That's about all I've got at the moment. It's hot and my arse is sweaty and Nye broke his collarbone and we have spent two weeks riding the gastric flu train and did I mention that my arse is sweaty and I'm grumpy?
I want so hard to be cheerful and summery and nice but fuck, I'm tried. Guys, two and eight months is hard. Two and eight months x 2 is really hard. If one more person tells me how the twins must be getting easier all the time I'm going to punch them. There was a time when they were getting easier, but it's past. I don't feel like detailing the ways in which they are driving me to exhaustion but let's just say I keep swearing off alcohol because I think it makes me fat and anxious, then it gets to 4pm and I think maybe I'll quit tomorrow. I never quit tomorrow. Oh and I heard that a young, happy, successful friend who get's to spend time with her husband is pregnant and although I assume that this was happy news for them my first thought was one of sympathy. That's not cool.
I don't regret having kids but Christ, sometimes I miss the rabbits.
Another day I'll tell you all the good things that are happening and how hilarious and sweet my kids