I washed some small (seriously, adorably tiny) clothes, bought some water wipes and got my cloth nappies back from a friend. That means I’m ready for this child right? Mostly I’m trying to get some stuff done for the kids because every damn person keeps saying “sure you must be all sorted for christmas are you?” No, no I’m bloody not. The big fella, despite his birthday being 2 weeks later is pretty ok – I know what he needs and wants. The little one though, he talks in strings of words that are too confusing for google. “Blue power rangers dino mega zord weapon”.
I’m going to have to casually leave out the toy shop catalogue on the kitchen table and watch him. And Jelly Fun. Bloody Jelly Fun; it makes jelly so he thinks armed with this he’ll have a never ending supply as if I would let that happen. He’s taken a notion, and I feel like it’s going to be like The Great Mr Frosty Santa Refusal which took place in the years 1986-1989. I survived…
There was a meltdown followed by a very succesful trip to Ikea. The meltdown was triggered by me attempting to complete small tasks only to realise that there was a knock-on impact. Everything I tried to do seemed to generate eight more jobs for the list.
For example: the clean clothes from last week were teetering on the radiator in our bedroom with nowhere to put them. I mean nowhere. We needed to buy one piece of furniture for this child’s future bedrooom and there was already an overflowing bookcase in the spot where a small wardrobe could go. So we had to then go through all the crap contained there. There were baskets of more USB cables than any house could need, two boxes of files containing ten year old utility bills and bank statements. Stuff that cleary needed clearing out anyway. Next: to Ikea!
Fuelled by a cinnamon bun and some coffee I set off on my mission. I got all the small bits I needed quickly enough and entered the warehouse, taking a flatbed trolley for the wardrobe parts. My great plan was to stand looking a bit useless and asking a passing strong looking person to lift things off the shelf. I went to the information desk to ask something else where she took one look at me and asked did I need help getting anything. Why yes! Along came a Very Nice Man, who lifted a two metre long, twenty-six kilo box down for me, then pushed it to the checkout. I joined the queue and at the top the cashier said “do you need help getting those to the car” and I said why yes I do.
She rang someone and said “there’s a lady here with 2 trolleys needs a hand” Yeah that and the 8.5 month bump… Anyway she explained that they have people employed specifically to help you with this stuff. You don’t have to rely on a visible need (like my bump, or being elderly) and them taking pity on you – you just have to ask. Very Nice Man number two came to my car, cast a skeptical eye at first then hoiked the boxes in successfully (see above.)
Ikea; you rule.