Home Alone

LK has gallivanted off to Palm Springs with his gay lover, ostensibly to watch the Pacific Coast Open, leaving me quite literally holding the baby. This is the first time either one of us has been away from Anna for a night since she was born. I am not that impressed with the idea of being a single parent, I am chuffing knackered. She is finally asleep at 9pm (Anna is steadfastly ignoring last weekend's time change) and all I want to do is drink three glasses of wine back to back and join her.

I'd had all these plans to enjoy my time alone (well, almost alone), I was going to write, watch Casino Royale endlessly with my finger poised above the pause button, eat lots of lardy food that LK despises, sleep like a starfish and generally enjoy myself. Upon reflection, this is exactly the same kind of plan I had when I thought about possibly working from home after Anna was born. The kind of plan that does not involve having to look after Anna every second of every minute of every hour. What was I thinking? Where was all this magic free time supposed to come from? Looking after Anna is constant. CONSTANT. She is not the slightest bit interested in ogling Daniel Craig, apparently he is not a patch on Elmo, and the only lardy food I had chance to sneak was an errant chicken nugget of hers, and even that was a faux chicken tofu nugget.

Meanwhile, back in Palm Springs, LK has called to reassure me that all is well and that he has not fallen prey to his rich hosts proclivities, because, as he said on the phone 'you've no need to be worried, I defended you when they asked why I was still on my first marriage when I could get any person I wanted, I said, you haven't met her yet'. Hmm, I wonder how that came up in conversation. Time for that vat of wine I think.