Before reading this post I should probably say that none of what happened was funny at the time. I’m not entirely sure that it’s funny now, but eventually, one day, I think it might be.
Yesterday was supposed to be my day off. Bruiser has been sleeping in bed with me ever since he was unwell before Christmas (go ahead and judge me, but I like my sleep). As much as I have no issue with babies sleeping in beds with their parents, I really want my bed back and so does Hubby (he spends a lot of nights in the spare room). Diva sleeps brilliantly and we didn’t want the guaranteed crying to wake her up, so we shipped her off to Nana and Grampy’s.
After organising all of this, something came up with work for hubby and he needed to go to London for a couple of days. Still, for one whole day and night I would only need to deal with baby and dog- bliss.
Unfortunately I appear to suffer from some animalistic, pack mentality and do not cope well with my family being spread out. As Hubby drove away to designated meeting point with grandparents I sobbed as if my gorgeous daughter was being taken away for adoption. How would I cope without my regular cuddles? Would she hate me for the rest of her life for my cold abandonment? What if she forgot me and preferred life with the grandparents?
Eventually I calmed down and started to find my way around our free trial of Netflix. When I realised I didn’t need to watch a kids movie I began to cheer up. Sure Bruiser needs to be walked around almost constantly but watching a good movie would take the edge off that.
Sadly I watched a movie about a dead guy trying to make a “gawky teenager” cool in an 80’s world of neon and stupid hair. Eventually it all worked out and the teenager turned out alright while the dead guy rode an escalator up to heaven- literally. The rest of the day continued to be quite pleasant but Bruiser became more and more grumpy and required more and more pacing until my back became more and more sore.
Then it all went wrong. First of all I noticed that the house seemed a bit cold so I tried to knock up the heating. Nothing happened. I tried various ways to make the thermostat and boiler work. Nothing. Then Uncle M started to be sick. Then Bruiser started to scream. Then I kept catching my arm on the stupid door handle; couldn’t get hold of Hubby on the phone; couldn’t make my brain work in a sensible manner. So I did what I had to do. I cried. Lots. Thankfully my parents are sensible and advised me to call out the British Gas repair man rather than continue to try and repair things myself. Then the in-laws called. By this time I may have been somewhat hysterical. I’m not sure if my reaction was entirely necessary but, at the time, it really felt like life couldn’t get any worse (I don’t know who Diva takes after).
I am grateful for the fact that BG take pity on small babies and agreed to send someone out the same evening. In the meantime it was getting colder so Bruiser and I decamped to the kitchen and hung out around the oven. BG guy called at around 8.30 pm obviously waking up Bruiser and interrupting the hastily prepared meal I was eating. He was hoping he could get me to repair the fault over the phone….hmm. So BG guy arrived at the house an hour later and did a quick repair and booked someone else to come today to continue the job.
After all the excitement I was exhausted and more than ready for bed. Unfortunately Bruiser was ready to play and Uncle M wanted to protest about the cruel and unfair arrangement of him sleeping in the kitchen while we sleep upstairs. He does this occasionally. At 11.30pm all was quiet and I was finally able to go to sleep…with Bruiser in the bed next to me (go ahead and judge me).