It was the morning of Mother’s Day and there I was, flush from a great night’s sleep awaiting my tray of croissants and barista-made coffee to be delivered to my lap by my two cherubic children as the sun streamed in through the window…
Oops.
That part may have been a dream as the first thing I actually remember about last Sunday was my seven-year-old son Toby, bounding into our bedroom to say:
“Muuuuummmmm, I’ve got worms in my poo.”
Happy Mother’s Day to me!
Funnily enough my husband Jules and I had been having a middle-of-the-night conversation on the subject of worms after being woken up by our 15-month-old second son, Leo.
