Sunday 11th November 2018
‘Mummà, I need to do poo…’ Kingsley’s metabolism doesn’t miss a beat. He’s up at 8:03am with the need to go. Mercifully he allows me to sleep while he shuffles to the loo by himself. I stretch out in luxury (three in bed in a squeeze). And then I hear ‘Mummà; MUMMÀ…MUMMÀ!!!…’ And with the wipe of his bum we’re up for the day.
First port of call is the kitchen to feed Kitty. Δωροθέα now takes to eating sitting down. Kingsley is a giant, smothering her with his affections and large body. She suffers it well and to date this time around we’ve had no swipes. Perhaps she’s getting old / can’t be bothered to warn him off or she may actually like his company. Either way they’re (reluctant) pals.
Weekend afternoons is all about beach. That’s where the lads go leaving my big fat belly to wallow at home. At 25 weeks my greatest desire is to nest / clean / clear out / create order and comfort. I’m opening boxes and chucking / storing stuff. Meanwhile the lads body surf coming home head to toe covered in sand.
Tomorrow Erroll is off and they’re doing it all over again.