Month: October 2006

…is looking like an appealing option, cat-wise, after I slipped on what can only be described as a deal-breaker this morning on the way down to feed Molly and Woggles.

Enough philanthropy I think. Woggles is now shut in the Den, whilst Tilly is in the sitting room – both at Mother’s.

Poor Will, another morning spent trussed up in his car seat. In the meantime his cold is absolutely streaming from eyes and nose, poor little mite, but he’s so happy to be crawling around he doesn’t seem to mind anymore.

We now have Woggles in situ, after Eddie and I took the decision to rescue him from his shrub outside the house in Kintbury. It’s not an ideal situation because I still have to go over there twice a day to feed Tilly, but at least now everyone’s got a roof over their heads. In the meantime I’ve started the great ringround in the hope that I can find a new home for Tilly.

All in all, it’s pretty exhausting. Will and I were in the car for a good 2 hours this morning visiting Mother (who is on the mend slowly), sorting out Tilly, buying more cat food and running various other errands. Poor Will was absolutely desperate to get out of that car seat by the time we got home. I feel like I am drowning trying to keep everything together. It’s not how I was hoping to spend my last fortnight of freedom! Now it looks as though Will is getting a cold which only means one thing – I’m next. G.R.E.A.T.

Today was another test of endurance with Will in nursery from 8.30am – 2.00pm. I didn’t sleep a wink worrying about it, but when I dropped him off he was very calm and happy playing with a truck one of the other children gave him, so I sneaked away and cried all the way home instead.

Fortunately I had alot to keep me busy, Mother has (unsurprisingly) left things in quite a mess and the cats are a particular concern. Unfortunately she hasn’t had either of them vaccinated for 3 years, so no cattery will take them, on top of which she’s decided to rehome Tilly but again, no one’s going to touch her until she’s had her jabs. So I spent the best part of the day ferrying Woggles and Tilly from Kintbury to the vets to get them sorted. I’ve also booked them into a cattery in a fortnight’s time when they’re both up to date and in the meantime will look for a new place for Tilly – she is terrorising poor Woggles who won’t even come into the house anymore. To add to all this chaos, Will and I are also responsible for going over there twice a day to feed them. It’s far from ideal, but who else is going to do anything?

I got back from the vets with an hour to spare and have done something I’ve been longing to do for years – I blitzed the house. I’ve taken about 6 full bin bags full of rubbish to the tip and made a start on the horror of the cupboards. I’m going to try and do a little bit more each time I go round now. Enough is enough.

Even better, all the frantic activity totally took my mind off worrying about Will, not that there would have been any need. He was happy as Larry and had been an angel all day. I am now the proud owner of his first ‘report’! Which toys he played with, what he had for lunch, how many nappies did he need – fantastic. I am SO relieved.

It’s unlike me, but I’m getting to the stage where I’m finding it hard to keep my head above water what with one thing and another. The latest news is that Mother has been admitted to hospital with a severely infected leg. She has been in pain for several weeks now and asked to go in a while ago, but the doctor said he wanted to try antibiotics first. Obviously they haven’t worked and now she’s hooked up to all sorts in The Capio.

Will and I went to visit her today and I couldn’t help remembering my own miserable sojourn nearly two years ago. She seems in good spirits, optimistic that they’ll be able to ‘fix’ her. So far she hadn’t seen the consultant, but he’s coming this afternoon and let’s just hope we get some answers. In the meantime Will had great fun exploring a new place and cheered her up no end (as did the flowers, Vogue, Vanity Fair, Radio Times and walnut filled dates)!

He is now fast asleep in his car seat, after I managed to dash from car to front door in the driving rain without waking him up – a MIRACLE. I’m hoping he’ll stay asleep for the return dash back to the car and trip across to Amanda’s for tea. An afternoon of caffeine, lard and a herd of hyperactive babies – just what I need.

I’m exhausted just watching Will attempting to crawl. He’s worked out that it’s far preferable to practice on the bed where he won’t hurt his head if he bangs it down halfway through a bunny-hop.

He has also worked out which direction to go to reach Molly, and now makes a determined beeline for the folded-back duvet spot where she sleeps at the end of the bed. When in situ, Molly merely watches malevolently – willing him to reach her and face her wrath (I’ve so far managed to intervene before battle commences).

The alternative, if Molly isn’t there, is to keep going to the end of the bed, and start gnawing on the brass bedstead.

So we come to it at last – Will has started nursery. He went for an hour on Monday to start with, leaving me to mooch around Hungerford miserably, fingering the designer clothes in Jeanne Petite and trying to take my mind off the fact that I felt as though one of my limbs had been amputated. Will, of course, was absolutely fine, only crying a little when I first left (but was soon diverted by his new epi-pen that I’ve given the staff), and when I came to pick him up and he remembered that I’d left him in the first place.

Today’s the second ‘settling in’ day, where he’ll spend two hours over lunch. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’ll be the first time anyone has fed him lunch other than me. It’ll be the first time anyone else has cooked him lunch apart from me come to think of it. God.

I can’t come back to the house after I’ve dropped him off and I can’t sit in the carpark gibbering, so have procured one of Waitrose’s finest carrot cakes and am heading off to Amanda’s for tea and a chat in the hope it’ll help me come to terms with the fact that Will isn’t with me.

As Eddie says, it’s not so much the fact that he’s in nursery now, it’s a bigger change in the sense that this is the beginning of the end of an era and it’s going to take some time to adjust to.

Going to the pub with a baby is a very tricky business, but we haven’t been out for ages and so yesterday decided that a trip to The Plough for a couple of pints and a gossip was in order. Our timing was perfect, we were packed up and ready to go bang on 12.30 to coincide with Will’s nap so that he’d be fast asleep by the time we got there.

No chance.

After doing a long circuit through East Woodhay, Faccombe, Netherton, Vernham Dean and Ashmansworth, Will was still happily wittering away in the back to himself and time was ticking by. There were two possible options:

1) Leave William in the car and hope he’d drift off
2) Bring him in

Deciding there is a big difference between a baby and a labrador, we brought him in. It’s not something I’m usually in favour of, but sometimes there’s nothing else for it. As it was, we bumped into Jim, Cate, Clive and Charlie and a happy hour was spent wittering away over Dave’s sausage sandwiches, pickled eggs and pints of Village, while Will was thrilled to be part of the action and played on the floor with my car keys and a variety of beer mats.

Whoever said that maternity leave was an opportunity to relax over long, boozy lunches was LYING. Not only can I count the number of lunches I’ve had over the last 9 months on the fingers of one hand, but they are generally anything but relaxing.

Today’s attempt by Amanda and I came after Sing and Sign when we repaired to The Carnarvon for refreshment and light lunch. You could see the faces of the other customers fall as Evan and Will hove into view and proceeded to gibber, while they attempted to eat their meals in peace. As neither child had slept since breakfast, the noise (in Will’s case anyway) gradually escalated, reaching its peak just as our food arrived. Evan remained serene and silent; dummy firmly in gob. But God help Amanda if it fell out or was removed.

How the mighty are fallen. Only a few short months ago, I was a classic restaurant ‘tutter’ – heart sinking at the sight of harassed mothers and their ghastly, out of control offspring. Now I’m the knackered mother with shrieking brat, being given evils by all and sundry as I desperately try to woof my lunch and neck a quick chardonnay before making a break for freedom before the cries of my outraged child become unbearable to all and sundry.