Bad Mommy, No Biscuit

Last night, I went out with a lovely Mummy friend to see Avenue Q in the Wales Millennium Centre (aka the armadillo place down Cardiff Bay). This immediately after a day at work, when SqueakyDaddy was off, at home with Her Squeaky Highness.  So aside from breakfast, he did everything for the whole day.  Nappies, lunch, tea, drinks, bath, bedtime, story, the whole works.  While I was gallivanting about Cardiff and trying to remember that the people around me had paid good money to her the folk on stage singing, and not me.

This was a bit of a challenge, but I'll be honest, he coped admirably.  There were no panicked messages on my phone, no texts asking silly questions like "where is her toothbrush".  Just good old fashioned coping.  Foolish man.  I'll do this again now!

And now, after having returned to near normality, I find myself desperately wanting to buy this book from Amazon.  Despite the fact it's probably the least appropriate book I could ever wish to own.  I somehow *need* it.  So if such a thing as an Amazon fairy exists, it's on my wishlist, along with a worrying insight into the rest of my psyche, and you could probably send it to me direct.

Honestly. I'm not asking for it really. No. I'll buy it myself after payday.