Hi, my name is (still) Lorna. My kid is just over six months old, and I don’t know how the hell that happened. No, I don’t need a Biology lesson. I need a drink.

This happens.

This happens.

I haven’t written anything longer than a Facebook update in well, six months. But yet, here I am.

Today, I found myself in a bookshop, wiping a booger off Isla’s face and then smearing it on my jeans. Is that some sort of parent achievement unlocked? Because, y’know, I didn’t have a cloth. And wiping a booger on the books would have been too gross.

As I write this, Isla is Tarzan-yelling, happily. Neil is putting together her new walker-thingy. I know I have a good deal. And for that, I’m grateful. (That doesn’t even cover it.) But I’m also tired. And hungry. And I really need to brush my hair. (That doesn’t even cover it.)

Back in the bookshop, we’re ready to pay, and then Isla starts Tarzan-yelling, unhappily. Usually, I kinda yell back until she gets confused and laughs. However, I know when this tactic won’t work. And this afternoon was one of those times.

Picture it, Isla there in her carrier, strapped to my front. Protesting like we stole her. I’m humming and jiggling. Almost dancing in my chair. And I don’t even need to pee. Instead, I’m mumbling, ‘Oh, Strumpet’ while hoping the line would freaking move already, and getting looks from people on it.

Yes, I’m the mother. No, she’s a girl. Yes, I know she’s wearing dinosaurs. No, please don’t touch my kid. Or pat me on the head.

We contemplate leaving the shop, and I’m near tears now, too. Because I feel bad for my kid. And because all I want to do is use book vouchers for books to read late at night, sandwiched between my husband and my child, who is really very patient. Until she isn’t.

I may have done laps around the place while Neil stood in line. And then, he’s there. With the books, and the promise of coffee. Like a beacon.

Isla is a fresh air freak like her mother; she slept on the stroll to coffee, but fired up again when we got inside. I made eye contact with another mother, who smiled at me.

‘Hi,’ I said. I wanted to ask for a hug.

Neil and I had coffee. The baby had some milk. All was quiet with the world.

And then I’m blowing zerberts on Isla’s face. Because it makes her laugh. And laughing is good. Laughing is gold.

I started writing this post a few hours ago. As of now, there’s a teething ring chilling in the fridge and the baby is asleep.

Maybe I should read a book. Or brush my hair.

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This happens, too.

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