to mention your poor frayed out readers) through this. They’re twins. They’re six months old. It’s too much to be tearing home at lunchtime like that.
Let them grow up. You could still breast-feed in the evenings for a while if you wanted. And they’ll probably take to the bottles with such speed and delight that you’ll be heartbroken – but be sleeping so soundly at night-time that you’ll forgive them.
There – I’ve said it. Do think about it (and don’t hate me!)”
Surely some mistake
Him: Hurry up sweetheart, Mummy has to go to work.
Her: What? Work? Again? But she went yesterday.
All things to all people
Today, I got up at 7.45. Of course, I had already been up for considerable periods at 1.30, 2.20, 4.45 and 6.00 but at 7.45, I got up. I fed the boys and dressed them. I had breakfast with the Princess on my lap. I made ham sandwiches. I packed the boys into their car seats and bundled them into the car leaving herself and her father waving us off (they were going to her course in a separate convoy – Easter holidays from school you will recall). I dropped the boys off at the crèche and arrived into work (at 9.20 which is pretty good going, I can tell you), where, after some meeting and greeting, I worked. It turns out that being in the office is more tiring than I recall. At lunch time I went to the crèche and picked up the boys, brought them home, fed them, expressed a couple of bottles, fed me, put them into the arms of their afternoon minder, turned around, came back to the office and worked for the afternoon. At the end of the day I drove home, to be met by two mildly unhappy boys, one hard working minder and one very reproachful girl – “I wanted you to collect me from my course but you were at work”. Cooked dinner while spouse minded children. Fed everyone, bathed the junior members of the family and persuaded them to retire to bed. Collapsed on the couch. Heard distant wailing. Not distant enough. As I type, Mr. Waffle is off ministering to the “Princess of Wails, Queen of Hearts” (his description) who appears to have dropped doggy out of her bed and needs expert assistance for his retrieval. Is it really only Monday?