I’ve been on a journey this weekend, its all been, well, a bit odd, different and unusual.
I haven’t seen my children for nearly thirty hours which means that for that time period I have not had to raise my voice to squeaky screech level; wipe food/dirt/sudacrem off my clothes with a baby wipe; clean up anyone else bodily functions or listen to anyone spontaneously burst in melodramatic false tears because someone else took their chosen toy or knocked their elbow in a non painful manner.
My anxiety levels have remained so low that they have almost flat lined. I havent had any moments of madness where as I have had to dart upstairs for a much needed bathroom break I then spend the whole time questioning if the baby is safe left on the floor alone for three whole minutes; four is I was my hands with real soap and water not hand gel that lives downstairs in my purse. Please note often I am known to stop mid wee (hard work since I was known to not practise my pelvic floor exercises in pregnancy) and dash downstairs, flies open, jeans round ankles and retrieve perfectly happy beautiful baby and travel back upstairs and plonk her in front of me whilst I return for the urine sequel.
I have not had to bargain my way for ten minutes silence by using jelly babies and some chap called Justin as a reward mechanism. I have not had to share my bath with six other pairs of legs. I have not had to split any of my meals nor have I had to eat my food cold whilst I chop, mush and mash other peoples.
I have been able to forge a new level of closeness with a hand held pump, I have been able go where I want when I want without arranging a twice referenced ofsted regulated baby sitter. I have been able to chat with nose wiping, laugh without refereeing an argument and drink lots of wine without worrying about breast milk.
So its all been quite different, its been rather good fun.
But my time is Oz is over and its time to go home. I miss the feel of sticky on my hands and a babe in my arms.
So I click my flip flops three times, close my eyes and see my children waiting for their mummy weekend to begin and shout…
“There’s no place like home.”
I tell you; I gave the old dear sitting next to me on the train an almost fatal heart attack….