The Last Time.

Holding Hands
As I write this post, it’s Friday night, I’m in bed, in the dark, with about 5 inches of mattress to myself. ¬†There’s a buffalo snoring on the other side of me (although just for the record, he most definitely ‘does not snore’) and in-between us is my (almost) 5-year-old son. His legs and arms are flailing all over the place and I’m in danger of ending up on the floor.

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