The Lunchdate

I met up with my old university friend yesterday. She lives about 45 mins away and has two young children of her own. We're at very similar stages in our lives and had lots of catch up on.

As we arrived, I noticed her house smelt of baking. Her gorgeous, Boden-clothed children were happily playing in the house and garden. My baby boy had vomit splatter marks on his bib and was whingeing. Thankfully, the daughter didn't let me down and ran off to join her new playmates.

University friend opened her oven door and removed a batch of beautifully baked biscuits. The daughter eyed them suspiciously - what were they and where was the packet?

During the three hours I spent with my friend, I think we probably exchanged no more than 5 meaningful sentances. This was not for want of trying or desire. Everytime we managed to sit down together, a small child would request something / throw something / injure something / jump on something / shout something. This would require us to either stand up, use a wipe or shout. Often all three.

As I drove home, I thought back to our university days. Back then, my 'mornings' normally began with a dose of lunchtime Neighbours. This morning, the daughter woke me up at 5am asking to use the loo and wanting to know if her nursery school teacher was coming on holiday with us.

I wouldn't change it for anything.

The husband and I chose a rustic sideboard we both liked. In the old days it would have been simple. Choose furniture, pay and put it in the car. Not now.

We had arranged for someone to look after older daughter for an hour and took baby boy with us to an antiques place. A two year running amok amongst nick knacks and delicate furniture sounded stressful and expensive. We arrived at the shop and our son needed his bottle. Husband feeds him in the over priced restaurant while I browse. We then have less than 10 minutes to select item as we have to be back for daughter. However, we soon find a lovely old meat store and I queue to pay. The furniture won't fit in the car because of baby seats and double buggy.

We have to collect the item within the week, so I hastily arrange for my Mum to look after daughter for an hour or two the next day. I'll drive down with baby boy, having removed double buggy from boot and toddler car seat. After an hour's drive, I am back at the antiques place. We have a Chelsea Tractor, but it soon becomes evident that the sideboard won't fit in the boot. Soon enough, I put the baby in a sling while I wrestle with his car seat. This takes some time. After a while, I manage to transfer the baby seat from the back into the front passenger seat. I then spend 5 minutes trying to remove the actual key from the key fob so that I can deactivate the passenger air bag. Meanwhile, baby has been upside down for some 10 minutes while I carry out my work. Once back up the right way, he vomits, which plops nicely into my bra.

After more physical exertion, I manage to get the sideboard home and into the house. Within 10 minutes, daughter has rammed her trike into it at least twice and the baby has taken a good run up at it in his walker. By the evening, I find daughter curled up on the bottom shelf. The husband returns from work some hours later and fails to notice new sideboard.