The Benefits of Being That Mum Who's Usually Late
And we're off! Charging down the street with the wind in our hair, a walk-sprint with a waddle. Baby in the carrier, toddler finally in the buggy, merrily rolling along the pavement. I'll admit that we've left the house a little too late, but it's a miracle that we've made it out the door after a broken night of milk feeds and night-terrors, fully clothed and well fed, and I still think we've got a chance, however tiny, of actually making it on time. A short-cut across the grass should do it. I manage to push a heavily laden buggy up a hill while singing the baby to sleep *mini fist-pump*. The class starts at 10 and it's now two minutes to. One more corner and then it's straight along for the sprint finish. I'm unclicking the buggy straps at 10:03 as there's a buzz of introductory chatter at the open door. We've made it. Just. I don't mean to cause offence or show disrespect. I'm not even talking about big sod-off-in-your-fac...