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| Cooking up a storm |
I realised this morning that the Christmas break has been the longest period of time Erin has been with us, without any trips to the nursery since she started in February 2013. Not sure whether that’s sad or remarkable?
Anyway, it’s been a hoot (well if you take out the three days she was teething with her molars and the distinct lack of sleep that has now been selectively forgotten!). She’s eaten us out of house and home, developed a knack for identifying the exact location of all hidden confectionery items, learned how to make us soup in her new toy kitchen (not actual soup you understand, but the sort that you pretend to slurp out of an empty plastic mini-saucepan with all the gusto of a wine connoisseur in the Savoy).
Daddy (as I now call Mark so often I forget to adjust to adult mode when Erin’s been asleep for hours) has even found the real fun in her new Smart Trike, which involves a Go Pro camera, ridiculously professional filming equipment for such an occasion, and me heading outside in PJs, coat and slippers in the rain (evidence supplied forthwith...
Despite all the fun and frolics, the delight I felt stepping through those beloved nursery doors this morning cannot be understated. As I was waved off (or realistically dismissed in an indifferent fashion because her favourite nursery girls were in situ) I almost felt bad for the metaphorical hop, skip and a jump as I left, until I bumped into two other mums, grinning like Cheshire cats, as we all let out a unified ‘sigh’.
Yes I won’t be joining in the January blues this year. The world has returned to normality and I’d forgotten how much I missed it.
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