In this flat, we have a bedtime routine that I’m not altogether proud of. If we stay up beyond 11, I’ll almost inevitably go into a funk that doesn’t allow me to go to bed without making a fuss. It goes like this.
Yesterday I proved that my husband is patient enough to put his life and, more impressively, car into my shaky hands simply to encourage me. He yelled, “Brakes!” a couple of times but there were no beads of sweat, whispered prayers or attempts at thinly veiled contempt.
with pinches of salt for the coming year. Mompetition hits it again.
Late nights courtesy London friends left me struggling to get to sleep at a reasonable hour last night. My iPhone was (shock, horror) battery dead so I decided to read
Yesterday, I drank well over a pint of water, lugged my unhappy bladder into the filthiest taxi I’ve ever sat in and went to the hospital. Two signs on the
I’ve been sickeningly obsessed with Christmas since July this year. Laurence has been caught somewhere between amusement and horror as I’ve enticed (coerced) him into buying presents from hippie stalls
Laurence hates that I call our unborn child “the creature”. It apparently sounds like something gooey and mean out of Alien vs. Predator, nothing cuddly, cute or even human. First