The door bangs shut. Himself is off to work. After another bad night sleep, I am secretly dreading the day ahead, stuck inside the house with a sick baby and an argumentative toddler. I am desperately trying to get through the pile of dirty pots and pans from last night’s dinner, while my poorly baby is winging on the floor.
The toddler comes into the kitchen, shouting she needs to do weewee, she runs to the toilet but misses her target by about a centimeter. As I strip off her pyama pants and look around for the nearest thing to wipe the floor, baby starts crying. I put baby in her seat for breakfast, when a smell of burn is hitting my nostrils. The porridge! Meanwhile, the toddler is still running around naked, so trying to find some clean clothes for her without having to leave baby on her own. Yesterday’s ironing is still spread out on the couch (now not longer neatly stacked- more resembling the pile I initially started out with), so I grab the first thing I can find out of that. As I shout for toddler to get dressed, I discover she is just about to start emptying out the recycling rubbish that was left in the hallway for himself to take out before leaving.
Three deep breaths later and hard trying to get things back under control, porridge is served up, baby’s antibiotics ready to be given. Alarm bells go off…in my head…it’s not the right bottle! I nearly poisoned my little one given her out of date antibiotics…
Surely…the day could only improve from there on…!!!