It’s Monday morning, 9am.
I have just brushed bagel crumbs out of my boobs (breastfeeding + breakfast) and extricated myself from the bed like a contortionist so as not to wake the mythical miracle aka sleeping bebe. Did I mention he is sleeping on his tummy, in my bed, happily guarded by his three dogs? I should have told you to prepare your disapproving looks first shouldn’t I?
I have also just snapped off a full row of Cadbury Caramello chocolate, I mean, if I ate breakfast at 7am it is surely time for morning tea yes? I am considering seconds.
It’s time to begin the post-weekend walk through. The visiting of each room in the house, collecting the foreign detritus that has been left, abandoned, In The Wrong Place and returning everything to its rightful home. This is where you get distracted and bounce from room to room, toys, hats, drink bottles in hand, re-homing everything but never quite finishing The Tidy in any one room.
Then there is the central collection point, my desk, that needs to be cleared. It is in just the right spot for anyone entering the family room to immediately empty their hands and pockets. A communal dumping ground of weekend stuff.
Magical bebe is awake after sleeping for his requisite 5 minutes so now I return to our regular schedule of holding, feeding and cuddling all day long. And you?
(the second row of chocolate was excellent btw)
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