TEN MONTHS OLD. 

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!

We are soon to be the proud owners of a one year old child. That’s right. Child. Not baby. Child.

It’s a good thing, I suppose. 
I have no desperate hankering to return to sleepless nights. I am more than happy to have kissed goodbye to my leaky nipples (figuratively speaking), I can honestly say I have no desire to sterilise another bottle, nor do I long to change just one more of those explosive newborn nappies. And I don’t ever find myself wishing I still carried my traumatised lady parts round in a carrier bag.

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