So it's 9:45 a.m. , a Monday morning, and this officially marks the start of Jay's second week back at work. I don't know who it's harder for - him trudging off to a stressful job and a day full of backbreaking meetings...or me abandoned at home with two very demanding baby boys who don't give me a moments peace and require constant supervision.
Right now Eggie is systematically cutting up my April issue of Vogue with his toy scissors and the odd piece is falling on Ollie Dumpie who is teething (yes, it's early i know) and trying to pop it in his mouth. (He's currently wailing because i just rescued a Burburry-clad crumpled Kate Moss from certain death.)
I wonder if it's too early to ring Auntie Ba and invite her over for a morning cappucino. I solemnly promised her last night that i'd try and let her have the mornings to herself, but it's not even 10am and i'm already crumbling and dying to call her. I'm not quite sure how 'stay-at-home-moms' don't lose the plot. Don't get me wrong - i wouldn't rather be at a desk in some far flung windowless office, wondering which inept nursury worker was inflicting damage on my beloved babies...but....on the otherhand, i wouldn't terribly mind being in a studio laying down a track while a British nanny was coming over all 'Mary Poppins' with Egg and Ollie and taking them out on 'delightful' little outings (sigh).
I had a chat with Egg this morning while he was flat on his back, long legs dangling precariously off the too-small change table, and we discussed how making poo poo in a nappy is 'disgusting' and how much cleaner and nicer it would be to do it in the toilet. I had him onside, nodding his head, gesticulating, and appearing to be in agreement about the potty training. However when i concluded my heartfelt plea, I asked him whether we should try training pants today and he vehemently shook his head, pounded the change table and demanded i put on a nappy. I don't know what i'm going to do. With Jay gone, I am left to deal with this, and i have to say that if we had a 'wet room' i'd be sorely tempted to just strip him down, throw in some waterproof books and lock him in there for a day. Then when Jay got home i could just direct him toward the little brown monster and let him deal with it. He is much less fazed than I am by the whole 'poo' thing. He also has much empathy for our toilet-resistant toddler - though this might be because he was nearly FOUR before he was fully trained. (note to self: check online to see if this trait might be genetic).
Speaking of monsters, Egg just lobbed the scissors at poor dozing Ollie Dumpie. Now he's awake again and my twenty minutes of persistant rocking has been in vain. Oh bugger it, I'm going to sign off and ring Auntie Ba. Promises be damned.