So grandma has gone. In a flurry of pre-flight Bloody Marys (to calm the nerves) and frantic hugs and kisses last night, mom was bundled off back to Canada by way of Heathrow (where she was delivered by one Auntie Mo and her boyfriend Michael). She left us all presents and cards to open whene she had gone, and our front door had barely slammed shut before Egg commandeered his card and treats – ripping open the wrapper to a sugar-free lolly and eagerly popping it into his mouth.
Yesterday was also a landmark day for it represented my first day sans house-husband. Yep, with solemnity almost reminiscent of a funeral march, Egg and I trudged down the stairs after Jay, and waved him good-bye as he left the confines of our cozy little flat and ventured out into the 'real world' - shrugging off the mantle of unemployed playgroup parent slipping on that of of a 'Wage Slave'. I don't know who was more upset, Egg, Jay or I. Ollie Dumpie seemed relatively ambivalent about it all – merely delivering a tiny toot as Jay quietly closed the door behind him and left us adrift in our shambolic sea of domesticity.
Egg wasted no time in laying down the law and letting me know who was man of the house. Ten minutes after Jay had left I ventured upstairs to find an entire family size bottle of pink baby lotion deposited on our carpet in little pink islands around the room. Our bedspread did not escape unscathed either and I wiped off the biggest chunk with some tissue , noticing that Egg had also baptised Ollie Dumpies' new trousers and my grey cardigan with the pink stuff as well (sigh). Egg and I stood there silently looking at each other for a few moments, then he had the good sense to quietly slip away while I got down onto the now familiar pose of hands and knees and began the cleaning up process.
In the late afternoon, about two hours too early, I put out some cheese and crackers, grapes, olives and humous, and opened a bottle of red wine to welcome Jay home. However by the time he got in I had made a serious dent in it and had also mildly inebriated myself and was too stuffed to think of making any dinner.
For his part, Jay looked shell-shocked and didn't even bat an eyelid when he sighed and plopped down at the kitchen table. I slid over a glass of wine and announced that this was to be his dinner. He just nodded glumly and announced that he was going to bed as soon as he could anyway. Apparently the switch from house-husband to high powered exec isn't an easy transformation – at least not one to be made in a single day.
For my part however – lank-haired and dull of complexion - with remnants of baby mucus all over my shirt (from where my flu-ridden Ollie Dumpie has wiped his nose one too many times) it feels as though I'm a mere few weeks away from going mad and becoming one of those tragic ladies who sit outside Starbucks talking to herself and picking invisible nits out of her hair.
Jay envies me the baby babble, play-do time and nappy changes and I envy him the solitary walk through park to work and a pub lunch spent discussing adult subjects with adult people. Methinks the future holds a bit of that 'Grass Is Greener' scenario. Just a hunch. Stay tuned….