Yesterday morning I crept out of bed early, I had an article to write for the local newspaper about my book and a talk to prepare on setting up a business in the arts.
I worked for a few hours while small person slept and then decided to have a quick shower before she woke up, I flung off my dressing gown and headed for the reviving bliss of an uninterrupted shower.
Then I realised I’d been up for a while and hadn’t yet been to the loo. I made an emergency dash along the landing and flopped down.
A second the door burst open and a very bed-heady small person stomped in, “Why you got not clothes on Mama?”. I explained I was on my way to have a shower. This seemed adequate for her and she sat opposite me, back against the airing cupboard door with a big stuffed furry snow man on one side and a book about Bruce Springsteen on the other. She looked me up and down.
“Mummy”, she said in a very absolute way, “Mama your bottom is VERY hairy!”.
Which threw me rather, and caused me to burst into fits of giggles, which upset her as she thought I was laughing at her.
We ended up back in bed and only a major milky marathon with lots of cuddles would calm her tears, that and me not giggling any more.
