National Adoption Week: Wednesday

Today has been a bump back to reality after last night's shenanigans at the National Adoption Week awards. We all overslept after our late nights so it was a bit of a rush getting Birdy to nursery on time, and OB was admittedly late for his home ed group. None of that was helped by the fact that I'm the only person in the household who has the faintest concept of the passage of time, or what it might mean to 'rush' or even just move a tiny bit faster.

My morning was about work. My afternoon was about work too. While Birdy napped, exhausted from hedgehog-related fun at nursery, OB sat with me at the table, and we were both surprisingly productive considering how tired we both were.

It was around 3.30pm when the phone calls started. The local authority was looking for a foster home for a small child. Was I available?

Interesting question. I explained my limitations. There were a lot more phone calls. Managers were spoken to. Arrangements were made. Assurances were given. By 5.15pm we were all in the car on our way to our first introductions meeting.

This might sound like a rush, but actually it's the first time in seven years I've had the option to  have introduction meetings with a child that has come to live here. We have a few days grace to prepare ourselves and our home, get some shopping in, make plans for our new routine.

OB is delighted. He has been asking for a new baby for months now. He showed how delighted he was by doing a little dance. He was excited right until the moment we stepped through the door of this child's home, when he suddenly became my silent shadow. Birdy, as usual, was the life and soul of the party, engaging with the little one immediately, offering toys and biscuits and drinks, playing and laughing and singing a little song.

At bedtime, Birdy was clingy though. I didn't put her to bed last night, and she wanted to make sure she got her full mummy measure tonight to make up for it. OB needed me too. Sometimes I wish there were two of me. I suspect I'm soon going to fantasise about having three of me.

But there is only one of me. And it always seems to work out somehow. As soon as I hit 'publish' on this post, I'll be back to working, because 'flexible hours' basically means 'most of my evenings'. Tonight, though, I'm sweetening the deal with the generous helping of lamb pasanda that's just been handed to me by the delivery driver.

Internet take away ordering - brightening my evenings since 2013.

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