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listen 1

Hello, anyone in?

“Fff – Uuuhh – Ccc,” says Molly, carefully sounding out the letters phonetically. “What does that spell Mummy?” she asks with a sheepish look on her face. “I think you know fine rightly what that spells, Miss Molly Parsons,” I say sharply. “You tell me.”

“I think it’s a naughty word, Mummy. A word that we might say it if we’re really tired or very cross.”

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life main

This is your life

I have opened my computer so many times over the past few weeks to write to you, but the words somehow wouldn’t flow. I even googled ‘writer’s block’ to see if that could provide me with any kind of inspiration. Instead it threw up the definition for my ‘creative slowdown’ – a condition that ranges from not being able to come up with new ideas for a few weeks, to not being able to produce anything for years. (Bear with me here, the moral of the tale is coming!)

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body main

Body talk

“Let’s play dollies!” Molly declares, waving her Frozen dolls in my face. “You be Elsa and I be Anna!”

“Ok, let’s pretend they’re going to the park,” I say, bending my knees on the sofa to create a slide for them to go down, in an effort to keep my part in the game horizontal for at least a few more minutes.

“No, let’s go on the bouncy castle!” she cries, making Elsa jump vigorously up and down on my belly. “It’s nice and bouncy, Mummy!”

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unzipped feature 1


“Mummy. Your bum…” says Molly as she comes up behind me and places her hands on my hips. “It’s soooo big.” In despair, I turn to the husband. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, patting the derriere in question. “After all, you are nearly 8 months pregnant, it’s bound to be a little bigger.” Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for. Sigh. It has been one of those weeks.

Yes, it hasn’t been the most yogic of weeks. It has been a week in which Molly dropped the ‘F’ bomb. Twice. I’d like to say she learned the expletive from some unsavoury child at nursery, but instead I have to take full responsibility, having uttered it myself on at least three occasions that I can recall. Personally, I blame the raging hormones of the third trimester for making my fuse a little shorter.

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