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.
William's First Year 