Barren Mare

Small but annoying potatoes

I was going to tell the Tale of the Ring, as promised, but I confess I am not having the best of weeks and am not in a great frame of mind. It seems petulant to complain about the relatively minor things that are weighing me down- compared to the real problems of others, it is small potatoes. And yet, they are my small potatoes and seem in need of unloading all the same.   

Knox had his Big Important Scary Interview yesterday for his dream job, but he didn't get through to the next stage of the recruitment process. This is disappointing, to be sure but he was quite preoccupied with preparing for it for ages now, and everything else has had to temporarily take a back seat. That might not ordinarily would be not such a big deal except that there's this WEDDING and all, and I am beginning to anxiously watch the days slip by with certain key details (you know, flowers, music, how am I actually going to get to the venue in my pretty white frock) still not nailed down.

Then I feel silly because after all, it's still not entirely clear what he is going to do for a job in the same city as me and Botany and in the long run, that's more important (and scary).

The goddamn mouse is still in residence. I know I said I would stop wittering on about it so much but it's starting to really bug me that the little fucker is managing to crap absolutely everywhere and is utterly resistant to bait, traps and other cruel and unusual methods of destruction. Plus it makes me jump out of my skin every time I unthinkingly wander into the kitchen for a glass of water without turning on the light first and next thing I know there's a small gray object darting across the floor.

I'm worried about money. When I moved into this flat last year, the valuation report flagged up that the windows needed some repairs and maintenance. Since the whole experience of splitting up with E. was already so eyewateringly expensive, I halfheartedly got one quote from a company that weren't really all that interested in doing the work, and then I did nothing else about it. Turns out that original estimate was way off base, because a year and two more quotes later, I have a better idea of what it will really cost. And it's hideous. I can either stump up the cash now and be done with it, or spend the next winter shivering in the icy cold drafts wafting in with a repeat of last season's ghastly fuel bills. Unfortunately I am also spurting money from every artery on wedding related gubbins and you know, generally, the economic climate is not looking so hot just now. 

Botany's early morning wakings are maddeningly close to being something resembling manageable in that she has taken to sleeping until 6-6.30 most days. Then, just when we think we're doing better, she pulls a 5am wake up (or earlier) call for several days in a row. It's become an extremely sore point between me and Knox as to how to handle it; in fact, probably the only thing we ever argue about. In many ways I worry more about her wake ups contributing to the friction about the issue than I do about actually having to get out of bed.

There are other various and sundry tensions brewing with family members which I am not at liberty to write about for fear of discovery. But let's just say I am especially stressed about it given that I'm not sure how to resolve the issues, other than to give myself a personality transplant together with rewriting my chequered past.    

Lastly, I have a spot the size of Nebraaaaaskka on my chin. I know I should leave it Strictly Alone but I am never very good at that, plus it hurts and I find myself inadvertently clawing at it. It's so yucky that Botany has actually taken to pointing at it, or even poking it with her little finger saying, "Mummy has sore spot on chin." Yes, darling. Thank you for repeating that in front of my parents, the grocery store clerk and the nursery staff. Your verbal skills are outstanding.

Really, Botany's speech does make my jaw drop regularly these days. It's actually starting to freak me out a little. Yesterday I put a new dress on her and she said quite calmly and clearly, "take the tags off."  This kid is 22 months going on 12. And she's healthy, gorgeous and bright as a button- which, when I think about it,  makes the above complaints pale into tiny spuds of insignificance.

Because it's always fun to rearrange the furniture anyway!

Traps O'Death were already being deployed at the time of the writing of that last post. That is, the serious no-more-messing-around-you-little-bastards-neck snappers and the poison snacks were deposited at strategic mouse-favoured locations. Well out of the reach of even the most intrepid of Botanies, I might add. I tried various baits, although it turned out we were out of peanut butter. After nearly a week with no results (and more mouse antics in the night), I broke down and got out the mothballs.

Someone wise suggested that if I used mothballs my house would stink like old, incontinent people. Forever. I laughed when I read that comment and chuckled a bit more when I first opened the package, because damn! These really are some whiffy little items. Then I winced a bit as I strew the smelly things about the flat, silently chanting "Beloved grandmother's attic. This reminds me of my beloved grandmother's attic".

When Knox arrived, he wrinkled his nose as soon as he walked in the door and said, "Phew. It smells like old, incontinent people in here."  At which point even I had to concede that it simply reeked. Oh well, I said, we can try it for one night.

You would have thought I had put down the equivalent of mouse catnip, because that night, they came and cavorted about the bedroom like never before. Well, I was actually sound asleep, but Knox lay awake, witnessing the whole thing. The mouse came in, tapdanced around the shoes for a bit (where I had most liberally placed the mothballs), scampered up and down the length before ascending into my laundry basket.

Then, he reported incredulously in the morning, the mouse leapt straight out of the basket and clung on to that nice blue woolen scarf I have hanging on a hook on the back of the door. There it swayed, suspended above the floor, presumably trying to work out how to scale the Everest proportions of the wardrobe itself to reach the nappy bag on top, before dropping off and running away to feast on whatever crumbs Botany had dropped under her highchair.

It was like the Mouse Olympics, Knox said, shuddering. I would not have believed him about the scarf on the door thing, but Knox is not prone to making stuff like that up.

So, in the morning, the mothballs were removed and all windows opened to try to clear the stench. Fortunately, since it was only one night, it doesn't seem the odour was permanent, although amazingly hard to get rid of the smell despite the relatively short length of time. You have been warned, ye who would consider mothballs.

As far as the ongoing mouse problem, I decided the solution was to remove all the shoe storage boxes (leaving nowhere to hide) and to relocate the laundry basket in a less mouse friendly location and to pull the wardrobe out from wall making it less of a desirable place to hang out, all the more so with poison and Trap of Death at either end (to be removed in the day time from botanical reach). That night, we spotted the mouse in the kitchen, obviously looking for a new home. We sealed up the room that night, apart from the hole in the back of the refrigerator where they are obviously coming and going, and in the morning we took the bold step of sealing that hole as well, in the hope that the mouse had gone there rather than say, behind the cooker.

Since then, it's been a mouse free zone in my room- so far, anyway- and we're hoping the rest of the flat is similarly cleared, although I am less optimistic about that.

I was just breathing a sigh of relief as I stood by the bedroom window sill, folding my laundry, when a gigantic spider ran out from behind Knox's underpants and sat there glowering at me while I freaked out elaborately.   

Next time, I promise: less rodents and more wedding chat! I believe I owe you a story about the ring.       

Mousefestation

It appears you are all too scared of catching my computer cooties to comment. Never mind. I think (I hope) my clever father may have fixed it. Or at least he ripped out the system's guts, performed emergency surgery and stapled it all back together again. It is functioning, for now, although I am not completely optimistic that the problem is completely eradicated.

Much like the problem with the mice in this flat. Following a long quiet spell after the murder of Graham Mouse, the mouse family is back- at least one, or possibly two. Unfortunately, it seems that the mouse clan has decided to relocate into my bedroom- specifically, behind my wardrobe. I suppose I could live with a certain amount of scampering around the flat, but when it's happening right next to my bed, it gives me the heebies.

Worse still, the mice are demonstrating a decided fondness for my laundry basket. Over the weekend,  I stashed the nappy bag there (thinking, tra la la, that I needed to make sure the bag was off the floor so the mice didn't get into it.) Then, as I was changing the bedsheets, I heard a rustling of tiny mouse feet coming from inside the bag. I ran to get Knox, and he quickly zipped up the bag opening. He held it up.

"I bet the mouse is long gone," he said.

"I wouldn't be so sure- I think it is still in there," I told him. So we waited it out, placing the bag in a quiet corner. Sure enough, about half an hour later, we heard telltale scrabbles. Eek. Knox bravely embarked on a bit of mouse relocation out in the garden- as soon as he opened the bag, the thing leaped about ten feet in the air, straight past him and into the sanctuary of the stone wall.

In hindsight we probably should have tried to take the mouse a bit further afield, because within a day or so, we were hearing the same familiar noises. I wouldn't have necessarily thought it was the same mouse, except it keeps heading for the damn laundry basket in the bedroom. Last night, I was awakened at 1am by the sound of small chomping noises coming from the laundry corner. With the aid of a broom handle, I poked the basket and the mouse shot out over the side (scaring the beejezus out of me, I might add) and off behind the wardrobe. I threw my coat over the top of the basket but evidently that was not enough of a deterrent from whatever appealing morsel it was in search of, since an hour or so later, I woke up again to hear the mouse making merry amongst my dirty linen. This time, when I stabbed the basket, the mouse made its escape over the side again but changed direction mid leap, heading straight for my feet, causing me to pinwheel frantically backwards still clutching the broom handle and emitting a muffled shriek.

This morning as I sat hollow eyed with exhaustion at my desk, a colleague said sympathetically,

"Botany keeping you up all night?"

"Nah," I said, "laundry mouse." 

Cue look of bemused confusion at the gibbering idiot.

So, I've had enough of the mouse antics, and from now on, it's war. War, I tell you!  I'm going in all guns blazing with all removal mechanisms at my disposal. Somebody once suggested mothballs, which I will try, though these are surprisingly tricky to find. There's no evidence of moths in the flat as yet, but given that we seem to be suffering from all sorts of infestations stemming from various sources, it can do no harm to have a two for the price of one method. 

The rot within

Over the last week, my computer has developed some horrendous virus. The result is a machine tottering around like a deranged zombie, lurching uninvited into suspect websites before crashing out without warning midway through attempts at corrective navigation or experimental immunisation. It really is dire, not to mention tedious and frustrating.

I've tried several things to beat the bug but nothing is working so I think at this point I probably lack the technological whizzbangery to fix it. If my dad can't get it straightened out, I might have to take it to the computer doctor. However, it was become somewhat elderly anyway, so if all else fails, I will give it a decent burial and purchase something new (read: small, cheap and spritely). It's not exactly my ideal time to be buying a computer- there are, after all, still shoes to be bought for a forthcoming wedding- but living without a reliable means of internet access is not feasible either.  

My posting capacities will no doubt self-destruct in approximately thirty seconds, so I will keep it brief by telling you all is well here, and promising to be back one way or another very, very soon.

If you give a Botany a pancake

Two excellent things are to happen next week. The first is that, after several months of badgering the human resources department, Knox finally goes on to his new part-time working pattern; it will mean quite a hit (hopefully temporary, at least until he gets another job) in terms of income but he'll be able to be here for four days a week. The second thing is that my parents arrive for the entire summer; four whole months. 

I don't know quite how to convey my relief; indeed, my absolute jubilation, at the prospect of having another couple of pairs of hands around here to help out with Botany and with the daily grind in general. I really don't want to sound like a whinger, but my god. I am so goddamn tired so much of the time- and if I am being completely honest, just a little impatient and a tad burned out with the single parenting gig. It probably doesn't help that Botany's demands on me can sometimes seem endless, relentless, unceasing. From the minute she wakes up, she is a little bundle of need.

Read, mummy! Boob! Porridge! Sippy! Milk! Sit, mummy! Cuddle! Wear the pretty dress? Want pretty dress! More porridge? More boob! Croissant! Juice! Ants! Monsters! Ants and Monsters!

That last one is particularly problematic; no amount of explaining can convey the concept that you can't have two different movies on at the same time. There is also some difficulty with the notion that in order to provide some of the things she has asked for, I do need to move to a different room occasionally, for example, to get the carton of juice out of the fridge.

Given that the litany of things Botany desires or wants begins at roughly 5.30 am every morning and finishes at about 7.30 pm, I find the days that we are home alone together to be particularly...long. She is quite easily bored- or at least, she seems to be less fractious and hard to manage if I aim to provide an endless stream of amusing and stimulating activity. Unfortunately, my energy levels as well as my finances are finite; I simply don't always have the resource to come up with the goods.

Some days, we've already been to the library, the park and the grocery store followed by the reading of  "If you Give a Pig a Pancake" approximately 9,000 times and she's had her nap and then I am aghast that it is only 2.30 pm and there is still all this time to fill. By some unfortunate chance, most of my mother friends work opposite days to me, which usually rules out playdates. I'm about to try to sign up for a local playgroup but I gather there is a waiting list so it's not clear when we'll get in. I find myself wondering with guilt what we all did before the invention of the television. Then I feel even more guilty that here in front of me sits my heart's desire, my precious most wanted child, and I am unable to enjoy it, so overwhelming is the urge for a half an hour of peace to sit in the bathroom reading Vogue magazine.

When she finally goes to bed, I often just collapse. On a bad day, I find myself mentally whimpering that I can't, I can't, I can't do this anymore- but knowing I have to get up, make her lunch, order the groceries,  find something clean to wear to work tomorrow, do the laundry, clean the bathroom, sort out the tax credit thing, and plan a wedding.

I think, most of the time, that this is a very normal developmental phase that we are going through and eventually we will come out the other side relatively unscathed. I delight in my endlessly inquisitive, loving, amusing, bright spark of a child. And then, at lower points in the day, I am convinced I have spawned an all consuming whirlwind, whose thirst for life is, quite literally, sucking me dry.

Is Botany harder work than other children her age? On one hand, I very much doubt it; all kids come with quirks and foibles and I'd be very surprised if most toddlers didn't ask a lot of their parents. On the other hand, I do sometimes suspect that Botany does fall on the intense end of the spectrum. She's never, ever been a placid child, not since the moment she was born (or trying to be born, even). There's a such a streak of strong will in her- and coupled with what I suspect may be her considerable intelligence, it means that I have to work that much harder to keep up with her. What I keep telling myself is that I was never meant to be doing all of it on my own.

It'll be so much better when there are other pairs of hands to help carry the load, pick up the slack, make the pancakes.

Overheard

"A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle."

                            -quote ascribed to Irina Dunn (1970)

A few days ago, Botany and I went to look at a secondhand tricycle. There is a fantastic cycle path which runs entirely off- road to a lovely park not far from the house, and she's been showing an interest in riding the cheap metal thing that we acquired for free (but which is falling apart at the seams- you get what you pay for, I guess.)  I am all about buying quality and things that are built to last, but I was choking a little on the price of one of the better makes of trikes. Then I spotted one going for a reasonable sum in the local online classifieds and after a rapid exchange of emails, we hotfooted it over to inspect it with a view to buying.

Having clambered out of the car, Botany insisted on walking and waving her plastic shark friend in the air.

"Mummy? Bring fish?" she asked, referring to one of her infamous Bath Toy Collection.

"No, baby," I found myself saying. "We had to leave the fish at home. It's OK to bring your shark, though. You can have your shark. You can't bring the fish because we're going to look at a bicycle, and fish don't like bicycles."

She smiled up at me, holding my hand. I reminded myself yet again that sometimes, conversations with a toddler can become very, very surreal.   

Fortunately, the shark seemed to like the trike, and we bought it.  I somehow managed to cram it into the back of my teeny tiny car. As soon as we got home, Botany insisted on riding around the block at least twice, emitting little squeals of glee all the way, even though it was starting to rain. 

  

Leap forward, stumble back

Well, of course it didn't last. I has somehow suspected Botany's delightfully self-sufficient new sleep routine was probably going to turn out to be a relatively short-lived fluke. And I was right. A night or two after that last post (and indeed, the same night I somewhat smugly demonstrated the new bedtime routine to E.), Botany started howling about 15 minutes after going into her cot.  The first time, she sounded so distressed that I went in right away, which I wouldn't normally do. She was standing up, wild-eyed and looking very upset.

When I asked her what was wrong, she said, "Scared."

I was a bit taken aback. Firstly, that was not a word that I knew to be in her vocabulary and secondly, not an emotion that I thought she be able to articulate at this age.

"What are you scared of, darling?" I asked her, and she shyly named one of her plastic bath toys. For reasons which merit a whole other post, she has hitherto been obsessed with a collection of these particular toys, to the point of needing to have them on hand all the time, including at night in the cot.

I was somewhat incredulous that this particular item, which was resting innocently at the foot of the mattress, would have in any way inspired fear, but it does have slightly buggy eyes and a freaky grin so I decided to respect that actually, it might be scary. So I removed the toy, gave Botany a cuddle and back down she went without any more complaining. Problem solved, I reckoned.

The only catch was that on each subsequent night thereafter, the scenario was repeated, only she was no longer able to identify anything that was bothering her. Worse still, she wouldn't go to sleep after one check-in, instead lapsing into a round of fresh, hysterical weeping a few minutes every time I left the room.  Well, duh, I realised. After the first night, I remained hesitant about going in at all, knowing we may be getting into a problematic pattern, but it worried me- a lot- that she might be lying there, feeling scared. I don't think she was deliberately manipulating me that first time, but after that experience, she obviously saw a chink in the bedtime armour.

So we reverted to more traditional bedtime soothing- cuddles and rocking and indeed, the boob, until she was placed in a drowsy stupour into the cot. It's nice in some ways, since I always enjoyed our bedtime nursing and felt a little sad that it might be on the way out. But mostly, I now just feel like a gigantic failure. Here I was secretly congratulating myself that Project De-boobing might not end up being this huge battle and suddenly I find that we're right back into the old familiar pattern, which is not the direction I particularly want to be heading.

I'm also experiencing various pressure on the weaning front which is probably contributing to a general overall sense of Fail, Fail, Fail. My parents arrive for the summer in a few weeks; my mother has made it no secret that she thinks it is high time that Botany came off the boob for good. I already feel as though I have to be apologetic about the fact that we are still in a nursing relationship. It's almost as if nursing was a highly unsuitable boyfriend, who my parents really disapprove of, but who I love so much even though ultimately I know we're not meant to be and he will leave me in the end.

To compound the issue, Knox is absolutely convinced the sole reason Botany wakes up at such an ungodly hour every morning is because she wants boob. I suspect he's probably right; that said, neither of us is that keen to go through the nightmare process of ruling out the morning boob as the main contributing factor. I'm also savvy enough at this stage to know that when it comes to kids with sleep issues, there are very few magic bullets. But it makes me feel like there is another voice added to the Wean!Wean!Wean! choir, and it's growing louder every day.

I try really hard not to pick out the undertones of "if you were a proper mother, you'd have this child's behaviour modified by now," because I don't think that's necessarily what is intended. But when I'm already feeling like a failure, it's very easy to hear discord in the orchestra.  

Even the larks are saying "you've gotta be kidding me".

Would you believe that in the end, I forgot to take the cursed cake to worK?  Well, actually, I remembered when I was halfway there in the car- at which Botany may have learned a new word or two.

The last post on tantruming creates a nice segue into what is seemingly my mostest favouritest topic- sleep.

May's comment raises an interesting question- is it not the case that Botany is tired, having woken up at 4.45 am and might this not be a contributing factor in the tantrum incidents?  Yes and no. On that particular day, we were up very early, but in classic Botany style, she wanted to go back to bed about 7.30 for some boob and sleepies, which we did. She slept, I did not. So when I say she was not especially tired, I am basing this on her just having had an hour of sleep to compensate for the early morning waking. I concur she may have still been a little tired. But it seems Botany is completely capable of pitching a fit no matter how much sleep she may or may not have had.  Often times she kicks off not long after she has actually woken up from a refreshing nap.

Still- 4.45 am- the root of all evil. You may recall that before we went on holiday, I was considering implementing Operation Blue Light. I figured there was no point until all the travel was completed, since body clocks were going to be wonky here anyway. Then when we got back, there was a hellish period where she wouldn't sleep at all, followed by a blissful spell where she regularly slept until almost 6.30am. It was during that lovely time that I began to hope that maybe we'd finally turned a corner. Then she started waking up again at all kinds of silly, early times- BUT- and here's the part that makes both Knox and I want to weep with frustration- she only seems to do it at the weekend or on the days when we could actually enjoy sleeping in until 6.30am.

Whoah. I just wrote "enjoy sleeping in until 6.30am". Somewhere, I think I hear my mother laughing.

It's especially hard for Knox because once he's been woken up in the morning, he has a really hard time going back to sleep. I'm usually able to drift off for some extra snoozing if I bring Botany into bed to nurse for anywhere from a half hour to an hour (or however long she desires) before she starts leaping up and down on my sternum. Knox invariably ends up lying there awake, waiting to get kicked in the ribs, before eventually dragging himself bleary eyed out of bed. During this morning's 4.45 am wake up call, he actually departed in a grump for the sofa, where he threw himself down to watch television in a sleep deprived stupor. All the more unfortunate given that for a change, Botany went straight back to sleep right after I brought her into bed with me and slept like a log until 8am.  

What drives me particularly crackers is that when she does want to bound out of bed at 5am or whenever for the day, she is invariably tired a couple of hours later, and ready for a morning nap. On the days when she manages to sleep until 6am or later, she's OK to last the morning without additional sleep. Which tells me she probably really does need that extra hour of sleep. 

Interestingly, at the same time, the whole bedtime routine has changed. It used to be that we would do bath, jammies, brush teeth, read stories in the rocker chair and then she would nurse to almost sleep before I put her down in the cot around 7.30. But a couple of weeks ago, she simply would not fall asleep (even though she was clearly pretty tired). I decided that come half past seven, she was going into the cot no matter what. So I started just putting her down awake. And what I discovered is that she would go quietly, and even though awake when I left her, would fall asleep on her own.

Since then, we've progressed to her actually asking to go into the cot around 7.30 (usually after 10 minutes of nursing). I put her down, give her a kiss, shut the curtains and make sure she has all her favourite toys, her sippy cup of water, and a book. She says "night night mummy, see tomorrow morning" and waves. Sometimes we blow kisses as I leave the room. And then she will read or chat quietly to herself or the toys in the cot for up to half an hour before falling asleep. Tonight she requested asked to go to bed without any nursing at all. 

I'm frankly still trying to pick my jaw up off the floor about it all, but it's really, really great. Unfortunately, the slightly later bedtime doesn't guarantee a later wake up time, particularly at the weekend for reasons we are unable to ascertain. Can I also point out that I've attempted the Weissbluth formula of earlier bedtime repeatedly and trust me, it really does not work for Botany.) I do wish that she could apply some of the same methods of entertaining herself quietly in the cot for awhile before she gets up- but what I have learned is that clearly, she has that capacity and maybe just needs us to reinforce that message.

To do that, I may need to get started on Operation Blue Light. Amusingly, though, we've lost the instruction booklet for the timer gadget supplied by Knox. I was envisaging some little simple mechanism plugged in at the socket, but this thing is complicated enough that I reckon that secretly it is capable of doing our taxes, monitoring our heart rates and mumuring subliminal messages. Sleeeep, Botany, sleeeeep.      

 

      

 

 

Tropical Storm Botany

It feels like there is a big, black thunder cloud over my home some days. Once upon a time, Botany's tantrums were like storm squalls at sea. Out of nowhere, she'd lapse into tears, wailing about some freak, unspecified strange little problem- and then, especially as she became more articulate, with a bit of consolation or minor adjustment (take shoes OFF! MOVE tray with the cats on it! SHUT door!), it would pass. But lately, it's become more like a reoccurring typhoon and the duration is longer, fiercer and more draining than I could have imagined. 

Yesterday, for example, Knox and I wanted to take her to one of her favourite places. It's a bit of a drive to get there, though. So to achieve the visit with enough time to enjoy the requisite amount of rapturous gazing at the fish and still be home for naptime*, we needed to get dressed and get going. This was explained to her (at least the part about going to see the fish and the needing to put clothes on) and she seemed to understand.  We somehow wrestled her into a top but then would she suffer a pair of trousers to be put on? No. No, she would not. I gave her a choice of two different items, and she flung both of them in my face. I tried a dress, but it's still cold here and there has to be something underneath to cover the bare chubby legs, so that failed. I say failed but what I mean is she flung it across the room and ran down the hallway screaming like a banshee.  Finally, under duress, we managed to get on a pair of rather nice butterfly adorned sweatpants. I assure you, there was nothing binding or chafing about them that I could see, nor were they an offensive cut, colour or material based prior experience. 

Cue 45 minutes of top volume screaming while clawing at her legs, throwing herself on the floor and generally working into a frenzy so spectacular that I wanted to go hide under the bed. In fact, I think I may have done that at one point.

Needless to say, we didn't end up going. In fact, as this was the start of long, grim siege of meltdowns lasting pretty much all day about one thing or another, I don't think we even left the house. Fortunately it was a holiday weekend and so there was nothing much we particularly needed to go and do, but it was less than fun for all concerned. It was still better than the 45 minutes of Botany's howling and screaming in the confined spaces of the car when we drove up to see Knox's mother last weekend; an experience brought on by Botany wanting her coat on then off then on again, despite being strapped in the car seat hurtling down the motorway. COAT ON! COAT ON! COAT OOOOOONNNN! It is still ringing in my ears.      

This morning, I really needed to go to the store. My office has a tradition of having cake every Wednesday, and we take turns on a constant rotation as the cake provider. As there are about 25 of us, it only comes my way rarely. But of course this week of all weeks, I am on Cake Duty tomorrow. And of course, there is never any cake in my house (or at least not of the sufficient quantities needed to feed the masses). And of course, I could have bought it over the weekend prior to the arrival of Tropical Storm Botany but I am of the view that cake is better when bought fresher and besides, even I am not that organised.

The last "of course" in all this is that "of course", Botany also refused this morning to put on her clothes so we could go get the goddamn cake. I confess to complete exasperation. I hate to admit it, but I resorted to something which I very rarely do, and I raised my voice. I think, in fact, I actually shouted. Yes, yes, I did shout, flagellate away. The funny thing is, perhaps because I so rarely do it, Botany was immediately cowed and ran to me saying OKOKOK and sorrysorrymummy. And stood there in perfect compliance as I dressed her, wiped her little tearstained face and got her coat on. Inwardly, I was a crumpled mess while maintaining a stream of soothing yet upbeat chatter about the delights of cake procurement.     

I know her behaviour is perfectly normal and developmentally understandable and all that, but at the same time, it's very challenging. It's baffling and frustrating- she's not sick or teething or hungry or thirsty or especially tired. I am beginning to feel shaky and less than confident about managing her day to day. I don't want to have to yell at her to get her to comply; however, it's hard to know what to do when nothing else seems to work- not firm, down on the level direction, not reasonable explanations, not walking away, not negotiation. Nothing.  And some days, you know, we need to leave the house, and for us to do that, she's got to be wearing something other than a thin blue onesie with scooters across the chest.    

[*I might normally have been inclined to try to let her sleep in her buggy, but past attempts at this didn't work so well at this particular place. Also, I'd been up with her since 4.45 am, as we seem to be doing on a regular basis these days- on which more next time- so frankly, I was looking forward to a snooze myself.]

The lines on my forehead

Well, it turns out that it is actually quite hard to find even twenty minutes these days. Most of last week was taken up dealing with our first wedding related panic. We discovered, quite by chance, that there is a major international golf tournament and a big rock concert in the locality that weekend; hence most of the accommodation in town is already getting booked up and many places were already full. Being high season, things are busy anyway. I felt like an idiot for not checking what might be on over those particular dates- an easy mistake to make, I suppose but still...

My mother pointed out that it's not really our responsibility to make sure people have somewhere to stay, which I quite agree with in principle- but I thought it a bit rich to expect folk to come from a considerable distance on a weekend when we know there is nowhere for them to spend the night.

This is exactly the kind of thing that sends me into a complete tizz. 

"Gaaahhhh!" I said to Knox, by phone, text, email and instant messaging.

"Stop fretting," replied Knox, "I don't want to marry someone whose forehead is all creased up."

 After breathing into a paper bag for a few minutes, I decided that before doing anything drastic like changing the date, we would make enquiries at every single goddamn guesthouse and B&B in the area to find out if there was really going to be a problem. Since I am not all that familiar with the town and relative distances between the venue and the options on offer, this meant a lot of time googling mapping my way into a stupor. In the end, we realised that there are probably enough places to stay nearby, but our guests are going to have to book sooner rather than later soon. And that means getting the invitations out pronto and oh look, there goes another bunch of hours of time sorting that out.

Anyway, yes- about E.  Honestly, I don't know if he ever reads this but I remain a little uncomfortable writing too much about the situation despite there being so much I could say. He is around, in the sense that he comes to see Botany, give her dinner and spend a bit of time with her before she goes to bed a couple of times during the week. One morning every weekend, he takes her out (without me). I reached the point roughly around November where I realised that although I still had some reservations about trust issues, I was going to go nuts if I didn't get some respite from 24/7 solo parenting at least once a week.

I'm actually open to the idea of him spending a longer time with Botany at the weekend (for example, the whole day if not quite yet a night) but there is a problem in that he doesn't really have suitable accommodation set up in terms of somewhere to take her (for example, where she can have meals, a nap and a warm safe place to play). Sure, I occasionally take her out for an extended outing but I don't think it's a good idea for Botany to be schlepped around outdoors, in and out of the car and buggy all day on a regular basis.  

So the situation is  by turns adequate and unsatisfactory- adequate in that he's putting in an appearance and under the circumstances, it's probably as much as he can offer at this point. Botany clearly loves him and I am glad she gets the chance to spend some time with her daddy. But it's unsatisfactory in that I don't think it really offers any sort of real substance in terms of parenting. At least from where I am sitting, there's also a certain amount of crazy-making behaviour on his part and if I could get into it, I am pretty sure some of it would make your eyes bug out at the lunacy. My rule of thumb, though, is that unless there is something I really need to worry about for Botany's sake, I try not to give E. too much headspace or energy. I will say that he was quite gracious about the news of my engagement to Knox, and that at least is not a source of conflict.   

And now off to deal with other interesting and important matters, such as where to buy appropriate binding undergarments for under my dress. Despite having long ago lost the baby weight, my tummy has never really been quite the same, having expanded alarmingly during my pregnancy (all my own doing- too many goddamn chocolate muffins). To say nothing of my lopsided boobs. I need upholstering.