Brammer & The Boy

What would Sophie Le Giraffe Do?

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On the tiles.

My rather awesome chum has given me and Tom free tickets to see a new musical up Landan taaan tonight.

My first reaction was: (dramatic back-of-hand-to-forehead gesture) ‘Alas! We cannot! We have one child and I am with another!’

Then Tom pointed out: ‘Why not?’

And so here I am on the train. In a DRESS no less (lent to me by aforementioned awesome chum). It’s more ‘booby’ than I’m used to wearing of late but I’m going with it. It’s about time I made use of these guys before they become life-givers (and source of massive annoyance - breast milk running down your neck in the middle of the night anyone?).

In an exciting new twist, I’ve forgotten how to apply make up and do my hair (added to that the fact I’m doing it on the train and have no way of correcting mistakes other than just ‘going over’ it again).

But it’s so fun just to be hanging out with Tom in a non-home environment (where I once again resume the role of demon nester).

So! Date night!

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Sleeping Formations.

Tonight our family have slept thusly:
1. Elliot in his bed, me and Tom in ours
2. Elliot and me in Elliot’s bed, Tom in ours
3. Elliot, me and Tom in our bed
4. Elliot and Tom in our bed, me in Elliot’s

It’s 5.18am. I’m so awake right now. I’m eating a burnt biscuit. I have pins and needles in my face as arms, a crick in my neck and I can’t stop thinking about Mexican oilcloth and IKEA hacks.

Filed under nesting sleeping pregnancy toddlers

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Sometimes. Just sometimes.

Tom’s being schmoozed by work tonight. He’s dining at The Hawksmoor on Regent St. Giles Coren says it’s the best steak in town and the review has four pound signs next to it ££££. He’s wearing his new shirt and trousers because he’s gotten too slim for his other ones. He works out a lot at the moment and looks great.

I’m making chicken patties for me and Elliot (‘Mummy NO chicken. Don’t LIKE chicken’). He has drawn all over the table in crayon that won’t come off (‘Mummy! Look!’). Right now I’m ignoring him while he screams and squeals in anger about not really anything (he’s massively overtired but he refused to sleep in his pram while I hobbled and waddled around town in a support belt).

Sometimes I feel sad for Tom not getting to see Elliot as much as I do, but sometimes I also want to punch him in the face and eat free steak.