"Well who does then?"
"No one! Strawberry milkshake is made up of lots ingredients none of which are grown in someone's garden!"
On Sunday I walked my inconsolable 3 year old out of B and Q. I hoped that an actual strawberry milkshake that probably wasn't grown in someone's garden would help ease the crushing disappointment.
Luckily it did. He then got cross at my not reversing the car back 30 yards so he could say a better goodbye to the McDonald's employee. A harassed looking teenager who was trying to put together another happy meal box.
On Monday at 02:11 I had to give myself a bleery eyed, naked, bathroom pep talk. I can't let the fact that my children clearly don't have the fine motor skills required to take off loo roll in the designed way cause me to want to go into another room and scream into a pillow.
The birth of our new son brought with it lots of feelings and lots of things. It brought joy. It brought relief. It brought a sterilizer. It brought that sick feeling half way through the morning where you're so tired you're not sure if you'd legally be allowed to drive.
It took me back to November 2012 and August 2014. A time when as well as having a generous quota of toys, kinder egg pods and noise, we also had nappies and muslin cloths. For survival purposes it also reintroduced a new sleep system for the grown ups.
Anna was being woken up by our lovely but greedy guts son every 90 to 120 minutes from 9pm onwards. His favourite trick being to power on through a 6 oz bottle ignoring any invitations to slow down or burp, choosing instead to throw up over my wife's back or the sofa seat covers that were being washed hourly.
This lack of sleep alone would be enough to break even the hardest of special force agents. Having to also lock horns with someone very particular about pig tails and someone who gets liquids mixed up could become quite dangerous.
"Daddy I have got really sweaty pyjama's!"
"Okay. You say sweat but are you sure and I'm not judging, you're three and it's been a big change for us all especially probably you, are you sure it not might be wee?"
"No it's sweat, can you change me?"
Our routine was that Anna would do the last dusk ish feed at 8.30am ish and I would take over the first half of the night shift. I would sit and try and write a literary triumph as my son squeaked, flinched and farted in his Moses basket at my feet.
The system actually worked quite well. I got some time to do some writing or film myself being a "Middle Class Wrapper" (click link) without winding up my wife.
"Where are you! I need your help getting their shoes on!"
"Okay just coming, I'm err just stripping the bed covers!"
"Again? You'd better not be making press up clips in the spare room!"
I would also get to give him a bottle and a cuddle at around midnight. Not to mention some Father and son advice. I tried to explain that often when it comes to understanding the opposite sex it's what isn't said that you need to focus on. That and the difference between a flat head and a Philips.
"Yeah so one has a flat end like a ducks beak and it used for small letterbox style holes and the other one looks a bit like a star and was invented by a guy called Philips."
Galleria Proxima Generacion
"Ataque de las habas de riñón que vuelan."
21.0cm X 29.7cm
Crayon on crumpled white A4 paper that I think has quotes for double glazing and half a shopping list on the other side, just in case you were wondering.
If you've enjoyed this blog, you might also like this. It might help to pass the time if you find yourself in a lengthy queue, stuck on a train, stuck in a lift, or like me, stuck in an anxious moment.
http://capitalsfromasouthcoast.blogspot.co.uk
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