I vacuumed today for only the second time since we moved in.
Don’t judge me, it’s been a frantic four weeks.
I am intending to buy one of those carpet sweepers circa 1972 but haven’t been able to find one. My sister-in-law suggested I try the salvos.
How rude.
So I borrowed a vacuum from our downstairs neighbour and lugged the thing up the stairs.
This is why I don’t want to buy my own. They’re heavy. And big. And expensive and alright, I’ll admit it, buying one really makes me aware that I’m probably not moving back to NYC anytime soon.
It was a somewhat depressing activity. Not being able to fit your vacuum between your bed and your child’s cot really highlights how small a space you’re living in.
On the upside, there were only two rooms to vacuum so it was all over in ten minutes. Took me longer to rewrap the stupid cord.
Someone told us that the sound of my blood rushing past Miss Q’s ears in utero was as noisy as a vacuum cleaner. Shushing loudly in their ear is meant to pacify a newborn.
Miss Q wasn’t quite as impressed today. She sat there and growled and growled louder and louder until she was noisier than the vacuum cleaner.
She’s seven and a half months old and she’s taking on inanimate objects.
It’s going to be a long ride to adulthood.
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