I feel so alive!
Sunday 1st December:
Poor Daisy had a hacking cough for much of the night which did not facilitate the best night's sleep for either of us. We got up to administer Calpol in the middle of the night and I don't think either of us really went back to sleep properly after that. Still, I managed to keep her in bed until 07:30.
It was a foul day which instantly put paid to my vague plan of treating her to a show in town. Indeed it was so grim that even the more solid suggestion of going to the garden centre to buy decorations for the tree was a no-no. Instead, she rearranged the furniture again making a "hammock" which seemed to comprise of my dressing gown being draped where the cushions ought to be. I was pleased, though, that she devoured breakfast and requested multiple top ups of Coco-Pops.
After a while I suggested "film night" back in bed. This apparently necessitated arranging the bed with various cuddly toys so that it more adequately resembled a cinema. This annoyingly meant there wasn't really anywhere for me to lie down comfortably. I'd hoped for some kind of longform fairy tale type film but instead she plumped for a French cartoon called Simon. To my delight it was quite funny and we had a good old laugh.
Throughout all these other activities, Daisy studiously compiled her latest "book". This consists of earnestly scribbling on various bits of paper from my rapidly disappearing note book, then sellotaping them together.
"Here you go Daddy!" she beamed proudly.
"What's it called?" I asked.
"I feel so alive!"
I liked that very much. While we were watching some Simon her Mum sent an SOS asking if I could babysit in the evening as another of her collapsing staff contingent was unavailable for the night's charity shift. At first I thought this might mean staying over, which I was happy to do, but just meant doing bath and bedtime at theirs and babysitting till she got back later.
I was reminded of a very recent dream where we very nearly reignited our physical relationship. However, some kind of disagreement resulted in me sleeping on the floor. What can it possibly mean?
In the short interval between parenting shifts I tidied up, did some yoga and caught up on invoicing. Then marched down the hill. Daisy was now wearing a hybrid Sky from Paw Patrol and Elsa from Frozen outfit and still happily in very good spirits.
The foam letters from Munchkin that stick to the side of the bath have taken on a whole new dimension now that she has started recognising letters. She delighted in sticking up random letters then asking me to pronounce the resultant gobbledygook. "NGUFXJ!" I'd exclaim, and we'd both fall about laughing. I was just getting her settled in bed when an alarming beeping noise emitted from downstairs. Daisy insisted on helping me investigate. I was worried it might be a dying smoke detector battery (I recall struggling to deal with this previously) but it turned out to be an error message on the washing machine. Turning it off and hoping it would resolve itself later was the temporary solution.
After that excitement we resumed the long ritual of getting Daisy and her small menagerie back into bed. A few short Paw Patrol and unicorn stories later and she was fast asleep. I almost nodded off on the floor beside her.
Her mum had kindly left me some mushroom soup. By the time I'd heated it up, scoffed it and washed up, she had returned from her work emergency. All good.
Back home I went straight to bed with the World at War. America has just dropped the two atomic bombs. Apparently the main reason was to terrify Stalin and stop him declaring war on Japan. This failed spectacularly. Apparently he barely raised an eyebrow when they "dropped the bomb" about the bomb at Potsdam.
Today's expenditure:
More bloody vapes (excuse being imminent gig this week): £10
Alcohol consumption: 0