Hey, I'm still thinking of you guys. Happy 10th, E2.
A half-dozen years ago my sister sent me an MP3 of Canadian-indie-music-public-radio-station CBC Radio 3. That was my introduction to podcasts, and I've been treating myself to slices of brand new Canadiana ever since. Which is why I happen to be standing in the middle of a cow pasture in Wicklow with the dogs tonight, stargazing under clear skies while listening to "Laura Palmer's Prom".
I highly recommend it.
Jupiter was bright tonight.
Today Jellybaby ran up to mummy clutching a foam letter "V" and proclaiming "Veee!". She also imitated daddy's phlegmy cough and spat on the floor. I'd like to take credit and responsibility for both, Alex. Teaching a toddler to spit after brushing her teeth was my idea. Right now it looks like a stupid idea what with the lack of control but I've always been one for delayed gratification.
The patience, however, is taking a beating.
She's lucky she's so damn cute.
I've got 3-month-old Sami in my bed tonight (the "spare bed") so mummy can get more than 3.5 hours uninterrupted sleep. I fully expect to be woken at about 3am and it's approaching 1am as I write this...but it's Saturday tomorrow which means daddy doesn't have to drive to work or operate heavy machinery, so he can take the oh-god-middle-of-the-night feed. We checked with the nurse and nothing's wrong, he's just a big hungry (handsome) baby, he takes breast and bottle and wakes up for more.
(Once upon a time, Saturday mornings meant catching up on sleep from the Friday partying, and middle-of-the-night meant midnight. Let this story join the warnings to anyone considering unprotected sex, or having children. We expect to be buried in nappies and coated in miscellaneous sticky foods and dog hair for at least two more years. I tell myself just two more years until everyone is potty-trained again. Oh god.)
This can't be normal. We're still in trench warfare, defending our home from the destructive and desecrative forces of babies and toddlers combined. What used to be normal going-to-the-movies now needs to be a planned "date night" with babysitter grandparents involved.
Some part of me tells me I'm loving it. And I thought hard with the remaining brain cells about that, but I'll end on the upbeat.