Little Baby D has joined the rat race and now has to rush to get out of the house on time in the mornings. So far so good, although Sunday night he woke to have a big chat with himself at 4am, then snuggled down ready for a nice lie in when we must come in at 7.30, open the blinds and explain he had to get up for the childminder's. It’s terrible really that he’s not even a year old yet and already he’s not allowed to get up when he feels like it in the morning. Like the rest of us he’ll have to wait until he’s retired for that luxury.
After I’ve peeled him off my shoulder and driven off trying to banish the image of his little screwed up, tear ridden face, he continues on with his day as normal. He still spends his time playing on the floor, bouncing in his chair, feeding ducks in the park and going to the local play group; nothing much changed really except I’M NOT THERE !!!!!!!! I’m stuck behind a desk 10 miles a way looking at the clock waiting to rush out the door to go and collect him. Trying to appreciate the novelty of having a cup of coffee in peace and not having to wipe scrambled egg off the floor, but all the time wondering why I’m working in order to pay someone else to do all the lovely things I’ve being doing with my little boy for the past 11 months. The world is all mixed up.
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