I am off to buy breastpads and books from the supermarket. I know what you’re thinking: how can a life of such glamour be contained in this humble blog? That is not the point. The point is this: I have twenty minutes exactly before I need to get back and give Timothy his car for his meeting, get boys settled for bed and do something about this tornado house, but for those twenty minutes I am alone, alone, alone.
I have not been alone in weeks. And did you know that one way to tell if you’re an introvert or extrovert is if you recharge your batteries by being alone or surrounding yourself with people? Going by that definition, I am the innest innie there ever was. I am as in as my belly button is not (by the way thanks for that). Once in a while I need to be in my own air, and in the fug of my own thoughts so they have space to breathe.
And here I am at Tesco, breathing! On the way out, swinging my carrier bag of breastpads with jaunty abandon, I see a couple parked in the parent and child section (as am I, by force of habit). The woman is swinging her door closed with a baby cradled against her chest, in the same awkward, head-supporting way I use with Edward when he doesn’t feel like the trolley is his scene.
I look again. It’s not a baby. It’s a giant rabbit. (I am not making this up.)
THE PARENT AND CHILD SECTION. A GIANT RABBIT.
For a moment I wonder if she breastfeeds.
I need more sleep.