So last week I famously (famous in my own head, anyway) posted about how I’d banned TV for The Boy during the week. Today I take it all back as we sit, slumped, on the sofa binge watching “Puff and Wock” – or Puffin Rock to you and I.
Last night was a bitch of a night. The girl, despite being only two months old, slept soundly, but The Boy was yoyo-ing between his bed and ours, whingeing, wriggling, crying and chatting. Eventually, after 10+ wake ups we found a solution in Calpol and a ‘warm water bottle, not a hot water bottle, just a warm water bottle my Mummy’ (he knows what he wants, this Boy of mine) but the damage was done. We’re all shattered today. Except the baby who is napping happily between my bosoms as I type.