1.  Getting A Goal Back

2.  The Hall in the Squall

3.  A Lovely Boy

Grim, grisly, gruesome night.  I went to bed late and Son 2 aged 14 months woke howling at around 2am.  Around because I knew he was crying, but thought it was the morning and The Man would get him.  The Man snored by my side.  At 2.30am I snapped awake, looked at the clock and went down.  I think Son 2 is still suffering from the MMR - he’s still got his rash - so I gave him calpol and water, cuddled him, put the fan on and then did head-in-the-cot.  At 0310 I gave up.  Too tired and needed to go to bed.  I called The Man down, he got into bed with Son 2, I went upstairs to sleep.   One to Son 2.

Son 1 aged 4y 2m had a 4th birthday party - a child from Nursery - 20+ miles away on the other side of The Big Town.  We arrived at the Village Hall as a freezing squall blew in.  Two other families there, and no other cars.  In the (empty) hall, we compared notes.  I had the invitation in the car.  Back into the squall.  Son 2’s thin wisps looked Brylcreamed to his head.  We needed the Church Hall. Off we went, us in the front of the convoy.  Into the right Hall.  Say hello to Birthday Girl’s Dad.  There’s the changing bag, there’s the baby food bag.  Where’s the present?  Son 1 went in, Son 2 and I went back to the car.  Back at the Village Hall, there was a Mother, on foot, with small daughter, looking for the party.  I explained.  ”I thought it was strange,” she said.  “There was nobody here, but there was a present on the table with Birthday Girl’s name on it.”  The squall whipped our faces.  They got in my car.  Sand. Feathers. Pine cones. Leaves. Dried out baby wipes. Breadstick crumbs.  Two pairs of posh pointy shoes for The Office.  Hell.

Back at the party I took Son 2 to sit on the side, at the front, thinking he would enjoy the balloons.  There was a magician, with 15 small children sitting on the floor gazing up at him.  In the front row was Son 1, the only child in fancy dress. Captain Hook.  The Magician asked for a helper. Up shot Son 1’s hand.  Up he went.  He laughed, he giggled, he yes-ed, he no-ed, he laughed again, spellbound.  Back he went.  I watch him in profile for the rest of the act.  Face tilted up, eyes dancing, smiling, laughing, calling out.   “A lovely boy…” clad in a red tailcoat with lace at the sleeves, “but the most entrancing thing about him was that he had all his first teeth.”  That first teeth smile in profile, backlit from the windows high above him, was heaven.

1.  White noise

2.  Peter Pan

3.  Quality time

Lordy, Son 2 aged 10m. 0030am, woke up howling.  He was really hot, so we gave him calpol, water, and put a fan on.  White noise, I thought.  Bound to help him back to sleep.  He just sat up, pointing himself in the fan’s direction (too dark to see it.)  0600 up, wants his feed.  I think in cave baby days the mothers just used to curl up on the bearskin with the snoozing children in the daytime.  It’s the only way this can be evolutionally possible.  On a positive note, because The Man was going away today, he stayed up with Son 2 last night.

The package full of Son 1 aged 3y 10m’s birthday party stuff was delivered to The Office.  I was late back, and completely crashed Wonder Nanny’s finish time.  She was, as always, saintly about it.  Son 1 was just gibbering over his box.  He was allowed to open it; he was allowed to get out the packets and look at them; he was not allowed to open them.  Peter Pan napkins, cups, plates, banners etc everywhere.  Son 2 was absolutely into it too, pulling things out of the box, shaking them, looking at them, making the plastic on the packets rattle and eating them.  “Thank you mummy for my lovely Peter Pan things.  I love them,” said Son 1.  I got kisses, I got cuddles.  And then I got: “My birthday is too long.  I want it now.”  “It’s Son 2’s birthday first,” I said.  ” You need to think about what you want to get him for a present.”  “I know THAT,” said Son 1, crossly.

Got Son 2 to bed.  Got Son 1 to bed.  The Man rang.  Put the side of Son 2’s cot up.  Woke Son 2.  MELTDOWN. Fed him again.  He’s batting his ear madly.  I  wonder if he’s going to,  again, prove me entirely unreasonable and come down with some bug.  I have decided to view the crying not as time stolen from me, and not to think about my delayed food, or the pile of work I still had to do.  Instead I will view it as what I’ve always wanted: more time with the baby.