Apart from a couple trips outside for baby health checks and to bring the garbage bins back in off the street, I haven’t moved outside of a six foot radius between the sink, the stove and the laundry basket…in over six days!
Like Lucille Ball in the infamous chocolate factory conveyor belt scene. I’m like the flustered production line worker desperately trying to juggle and manage the ever increasing, non-stop conveyor belt of shift rotations between washing puked-on baby and parent clothes, preparing formula top-ups and my god…
The boiling…What’s with all the boiling??!!
Bottles, dummies, teats, breast pumps, furniture, roofing tiles. You name it, it goes in the pot. I think Starbucks “worldwide”, boils less water than I do. Not since the Three Witches in Shakespeare’s Macbeth or Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction (How do you like your bunny? Boiled, steamed or fried?), has there been so much action around a bubbling cauldron.
I’ve never quite understood the purpose behind ensuring everything that goes into the baby’s mouth is more sterile than a Chernobyl eunuch in a uranium cod-piece. It’s not like you can boil his own fingers or his mother’s nipples for that matter. I mean, look at places like India, Africa or China. I’m pretty sure not everyone there is boiling everything all the time, and they have baby populations almost as big as Frankston.
But, it’s what the experts tell us and who are we to stand in the way of Indy’s health?
So, it’s up to me to keep the home fires burning, and keep the melting pot a’bubblin’ until we finally reach MY boiling point.
But with each passing day, things get easier and easier. And in the grand scheme of things where my boy’s health is concerned, I just have to remind myself to just simmer down…it really ain’t all that bad 😉