Friday 14 January 2011


Do you ever have one of those days that by eleven in the morning you feel like you’ve lived a lifetime? Yesterday was one of those days – actually the last six months have felt a lot like that in fact. The day started at 4am, when the King decided that his teeth were a good cause to give the house a wake up call. Fair dues, the kid is in pain. However, after a week of peaceful sleeps for all, 4 a.m. feels especially cruel. So by 7a.m, I already looked like I had done several rounds in the ring with someone much bigger than I. Oh dark sunglasses, how do I love thee.

As the morning progressed it became clear that this was going to be a day that put the Sisyphus notion of life to the test - up the hill, down the hill, up the hill, down the hill. Or in my case, get dressed, get spit on, change, spit up, change, spit up, change....By ten a.m I had wiped up more projectile secretions from my shoulder and the King’s chin that I was starting to get carpel tunnel. So what does one do? Vainly attempt to shower and change and start the day all over. And don't you know that every time I appeared wearing something different, the King laughed to himself, 'oh mommy, how delusional you are.'

I’m staying with my father at the moment, and he enjoys nothing more entertaining the King with a litany of smiles and exuberant chatter. His favorite game is to take him on his lap and repeat the word Gido (Arabic for grandfather) over and over until the King starts laughing. He then will look at me and tell me that my kid ‘GETS the power of Gido’ and he is positive that the King not only recognizes him, but adores him. 

The best course of action with one’s parents is just to nod and agree.

So upon taking the King back into my arms, suddenly the entire left side of my dress goes wet. I of course emit a long suffering groan to which my father looks at my dress and says, ‘what the hell is that?’ I politely explain that his perfect grandson just peed on me. To which my father so thoughtfully says, ‘why?’…After six kids, I’m not sure how my father asks this with a straight face, but anyway. To tired to explain that diapers are not impervious fortresses (even though they should be!!) I go and change yet AGAIN.

The rest of the day was filled with a search of every store in Southern California for a formula that resembles the one we use in England (and just ran out of course) and excessive crying bouts – the King, not me; although it was very very close. This of course prompted my father to appear by our side, having followed the cries, stare at us and exclaim, ‘he’s not happy, something is wrong with him.’ Grandparents are so wise. Yes, Gido it’s called sharp teeth cutting thru a child’s gums. I’m sure it’s about as enjoyable is ramming small sticks under your fingernails.

By the time 6pm rolled around I was passed out on the sofa eating a pillow, and contemplating ways to beat Gwyneth Paltrow with a macrobiotic breadstick. According to her long suffering blog on motherhood yesterday, she says I need to make time for myself to squeeze in some dance aerobics and flaxseed oil. Thanks Gwyn, but being faceplanted in this pillow sucking on M&Ms is much more enjoyable at the moment.

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