In which we find ourselves raising boys…

My first words when the Little One was born and I was told he was a boy were “Oh, bugger!” I got a bit of a look from the midwife, as I recall. Obviously I was glad he was healthy and we were all safe, but my first thought was that I already had a boy. I’d wanted girls.


In which we learn the alphabet…

A is for Arse. Both of The Boys seem terribly keen to get theirs out as often as possible. It’s a charming trait. B is for Bathtime. Aquatic carnage of the highest order that involves a delightful combination of splashing, willie-waving, flailing, screaming and somehow flooding the fucking bathroom. At least they don’t shit in... Continue Reading →

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