Return of the King

I made it back to the parental home about 4pm today, having had no more than three hours sleep since Sunday morning, and was greeted by my firstborn jumping up and down with excitement.

I’d like to think that was all to do with me, but her grandfather had been feeding her chocolate bunnies (“I ate the head” she continually reiterated to me) this afternoon (is it Christmas or Easter?) and she hadn’t napped properly, so being totally manic was quite normal.

Still, we had fun; I got to bounce her on my knee, argue about who her sister’s daddy was (her first suggestion was “Mummy”) and I think I made her day by climbing inside a very large cardboard box.

Then I had to get on a call, and I now realise I must have had jet lag through all four years of university, as I kept nodding off through the call in a similar way to 45 minutes into most of my philosophy lectures.

Tonight, La Serpiente went down in a trice. I would have made the most of this, but as I was shattered too, it was all I could do to not break down in tears. It’s nice to be back. It’ll be nicer when my brain is on the same time zone as my body…

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