Monday

So what can I tell you.
Not much really.
The sun rises. I’ve been awake for a few hours by then. The pit is still in the stomach.
The heart still races.
I’m still very tense and nervy and well, anxious.
But the night sweats have gone.
The nauseousness has ababted.
Um.
Grover has a new tooth.
Felix’s training band tied for second in a local eisteddfod.
Oscar broke his nose and we find out this week if it needs surgery.
Chef got a date today for surgery on the rotting leg – 27 May.
Um.
I’m just being a mum at the moment, taking boys on little walks down to the lake or the park or the shops.
No power walking.
Just ambling around the neighbourhood.
I’m normally in bed by 8.30. Sometimes 9. I’ve had two nights of going to bed at 10 and the difference in my anxiety the following day was remarkable.
I don’t even hear Grover wake for a midnight feed – Chef is normally still up and he deals with it.
It seems highly fortuitous that – just a couple of times a week – Grover has decided one night wake-up is OK during this time.
Um.
The house looks like a bomb site.
I really miss my in-laws.
They’re not back from France for another four weeks.
They have no idea that all of this has been going on.
Um.
Felix is eight on Saturday.
He’s asked for a cake in the shape of a heart because of how much he loves me.
I’m thinking maybe that’s enough making him watch musicals from the 50s with me.
And maybe no more figure skating.
Oscar seems to have gone mad and I’ve thought more than once that medication may be called for.
Felix is busy tormenting every single brother as much as possible and then being mortally wounded when called on it.
Jasper is being beyond adorable.
Grover is almost walking and ‘talks’ more than any of the other children ever did at this age.
He has whole screaming conversations with Jasper.
He has this weird little habit of carrying a sock around with him.
He prefers ones that have been worn.
He will go to the laundry to get one.
I’m serious.
Then he just carries them around with him as he does his little laps of the house ‘daddaddadding’ all the way.
Life.
Is.
Just.
Going.
On.