So I MAY have forgotten that the community nurse was coming to our house this morning to check out Ivy.
Now I know she's not 'community services' and she's not actually technically judging me in terms of my competence, but I really didn't do myself any favours.
Bit of a disturbed night, not too bad, but up a few times and a bit bleary this morning. One of my godsons, Sebastian, arrived early for a play while his mum went into work for a few hours. I was in the shower. Adam's still home, thankfully! Another week!
An hour later, Ad suggests he walks up to our local cafe to get some coffee for us, and thinks he'll take Ivy (cafe owner Judy is already smitten with our little lady.)
So at some point I hear the kids open the front door and an adult voice say: Is your mother home?
I look at my two, it's a cold day in Sydney and they seem to only be wearing their pyjama bottoms. Sebastian at least is dressed. But is carrying a gun. (A gift from my brother for Henry. A Nerf Gun. I keep finding Adam playing with it.)
The house is a mess and I don't mean that generously. It's a mess. I'm dressed, albeit with excellent bed head and committed ugg boots on. I am so all over this parenting thing.
Of course the nurse wants to see Ivy. Oops. Call Ad, thank goodness he took his mobile. He retrieves Ivy from Judy and flies back down the hill.
I guess this nurse goes into lots of muddled houses. She did comment that our children seemed very happy (they were marching through the house with drums and maracas at this point.) She surprised me by commenting as she left what a confident mother I was.
Confident my two half-naked smallies weren't going to catch pneumonia? Confident an additional kid (Sebastian, I mean) actually makes things easier, not harder, 'cause he plays so well with the other two? Confident that coffee happily cures all bleariness?
Oh yes. So confident.
P.S. Don't know about the kids, but I am happy. Grateful for my family and friends and most of all my gorgeous wee girl, well, healthy, settled. Very grateful.