I HAVE A PROBLEM.

I have a problem.

Lots of them probably, but I’ll only deal with one right now.

My husband has taken Q to the garden at my parent’s place so she can eat snails and chicken manure, giving me much needed time to pack for tomorrow’s beach holiday.

(Hear that Mother Nature – BEACH HOLIDAY. Because it is SUMMER. And that’s what people do in the summer. They go to the beach for a swim because it is HOT. Summer is one of the reasons I live in Sydney. I am really mad at you, Mother Nature, also because you duped us with a few scorchers in October and I bought a pair of shorts that I haven’t worn since. You owe me 24 bucks).

Anyway Q isn’t here and the apartment is quiet and only in a state of semi-destruction because she wasn’t here long enough this morning to make it complete.

She and I hang out a lot. Pretty much 24 hours a day for over a year. She’s kind of like another appendage except that she doesn’t obey my commands.

And now, without her here, (even though it means I can wrap the one gift we got her - a book cos I’m so bored of the ones we’ve got - and G’s gifts - won’t write it here on the off chance he reads this post - and can actually pack without the great unpacker around to ruin all my hard work) I miss her.

I miss her.

I miss her little mischievous, toothy smile, her annoying back-of-the-throat groan she does when she wants to be picked up, the way she pulls out all the books and throws them all over the room, the way she gets up on all fours and crawls about, always carrying some treasure in her mouth. I miss her unpacking my wallet and the food she throws about while she’s eating.

Actually, I really don’t miss those last two things. My glasses are not that rose tinted.

And now I’ve wasted precious packing and wrapping time and must stop this separation nonsense.

I doubt she’ll learn Russian while we’re apart. Or start to hop. Or read. And I’m pretty sure she’ll still know who I am when we see each other again.

The cloth nappies do nothing
for her derriere.

I am a loser.

Start packing Hart.


You deserve one big eye roll.