We are all in a museum cafe last weekend chowing on cake and cheese sandwiches and playing a game of Chinese Whispers when the Wig Wearer stopped dead. He looked stricken. The boys didn’t notice because they were spitting crumbs as they whispered mummy is the worst between themselves.
Me: ‘Bab. You alright?’
TWW: ‘I’ve just realised. This is the first time we’ve been out without a backpack.’
TWW: ‘No spare pants. No snacks. No bribes. No nappies. No toys.’
TWW: ‘We just came out with keys, joint account and our museum passes’
TWW: ‘Sal. We’ve made it.’
I suddenly felt naked and light and sad and relieved all at once.
And then a sugary hot breath is on me: ‘say daddy stinks of poo!’