Monday, May 15, 2006

Do I Even Have a Bed Anymore?

MMR my arse. It can't be that bad. Give him Calpol and new bottle and all is quiet. For 15 minutes.

Tiny footsteps on stairs.

'Need a wee.'

Supervise, then carry her back to bed. Half-way downstairs:


Avail myself of drink in favourite cup, then back upstairs.

Downstairs again. Begin turning things off.

Tiny footsteps.

'Wanna cuddle.'

Still-asleep angel-face. Eyes all scrunched against the light. Hair like something you could happily drown in after being released from its day-long bunches prior to bed.

I cannot be cross.

I shall be in a foul mood tomorrow.

On the upside, I notice the Pint-Glass of Doom has vanished from the bathroom as mysteriously as it arrived. My mind was bloody racing about that one. Thoughts of child-psychologists or getting the missus sectioned. I feel a weight has been lifted.



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5:45 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

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5:46 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Alright, insults I welcome, so long as they're good. But I've no room for sarcy piss-takers. Go on, all two (one obviously) of you, fuck off.

Or think of something funny/soul-crushingly offensive and come back.


11:38 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Oh. Silly me. It's only silly spam. How silly am I for getting cross about it. Only silly people get cross about silly things. Why would these silly people think I would want a silly ring-tone anyway? Those silly-heads.

11:42 pm  

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