Previously on The Buda Nest…
Zsuzsa scarpered to London leaving poor, helpless Gareth to deal with a ferocious baby on his own. After a successfully navigated first day, Gareth celebrated with a lovely bath, watched Wonder Woman and drank some white wine while waiting for his period to arrive. However, day two was a different beast. A rain filled beast. A sleep deprived beast. A pear puree covered beast. Gareth was beginning to struggle…
I fell asleep 4 times during a conference call today. They were only nano, close your eyes for a split second, shit did I just fall asleep, sleeps, but still.
I think the main culprit was last night’s radical plan of not going to bed until 2 in the morning. My mind was too active and so I did what any sane human would do knowing that they have to be up before the sun to look after a small human. I watched a South Korean zombie movie (Train to Busan. By the way it’s brilliant.) until the wee hours.
I’m now on a bus on route to collecting my little piglet from nursery. Just to avoid any confusion, by that I mean I’m on route to collect Mila, my child. I don’t have a piglet, and even if I did, it’s doubtful that they’d attend nursery school. Despite the self inflicted sleep deprivation, I’m actually holding up well and back in good spirits. Maybe it’s because the sun is shining again? Maybe I have SAD? Or maybe it was because I just slept my way through a meeting on data.
Anyway, I’m on a bus.
I’m listening to a weekly podcast from a popular Welsh comedian (Rhod Gilbert). Something is said about couscous and it tickles me. The first time that couscous has ever tickled me, or probably anyone, during the entire existence of couscous. An involuntary snicker escapes from my lips. It’s just a little snicker, but before I know it, it’s turned in to a chuckle. The chuckle then morphs in to a chortle. Then chortle becomes a guffaw. Before I know it the I’m roaring with uncontrollable laughter. People are beginning to stare, but it’s no use. I can’t stop. I glance up at the old lady sitting opposite me. She quickly looks away, but it’s too late. I’ve seen it. Fear. She shuffles uneasily, but I’m now snort laughing and struggling to breath. Tears have begun to stream down my face, all because of a remark related to couscous. The old lady glances at me and we make eye contact. I’m crying, mouth open, eyes wild. I look like a maniac. She quickly looks away.
I want to tell her not to be afraid, but I don’t know the Hungarian for “Don’t be afraid little old lady. I’m just laughing about a funny remark related to couscous in a podcast.” A moment later and she gets up and moves to another seat. I now have a vast expanse of space all around me and I make a mental note to try this same trick next time I’m on a busy London Underground during rush hour.
The bus arrives at my stop, I get off, pick Mila up, feed her, bath her, put her to bed, put the washing on, sweep the floor and tidy the flat.
I am a domestic goddess. Hear me roar.
Fed Mila pork scratchings today. That's what babies eat right? Dried pig fat and pig skin?
She’s home! The prodigal mother has returned! Huzzah! We made it through the great Zsuzsa drought of 2017! It’s been tough. It’s been sleepy. I’ve spent the week desperate for a poop. We’ve both missed Zsuzsa like crazy, but you know what? Oddly, I’ve actually had quite a lovely time, just me and the little lion cub. We’ve bonded a bit more.
There was a moment yesterday, Mila had hurt her finger and came running to me for a hug and for me to kiss it better, and I had this weird feeling. I’ve obviously felt like a Dad now for more than a year, but I suddenly realised that I’m someone’s Daddy. That might sound weird, but it hit me that I’m the person someone runs to to kiss bumps better. I’m her Daddy.