(this actually occurred on 5 Oct 10, but is worth logging)
So the inevitable happened: my husband got a job. Even though I’d been cajoling him for months, it was still a shock to become a *proper* stay-at-home mummy, on my own. In sole charge of 3 little minxes. Responsible for 9 meals, 6 changes of clothes (minimum), 100s of trips, a ton of gunge and mess and numerous breast-feeds a day. Gulp. Oh hang on, I need to eat, too, and so does The Boss. OK, 15 meals. Oh yeah, add snacks… <sigh> Yeah, you can see the learning curve is going to be steep.
The first day was a kind of dry-run: I bundled Obstinate, Grumpy and Smelly into their carseats in the Mystery Machine, wedged in The Boss and dropped him off outside his work (“Mystery Machine” – I hate driving an MPV. It’s not me. I’m still a Ford Puma driver in my head. I’m happy to confess to being a Focus Estate driver, at a push. But you can’t fit 3 car seats in the back of them, so massive gas-guzzler / constantly unserviceable electronics machine it is for now). Minx 1 and 2 were then dropped off at nursery for most of the day, as usual (all the baby books say Routine Is Important When Undergoing Change). Minx 3 and I just about coped with a day alone, turning my midden of a house into something fit for people to inhabit again.
The next day, though (non nursery day), was the real deal. How did it go…?
We were doing fine, I was like a 15-armed octopus with eyes in the back of my head. When I made treacle scones right after lunch without setting the place on fire or half-killing a daughter, I dared to get a bit smug about my organisational skills.
Pride cometh before a fall. A big ‘un. I was getting dinner prepped half an hour before we were all due to go out for Minx 1’s swimming lesson, when Minx 3 started crying for a feed. As I turned off the cooker I thought, before I settle to feed the baby quickly, I’ll just check on Minx 2 first, who’d gone upstairs and been quiet for 5 whole minutes. “I’ll just…” – fatal words.
Minx 2 was asleep, standing up but leaning on her bed, snoring her head off, in a puddle of poo. It was everywhere. I mean, everywhere. Her sheets, the wall, her toys, her clothes, her hair, her legs and feet, the carpet. Oh my God, the carpet…
I picked all 3 stone of her up in a dead-arm lift (hence why my back hurts now), walked to the bath, and started hosing her down. I think the poor mite only woke up as the water hit her. All the while Baby Minx 3 was shrieking for milk, so I couldn’t think straight. Minx 1 was on mega go-slow while I yelled at her to get ready for swimming (suddenly she ‘lost’ the ability to put her shoes or coat on because she’s not getting any attention).
After going a bit mentalist with the bleach and a cloth, I plonked Dirty and Whingey in front of me where I could see them while I fed Hungry for exactly 7 mins, before bundling them all into the car and to the pool. I’d have abandoned the swimming lesson, but it was assessment day and Minx 1 had been looking forward to it all day, every day this week.
Minx 1 went swimming, Minx 2 snoozed, Minx 3 fed again, and I nearly had a nervous breakdown. 1 & 2 then sang nursery rhymes like a pair of angels on the drive home, which made my heart burst.
If every day is like today, I’ll be totally grey by Friday.