Thursday nights are usually considered as MY nights.
This means, the moment my husband returns from work at 5pm, I’m outa here. Well, kinda. I think 8 weeks is still too young for a breastfed baby to be left without his mum.
So yeah. I fly out the door, in search of selfish indulgence in domestic freedom, with lipstick, heels… and a baby.

Last night I hit the shopping malls. I picked up some shoes (my sister’s) that I sent in for repair. Bought a pair of sunglasses to replace the ones I sat on. Eyed a pair of pants from Witchery. And I picked up some bargain Lush soaps.

I also caught up with a friend for dinner at the David Jones cafe. We sat pressed up against the huge glass windows, looking down onto the tiny ant-like shoppers. They marched this way and that. It was nice to watch the world go by. I ate a very yummy chicken and avocado caesar salad – which made me feel very ill a couple of hours later.

The last few Thursdays, I’ve been having a great run of good baby behaviour. Sean would literally sleep right through whatever I was doing. 2-3 hours straight! But this week, Sean grizzled all night. I had to constantly carry and rock him through dinner. I’ve seen other mothers doing this and it was not fun at all. Ah, I didn’t realise how good I had it. Oh well, it looks like my weekly night outs will have to come to an end. Hmm, unless I do something where someone ELSE can carry and rock the baby through dinner.

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