Hope you all had a lovely weekend. Mine was filled with social engagements, meaning there were two occasions where I was required to converse with someone other than Mr Thomas, but for me that constitutes as many as I don’t like to subject myself to more than one social activity in a weekend as my social phobia doesn’t often allow it.
My weekend was the end of a babysitting week where I learned, through experience, that having children is quite difficult. So far I’ve been the aunty that has always been able to give the children back after a couple of hours, but this week I was in it for the long haul.
People often have a go at those sixteen year old mothers but I am now of the opinion that they have it right and the rest of those who choose to have children in their thirties have it wrong. When you are sixteen you can get by with lack of sleep and you are not yet set in your routine. I was fortunate enough to take care of my niece and nephew for a couple of days this week while my sister and spunk-in-law (as he likes to be referred to as) had a well-earned break. Two children under two. It’s a nightmare. Yes, the days are genuinely joyful, particularly when the kiddy winks do something extraordinary, or basically just smile at you, but cripes alive, I’ve no idea how my sister does it! Popstar woke up at five am. Five am! For someone who quite regularly does not get to sleep until two in the morning, a day starting at five where an international flight is not involved is not something I’m keen on. I wandered into her room still half-asleep, looked at her giggling face (who the hell is that happy in the morning?) and reminded her it was still dark outside so what the hell was she doing up? There was no swaying her, mind. Then the Little Man woke up and it was downstairs for them to have their milk. The children’s programs hadn’t even started yet, that’s how early they were up. I must admit, I spent the day just waiting for their nap time so I could have a little rest bite. I’m sure now this is what every mother goes through. Praying to either God or the Universe that her little ones will nap at the same time so she can have some time to herself. Mothers, all mothers, in my opinion, are absolute miracles. Love your mum!
Suffice to say, was quite tired when the weekend rolled around. Saturday we headed into the city for the rugby finals and I spent a vast proportion of the day complaining due to the sun being out. All around people were commenting on the weather, of how fantastic it was; isn’t this weather great? Where I was thinking of sun cancer and aging skin. What I should be doing is relishing in spring weather, where we have blue skies and sun without the forty degree temperatures. Unfortunately, being such a sun-hater, I like to fight it for as long as possible until summer finally arrives and I am resigned to the fact that the next three months will be spent in baking temperatures and darting between air conditioned rooms to air conditioned vehicles. Yes, please feel sorry for Mr Thomas for having to live with me. The man is a saint.
And now it’s Monday and the week has begun with Martini, my cat, vomiting all over the bed. I’m trying not to see this as a bad omen.