The Monday snapshot: no bull

The weekend saw us heading back up the Hunter valley, to big bro’s farm, and, incidentally the town where we were married.

The jman was pretty goddamn impressed with his first cattle sale, though it was a toss up whether the mooing of the cows, the feistiness of the bulls, or the auctioneer’s quick talking sales that were most impressive. He loved it. Though I was concerned about him a) waving his arms around and b) harassing a man who was trying to bid on a bull (he was sitting above us on a fence rail, and jman found his trousers interesting, we managed to avoid inadvertent bull/steer purchases.

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and big dad went all caveman and made fire. This too was impressive for jman. Then we cooked pizza. Mmmmm.

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We finished up the weekend in the beer garden at Wollombi tavern, home to Dr Jurds Jungle Juice. And very big burgers….

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Not a mother

I can put down a Venetian blind in a room with a sleeping baby, and not make a sound.

I can unstrap a car seat, pick up two plastic bags of shopping , a nappy bag, and a crinkly book, and walk twenty metres, up eight stairs, unlock two doors, answer a text, and not wake the sleeping baby I’m carrying.

I can breastfeed a sleeping infant after a swim, do a one handed nappy change simultaneously, and wrap him in a dry towel in the pram for a sleep.

I can hang out washing on the verandah whilst playing peek a boo with the small person inside and keeping an eyeball out for sharp hurty things.

I can eat dumplings whilst keeping the bowl out of reach of the high chair and cutting one open to cool and feed to his lordship, boss of all the food.

I can pack a nappy bag whilst putting on my makeup.

I can fight through three lanes of traffic in record time whilst singing baa baa black sheep sixteen times and handing small toys to the backseat at red lights.

I’m not a mother.

I’m a ninja, I tell you.

The Monday snapshot: and just five more

The jman is frustrating the bejesus outta me. Mr ” I want that crap I’m crawling backwards why can’t I get it HELP!”

That and the 4 am waking. Grrrr.

In our pre natal classes the midwife asked the blokes to recall a time when they were doing pushups, and they nearly killed themselves to finish a set, then the trainer announced ‘and another five!’. “Remember how annoyed you are?” she said, “How ripped off?”

“That’s what it’s like for your partner with the baby”, she said, “when you’re home late”.

Now I tell hub-in-boots, it’s one of those “just five more push ups” days. Don’t be late.

Last week it was “dear husband, I’m down by the water. With the pram. Near the edge.If you’d like to join us….“. Which he did. Promptly. Obviously the tone of my text got through, as he didn’t park then walk down, he just drove straight down the hill to us. Phew.

And of course, Mr “my mum’s about to push me in” was all sweetness and light, when Daddy arrived….and, thankfully, it turned into a nice evening.

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