I will be a single mom for the next 10 days. Unfortunately this collides with..err.. life. I find myself suddenly having a full time job, but working part-time, just so that I can make the school-playschool run. This really cramps my prolonged coffee breaks during office hours. Laundry and dishes are piled high, plants are withering and dying.. hell, I’m withering and dying!
I don’t know single moms-for-real do it, but I bow to them and worship at their unpedicured feet.
The Viking will be far out at sea, completely unavaibable to his family and this situation has me gnashing my teeth, wailing and howling at the moon. However, after ten years, he’s immune to my appallingly manipulative wiles and goes about the business of packing, all the while muttering about making a good living and did I care about food on the table?
Life, cruelly waits until the Viking is at sea, (oh I dunno – probably playing out his favourite Jack Sparrow fantasy in his engineer suit) – before handing us yet another gift.
Yes, sirree bob! Our favouritest fairy of all has come-a-visiting. The fairy of Playschool Contagion arrives sprinkling us liberally and carelessly with her shiny shimmery germs. Oh happy days!
So I am home with Armaan, who is burning up, snotty, sniffly, clingy and whiny. And if you re-check that sentence, there are no warming adjectives there. At some point during the day, he might grace me with an hour or so of sleep. But otherwise, he’s stuck to my hip and I discover an array of mummy superpowers I never knew I had. Like, clingfilming an entire dish with one hand, Armaan in the other. High Five!
The Viking calls in the evening. You’d think he’d know better by now, but the man is either an incurable optimist or a glutton for punishment, depending on which side of the whisky glass you’re on.
TV: How’s it going?
Me: The good news is that it’s crap. The bad news is that it’s utterly and completely crap.
TV: Could he be teething? Do you think its more teeth? He normally gets ill when he’s teething.
Me: Well, right now, he could be getting his bloody periods and I wouldn’t give a shit.
A moment’s pause as the ungracious comment sinks in. We then proceed to laugh till we almost pee. (Yes, we have opposable digits AND we’re potty-trained, though it’s hard to tell at times)
A sliver of light, people, a sliver of light in very dark times.
If you don’t see me in a few days, warming the cockles of your heart with a post oozing love for my children, pliss to send a search party. My offspring might be feeding off my rotting flesh.