Waiting (& Complaining)
We’re waiting over here. Waiting for the warmth, waiting for a baby, hoping the former comes before the latter because everything is easier when it is warmer, including good moods and easy walks. Waiting for Mum to swoop in and take over toddler duties (okay, all duties … sorry Mum. How do you feel about window cleaning?). Waiting for the cold/snot/cough season to go far, far away, burnt by the sun in the fiery depths of apreferably very long, very hot summer. Die Lüdde has crashed out again in a pile of tissues and nose drops, because this weather, this hovering-at-ten-degrees-with-a-cold-wind weather, is perfect for maintaining illness. Because I don’t want to let her suffer alone, I have also fallen in a heap, after falling in a heap last month with the stomach flu. We have 29 days to get our shit together, get healthy, and get some sleep (ha ha) before the baby arrives, so bring on the sun and vitamin D, Europe. Don’t hold back now. (Just on that note, and not to complain … much … but, it is 26 degrees in Sydney, and 10 over here. 26 degrees in Autumn, 10 in Spring. That isn’t right. I want to burn my jumpers, and I have found myself dreaming of our next trip to Asia, and I don’t even care about the flight with a two year old and newborn, because we will be WARM, WARM AND SWEATY AND WAAAAAARM.)
Crawled out from under a pile of tissues and cough expectorant bottles and nose drops and eucalyptus oil, and trotted down to the markets. She’s out there, Spring, she just needs to turn the volume up a bit.