Finley and I are driving each other nuts. The child never stops talking and according to the ludicrously demanding little monster all my human rights died a death the day they sliced my tummy open and whipped him kicking and screaming into the world. I think he’s unreasonable about just about everything and he thinks I’m a cow because I don’t consider gluten free bourbon
Thank goodness he starts pre-school on Monday.
Oh I know. I’m supposed to wail and mourn because my baby is, at three years old about to don a mini uniform and troop off to mix with the great unwashed for four hours a day for the next two years, but really, would you consider me wicked if I told you I could dance with glee?
I’ve got visions of re-inventing my whole life in the fours a day we are out of each others hair. Of finally finding the time to make
But we’ll see. No doubt I’ll find myself hopping back into bed in freshly pressed pyjamas on a daily basis instead, or watching Jeremy when I should be dallying with my HTML…
Hey ho. Happy days!