This morning, as I leaned over my kitchen sink, shovelling giant handfuls of carrot cake into my mouth and praying that the baby wouldn’t wake up in the next thirty seconds I had a moment of clarity. Cake is not a meal, and hoovering up mammoth slices of it over a sink (to avoid clean up) does not a nutritious diet make. It was, I pondered, a metaphor for the way my life has gone lately.
Relaunching myself back into society didn’t have quite the zing I had hoped for. Last Friday, the little fella and I spent about three hours getting ready for lunch with my most glamorous friend. Well, to be truthful, the little fella took three hours (he took out four baby gros with vomit and then, just as the last one was fastened decided to release what the fella has now coined a poo-nami – bad taste we know, sorry) and I managed a four minute shower.
Anyway, after popping him into the car seat I folded down the buggy and spent fifteen minutes squashing it into the boot – note to the up the duffers out there: TEST your would-be buggy, ours is way too roomy for our teeny cars – I got into the drivers seat. And found four (FOUR) Toffeypops mashed into my windscreen. Nice. A gift from the knacker children who terrorise my road. Well, nothing was getting me down, not after getting this far. So, I chirped “off we go little fella!” at my offspring and turned the key. And nothing happened. NOTHING. There was only one solution. The knacker children had stolen my petrol. STOLEN.MY.PETROL.
Crying, sweating and fearful of the heavy rain that was threatening to descend, I rushed around the car to wrench the car seat out. Except I couldn’t. It was stuck. And so was the little fella, who had picked up on my freak-out vibes and was roaring blue murder while giving me his patented square-eyed “I TRUSTED you” look. Killer. Eventually I freed the baby from his seat and ran into the house, sobbing like a maniac.
So. What did I learn from this endeavour? Well, the bonus points are, I CAN actually fit the buggy in the car if I shove it hard enough, and even though I can’t get it out, I can get the little fella into his car seat. This means that once the car is going again we will be able to launch ourselves onto society, successfully this time.
ps: the car is fine. It turns out I overreacted and it has a flat battery. BAH.