Poo poo poo

It's on nights like this where Craig's out again and I'm on my own to listen out for cries from my newly settled-in-the-same-room children that I dread the decision to do washable nappies.

Sure, they're great for the environment "ra ra ra", save me money "yada yada yada"...

But I'm totally over holding my breath until I see stars come into my field of vision.

My friend Sarah said I'd get over the poo factor, and that I'd stop wearing gloves after a while.

Wrong. Sorry Sar.

I'm actually getting even more neurotic and sterilising the gloves afterwards, just in case one ever falls off the sink and Avalon ends up having fun with it while I'm obliviously feeding Willow in the adjoining room.

The task is so unrewarding that I've decided to tally how much I'm saving on using them. Then I've decided that I'm going to treat myself to another piece of furniture in our sparse house. Probably a useless piece of furniture. You know the type. Looks-great-but-with-no-real-purpose type of furniture. The type of furniture which Craig would think is a waste of space so we'd never get it type of furniture.

I'm so silly, but when I spend much of my waking life in this house, it's nice to think that there'll be a little reminder of my unnecessary efforts staring back at me every day.

I think once that useless but pretty piece of furniture is sitting in a room ,it'll be then that I'll say for sure "yeah, washable nappies, they're worth the effort!"