Swimming Pool

We went to the swimming pool this afternoon. The obvious option when it’s bloody snowing. I suggested Zac take Theo in the pool whilst Daisy and I sat in the cafe. I carefully calculated the times of her morning and lunchtime naps so that the afternoon one would coincide perfectly with our visit to the cafe, giving me a very rare hour of peace and quiet. I don’t know why I got my hopes up.
Once we arrived at the leisure centre car park, I plonked Daisy’s car seat on the wheels. She was starting to look sleepy as she contently chomped away on her dummy. I asked Zac to push Daisy in whilst I got Theo.
Inside, Zac told me the dummy had fallen out of Daisy’s mouth but that it was under her right arm in the buggy. The boys went skipping off to the changing rooms and I wheeled Daisy to the cafe, grabbing a huge cappuccino and a slice of carrot cake the size of my head, before settling into one of the comfy chairs.
This is where it all went tits up. Daisy started to grizzle as predicted so I looked under her right arm, as advised by my helpful husband. The dummy wasn’t there. I checked under her other arm. Not there either. Long story short, I couldn’t find the bollocking dummy anywhere. 
Somewhere between the car and the reception desk, Zac had managed to lose it. Getting Daisy to fall asleep in her buggy without it is near to impossible. Lucky me. At this point in time I had a better chance of being seen sitting on Tom Hardy’s knee for the entire CBeebies Valentines Bedtime Story than I did of getting my daughter to sleep and enjoying my sodding cake and cappuccino. My plans were totally and utterly buggered.
I then proceeded to spend the next hour with a bright red face alternating between entertaining my four month old with enough enthusiasm to rival that psychotic Milkshake presenter, and attempting to calm her down when she started getting angry at me. Meanwhile, from my vantage point of the pool I could see Zac and Theo busy putting the Waltons to shame with their father and son bonding display. Just to rub it in, Daisy furnished me with a nice trail of vomit starting at my shoulder and travelling all the way down to the back of my shoe. I was too pissed off to give a shit.
Daisy fell asleep two minutes before the boys reappeared. I necked my room temperature cappuccino, and shoved the whole piece of cake in my mouth.
The moral of the story? Take more than one dummy out of the house with you, I hear you say? No. It’s don’t trust your husband with ANYTHING. He even had the audacity to suggest it was I who lost the dummy. Needless to say, this did not wash well with me. I know I should be grateful to have such a lovely husband who wants to take his child swimming but right now I’m just too annoyed to think clearly. We currently aren’t speaking. Dick.


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