Seven weeks old today. Does it seem longer or shorter? Both, predictably.
Tomorrow, Isa is going off to cut hair and I’ll be looking after Lola all afternoon. I’d like to go for a nice walk in the countryside; though we may have to settle for going to see the goats in Ally Pally. I fear it may rain. Isa fears Lola won’t take the bottle. Fear is bad.
Beer, on the other hand, is good. And foamy. Tonight I imbibed a pint with my work chums — that’s the first time I’ve been to the pub since Lola was born.