For those of you who believe that the house smells of freshly baked bread and roses just because you're on maternity leave, I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to disappoint you. Our home has a strong odour of dried vomit consisting of breast milk and bile. Lovely. Our new interior is drying baby clothes and bibs, hung on whatever we can find. "Don't worry, babies puke", the midwife told us when H had just arrived. I wouldn't have imagined quite how much though. Wow.
Scrambled eggs, tomatoes and toast with cheese and Irish marmalade. Having the best meal of the day together doesn't happen often nowadays. Treasure the little things, and so on.
And finally it happend, the person profiled in Financial Times Magazine didn't pretend that life is just glitter and gold and weekends of brunch parties. To the question where he most like to be, Ollie Dabbous replied "bed". I can really, REALLY, relate to that right now. Somehow liberating.
Red onion and chive bagel for Sunday breakfast. Delicious. Alone this time though, because Jon had to look after the baby...
as we had what we in Sweden call "sjukstuga". Google it, but don't trust google translate.
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