I stand with my recipe books spread before me. The mind is willing - but the flesh is on the brink of collapse.
The words swim before my eyes and my best intentions disappear as I gaze at the sofa and imagine lying on it. NOW
Today the baby, the sunny-natured child who smiles and laughs all day long, screamed for five solid hours. Our long-planned shopping trip was abandoned midway through, with nothing achieved. I tried distraction, pointing out all the twinkly Christmas lights - but all that did was provoke requests to sing "Twinkle Twinkle" ("again again").
26 renditions later, without a break, she fell asleep in her buggy. Unable to extricate my thumb all I could do was sit there, at a slightly ungainly angle, in the middle of the heaving shopping centre, staring longingly at my only purchase (a large bottle of red) and wishing I didn't have to drive home.
More misery back at the ranch, me unable to fathom whether it was teeth or tummy behind the wails (the pleas to "rub it better/kiss it better" were somewhat non-directional. Though at 19 months I guess that's fair enough). A brief rally, clinking her water and milk bottles together and shouting "cheers" before asking to go to bed. And now asleep.
Realising a jacket potato is as good as it's going to get tonight I have returned my exotic ingredients to the fridge and put the books away. Tomorrow is another day. Hopefully a happier and healthier one.
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