Читать книгу The Mumpreneur Diaries: Business, Babies or Bust - One Mother of a Year - Mosey Jones - Страница 28

So far on my relaxing holiday I have:

 Cooked five dinners for six people.

 Used the medieval torture device known as a breast pump to extract two feeds a day for the baby, to be delivered into his gaping maw by my mother-in-law while I’m up a mountain.

 Answered twelve emails covering, variously, names for the mumciergery, the impossibility of getting a criminal records bureau check and the consequent absolute necessity of one, queries regarding the potty training article (apparently, in one of the case studies where a boy had learned to do a poo in the big toilet, I’d put his age at 33. They wanted to check this is what I meant. I mean, it wouldn’t occur to them that the extra ‘3’ was a typo or anything).

 Fallen over three times – twice when Boy One snow-ploughed into me at speed, having learned how to start, but not how to stop. The third was when the Husband also used my ankles as a braking device, scything into my legs with his skis and rearranging my kneecaps.

 That I have had only one hour-long crying fit after all this is, I think, a good thing.