Daddy knows best…

It’s Friday night. It’s 8pm. Australian Masterchef is playing in the background. I’m spelling out the words “cold sore” to the eldest in an attempt to explain why he can’t kiss his brother at the moment. At the same time I’m picking Dairylea Triangle out of Mini Milk’s eyebrow. And I ponder quietly to myself is that shit I can smell or the rotten milk from the tea that’s been spilt on the carpet. I decide I’d rather not know the answer as either way as it will only result in more work for myself.

I’m so not in the mood for more work. I’m not particularly in the mood for any work. I’m in a “so much to do so little enthusiasm” sort of place today. Well, I say today… You see, I’ve foolishly arranged a Naming Day for the Tiny Tyrant. But really all I’ve done is book a venue, invite people and order some decorations. It’s not so much arranged as “happening a week tomorrow with or without things on sticks”. I haven’t even written any lists. Thankfully, a few villagers (see yesterday’s post) have offered to lend a hand and a fair few homebakes are heading my way. Unfortunately, if I don’t get my shit in one sock they may find me face first in the finger buffet, crying and comfort eating.

I have ordered a dress. Which sounds like something less important but honestly, my post partum pair won’t fit in any of my pre partum clothes. I also had to consider whether I could access said pair to feed the Milk Monster during the proceedings. The years of considering “Do I look fat in this?” have now been over taken by “Can I breastfeed in this?” Which is usually followed by the thought “Without flashing my entire boob?” The answer is often no… So choosing a dress that’s actually pretty and suitable is no easy task. Thankfully I have chosen, so assuming it arrives on time, that’s at least one task complete. 

I guess part of the reason I’m struggling to plan things is that I’ve never actually been to a naming day. I’ve gone to a few a Christenings over the years (including my own), but at I’ve opted for a non religious event, I’m as baffled as most of the guests as to how it’ll play out. It’ll be an adventure for us all. And there will be homebakes, which are only available on the very best of adventures. 

I actually feel most sorry for Daddio. He sort of gets dragged into these things by not objecting. He doesn’t agree to them as such, more he says something along the lines of “whatever you think dear”. Which usually results in him having to smile through something else he would have objected to, if he’d fully understood what it involved. Unbelievably, even when I drag him into such situations, only to be a stressed, panicked or exhausted shell of a human at the other end; he doesn’t mock. He doesn’t berate. He doesn’t utter a single “what were you thinking” or “we’ve been through this before”. No. Not my man. He simply gives me a cuddle and a kiss on the forehead, then picks up my broken nerves and shattered illusions and pops it all back together with a smattering of wise words and common sense. Then he does his best to help me not get myself in that situation again. And fails every time. 

So be it a Naming Day, a birthday party, Christmas Day or the wedding we should be saving for; whatever event it is that I’m over thinking and under organising, Daddio will be there in the wings. He will probably be shaking his head and giving me the look which I know means “why do you do this to yourself??” But he will be there. And God love him, he will calm me down and dry my tears and I will be so bloody grateful. And relieved to remember that he does stupid things regularly too. And on those occasions I put him back together again.
And my word is it great to be part of a team?! Where you play to your strengths and coach your team mates through their struggles? That’s the Team Silver approach. And Daddio is the best teammate ever. And I truly believe that, one day, we might actually be on the winning team! 


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