A test of patience.

So Daddy has gone to Vegas, leaving me in charge for a whole four and a half days. There will be no locking myself in the kitchen at 6.30 when he gets home, clutching a bottle of wine and no long, lazy showers at 8.30. Instead, I gotta deal with these tantrums alone.

I woke up in a bad mood this morning due to another night of not a lot of sleep. But, the day could only get better, I foolishly thought. Well it hasn't. A trip outside in the glorious weather might shut her screaming up for half an hour. Fresh air will make us both happier. Plus I'm all out of formula. Did it shut her up? Did it fu.... Instead she screamed and screamed and screamed and then sicked on herself so I got her out of her pushchair. She stopped. She's heavy. I needed to put her back in there. I tried, she screamed. What to do? Toy shop. Go.

Eighteen pounds lighter and a quiet child. And breathe.

But oh whaddaya know, half way around Tesco and she starts again. Now what? Chocolate. Of course. Don't judge, I was and still am desperate. So I bought white chocolate buttons, by the bucketload. 


Now she is sitting at my feet reading; with a runny nose and a hearty cough, clutching at her ear and sipping on her 'tea' (her sippycup full of water, she calls it tea - I'm not that bad a parent!)

Half a day down, four more to go...