The Poop is ten months old today. Ten months old.
TEN MONTHS OLD.
You know what that means, don't you?
It means she is two months away from being...
O-N-E Y-E-A-R O-L-D.
We are soon to be the proud owners of a one year old child. That's right. Child. Not baby. Child.
HA! UTTER MADNESS.
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.