Not a Day for Contact Lenses

This morning I put on my glasses. They make me look stern and dorky, and I felt both of those things. It’s cold in our house today, and when I pick up my boy he cringes. I need to start wearing gloves, so my ice fingers don’t offend him as much. Or else just turn on the heating. In the meantime, I’ve wrapped him up in so much blanket he looks like a party-size sausage roll.

I don’t always feel in control of this new stay-at-home life. Last night Henry fought his way out of his blanket after every feed, then spat out his dummy and fidgeted until the next one, because he needed the blanket to get to sleep. (No one ever said that babies excel in logical thinking.) I think I rocked his crib between 1am and 6am. And I don’t do very well on no sleep, but how long can you keep using ‘new baby’ as an excuse for being forgetful and not getting things done? Plenty of people have new babies. Plenty of people have new babies and older children as well. Having one little seven-week-old doesn’t give you special dispensation to be an idiot.

So I have put on my glasses, as a sign that I’m not having a good day. And I’m using this quiet hour to sit under the duvet and eat leftover crumble, and listen to Henry making pterodactyl noises in his sleep, and gather myself for a busy afternoon. I know I’ve got a lot to do. But I think it’s probably ok to sit still and wear glasses for a little while.

He looks better in them than I do.

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