All i want is a latte. A small, skinny, vanilla bean latte to be exact. It's just gone 7am here in Toronto, and downstairs on the waterfront a 'Second Cup' coffee shop awaits...fakely enthusiastic staff gearing up for a day of brewing and frothing for minimum wage. I want to be down there now, bathing in the glorious early morning sunshine, which is currently beaming through Dad's window-strewn condo. In the old days I would have simply washed my face, grabbed my shades, a journal and a handful of change, and gone downstairs for an hour of furitive journal writing and people watching.
Now however, the presence of a three year old and 7 month old (currently tearing up the living room), mean that I can put paid to that wistful thought. Instead I'm going to have to try and keep Egg from gobbling more muffins (his favourite treat) and Ollie from unplugging all Dad's computer and television connections. Yesterday the internet was down for several hours until Dad realised that Ollie had turned the router off. Likewise the quiet afternoon of no phonecalls was explained by the fact that Egg had unplugged the wires and turned the phone system off.
Now this all may seem pretty tame, but bear in mind we've only been here for 48 hours or so and already there are three stains on the new cream carpet, crumbs down the back of all sofa's, sticky juice spills on kitchen counter tops, and the state of the bedroom which the three of us are sharing doesn't even bear mentioning.
So you see, before I can even contemplate getting outside in the fresh air I have the following tasks to circumnavigate: two nappy changes, two outfits to dress wriggly and opinionated boys in, two meals to be fed, juice to be poured, baby to be breastfed, keys to be found, teeth to be brushed, shoes to be put on, and various other menial duties. Given the average hour-long period necessary for such standard execution, and given that one or both of them will no doubt suddenly made a poo poo in their nappies just as we're about to exit, I may as well be realistic and accept my fate of domestic penury.
I think i'd feel better if i had a little sleep. For the past three nights I've been averaging about five hours of interrupted sleep. Egg AND Ollie insist on sleeping with me in the bed, one shoving and kicking all night, the other stretching out chubby toes on my abdomen and keeping lips resolutely glued onto my breast for a constant stream of sustenance and comfort.
We have a travel cot, but unless the baby is sleeping before you put him in, and you are able to seamlessly lower the child down without so much as a miniscule jarring - then forget it. The wailing and heartbreaking screams emenating from the captive Ollie is enought to make you go crazy and want to pull your hair out. Saying that, the clumps of hair I lose on a daily basis from Ollie's clammy, iron-like fists is disheartening. Not only does it hurt but I fear for my locks if this continues.
Well, enough moaning I suppose. I AM out of London, have a sunny day to look forward to, and best of all, Auntie Ba arrived last night. Weary and jetlagged she still managed to make Egg's day by cuddling him and gifting him with a handful of his beloved 'chocolate coins' which she'd scoured London for. Now that the ratio of children to adults is 3 to 2 we stand a wee chance of surviving the onslought of two energetic, curious little munchkins. Whether Dad's place will remain intact is anyones guess, but if I were a betting woman I'd say...ummm...it's not looking so good.