Oceans of patience

This week's lesson is in patience.

I am not a patient person. In fact, I'd go so far as saying I'm known for my impatience. TLOML has more patience than me, a lot more, but still he has his limits. The UK Border Agency with their 7 month visa process hit up against them fairly quickly. And British waiters - the ones that fail to meet eye contact and take ages to notice we need menus or fresh drinks - also incite some grumpiness. Yes, we are neither of us models of forbearance. We like instant gratification, rapid results, and for life to tick along at a satisfying pace.

Or so we thought. Until Lady P came along and taught us that there is just no point cutting corners. Changing that nappy hastily, without proper care to creases and pulling the little ruffle out around the legs will surely come back to bite us later that day. Putting her down when she looks like she just might be asleep will only result in an angry baby and twice as much effort to calm her again. Cramming the bottle of milk into her quickly because it's the middle of the night and we're tired will bring out a burpy fit of rage.

There are no shortcuts.

So we've undergone something of a revolution these past four weeks. It turns out we are both very very patient people. We do have the capacity to jiggle her on our knee for thirty monotonous, muscle burning minutes. We have it in us to stand and rock her for twice as long, if that's what it takes. Taking almost an hour to feed her 4 oz of milk, with long, backrubbing burp sessions between every few gulps, is absolutely fine with us.

Who knew?!

One thing hasn't changed though. And that's the rate at which we like our G&T served. The moment she's asleep, that Hendricks better be splashing into a glass near me or there's big trouble.