The only thing worse than childbirth is being hungover in charge of a baby.
As if starting my day at 5.30am after returning home at gone three wasn’t enough, my daughter has chosen today to work out how to scream. Yay. Each time she does it, it feels as if a piece of my brain is actually escaping through my left nostril.
Combine that with the mother of all turds and repeatedly being punched in the tit and you’ve reached the living nightmare that is my Sunday.