Today was a day of metaphorical sunshine and showers. Herbie was adopting his persona of Grumpus Maximus (the cod latin for massive grump) and was hard to console. It could be teething, more teeth are shooting through, so Calpol was administered and eventually he calmed down.
The biggest test of the day was getting Verity to her doctors appointment, where she was to have her MMR jab. The issue was the distance to be walked, as I am no car driver and public transport would take us the scenic route, and whether or not to squeeze a rather large three-and-a-half year old into a buggy.
I decided that we would walk and while it started well, it wasn’t long before the complaining began:
“Are we at the Doctor’s yet?”
“Are we lost?”
“I am scared. We are lost”
“Are we at the Doctor’s yet?”
Repeat as required…
But it was a lovely sunny spring afternoon and we made good progress up Alderton Hill and down Trap’s Hill to the surgery. Being a clever so-and-so and trying to negotiate the traffic, I decided we cross earlier and walk along the short grass verge that faced the medical centre. As we got closer to the entrance, I suddenly noticed the ground underfoot becoming very waterlogged and before I could step backwards and navigate an alternate route, I discovered my right boot sinking into a boggy puddle that completely enveloped my boot and a good inch of my jeans.
I quickly drew up my boot and skipped over the water trough that blocked our way. Amazingly, Verity’s shoes didn’t get a single speck of mud on them and I quickly searched for some long grass with which to soak up the mud from my boots. Despite my efforts, I trudged into the surgery and left a single line of muddy footprints in and out of the establishment, which, to the casual observer, would have looked as if a one-legged swamp thing had hopped in and then out of the surgery, leaving behind in his wake a splattering of mud and debris.
Thankfully, the injections were shrugged off with a few tears, rewarded with a sweet and some stickers and while we sat in the waiting room to see if any ill-effects should appear, a quick game of “Sonic the Hedgehog” on my iPod Touch took her mind off the two injections, one in each arm.
We then walked into town, went into WH Smiths and selected a Peppa Pig magazine and spent some time on a bench reading the stories and saving our legs for the walk home. Of course, little madam had to give up at the final furlong and I carried her part of the way up the hill, but we made it home intact.
Despite the soggy foot and the occasional feeling of being an utter failure in this world, I had my reward this afternoon. I was very proud of my daughter and how she behaved, how she didn’t make a fuss with the injections and how she was rapt in my storytelling on the bench with tales of Peppa Pig at the Fair, the hustle and bustle of the world moving around us.
It’s moments like this that make me realise I really am the luckiest man in the world… I don’t deserve any of this.
