Home, sweet home

Released back into the wild today.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or absolutely terrified.

All I know is that a week in hospital does absolutley nothing for “getting to know your baby’s routine”, or resemble anything remotely like real life.

Grumpy rushes in, latish, with older siblings in tow, who help stuff clothes in bag, gather all mine and Chippie’s belongings, race out to check out and attempt to buckle three kids (argh!) into the backseat of our car.

Which doesn’t work with the particular seat configuration we felt was best.

No time to worry about that now, as we have to get Monkey Boy to guitar lessons. And already we’re pushing it for time. Taking 23 minutes to strap three kids into the car doesn’t help the issue, either.

Get there on time, remember we have a birthday party in the afternoon. The invitation was received on Friday at school, and handed to me sometime last Sunday. Leaving me – because the domain of Purchasing Birthday Presents for School Friends resides only in the domain of Mummies, and no other force on earth is capable of attempting such a task – with bugger all time to purchase a birthday present.

Which leaves … today!

Race from guitar lessons to massively big shopping mall. Not wanting to face the prospect of having to plug 3 kids into back seat again, I extract eldest to assist me with purchasing gift for his friend, leaving Grumpy to supervise younger two whilst we embark upon or required duties.

Nope, Middle Child (argh!) has to come, too. So extract him, race inside, tackle crowds, no longer able to use pregnant belly to gain sympathy. I now just look like a crazy lady, with two kids and a rather large jelly belly.

Purchase gift, hope can make it back before Chippie needs a feed. Remember Father’s Day tomorrow, so drive to another part of excessively large shopping complex, where I send Grumpy in to get something for my Dad.

And for himself “while you’re at it.”

Task complete. Finally, finally we can head home.

Where we walk in the back door, just as the doorbell goes. Three visitors in the space of 18 minutes arrive, leaving me with enough time to feed Chippie, and stuff half a block of chocolate in mouth for lunch.

Am starving. It was open. And no time to attempt unwrapping or putting together of something else.

Finish lunch just in time to leave for party. Bugger it, might as well go, too. Haven’t had proper social contact now for over a week. Am begining to go quietly insane. Make it to party only slightly late – not too bad at all, really. And that was because a visitor wouldn’t bugger off, not because I was disorganised at all.

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