Mum unable to run - witching hour without wine

The clock was ticking and witching hour was upon us (well, just upon me actually as I was the only adult present). I knew I had minutes, seconds maybe, before the time bomb (AKA baby) exploded, switching from chilled out, laid-back mode, to full-on screaming banshee.

Not only was the small one about to erupt, I also had a hot, overtired (usually an angel) devil-child to deal with who needed assistance with absolutely anything and everything she never usually needed help with.

In an effort to keep the small one calm and amused, I lowered my aching bones onto the play mat and waggled things in his face, causing him to giggle more than he would if he were on the receiving end of a personal performance from Michael McIntyre. We were five minutes in and things were going well. But suddenly, without any warning, it was no longer funny and apparently had become the most scary and sad thing he’d ever seen. So I organised an emergency change of scene to the bouncy chair.

This worked for approximately four minutes, so I eked another two out of it by selecting vibrate mode. Much gurgling and dribbling ensued. I mistakenly took this for happiness until a scream so almighty and high-pitched erupted my first instinct was to move both kids away from the windows in fear of the glass shattering.

Next I decided to attempt a nappy change to see if being in a completely different room might help. I'd already done this half an hour earlier but knew it could use up four minutes or so, depending on the quantity of output and the work required to remove it. Plus I was fast running out of sceneries to change. This did not go down too well as he put two and two together and made five, concluding it was now bedtime. A fact he made very obvious he wasn't happy with. I could hear neighbours frantically banging their windows shut so I stepped it up a notch and we got out of there in under two minutes.

I thought perhaps sustenance might restore the peace. I was, in fact, mistaken (once again). As I tentatively inserted the bottle teat into his mouth, everything apart from his baby gro went bright red and the lower lip began to wobble. Big, huge ginormous mistake on my part. With reflexes so quick you’d be hard pushed to distinguish me from a ninja on a speed train, I whipped out the bottle and inserted the dummy. Crisis averted, for now.

I pulled out all the stops and called upon Igglepiggle and his buddies for help. We were all on tenterhooks waiting to find out if the Pinky Ponk or the Ninky Nonk would be the star of today’s episode. I found myself sat on the edge of my seat in anticipation - I had not yet seen this episode (number 97 out of 100).

Once everyone was suitably engrossed watching the psychedelic nodding birds, I dashed to the loo so I could take a moment to pause and reflect on the situation. Plus I hadn’t been for hours and was pretty desperate. It was now 6:00pm-ish. I’d made a sterling effort (if I do say so myself) to drag out the start of bedtime from 5pm until now, but we still had an excruciatingly long way to go (at least 27 minutes).

A horrifying realisation suddenly hit me. The kids needed to be in bed shortly and I had not yet received confirmation from my other half as to his ETA.

My hands began to get clammy as I made a few calculations. He could arrive home at any time - it might be in ten minutes or not for ten hours. I had no way of confirming either way as he was seemingly incommunicado. I’d tried calling about fifty times and come to the conclusion he was going to be late but was now too scared to answer the phone, knowing all too well the delightful time he was missing out on.

On the plus side, both kids should (hopefully) be in bed soon. Alas this would render me a prisoner in my own home. Forget dinner. My mouth was as dry as those green oasis things they use in flower arranging. You can imagine the panic when I realised the dire alcoholic options available to me for the evening: alcohol-free lager; Pimms (no lemonade, tonic or fruit in sight); Sherry; or tea. No wine, not a bottle in sight. Pretty unsatisfactory if you’ve had a very long day with two under fives permanently attached to you in piping hot weather conditions, taken three hours to walk half a mile, debated the pros and cons of refusing to walk the rest of the way home resulting in a lot of screaming and dragging of feet, and fed said small people on what feels like twenty separate occasions.

Now, even in desperate times I’m sensible enough to know ‘popping’ out with both kids at this time of day to grab a bottle of the good stuff would not only be viewed as pretty selfish but also a logistical (and emotional) nightmare. I fleetingly ponder whether they’d really miss me if I literally popped out for a second (I wouldn’t dream of it but I do like to run through all the options in an emergency situation).

I eventually wrestle both kids into bed, and finally to sleep. I'm now a sweaty, exhausted, thirsty mess. My other half calls to let me know in jolly tones (which do not rub off on me) that he won’t be home for two hours. Desperation kicks in and I attack the Pimms bottle with a vengeance. It’s not awful if you just add water, close your eyes and drink quickly, really.