We make it through the week, and come Friday night, Tara just about makes it through the door onto the sofa, through all availble boobs like a very hungry caterpillar, and conks out on mummy. Mummy takes pity and sits, for over an hour, contemplating the week-old mess all over the house, while Tara holds on to the last remaining nipple. Finally we maneuver her into a position that allows mummy to phone up some take-away restaurant; daddy will want dinner when he comes home from his travels, and there is neither any food stuff left in the fridge, not any house keeping energy in me.
Just Tara will be refreshed for daddy's return, and she will SHRIEK with delirious JOY, and no other way of describing it.
Sounds like Friday Night to you?
Well, that's what it IS.
1 comment:
How sweeeeeet....
wie ein kleiner, gepunkteter Kaefer mit roten Wangen, den es umgehauen hat.
Post a Comment