It really has been the best summer I've experienced since living here. I don't want to jinx it, but it seems to be going on and on. I distinctly remember September being a bit shit last year.
Oh, and we get to keep Scotland. Yay!
(Seriously. This place was on tenterhooks. Panic and disarray. No pressure Mr Cameron.)
It's been a hectically busy week since we got back from Cornwall.
So three things really.
I have sciatica.
I know, right? What is that even?
I have a pinched nerve in my spine, the doctor thinks I have a slipped disc. So my legs are in agony whenever I sit or lie down. Or bend over. Or bend down.
Which is what I do all day with a baby.
Having a kid is gruelling ok. Gruelling, on the old back. Physically laborious. So I am on the painkillers. And hoping it'll just sort itself out. Like, if a disc slips, surely it can slip right back in?
I am of the belief that if you leave a problem, it goes away [about 50% of the time.]
I had my twins feet cast in silver.
I've had a lot of jewellery made since my twins were born. I suppose it's a way of preserving them together; of preserving Molly.
This is a big thing though. We had her feet cast when she was born, and they have managed to put them in silver. Sebastian had his cast a month ago and they've also done his in silver.
I love that their prints look different, and yet there they are together.
We did date night
I dressed up, as the Brit had booked a nice, very Michelin-star-ry type restaurant for us. (La Chapelle in Shoreditch, if anyone's interested. It's inside an old chapel, quite literally.)
Food was glorious - all very cordon bleu (tiny portions, but made beautifully.) He loves that kind of vibe. The Brit can sit and watch chefs in a kitchen all day, and gets a serious kick out of beautifully presented, tiny little morsels that explode in your mouth, but similarly explode your wallet as they are fantastically overpriced.
I find it all a little pretentious, but he laps it up like fine naan bread.
Bless him. At least I can say my husband would never take me to a Nando's. The man researches his restaurants ad infinitum before going.
Anyway, I was tucking into my Roast Cumbrian fillet of Chateaubriand and slow cooked truffle and quail salad, when my fucking sciatica kicked in.
I couldn't sit up straight, and I sure as hell couldn't finish my delicious glass of especially paired Malbec.
I was in so much pain, we called an Uber while Brit finished up the Valrhona chocolate mousse.
Needless to say, I still got out the house.
On our arrival home, I could hear my baby screaming from the road. That's never a nice, calming thing to come back to. We have only had a handful of babysitters, so we are still very much Helicopter Parenting our way through handing over responsibility of our most precious thing in the world to a stranger.
Sebastian had woken up, seen the face of someone he didn't recognise, and threw a shit fit so loud, I heard it before I'd even pulled up outside our house.
He was hysterical. And it reminds me again of how heartbroken I am going to be leaving him with someone else in a few months time.