There is something about this baby bliss that makes me so restless. I'm locked to this baby, so unlike my sign parking is allowed, as long as I accept that a baby is attatched to my boob.
I keep craving freedom, and I find myself loudly shooshing my family (and probably strangers soon) as soon as Little Brother sleeps.
These are my minutes of freedom, and if anyone wakes the boob-monster before I have managed to for example a) take a shower without rushing, b) sit down with my mac or c) tidy something that I've stared at whilst having a baby attached to my boob, I totally freak out.
And it doesn't help having been stuck in the house for a full week with a sick Big Brother. Cabin fever galore!
On the pluss side all this pent up creative energy which builds up while the milk guzzling goblin is doing it's job explodes as soon as I manage (yes he's fussy) to get him to sleep.
Now, where's the sewing machine? I've got some pillow covers to make.