It might be in a small one-bedroom apartment, but Miss Q is about to get her very own cot. I just don’t know if she’s going to like being behind bars. She’s a bit of a free spirit, I think it may stifle her.
She’s used to sleeping on a mattress by my side of the bed, propped up on one side by a beach towel so she doesn’t roll onto the floor (sounds ghetto, but at least it’s not a drawer) and moves into our bed for the 3am feed.
And there she stays, hogging the centre of the bed while Gregory and I cling to the edges, because somehow it seems better to have my arse hanging out getting chilly in the frosty winter air, than to stay awake while she tugs on my nipple (it’s amazing what I can now sleep through) and put her back on her mattress on the floor when she’s done.
I’ve decided to continue with the prison theme, and put her on a prisoner’s diet after I bought her a banana today for $2.12. She was having it mixed with porridge lovingly made for her by her grandad, but buggar that. Now she can have it plain.
If gruel was good enough for Oliver, it’s good enough for Q.
Tomorrow is move-in day (although I’ve not started packing so I’m not sure how that’s going to go).
Tomorrow night she will be behind bars.
We will see if the inmates rule...
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