It’s an interesting feeling. Here I sit in my house, on the day before Christmas, and it is eerily quiet.
I’m the only one here.
Generally, at this time of night, there is a cacophony of noise, as the natives are well and truly restless. Baths have happened, tears have been shed, dinner has gone all over the floor, more tears have been shed, and we are into the bit where the milk bottles directly into the mouths are the only things that dampen the silence.
Instead, on this Christmas Eve, I find myself sitting in my big cavernous house, without a single other female within earshot.
It’s unheard of.
My family have headed to Oxley for Christmas, to be with the rest of Suse’s family, while I’m on call today and tomorrow. I’ve already had video of the slip and slide, and FaceTime, and it is clear through all of this that north-east Victoria is ten degrees warmer than here in Ballarat.
And it’s okay being on call. It really is. I know it’s a good deed. I know I’m needed. I don’t feel frustrated, or even upset. But on Christmas Eve, it does feel a little solemn. I miss my little girls, and my big girl.
I spend weeks seeking this silence. I yearn for it.
But not right now.
Because in reality, I’m just a big softie who wants to be with my family.