19th May: Hanging in my ‘hood

Sundays are for spending time with family. Smug married couples like to go out together, smiling from all the daily sex they have and hot cups of tea brought to them in bed by their spouse. They probably drink the tea from solid gold cups because they live in dual income households and are therefore burning £50s to light their Jo Malone candles. I know the truth. You married people don’t fool me.

I am no longer a married person (except for…legally, but you know what I mean!). And therefore married people irritate me. Something about married people on a weekend particularly annoys me. I am always fully aware that I am a single mum but Sundays highlight this fact so I avoid smug married hotspots.

I live nearby a farm shop with a bacon sandwich van visiting every Sunday morning. There are toy tractors, baby lambs, locally made ice cream, pick your own strawberries, there’s bloody bunting. It’s fair to assume it’s a married person hot-spot. Not just married people but dedicated Dad married people who play with the kids and fetch the Mums a Flat White to drink in peace. He is either babywearing or pushing a pram where the baby happily sleeps because OF COURSE these families have babies that happily sleep in prams so that they can eat a sandwich with two hands and chat happily to their life partner about how perfect their lives are 🤮 (100% accurate and true account).

But obviously my love of a bacon sandwich won out. We got ready and had fruit and rice cakes for breakfast then packed a bag headed off with a picnic blanket for second breakfast. Here is some photo evidence:

I was so excited about my food I didn’t even notice the happy families around me. But then there was actually a happy family I wanted to see as one of my friends was there with her gorgeous five week old baby. Said baby does sleep in a pram but I didn’t get too jealous about that fact as she is baby number three and the first to enjoy that very expensive pram her siblings refused. I will exclude this family from my bitter happy family resentments as I like their mum.

After a chat I spent a bit of time trying to hold onto the baby whilst steering and pushing a tiny tractor which requires a squat walk. So much effort. I also got some photos:

As you can see she was focusing too hard at the task at hand to pose. Proper little farmer Em. Here are some more photos of Berts Barrow:

As I told myself that I would do housework when I got home I ended up doing the longest rambly walk possible:

I tried my best to get home but ended up back at the farm shop. I was so hot from all the walking I desperately needed an ice cream to cool down:

It was raspberry ripple and it was lovely but the weather was looking threatening so I thought we should head home. Once home I gave Emily lunch which included blueberries. After lunch she vomited the blueberries all over both of us and screamed. My response to this (and all parenting dilemnas) was to breastfeed. This worked and she fell asleep but I was stuck with a sticky sleeping hot baby on me as I was sat in my underwear with the knowledge that there was a whole load of berry baby vomit covering my clothes and floor downstairs. At times like this a live in father is handy.

Her temperature was coming in close to 40 and I was getting worried. Luckily one of my single mum friends is an A&E doctor and mother of two. Her advice was calpol, boobs, cuddles. I managed two thirds of this. Calpol is Emily’s arch nemesis and there is no way to get it into her without a protest spit out or vomit. High level dramatics ensued until I gave up. Luckily boob and cuddles were all that was required to get her temperature safe. However she was as clingy and pissed off as you would expect so I went to bed with the house in a terrible mess. Baby comes first though! Or in the case of housework…literally anything else comes first I can think of.

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