Another disturbed night sleep wise, no obvious reason why, but nevertheless I’m on the sofa with my kindle and a very humpy Cat. If cats could eye roll, I think this one is doing it at me every time I appear in the early hours. I am woken by two of the happy little people peering over me. It is finally the twin’s birthday; they’ve been counting down since just after Christmas. We do presents and cards. A lot have come via the post in the past week and there is a pile of gifts from us, and extended family who very kindly doorstep dropped. They are genuinely thrilled with each card and gift, which is nice to watch. They are still at the age where they enjoy the pictures on the cards and the novelty of being able to read the insides themselves hasn’t worn off yet. Totally oblivious of the impact of the lockdown, they’ve not got upset that they can’t have the party with their school friends that was planned or that no one can come around to the house. They accept the situation for what it is and are still excited and happy to have turned seven. They are really pleased with their Tee Pee’s but typically today, it is too cold to set them up in the garden. Instead we play Mario Kart and eat chocolate and facetime family.
I use my walk today to get bread, eggs and marshmallows. On Fridays we have eggs delivered with our milk, but this week our eggs were missing. The box was there, but no eggs. Prime suspects are a large bird of some description or possibly a squirrel. Marshmallows are an essential local shop item because Sainsbury’s and Tesco’s don’t sell the Haribo Chamallow pink and whites, these are the ones Husband and the happy little people like. Apparently no substitutes are acceptable. Personally, I hate marshmallows, they are a weird texture. I don’t hate them, I just don’t care for them. This is what my late Grandmother corrected me to say as a child when I said I hated carrots at Sunday lunch. It is strange walking via our local play park to the shop and seeing it empty. It was never empty pre-Covid-19. During my walk I reflect on where I was this time seven years ago. Lying in hospital post a C section feeling like roadkill is a pretty accurate description. The twin pregnancy had been hard going and I had worked in London until the week before having them. Going from one to three children is ridiculous (I wouldn’t recommend it if you have the option). It feels slightly surreal that they are now seven because, although it feels like the time passed quickly in a lot of ways, in reality it didn’t. I felt every long day, phase, success and fail of those first five years. In some ways, this lockdown feels like a slight regression back to the pre-school years. The only advantage is that I am more experienced, and it is familiar, although I still need to work on accepting the situation because there is a resentment, and I miss my personal space.
When I return with the precious Chamallow’s it is teatime and that means birthday cake time. We have two cakes, a chocolate one for Twin One and a victoria sponge for Twin Two. We sing, they blow out candles, they eat a bit of each others cake as well as their own. They are happy little seven year olds and they’ve had a lovely day. ‘Best day ever! We love you Mummy’. I am knackered.
Recent Comments