It never rains, but it pours
It’s been a busy and
stressful week.
Mum and Nana went home on Thursday night. It’s always an emotional time for me to say goodbye to my family – not least because none of us knows when we’ll see each other again.
A simple flight to the UK was not without its drama. Nana needs wheelchair assistance at the airport and they wheeled her onto the wrong flight, so they ended up in Paris instead of London. For once, the traveller, not the luggage, was at the wrong destination.
Meanwhile, back at the homestead, days of torrential rain resulted in a flood in our basement. My Saturday, which began with a 5.30am feed for the little man, ended in me tearing up acres of sodden carpet and foam underlay and dumping them on our driveway at 11pm.
The long hours in between involved calls to the insurance company, moving out the undamaged stuff and sorting what was ruined, loss adjusters taking photos, emergency response men pumping dirty water out of the basement and playing a rugby match (which we lost, to add insult to injury).
Jasper, of course, was blissfully ignorant of all the excitement. He also forgot to wish me a happy Father’s Day (my first, spent mopping concrete floors and taking inventory of damaged items).
He’s just turned two months, though, so his language skills are not quite up to the challenge: Carolina is “Guh” and I am “Un-Guh”. At least he’s making the effort.
We really can’t complain. Jasper is a model baby. He only cries if he’s hungry; if he needs changing, he grunts and squirms; gas is a grumbling complaining sound that gets louder if ignored. He burped so loudly this weekend that his pacifier flew from his mouth like a missile.
Time to treat his cradle cap and bathe him before we head out for a BBQ with friends: the way I feel today, socialising will seem like very hard work. Sleep well.
