On this chilly but gorgeously sunny day, I'm waiting for the burly furniture delivery men to bring me the fab new recliner chair in chocolate leather, which the boy bought for me on Saturday. It's going in the nursery so that I can breastfeed in there, right next to the cot. I would've been content with something modest, like a simple upright chair with arm rests, but the boy wants me to have the option of sleeping in it if I'm really tired. Of course, the idea did dawn on me that perhaps this was a hint that he would rather I slept in the chair than disturb his sleep by getting in and out of bed all night - but he's denying it.
Also to be delivered is a bedside table, to be placed next to the boy's side of the bed. Until now, the side of the dresser has served as home for the alarm clock, the box of tissues, the books and the asthma inhaler. Getting the boy to leave his headphones and CDs there however, has been an impossible task. So buying the bedside table is really a concession to me, since he's promised he's going to actually use it to put all his junk on.
After the burly delivery men have been and gone (they said they'll be twenty minutes), I'll be waiting for the washing machine to finish with the laundry. For some reason, it's always too wet or too cold to do the laundry in the weekend, and I always end up doing it on Mondays when the boy isn't around to help me lug it up the steps to the washing line.
And the next task will be to take my mother out to the supermarket. She sets the almost-stationary pace, so it too is a kind of waiting.
Five weeks to go before all hell breaks loose.