Splash

On Monday, I went in to put down a deposit to get ducted gas heating installed in the house. I think our house is a cold house to start off with, plus with the baby wriggling up her cot each night, and no heating in her room, we decided that we would get it done.

We'd had the man come out to the house last week to check it out and give us a quote. I'm pretty sure he remembered us when we went in, as I was only just dressed (ie, not done my hair or teeth) and I was feeding the baby her breakfast, while the dogs ran around and jumped all over him (until I put her out). He had left me the forms to fill out and, of course, I hadn't touched them - so I was trying to fill in all my details while balancing the baby on the counter. She was all arms and legs - squiggling around, pulling my hair, chewing my wallet, reaching for the pen, trying to grab all the business cards.

And then she turned her head and vomited all over the counter.

And then carried on as she had before.

I probably heated up another 30 degrees and turned bright red. "I. am. so. sorry!!!" I kept apologising as I pulled the facewasher from my handbag and started trying to mop up this mess.

You gotta love the look of mopping up mucousy milk spew - turning the facewasher around and around, trying to find dry spots on it while containing it all - trying to stop putting new damp spots on the counter with each wipe.

And of course when I pulled out my credit card to pay, it was damp.

Urgh.

They called me up on Tuesday to ask me to come back in to sign the credit card authorisation - perhaps the salesman was more flustered than I thought, and he forgot to get me to sign the most important part of the form?

Either way, I picked up my dad on the drive in, and he sat with her in the car while I signed it this time.