6
I was out on our fire escape painting a recently acquired second-hand crib on a beautiful London summer afternoon. The door buzzer went marking the arrival of some plumbers to do some needed apartment maintenance. I, wearing painting attire, my husband’s oversized birkenstocks & holding the wet paintbrush in my hand, left the fire escape door and apartment door wide open to waddled downstairs to let them in the building. Halfway down our door slams shut. Picturing my hanging keys hanging delicately inside my apartment - I walk into the bank below us (we share fire escapes) hair high as a cockatoo, shuffling in trying not to drip paint and not panic about the cat possibly escaping the apartment through the open outside door (she is not an outdoor feline).
After 30 minutes of these shenanigans we (the workers, fetus & I) made it back into the apartment and find kitty asleep on my bed unaware of her one chance to freedom.
So if a baby is anything like a house cate, well, I’m going to be fine.
I’m going to be fine.
I’m fine.
.
