Mr Jones has been stolen by work again - he's in Wales or something. Kent gets him next - lucky Kent. He's been gone for 24 hours. I am very tired. I'm still feeling a mite sick and achey and the wee boy is still practicising his crawling skills in the small hours of the morning, which is not conducive to sleep. He has also decided that 6.30am is the new half past seven so my restorative 12 minute piping hot shower was reduced to a tepid and functional four minute blast this morning.
The toast was substandard, the porridge a bit runny. I had to empty the dishwasher myself while doing everything I usually do at the same time. Last night when I put the boy in the bath he looked at me with a face that said - "er you're not my daddy - your hair is too long and ginger".
Of course if I was on top form this would all be easier - but it would still be hard. I don't know how people do this bringing up of children on their own. There must be some form of inner adrenalin hidden down deep behind the stuff you already have to hoik out as a twosome just to get through a sleep deprived day. So single parents everywhere I salute you - you must be truly superhuman.
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