Between Feeds: Yer Phone's Ringin'.

Welcome to a new blogging series/thing/just because I miss you people where I share snippits of life that happens between feeding Isla and well, feeding Isla. I should preface this one by mentioning that the only people who call our house phone are my parents, my husband-when-he-isn’t-in-the-house, and those annoying recordings-trying-to-sell-double-glazing-to-people-who-rent. And so, this morning, I get a call on the house phone.  From my not-so-old midwife.  About a baby group. I may have ended the call with ‘Iloveyou, thanks.’ On autopilot, with baby brain, holding the wrong phone and thinking of other people.  And then this happened: Neil: Did you just say ‘I love you.’? Me: No. ‘Aye, lovely.’ Neil: No, you just told her you loved her. Me: Did not. Neil: Did, too. Me:  Did I? Neil: You did. Me: Oh, well.  She already thinks I’m...

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