Well there goes another birthday; yesterday already past and today arriving with the sounds of a very hungry baby bellowing furiously to be fed. By me. Milk, please mum. Well if its not one of the three stinky nappies Kingsley supplies me before midday, its his insistence to be fed, and if not that, its to be held and cuddled. I am in demand! I am also pooped.
How can I refuse, however? After all I carried this boy we called ‘Seahorse’ for 40 weeks. Its only fair I feed and change him when the need arises (loudly, may I add) now that Seahorse has become our bonny Kingsley, practicing that lung capacity day and night as he enters his 43rd week of life…