Hello,
And so I am home, back in Blightly where it has rained at least once a day for every day I have been back. But lets start from the beginning shall we. The evening following the Chinese calamity, The Tweedles and I headed to somewhere a bit fancier for dinner, and this time I got some change. After spending the following remainder of the holiday frolicking by the pool, enjoying long beach tanning sessions and trying in vain to haggle for a faux handbag I was starting to feel the lull that is missing home. I did not realise this at first but I soon thought how nice it will be to get back to reality, back to my desk and back to the dog. Oh and Mr. Warehouse of course. Whilst I was missing the creature comforts of my little one-bed, there are many other things that come from a holiday abroad with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, majority of them good.
You can almost certainly predict that along with the holiday staples of a night out getting pissed somewhere, bugs, a market day trip and boating excursions, there will also be arguments. Sometimes its about how grey the McDonalds is, sometimes its about who wouldn't come and look at a handbag with me or sometimes it was over the floor in the bathroom being wet. Either way I thought I had managed to have a holiday without the raised voices and hours of stubborn silences, that was until we left to catch the transfer bus. Of course I say we in the loosest of terms as I was not part of said 'we' since Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb headed to the transfer bus without me, not saying anything at all. After a few heated words and some attempts at making good of the situation in hand we arrived at the airport and boarded our very, very late flight home. Obviously I am over it now and I am sure, as with most of our arguments, we can laugh about them later in life.
Arriving home at three-thirty in the morning and trundling down the path to the flat, trying to be quiet but my cases were making as much noise as they could against the cemented gravel. I soon heard a familiar growl, deep and menacing. It was my darling pooch; Well, half adopted-mine anyway. At least I could say that if there was an intruder then she was doing her job, guarding her home and mine. Coming through the house, making as little commotion as possible not to wake Mr. Warehouse I gave a big cuddle to the dog and climbed into bed besides my boyfriend. The following morning (or maybe just a few hours later) I awoke briefly with a kiss on my forehead as Mr. Warehouse headed out to work with promises of seeing each other that evening.
"Remember you have a driving lesson at ten" Mr. Warehouse said as he headed out the door. Rolling over I muttered something of a goodbye and fell into a deep sleep.
Phone blaring I went to turn off my alarm in the next room, only to hear a voice as I turned back towards the bedroom. It was my driving instructor. 'Fuuuuuuuuuuuu' I thought. Answering back to the familiar voice I lied about not forgetting, throwing on some clothes and heading out to the awaiting vehicle. The lessons? They're going well. I have finished learning most things now, including a three-point-turn, parellel parking and reversing round a corner. I can now after my last lesson on Friday morning add into the mix learning what and how to do an emergancy stop. They are kinda exhilerating and fun, but I am almost certain that given a situation in real life whereby it would need to be used I wouldn't feel so "pumped" afterwards.
Enjoying my day off Mr. Warehouse soon returned home and we talked of my holiday and how even still, my phone is not fixed. If anything it has got worse. Since last weeks post, not only does it shut down, restart and freeze automatically it also conducts a full factory reset without authorisation which, in turn, deletes everything in its path - Music, contacts, Apps and holiday photos. All. Gone. So as Mr. Warehouse and I discussed our plans for the weekend we decided we would go and visit Momma Warehouse and the new edition to their family. Mr. Warehouse's newest nephew was a week old and had been born whilst I was away holidaying it up and drinking cocktails by the beach.
So after a whole day of waiting and hearing back about how Samsung were going to fix my beloved Samsung Galaxy Note4, we headed back to Marston Mortaine, Starbucks and Krispy Kreme in hand. The following day had been dedicated to seeing the newborn baby boy. Would this one day be my nephew rather than just Mr. Warehouse's? I don't know but with Mr. Warehouse in the knowledge already with how unpractised I am around children he relayed this through to his mother on the walk over, explaining in detail the physical restrictions I go through whilst in the presence of a young human.
I don't know what is wrong with me. My family never really had babies around as my brother was the youngest for a long while and when my cousins were born I wasn't really around a huge amount when they were tiny, tiny. All I need is the gurgle or a creak of a babies cry and I am on edge. I think it is the fact that they could cry at any moment. And they're only a baby so they can't tell you whats wrong. I mean you wouldn't get a week-old-child saying "Excuse me mother but my bottom is wet and I am afraid I may have shit myself. I will require either yourself or some other poor soul ro empty this sack of mine and replace with a fresh one, and none of this leaving me to roll around waiting for you to get your crap together, organise the nappy-station before commencement of operation poopy-nappy." It will just cry. And cry. And cry. And cry. Nothing will console the child. Mr. Warehouse and other more experianced personel tell me that I should approach a crying babe as a matter of elimination in four simple steps.
1. Is it wet/squishy-bottomed: If yes - Change its bum. If no - Move to question 2.
2. Is it hungry: If yes - Feed it. If no - Move to question 3.
3. Is it sad or upset: If yes - Cuddle it. If no - Move to question 4.
4. Is it tired: If yes - Cuddle it and try to put it to sleep. If no - Start process again.
Sounds simple but in reality would it really work? Truth be told, I don't know as when presented with said newborn it was asleep and continued to be throughout the duration of our encounter. I was completely rigid until the moment it was out of my arms. I think I need to work on my relaxation around babies. They're like horses right; They can smell fear? I was certainly fearful but whilst I looked after this tiny, tiny baby in my arms, sleeping soundly, I did think about my life. I am now of an age where drinking so heavily that you end up outside a nightclub, hair a mess, missing one shoe and throwing up into an ashtray is unacceptable behaviour. Equally though whilst I reluctantly need to accept that my late-teens and early-twenties days of drinking the weekend away in a blind haze of Jagerbombs and Sambuca shots, I don't know if I am fully ready for settling down and starting to build the foundations of a future family life. Not going to lie though, I knew as I looked into Mr. Warehouse's eyes as he held his new nephew the he was getting broody and suddenly it wasn't me who was watching their fertility-watch. Not going to lie though, I did enjoy the cuddles.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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