Very rudely, my parents have buggered off and left me. Yes, that’s right people, this week I am Mummyhalved. I am not sure that holidaying was in the grandparent contract. Let me see... Bringing bacon sarnies to the hospital while the labour is under way - check. Making endless cups of tea and meals and stacking and unstacking the dishwasher for at least a month after mummy and baby return home from the hospital - check. Doing any general DIY that has been required for the last three years that we have never got around to - check. Night feeds - check. Walking for miles trying to get the baby to sleep - check. Changing pooey nappies - check. Going off on holiday and leaving mummy to look after her 7 month old child all by her poor old self - nope, definitely not in the contract.
I have always been a very independant individual. I chose my own outfits from about the age of 2 (which accounts for the orange nylon shorts and the penchant for hats), I cooked for myself from about the age of 12 (pasta with peanut butter and sausages anyone?) and went off to uni at the age of 17 (a uni that was 5000 miles away from The Mothership). As an only child (oh yes, don’t worry, there will be a blog post coming up on that little gem) I guess it was always in my nature. So really, this should be a breeze.
Something strange happened when I got preggers though - my phone bills are testament to this. It is as if, by creating a new generation, somehow the family has been knit tighter together - I have always been close to my parents, but I never thought I would want them to move in next door. Now, I am thinking of converting the garage. I lean on them for everything - advice on weaning, teething, routines, whether CK needs a hat in this cold weather, the consistancy of those nappies I mentioned earlier, and the list goes on.
What amazes me is that they not only put up with this, but that they seem to enjoy it. I know they want to spend as much time as possible with their grandchild, but indulging my DIY demands, and cleaning my toilet is possibly a little extreme. Not to mention the phone calls discussing bowel movements in great detail (not just CK’s, anyone’s really, I’m not picky).
So lets raise a toast to grandparent far and wide - whatever you’re tipple (mine’s a nice cup of Horlicks). If you’re lucky enough to have some good ‘uns like me then drink to their health. If you have not been thus blessed you may like to propose a slightly different toast and I will support you with that every step of the way. I’ll just say this to my mum and dad; Cheers folks... and COME HOME SOON!
