Thursday, March 19, 2009

How do you make God laugh?

Make a plan.

Yesterday I decided to start on a new routine. I planned it in loving detail at 3am as I fed T-Bone for the second time in the night (after re-wrapping, him, replacing his dummy and helping him untangle his head from the end of the cot 6 or 7 times before that). Enough, I thought. Time to channel Mary Poppins and take charge of this tiny army.

The morning started OK - we were up and out of the house to the park in good time. Left a small tornado in the kitchen, but that was all part of the plan. ('The routine says I can't do the washing-up until after dinner' was a theory that made me nearly as happy as 'Letting the baby chew shoes will really build his immune system.')

It was going too well. The preschoolers equation kicked in : mum gets too comfortable= time to shake her down.

I must have taken Ivy for attempts at 7 tree-wees. No success. I got more anxious as I watched her suck back water like an undiagnosed diabetic. I knew it was going in, but where was it going to come out?

We got in the car to go home. Ivy climbed straight over the front, sat in the drivers seat and... let flow.

Could that be accidental? Is it even possible that that was not a planned war strategy?

I took a deep breath, put a towel on the seat and went to start the car. Nothing. Ivy had flicked a switch when we arrived and run the battery flat. We had to wait an hour for the NRMA, babies getting more tired and cranky as the minutes ticked past, and I felt my routine slip helplessly away.

Better luck tomorrow?

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Thanks for talking to me. I don't got cooties. Oh, except for when I got cooties.