‘No one gives you a medal for being a parent,’ one of my friends warned me before the boys were born. But most mornings I now think, usually around 9.15am, give me my goddamn medal As a Jewish vegetarian, I’ve never had the desire to see how any sausage is made. But indulge me while I show you how this one is done. I arrived at work today at 9am, looking – I think – mostly normal, in a sweatshirt and trousers. Except this outfit is one I’ve now worn for three days straight, because I lack the energy to think of another trousers-top combination. One of my children was up in the night with a temperature, and while he got back to sleep easily enough, I anxiously stayed awake, certain that he had scarlet fever (spoiler: he did not). When morning finally came, these are, in no particular order, a fraction of the questions I had from my twins in the two hours we had before leaving the house: “Where is Peppa Pig”?
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