Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Wine of the Times

We have both been quite tired recently. It isn't anything that any other parent hasn't experienced, and last week I met someone who had triplets which shut me up a bit, but our lovely son is now mobile and intent on vomiting on everything in the flat.

The icing on the cake is when I tip his bubbly bath water from his baby bath away into the big bath only to see a massive turd heading straight for the plughole which then needs extricating from/just pushing down through the complicated plug mechanism.

We finally get him to sleep and open a bottle of wine. I collapse on to the sofa and realise that my trousers are still encrusted with rancid orange juice from when I took the recycling to the supermarket and a not-quite-empty carton leaked all down my leg so I had to go around Tesco looking like I'd wet myself but didn't really care at all. I then realise that this was actually the day before, so these trousers have already been taken off and put back on again in preference to any others, mainly because all my other clothes have been vomited on and all our drying space is full of damp baby-gros.

"Does this wine taste funny to you?" my girlfriend asks.

I sniff it, take a sip, swill it around my mouth and gurgle it across my taste buds like they showed us on the wine tasting day we went to in a previous life. Then I look at the label.

"This is mulled wine."


"Well, we've opened the bottle now. Cheers."

Our son wakes us at 2am; my mouth tastes of Christmas.