Godzilla wakes early.
I think perhaps it is due to it being his birthday. It is, instead, a headache and very low grade fever, that my Mummy Senses put down to the fact that he is lying in bed with four others. That’s bound to hot you up.
I lie here, elbow in one boob, cold foot on my leg and small hand repeatedly smacking me in heaad, and make vaiin attempts to order memory into some kind of structured thought so I know what I have to do today.
“Mum,” whispers Monkey Boy. ‘What did you get Godzilla for his birthday? WHere is it?”
I knew I was forgetting something …