After a 3 week absence, Big G is home, and we're all happy.
He's popped out ... to get wine ... so I've popped online ... to have a whine.
When we had tiny babies, we did that irritating thing that all new parents do: have Tiredness Competitions. It's a scientifically proven fact that out with baby comes an umbilically attached urge to let your partner know exactly how tired you are, and exactly why you've had a much harder day than they have. You know the routine:
"That was the worst night I ever had"
"I only slept about 2 hours"
"I've haven't stopped all day, I don't think I even had lunch"
"It's so hot in our room, I didn't sleep a wink"
"I've been up since 4, couldn't get back to sleep"
"I'm so exhausted, how am I going to get through the day"
"I just can't get on top of anything, I need more help"
And it's all true. I reckon I won the Tiredness Competitions most of the time, mainly because I submitted my winning entries with infinitely far more fury, expletives, ferocity and wine-fuelled venom than my placid, gentle giant of a man ever would.
Big G almost got home last night on a flight from Washington DC, but halfway to England the plane broke, turned around, and sped all the way back to where it started. So he had to wait around for hours, get on a later flight overnight, then take a bus, then a taxi to home. Then he had to look after the kids because I couldn't get out of working today. And that's on top of severe pilot sleep-deprivation due to several night flights and early starts in a row.
So I don't think I'll bother starting a Tiredness Competition tonight. He'll win.
Off now, for a glass of Rioja. Chin chin!