It takes a village

First of all, let me just apologise. Blogger was in read-only mode yesterday so I couldn't post. Anyhoo.

The old saying that it takes a village to raise a child was demonstrated to me yesterday and was perfectly timed.

I'd had a bit of a flat week. You know when you just don't feel at your peak? A little off-kilter. A little under the weather. A litty bitty shitty. That was me.

BUT I had a hairdressing appointment booked so I felt confident that would reverse my melancholy mood. Particularly since some of my sadness could be attributed to the fact that I felt as though I looked like a swamp dweller and had done for some time.

A friend had offered to babysit but that fell through when Noam wouldn't stop howling as I tried to settle him at her house. She had visitors coming and I just couldn't leave him there, shrieking like a banshee, while she tried to entertain. So I took him with me and thought 'I'll just cut a few pram laps around the block before I go in and he'll fall asleep et voila!

But no. I don't know whether it was his teeth upsetting him, or the injections he got on Thursday or both, or perhaps he was hating me, but whatever it was, he was not to be consoled.

I entered the hairdresser on the verge of tears, knowing I would break down with the first word I tried to utter. And I did. I felt like such an idiot. Cradling the screaming Noam, crying myself like a spoilt lunatic who couldn't cope without a hairdressing appointment.

Fortunately, a client in the waiting area realised this was not the M.O of a spoilt lunatic. She bustled over, said 'give him to me' and proceeded to cuddle him and whisper to him as I was led to a seat in front of a mirrored wall so I could stare at my own pathetic form.

I couldn't even turn around to thank the kind stranger because my crying increased every time I tried to speak. Eventually I managed to regain control of myself and I turned to smile at the lady who was consoling my child. She smiled back and carried on walking him around the salon, rocking him and pointing at things of interest through the window.

He stopped crying after about 30 minutes and she transferred him to his pram where he slept, his little cherub face still red from crying, but peaceful.

With half my hair wrapped in foil and the other half covered in dye I got up and went to sit beside the kind lady. Emma was her name. She told me she has two year old twins at home. We spoke about all sorts of things and she gave me her phone number in case I ever needed help with things in the future.

How nice is that? I felt like a new person when I left the hairdressers. Mostly because I was reminded of the kindness of strangers and how the simplest deed can change the course of someones day, week, life perhaps.

So, thank you Emma, from Noam and I for helping me through a tough week and inspiring me to help others.

Until tomorrow xx