Warming Up

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Catie was in London all day today, so I was parenting solo, having Ernie from 9am and then picking up Phoebe at 3pm and having to cope with everything they could throw at me (sometimes literally) until 8pm (when, if I was doing my job correctly, they would both be asleep).

All this on a post-RHLSTP Tuesday, where sleep has been minimal and energy is low.

It’s not like I never do a full day of solo parenting, but it is quite a rarity. Usually someone is around to help out. There’s a lot to remember. Like don’t go out for four hours and leave the baby on its own.

I hoped I could get a bit of work and admin done when it was just me and Ernie. He’s largely useless and you can stick him on a mat under a mobile or put him in a jumperoo or hope that he goes to sleep. But aside from writing up my blurbs for RHLSTP and unpacking four boxes of books to put on our new bookshelves, I didn’t get far. 

A man came round to try to fix our dishwasher. This is the third time someone has been round and the  second time this particular engineer has shown up. Sadly because its an intermittent fault where the machine sometimes doesn’t drain, but usually does, he was unable to assess the problem. I had left it undrained for him, but it drains the minute you start a new cycle and then it didn’t go wrong again immediately. So I used Ernie’s minimal sleep time ringing customer services and being treated quite chippily (I as admittedly a bit cross, but mainly because I wasn’t getting any attempt at finding a solution) by a man who said he couldn’t do anything until he had the engineer’s report and even then he could only send out another engineer. I argued there must come a point where it’s cheaper to just give me a new machine than to keep sending people out not to fix it, but because of the way stuff is farmed out these days I realised that the people who do the warranty are not the same people who make the machine and so can’t really solve a problem where the machine isn’t fixable.

Such a small percentage of the brand new things we’ve bought for our house have actually worked properly that it is hardly surprising that my frustrations boiled over a bit. It will take another few hours/days of phone calls and emails and people passing the buck before we get this particular issue sorted. And then it will be something else. I will be glad when I am dead.

I did a radio interview whilst I fed Ernie. BECAUSE I AM A MODERN MAN. And I can lactate.

I spent most of the day just wanting to kiss him on his head (and I did kiss him on the head quite a lot). I can’t imagine there will be a time when I don’t want to repeatedly kiss him on the head. But there will come a point when I have to stop doing so. How does any parent bear it? To be fair my dad seems fairly happy resisting showering my skull in kisses. Maybe Ernie is just cute. Or maybe having to endure someone as a teenager means you are happy never to have to kiss them again.

Around about 5, with both kids home, Ernie being moany and Phoebe being pretty good, I had a huge dip in energy and wondered how the Hell I’d get through the next three hours. I put Ernie in his Jumperoo and thought I’d got both his legs through, but when I came back from getting their milk ready he was crying and one of his legs was caught up under his bum. Nothing was broken, but he was clearly in discomfort and I nearly cried at having caused him pain. I had failed to spin the plates very well and also missed a chance to get my daughter to the loo. How does a single parent manage with this day in and day out?

Bath time felt like it would be an impossibility. Ernie was over his anger about his trapped foot, but now crying cos he was tired and hungry, but I couldn’t leave Phoebe in the bath alone. Incredibly I managed to deal with the problem and fed him while I sat on the loo (just using it as a seat on this occasion) and then got him asleep, before dressing my daughter, reading her stories and laughing on her bed together. She was so charming and beguiling. They stretch you to your limits and it’s like they know they can’t push it any further. I am so wrapped round her little finger. She fell asleep too.

My life has never been better and I have no greater achievement than successfully bathing, feeding and getting to sleep a baby and a toddler ON MY OWN!

I got downstairs and had a beer and felt like a tipsy deity. To paraphrase Homer Simpson, Thank God for alcohol. Without it none of us would have kids or be able to cope with them.

I simultaneously want them to stay this age forever and to hurry the fuck up and grow up. I know I will miss these little rascals when they are massive twats.

For something that is so utterly terrifying and horrendous, being a parent is just the best thing in the world. After being a drunk parent. Drinking alone.