Wake up at 6.30am. I’ve been up 5 times since 3am to put the dummy back in. So far not so rock and roll. Time to shove the nagging thought that I should be teaching my dummy dependent child to ‘self soothe’ to the back of my mind. We’ll deal with that another day. Florence starts her day with breakfast, my day begins like most hard core festival goers; covered in someone else’s sick. After a quick inspection of my pyjama top I reckon I can still get a few more days out of it and leave the laundry basket redundant.
Then the poop hits; up the back, through her clothes, the duvet cover and onto the duvet. How does she do that?! Sadly poop, unlike sick, cannot be ignored. After creating an epic pile of poo-laundry on the landing (my intention being it will get done sooner being that few inches closer to the machine, in actuality it creates a fun game of ‘try not to trip head first down the stairs’) it’s time for a bath. In the time it takes from getting undressed into the tub I am peed on by my little cherub chops. It’s time to add my pyjamas to the laundry pile. Then I get to thinking; Dirty clothes…laundry, laundry…washing…Do I need to shower today? What day is it? How many days has it been since I last washed? Can’t remember. Probably should shower before Trevor goes to work but we’ve ran out of time, deodorant and dry shampoo it is then.
When you have a baby things change, standards slip (personal hygiene is just the beginning) The way I see it, you can either be disgusted or think of it like a festival. Substitute Lady GaGa for Makka Pakka and Sweet Child of Mine for the Peppa Pig theme tune and we are practically there.
In 2007 I managed to persuade my parents to let their 16 year old daughter go and rave it up with her boyfriend at Reading Festival (I was a third child). I spent my weekend up at all hours, unwashed, surround by screaming people who were drinking from bottles, throwing up and dancing to crazy music, sound familiar?! To be honest I have few fond memories of my festival days, they were hot, sticky and a little bit gross. Do I miss my youth? No, not really. In the morning all they get is a hangover, I get cuddles from my beautiful baby. Plus if you ever feel the need to ‘go crazy’ try watching In the Night Garden whilst sleep deprived…that’ll do it.