According to Instagram, I’ve been gone for about three months now, from this account, from this online identity. In that timeframe, there have been office moves, work stress, and all the pressure on a family that a house move can bring. That barely scrapes the murky barrel of anguish and crisis of the last three months, but it’s all I’ve got for you just now I’m afraid.
So now, in negation of my London Daddy identity, we’re out in the English Shires. Land of open space, cheaper houses, reduced crime, and endless pubs. Not that I ever struggled for pubs, or crime for that matter, back in West London, but space was the big issue. A two-bedroom flat can be small for two big personalities, and it’s positively minuscule with four of them.
We’ve had nursery dramas, from tears at the departure from one, to tears at the arrival of another. Then more tears trying to get to and from this new nursery, down country roads where giant SUV/tanks would insist on driving 2 inches from your rear bumper if you didn’t hurtle around blind corners at 60mph. To then yet more tears at the cost of removing Elodie from one nursery early, to settle her into a third new nursery in a month. Thankfully that’s all settled now, and there are far less tears.
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs might have it’s limitations (does Wifi fit into ‘Physiological Needs’?), but we’ve spent quite a bit of time in the bottom half of the pyramid. It’s left no time for anything else, outside of the home, outside of the self.
We’re still not quite there. Just because there’s a rapprochement within the realm of ‘self actualisation’, there’s a lot to do amongst the Esteem needs. But we’re taking one day at a time.
And a misnomer or not, London Daddy is back.