So, dear readers, the babe came.
If I had to give an analogy for life with a newborn, it would be the undrunk cup of tea (followed closely by the unanswered texts, the eternal pile of washing, the milk-stained everything). Tea made at an interval of peace, when the video monitor showed baby to be fast asleep, the clock showed baby due to stay asleep for another hour or so (that's the rare optimist in me). Yet to be sure, the kettle boiling must be an alarm clock in babyland, for as soon as the water hits the mug, a scream is bound to be heard, and away from my beloved hot tea I must dash. Cut to hours later after a long bout of feeding and fussing and, on a good day, the baby is re-swaddled and placed down to (hopefully) sleep, before rinsing and repeating ad infinitum.
And as my tea sits cold and forlorn, with a smile I think of how I said aloud just two weeks ago with such blissful ignorance, "How am I possibly going to occupy my time when I'm on leave?"
The catch is (and I never would have believed it if I'd been told before), I've never been happier.
