storbarnsförälder

Get up - leave Emer asleep, go to Linnea, read books, play complicated hiding-in-duvet games, go to crying Emer, get girls up, go downstairs, AGH HELP WE LIVE IN A PARTICULARLY SQUALID SWAMP, try to tidy up, assemble bits for taking everyone to the library, dress everyone, leave without breakfast because no-one wants to eat, go to charity shop, drop off huge bag of horrible polycotton bed"linen", go to library, return a zillion books, put name down for new Temeraire, help clear up after singalong and set up for breastfeeding group, hand out drinks, answer two actual breastfeeding queries ("You're right, your self-diagnosis is accurate and your proposed course of action is sensible, what a nice baby"), demonstrate slings to lots of people and refuse to give brand or sales information, send Linnea off early with Maria, put Emer on my back, help with cleanup and tidyup, go to TESCO whose doors I haven't darkened since they opened the shop that cut down trees and closed at least seven local business, probably more, meet an old friend, buy sunflowers and vegetarian sushi and berries, go to Maria's for lunch, have lunch, come home, wait for Mary, chat, Mary takes kids to the playground, I tidy the front room and hall properly, I sweep and wash the floors, I wipe the doorframes which are apparently WHITE under all the yurk, I tidy the dining room perfunctorily, Mary and the kids come home, more chat, Emer miserable and tired.

Emer had a two-hour nap at 4 pm. This is not good.

Rob and I had a Kitchen Cleanliness Discussion when he got home, so that is probably good, and then he reheated some stirfry so we ate. The children are still not eating what I consider to be proper meals but I think that's because of the state of the kitchen and the subsequent state of the meals. I shall have to do something about it.

Like cutting Rob's arms off. Then there'd be only me to make chaos and I don't mind cleaning up after myself. Much.

Ah well. Tomorrow it's just Linnea's swimming lesson and my breastfeeding supporter lesson. I met my tutor today and she says I'm no further behind the assignments than anyone else.

And Rob put away a box that has been sitting there since July. I really need to tidy the shed so that I don't have to rely on him to do stuff in there. Ditto the attic.

That, or cut his arms off.

(Rob's arms: yesterday when he came home from work Emer walked over, raised her arms, and said "MY Daddy!" so he picked her up and gave her a hug. "My Daddy!" she said again. "Yes, I am your Daddy," he said. Then he reached over, beaming with familial contentment, and hugged my shoulders. "NO!" said Emer. "MY Daddy!"

I said "Yes, he's your Daddy, but he's my Rob."

"MY Wob. No Mama Wob. MY Wob."

And that was that, except for the hysterical giggling parents...)