All three Didsbury Babies are back safe with a heroic and tired Didsbury Wife.
I had to cut short a family holiday to work at whatever it is I do for a few days, just as the Premier League season started. This devastating blow and awful timing meant I had to leave our holiday accomodation. A diminutive stable where crying babies echo and there is no downstairs. With only peace, quiet and four live matches over 3 days to comfort me it was hell. Quiet, uninterrupted, hot cup of tea, asleep at 3, 4, 5 and 6am hell. I saw things I had not seen for months – the whole of the floor, a TV programme that was not Big Bang Theory or How I Met Your Mother.
This terrible, serene, uncluttered few days with just the drone of 5Live for early morning company and good coffee on the go got so bad I read a whole newspaper and went to the gym (not just the car park for 10 minutes sleep).
So thank The Lord they are back. My pearl-headed baby girl blessed me by screaming just as tonight’s football reached a climax. The Mighty-Headed boy swivelled like Torvill or Dean through a nappy change to the extent that I could feel beads of sweat on my temples and Didsbury Son gave him 5.8 for artistic interpretation.
Didsbury Son has deigned to spend time with us occasionally when batteries have run out and the house looks like a Toys R Us frat party; business as usual and lovely to be back in the middle of it all.