Friday, 28 August 2015
And then there were three
We moved to Crouch End or 'creche end'. Or 'couch end' as they call it due to the disproportionate number of children and therapists in the area. Well, I was in therapy and had a child so I was right in there. Jonny had always said previously that 'crouch end was where actors went to die'. Ah well.. I could think of worse places.
We bought our two bedroom flat for £230,000 after a particularly fierce property related row in the car (an old green Skoda that my husband had bought on ebay) during which the phone rang and an agent said that our offer of five months earlier had finally been accepted. We also had an offer accepted on a house in Walthamstow village in the same weekend. Both places were a wreck and needed complete renovation. We opted for the flat since the area was so fantastic and I had been slightly put off Walthamstow after a murder sign appeared in the church yard on the day of the viewing. London is London and I loved my old Walthamstow flat but somehow this did not see to be an auspicious sign. (Now I could smack myself in the face. It's worth a bloody fortune!)
We had £20,000 to do up the flat and this had to happen fast as we had moved out of Islington and were camping in Jonny's sister's flat in Manor House while she was away. I was in agony and had had to give up work a few months previously due to hideous degenerating fibroids that I had not known about pre-pregnancy.
When people tell you to limit your intake of this and that in pregnancy please think of me and my pethidine, morphine, codeine intake for pain relief and do not stress yourselves unduly about the pate that you ate by mistake.
Number One Son is, however, perfect. All was definitely well that ended well.
And so we trundled back from UCH to our new flat next to the park and thought.....now what?! We were typical older middle aged, middle class parents. Over thinking everything. Analyzing everything. Mmmm he's crying. What should we do? Rock him? Feed him? Burp him? Read him Shakespeare? Quick to the book store. Ah yes. Routine. That's what we need. The author's routine lasted about one page before we realised she was talking a langauage that we did not comprehend. Put it this way. Number One Son is five and we still hold his hand to get him to sleep. He finally (finally) slept through aged four and a half. Years. Not months and oh boy absolutely not weeks. So take heart! We are a well adjusted and happy family. Who just need a bit more sleep.