Rose actually fell asleep in her baby carrier at Sainsburies this morning so she must have been totally exhausted. She is having a proper nap now untroubled by the rustling noise of Sainsbury’s Basics products being thrown into a trolley. After we got back she was on a quilt in the front room while I put stuff away, and I came in to see her on her tummy. She noticed I’d come in and burst into tears. Thinking, what would Camilla Parker Bowles’ nanny have done? (as in, getting into the mindset of a hard as nails cold-water nanny accustomed to getting upper class children ready to leave home at 6 to go to boarding school) I decided that she was probably expecting I’d rescue her from tummy hell as I usually do. So I let her struggle on and put her abominable musical lion in front of her. Sure enough she stopped grizzling (it’s only a broken leg, Peter!) and lifted herself up on her arms to hang out with the lion and his friend the knitted green dinosaur for several minutes. Then she started bawling properly because she was hungry.
Hair is something of a problem in this household. First of all there’s the cats- I combed them a day ago til there was more hair in the bin than on the cats. Despite this, the next morning the sofa was compeletely covered in fur, even more than usual, and there were gouts of fur all over the carpet, and the odd whisker sticking up vertically. Aren’t they supposed to stop moulting in winter? I’m moulting too, apparently it’s to do with hormone changes, meaning all the hair that didn’t fall out while you were pregnant suddenly comes out all in one go. There is a wig’s worth of hair on the sheet every morning, the plughole is jammed with it, all food whether I’ve cooked it or not contains hair, the washing up on the draining board has glued on hair, mugs of tea have a single floating eyebrow hair bobbing around on the surface. So all in all the house is hairier than Tom Jones’ codpiece. The vacuum cleaner is packing up too and the hose is stuck on with duct tape.
I see this whole thing as a mental health test, as it means my obsessive compulsive tendencies have nowhere to hide. If I don’t burst a bloodvessel when I come down in the morning to find the sofa invisible below a layer of cat dandruff then it means I’m fairly calm that day. I do get cross when I’m hoovering the hairy curtains though, I can’t help it (this isn’t some kind of dirty euphemism, our curtains really are hairy, due entirely to cats). I just feel that curtains should be immune from dirt, and just hang from the windows quietly and not demand any attention.