I follow the baby around, wondering when he will learn what is dangerous and what is fine, how to be safe in the world.
Then I realise that knives will always be sharp, stairs will always be steep, and his bones will always be breakable.
I think I'm a really morbid parent, in between being quite crap at it.
Anyway, today I am waiting for the babe to wake from his nap so I can strap him to my chest and start to move pictures into the half-finished studio.
Tomorrow I will open my doors (fnar fnar, thank you) for the world - who I am fairly sure won't be in a big rush to come along. 'Publicity disaster, total fiasco, the worst organised event in history' - this is what they will be saying years from now! (I'm not being self deprecating, I'm actually being passive aggressive towards the fuckwit that [didn't] organise the event.])
Ah, my glittering career. Isn't it pretty? From a distance, this car-wreck affair looks quite glamorous, no? No? How about if you squint?
'Life is a shipwreck, but we sing in the lifeboats' - Voltaire - quote of the week, via Shanna Germain, who would certainly be my desert island companion of choice.