Tomorrow morning, my little man will wake up and I won’t be there. I’ll be doing the last of my things to do before finishing up before Christmas and snatching him from the creche for two whole weeks with his Mum. He’ll be mine, and for two weeks I’ll have him to myself, no care staff, ta very much.
I’m astonished that it is the end of December, the end of the year. My performance at work, family and at writing sucked in comparison to other years. I’m tired, distracted and fighting fires rather than planning and achieveing. It seems to be a thing, everyone else seems to be behind on the presents and the to-do lists. Last Thursday saw me come in at 6.3oam not to write but just catch up on the most basic stuff. I’m slow as an earthworm these days and I know it.
Can you consider this your Christmas card, by the way, while we’re at it? Please consider this the complements of the season. May you eat until you’re stuffed and then some.
Merry Christmas, y’all