Lambing I love. Being woken at 5.30am every day for three weeks whilst getting up quite a lot in the night for Bear’s toilet training, I do not love.
It’s not just that Andrew gets up at 5.30am, it’s that Bear has gotten into the habit too.
This morning Bear got into bed just as Andrew was going out. ‘Can I go with dad?’ ‘No’, ‘Can I go with dad?’ ‘No’. Imagine multiple repetitions of this conversation with the odd variation such as ‘Go back to sleep’ ‘No’, ‘Go back to your own bed’ ‘No’, just to keep things interesting.
At 6.40 I gave up. We got him dressed and out the house. It was a lovely morning, the sky was clear, the sun was up and the ground was sparkling with frost. I watched Bear from the doorway. He was quite still, with his back to me. For a few blissful moments I thought he was quietly appreciating the beauty of his surroundings; the bluebells, the peaceful glow of the dawn sun, the crispness of the cool, clean air.
Maybe all this getting up has been worth it I thought, maybe I should be a tad more gracious about his desire to be outside helping his dad bring new life into this beautiful world. Then I noticed the steam rising from the sparkle. The little ferret was weeing all over the patio.
A while later Andrew called and put Bear on the phone. And even though I could quite clearly hear Andrew spelling out the words for Bear: ‘Sorry for being annoying mum, I’m just enthusiastic’, naturally I nearly died with guilt.
I dived back under the covers feeling like a cow – albeit a very cosy one – just about to drift off…At which point Raffy woke up.
I’m not sure there is a feminist point to be made here. Perhaps more of a warning about attributing high falutin sensibilities to a four year old with a full bladder?