I run.
I seem to run everywhere; all the time.
its not that I'm in love with running, or even a great runner by any means, but I have an incessant need to feel the flow of the run.
(yeah, feel the flow man!!)
As in, I'm one of those movey types;
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21/09/10
Though I had a spare set of keys cut FUCKING yesterday, ive still managed to lock myself out and lock in the spare keys, so im pacing the street with Luca in the sling waiting for downstairs to arrive to see if Ive left a window open. Also I think I've left the oven ON with a marrow inside and Im about to loose it because I feel utterly stupid and brain dead and unable to do a simple thing.
Motherhood should come with a BIG FAT HEALTH WARNING.
Downstairs arrived.
I smile
Walk in to a burning smell
Nervous giggle
Follow them into their flat and start to flap my arms around as I cant move too much in the few square feet on their living room rug between the plastic teapot and the squeaky turtle.
I'm aware of how strange I look
Desperately trying not to tic so flap some more and release my urge to move move with a great gush of "Aah I could kiss you!" when our spare keys are located in the bottom of their kitchen drawer. Luca wakes so I chuck him into the other's arms and rush upstaris with visions of our newly fitted kitchen burnt to a cinder and my Seb's horror stricken face (he and a good friend worked for months on it)
Almost cant bear to look round the corner, Im sure if I do it will make it a reality but im moving too fast to stop now ... AND THERE...; the kitchen.
Marrow's roasted to a cinder, but otherwise all have survived.
