On Monday evening I wrote about how my first day solo parenting two children had gone. I was feeling pretty darn smug, as it had gone swimmingly; I’d even managed to do some chores around the house.
However, I thought it only fair to write about how day two panned out, because it was quite the contrast:
It was always going to be ambitious, making plans to be somewhere at a certain time on my second day of solo parenting two children. Especially if those plans involve being somewhere before lunchtime, and meeting up with a friend you’ve chatted to online for three years, but have never met in the flesh.
No pressure then.
Add rain, a tantruming Toddler, and a cluster feeding newborn to the equation and I really should have thrown in the towel, bundled us back upstairs and declared it a Duvet Day.
But no, I persevered.
Like a fool.
A stubborn fool.
The day began relatively well: the Husband brought me a hot cup of tea and a bowl of muesli in bed before he left for work. But then Busby woke up and decided that she wanted to watch reruns of Melody on the laptop in bed… I was mid-feed so resigned myself to the whiny tones of petulant Melody, until I realised that it was now past 9am and we had to leave the house in around an hour to be on time.
I got everyone downstairs and made breakfast with a screaming Indy in my arms (after he’d been plucked from the breast in a rude manner when I realised how late we were running). Busby decided she wanted various things for breakfast, and I tried to jimmy her along, which is a bit like poking a bear in Toddlerdom.
Eventually we made it back upstairs (followed by a trail of croissant crumbs) to get dressed. Busby decided that she didn’t want to wear the clothes I’d picked out for her… Cue a mini meltdown as I tried to wrestle her into something that vaguely resembled a coordinating outfit. Then it was my turn, and with a baby who refuses to be put down for more than two minutes, this meant that my outfit change was accompanied by the dulcet tones of a screaming Indy, whilst Busby clambered over him saying “shhh”… and copying his crying.
Is 10am too early for gin?!
Because I’m an idiot (and was far too exhausted to even comprehend doing it) I hadn’t packed a changing bag for either child the night before. So I popped Indy into the Papoozle and ran about the house like a headless chicken looking for an elusive packet of wipes, five boxes of raisins, and other paraphernalia required for leaving the house.
Indy, after falling asleep, decided to wake up just as we were about to put our shoes on, and scream bloody murder until I whipped out a boob, so we found ourselves on the sofa with the end of Mr Tumble and the minutes ticking away.
The time I had planned to leave the house came and went, and the Boob Muncher continued to nosh away on my breast. I was getting increasingly more panicked, and Busby kept asking when we’d be leaving. Finally Indy came up for air, and I took the opportunity to bundle him back in the carrier, run upstairs with Busby and brush our teeth, and leave the house… at last!
And into the rain.
I began to unfold the pushchair when I noticed that Busby was no longer at my side, but splashing in a huge, muddy puddle. I will admit that I lost it at this point and got rather angry, much to the amusement of two workmen on our road…
So I had a muddy, wet Toddler and 15 minutes to get to where I needed to be… a journey that usually takes at least 30 minutes.
I strapped Busby into the pushchair and pretty much ran – making it there in 20 minutes!
The rest of the day continued along this tense, frustrating vein of Toddler tantrums, cluster feeding and a very fraught Mama.
During the afternoon, whilst running my hands through my hair in total despair, I discovered that I had a rather large clump of toothpaste clinging onto the front part of my hair; I’d been outside, in public, with said toothpaste clump – I’m very thankful no one noticed…
I think the lowest moment of the day was during a nappy change when Busby had refused to join Indy and I upstairs to help as she likes to do, so I took him up and changed him swiftly after a delightful poonami… Then I heard a scream from downstairs, and am greeted by a stomping, teary-eyed toddler who declared that “she wanted to help” and when I told her it was all done she proceeded to scream and cry for 10 minutes, which then made Indy cry… Oh how I could have cried too!
At more than one point I envied Nick for being at work.
At more than one point I considered cracking open the gin before 5pm.
At more than one point I wondered how much I’d make on the black market for both my children.
Thankfully, my Saviour (Nick) arrived home on time, and after bedtime ran me a hot bath, poured me a cold glass of prosecco and told me to go straight to bed after my bath and that he’d wake me up when Indy needed a feed.
So there we have it; two very different days! In the words of Glinda in Wicked: “These things are sent to trrrrry us.”