The Ass Circle of Life

We went to a party on Sunday and I noticed that Zac's juvenile bum crack had become exposed to the other revellers like he was some kind of diminutive building site worker.

I bent down to fix him and as I pulled his kecks up my mate kindly pointed out that now MY arse was on show for the world.

It was a beautiful, circle-of-life type moment, unless you happened to be tucking into some quiche while this Avery lunar eclipse took place.

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My wife and I developed our parenting systems through trial and error. One of the earliest rules we’d introduced was that if it was after 5am and one of the babies became unsettled, we wouldn’t waste our time trying to get them back down in their cot - we’d just bring them in with us. After a nice cuddle in our bed, they’d normally settle back down, barring the occasional impromptu fanny gouge or affable bollock kick. (Babies are the most violent sleepers on the planet, easily capable of committing GBH in the middle of reaching for their dummy.) Our twins were six months old. I was fast asleep. At least, the deepest sleep you can get once your kids arrive. My pre-kids sleep used to be the nocturnal equivalent of deep sea diving. Nowadays I’m lucky if I can submerge my toes in a puddle. Early on, my sleep was lighter than a Ryvita biscuit who’d been having it off with a helium canister they’d met on Tinder. Everything woke me up. Some nights I’d just lie there, bewi

Sam Avery

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