I wrote this three days ago. Obviously I was channeling Negative Nancy and her fashionable Cranky Pants.
First world problems on the top of my list right now:
No, really. Why?
Why can Pal not get his shoes from the floor to the shoe bucket?
It’s not even a shoe box. He doesn’t even have to lift a lid.
He. Just. Needs. To. Throw. His. Shoes. In. The. Bucket.
2. Daytime sleeps.
I know you all think I’m a spoilt she-badger.
But come on!
If you were used to two lots of two hours – one spent with just one child, the other spent BY YOURSELF. If you were used to that, how would you feel if it was taken away?
You know how you’d feel?
More harassed than usual.
I have left three messages now.
You have given me two weeks and two days notice when I was promised three weeks.
You have made it abundantly clear that Oscar is somewhat risky business.
You have also made it clear that due to my under-2yo Adrenaline Junkie of the Year’s propensity to wheeze and heart disease, you’d like him to see his anesthetist at least a week before his surgery.
No appointment, no surgery, I believe was the implication.
Indicating that seeing as he is booked in for the 2nd April, you’d like this to take place either late this week or early next.
Great. Sounds good to me.
How about answering the phone.
Or, I don’t know.
Returning the THREE FREAKING MESSAGES I’ve left you.
Three days later
1. Pal still doesn’t know how to put his shoes away. In fact, once upon a time, my berating him to put his shoes away nearly ended in divorce. Don’t divorce me Pal. It’s seriously easier just to put your shoes away.
2. Dear The Two.
This daytime transition period is driving me crazy.
Either sleep in the morning, or don’t.
Don’t pick and choose which days, because I have another child who needs my love and attention just as much as you both.
Also, as I mentioned on Instagram last night. By 4pm in the afternoon we end up like this:
I called this one: “If Oscar was wearing pants, they’d be Cranky.”
3. The hospital rang me back yesterday.
In fact, Oscar’s anesthetist called me personally and chatted to me on the phone for ten minutes. And we may very well avoid a specific trip to Canberra for an anethetic assessment due to that conversation.
This makes me more happy than you know!
Less travelling in the next two weeks is EXACTLY what the doctor ordered.
Tell me, when was the last time you hoiked up your Cranky Pants and let your Negative Nancy take over? Did you end up standing corrected (happily or otherwise)?