Just like any other day, remember that… Nige awoke at 3 again, with a headache and the need to wee. Both these things are in my remit to sort out – easy stuff. Unless, of course, he decides, whilst I’m preparing his Co-Codamol, to try and get into bed.
“Oh Nigel, what have I told you? Please wait for me to help you, it just makes it so much harder…”
It does. He’s half on, half off the bed but the angle is such that I can’t easily move him to where he needs to be. Add to that the exhaustion he’s feeling, having exerted himself, solo, leaving him with no energy to help me in any way! I’m nothing, if not tenacious though, so by 10 past 3 it’s mission accomplished.
Just after 7 and it’s time for breakfast, meds and another dose of Co-Codamol. He’s really not eating much – I’ll mention it to Sally later. I was downstairs by half past, listening to him snoozing over the monitor and watching Maigret with a very potent espresso.
I had to wake the boys up at about half 10. Gabe made it downstairs first, found his meagre stocking and put the kettle on for tea. I went back upstairs to give Harry another gentle nudge: tea did it! And a bacon sandwich. This day has been long anticipated, I think, and we have all inwardly felt it needed to be gentle and non-Christmassy. I mean we have never done the whole paper hats, karaoke and party blowers, we’re more your unfussy Christmas dinner, old vinyl on the record player and board games type of family but even that, even that felt just too celebratory whilst Nige lay upstairs, oblivious to the day.
Mum and dad got here at about 3, perfect as dinner was ready to be served up. It all seemed to go well. If I’m honest, I struggled with the normality they brought to the house – the very reason I invited them! But, yeah, it left me feeling conflicted. Thankfully the boys were fabulous, chatting openly, listening, entertaining; masking my own awkwardness… A few times a took myself up to sit with Nige and not just because I thought he needed the company.
After mum and dad left, it was just us three again with our wonderful man, in our bizarre life that has become scarily normal. It’s like those hideous slippers that are likely to kill you as you negotiate the stairs but are just too bloody comfortable to get rid of. And no one else understands why you’re alright with them…
Next is New Year. I really fucking hate New Year.