I know, I know, I haven’t written on here in like, TEN DAYS, and I am, like, RUBS at this blogging malarkey, but the thing is, nothing has happened.
Well, OK, work has happened, and Piglet catching conjunctivitis has happened. And Piglet spreading his conjunctivitis to Granny, so that Granny wakes up every morning with her eyes fused together, has happened.
So basically my life at the moment mainly consists of work, and sticky eyes. What a glamorous life I lead.
In fact, there was an utterly HORRENDOUS moment yesterday morning (which now feels like it was about three weeks ago. This is what work does to me, and having to get up early and stuff) when we got up, and Piglet was crying as usual, and Granny (yes, it’s Granny who gets him up, as I have to leave my sleeping child in order to toil at the coalface for a billion hours a day) was apologising to Piglet for bringing him downstairs into the bad old world where outrages will be committed against his person, such as having his nappy changed and being dressed in clothing fit for the daytime, and as I cuddled Piglet and tried to console him over the horror that is having a nappy changed at 6.30am, I noticed that his eyes were bleeding.
This reminded me of that advert for Corsodyl, with the woman applying mascara to her eyes with blood streaking out of them, while a threatening slogan hovers above, warning the public that they neglect their gums at their peril, as surely no one would ever ignore bleeding from such a shocking place as one’s eye. And especially not one’s children’s eye.
A quick consultation with Dr Google reassured me that it was nothing more than a bit of light bleeding from a burst blood vessel caused by Piglet’s eye-rubbing or crying, mixed with his already bloodshot and infected eye, and I went off to work. Granny, meanwhile, arranged a doctor’s appointment, took Piglet to said appointment, picked up a prescription and arranged for him to be looked after by my brother while we were both at work. Sometimes I feel as though I may as well just sign the adoption papers and relinquish my parental responsibility, as she is the one doing all the work and I am, well, working. For money and stuff.
It’s like that scene in Sex And The City when Miranda says to Carrie, as Magda the nanny leaves, and Brady starts crying, “he’s crying for his mummy. Magda.” (It really is astonishing how Sex And The City has a scene for literally everything that happens in life. Everything). Piglet now actually cries when Granny leaves the room. In fact, the other day he even cried when my brother left the room. When it’s me he just waves goodbye, much in the same way he waves at trains on the television.
I am going to have to be like Miranda and toughen up, and cut down to 54 hours a week or something, like she does.
At least it’s half term soon. Maybe, with a bit of luck, Piglet will still recognise me.