Like a miniature Darth Vader, Splodge ghosts around the womb as we try our best to catch him on the Doppler. Oh, he’s just as elusive as ever and perhaps fears that we wish to halt his evil march upon the world, but yet again his heartbeat was clocked loud and clear – the force is strong in this one.
Heh, I can’t wait to crack really weak jokes about the slew of nappies that head across to the dark side…
Can you get tiny Darth Vader outfits? I should probably Google that before typing, but Google has kind of taken the fun out of asking stupid questions. Shocker, I’ve digressed as per usual…
Splodge has wreaked havoc with the girl this week, which in turn has left her feeling pretty crappy, something that hasn’t been helped by me asking my usual large quota of stupid questions and the oversized puppy bounding around our tiny house. In the deep, dark hours in the middle of one night this past seven days, there was a threat made to stab the next person who disturbed her sleep. Both the dog and I instinctively fell silent and did our best to return to slumber in whatever position we were in at the time.
The dilemma of choosing a pushchair is becoming increasingly difficult. We’re chewing over two very funky options and deciding which one is worth the enormous price tags attached to each. I’m a man who will pay what something is worth but I hate anything that’s all style over substance (hence my music collection is filled with albums by some right scruffy sods) so we’re not rushing into anything before we’ve had a play around with both.
I wonder if we’ll get thrown out for asking if the pushchairs come with optional towbars that attach to the back of the car?
Wearing The Daddy Pants 