So yesterday, as per the routine, I open the door to Matthew's room, bleary eyed and wishing to crawl back under the covers, to see him standing at the foot of his crib with the most incredulous expression on his face. And then this follows. "Nooooooo." The hissy "no" of utter displeasure.
"Hello darling." I say breezily ignoring his unhappy greeting.
His face is all in a frown. "Where Daddy?" He demands grumpily.
"Daddy's gone to work love. We'll see him later."
This goes on for a few minutes. Finally both boys are changed, washed, dressed and being fed breakfast. An hour later my babysitter is due to arrive (she comes once a week to relieve me for a lovely morning - four whole hours of blissful aloneness). As her car pulls up I tried to distract Matthew with a book.
"Who that?" His face creases into a confused furrow. "Who car?"
And then, the dreaded sound.
"Ooooohhh Noooooo! Oooohh Noooooo!" Followed by accusatory pointing and more hissing.
Gawd, I think, poor Sasha can most definitely hear him through the open window. What a greeting. But she's used to it now, because this is a weekly occurrence. And she is brilliant, because she comes in and right away pulls him onto her lap and is talking him out of his bad mood, and I know that within a few minutes he'll be fine.
After leaving the house, a wonderful, replenishing 4 hours of solitude follows, in which some good things are accomplished: reading, drinking latte, people watching, shopping.
Back to the house, all fresh and relaxed from my alone time.
As I walk through the back door, I hear Matthew wailing. Sasha walks past me heading somewhere, half limping and clutching her foot and has a slightly disturbed look on her face.
"Is everything okay?" I ask feeling a slight pinch of panic. Matthew, hearing my voice, comes into the kitchen, tears streaking his red face. "Mummmmyyy! Mummmyyy!" I stroke his head and pull him close for a cuddle.
"I stepped on a bee." Sasha says.
"Uhh pardon?" I ask, not properly hearing what she has said over Matthew's sobbing.
"I stepped on a bee!"
"Oh no!" I say, concerned. "I think I have some ointment for that, hang on." I go through to the bathroom, holding Matthew in one arm and begin rummaging through the bathroom cupboard with the other. Damn, why am I not the type of person that has neatly organized cupboards where things like first aid supplies can actually be found in emergencies? Must find that irritatingly smug Martha Stewart Housekeeping book that someone gave me for Christmas at soonest opportunity...
"It's okay." Sasha says. "I'm okay." We both peer at her foot, which is beginning to swell. After examining and deliberating for five or ten minutes, Sasha determines she is okay. Phew.
Five hours later, I'm sitting with Matthew while he eats, no wait, picks at his dinner. Oliver is struggling to wriggle free from the straps of his bouncer, and J comes home.
"Daddddyyy!" Matthew cries delightedly.
"Hi honey." I say. "By any chance did you bring wine?"