I stayed at home today. I'm not feeling one hundred percent, and if my ailment is muscular, then I'm supposed to rest. Rest is quite an alien concept when one works full-time (a significant distance from home), and has a small person to look after.
Due to the fact I still can't pick Dexter up, I sent him to nursery with the lift-share ladies/angels sent from Heaven. Turns out that the theme of the day was not only 'rest', but 'guilt'. Guilt for dumping my son, my friends, my colleagues and my students. Said guilt however, was not quite enough to counter utter exhaustion. A combination of a significant trauma and a significant number of pharmaceuticals floating around in my body, wiped me out and I slept a lot.
Dexter was delivered home at six o'clock. He was tired and emotional. There had been no Sarah, no Mummy in the car, and no afternoon nap, but instead, a cheeky 'almost-home' snooze from which he had to be woken.
Unpacking his nursery bag, I discovered a personalised paper bag containing a homemade cheese scone; the poor boy had even made his own tea! He let Mummy have a few bites and it was delicious. As a one-off, he was allowed to have his highchair in front of the television. Iggle Piggle and a delicious savoury treat. All was well in the world once again.