On Friday morning my alarm went of at 6.15 am. My eyelids parted and through bleary lenses I saw that the baby's cot was empty, except for a few toys.
Panic rose in my chest. It was overwhelming.
"Bushman. Where is our baby? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH OUR BABY!!" I shouted, accusingly.
From the otherside of the duvet wall. I heard a voice say.
"Trout. Wha' wrong wid you? She sleeping at yuh mudder's house."
Seems I had totally forgotten that my children were staying with their grandparents.
The moral of this story is: I am an arse. A mad arse.
4 years ago