Following a second bbq last night, and another late night, I check my diary to find a five year old birthday party in there.
And no present!
Knicked up to Coles to see if I could locate something suitable – it is all that was open at 8am on a Sunday. Do people not understand the the lives of mothers? Do they not understand that, not only is it bloody hard at times, it is also the one that is least considered in the grand scheme of things?
Got home and had to explain to Godzilla that, no, the present was in fact not for him – before, during and after wrapping. Then sent him off with Grumpy whilst Monkey Boy and I went to the movies.
Muddled through rest of the day, attempted a nice, warm, relaxing lavender bath in the evening, only to be joined by a little boy.
“Mummy”, he says, putting his hands under my breasts and pushing them up my nostrils. “When you wear clothes your boobies go like this. And when you take your clothes off, they go down, down, down all the way down there.”
Hmmmm. Thanks for that. A fact I’m well aware of and, until now, was completely happy being