The pondering at times becomes full blown fantasising but none so much as on week like this week…. A week when my toddler is sick with a cold, and I – at fully cooked preggers – am also afflicted with snot, a rancid chest and a deathly tiredness. Of course, I feel for my little person who is poorly, but I also have a distinct level of self-pity going on. I’ve discovered that somehow there is a direct correlation between patience and snot, being as the more I have of one, the less I have of the other. I wonder if Doctor Karl has a name for this phenomenon?
A week like this week saw my fantasy world being filled with a studio office and co-workers who go about their business, perhaps a concerned colleague even brings me a cup of peppermint tea with an Arrowroot for energy? Instead, my reality was a cranky two-year with double caterpillars of snot trailing down his face, who does not know what he wants but figures if he makes a high-pitched, ear splitting squeal every 10 seconds or so, I might come up with something fun. Strangely, this does not inspire me. I have done some serious TV parenting this week, which I really hate.
I dream of photocopiers, and contracts and ordered organisation, instead of trails of clean washing that I’ve half-assedly begun to fold only to be foiled by little hands that love to name whom each piece belongs as he throws it in the air. I witness my lazy creases arc and spread their sleeves and plunge like gulls dying on the lounge floor. I decided early on to simply step over them for the rest of the day (reality check : week) as my monstrous belly and full sinus groan at the thought of bending over. They merely join the remainder of the morning’s vegemite toast (which I may yet nibble on) and many building blocks. It’s almost Pro Hart in its beauty. Almost.
Perhaps on my commute to said fantasy work-place I could read quietly for half an hour – something more akin to ‘The Little Coffee Shop in Kabul’ and less ‘My First 100 Machines’ (although without the latter my knowledge of farm vehicles would be somewhat lacking….ooh, those Combine Harvesters!)…..but I am dragged from my work shaped reverie by a little voice saying ‘Mumumm, poo poo’ and it is back to the true grindstone for me.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for this stay at home mum business. I mean, I love the mum bit but the other duties that go along with it I’m not so fond of. I don’t mind doing the washing but I really hate folding it and the vacuum? Man, I would sooner clean 50 toilets with Mister H’s toothbrush than vacuum. I really hate that contraption. In fact, I must admit that I am not a natural housekeeper. Some people really dig it, but I am not one of those people. All jests aside though, Mister H has been awesome this week (neither is he a natural born housekeeper, I might add….how many pairs of shoes need adorn one lounge???) taking a couple of days off so I could rest. I would never really clean 50 toilets with his toothbrush. I don’t even know 50 people.
So, as I cough up a lung and reach for another animated DVD I will admit that I’m probably not going to win SAHM of the Year this year, but hey, I wouldn’t currently fit in anything to wear to the awards anyway.
Today’s images are once again from the divine Kirsten Cox. I keep coming back to them because I love them so much. Looking forward to her coming to Sydney soon to take some pictures of our new baby!