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You wouldn't like her when she's angry.

So, the She-Beast has made a return to our 'appy 'ome...

Lately, Madam has taken to waking somewhere between half five and six o'clock in the morning. Not for a drink, not for a quick stir... for the day. Which means that even if New Kid kept me up until eleven with acid reflux or simply his own reenactment of The Karate Kid, I'm up somewhere between half five and six o'clock in the morning. For the day. On its own, I could deal with this situation. However, by eight in the morning she's getting tired, and for Madam, tired isn't a good enough reason to sleep. Her FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) simply won't allow a graceful slide into unconsciousness, so instead she starts to whine... then cry... then scream and flail. For somewhere around two hours. Every morning. The only thing that stops the flailing is singing, and let me tell you, I'm running out of songs. Somewhere around the half-hour mark my already flagging voice (thanks to the cold I picked up from Herself two weeks ago but can't shake due to LACK OF SLEEP) gives out, which if I'm lucky is a minute or two past her FOMO backing down for a temporary respite. If I'm unlucky... well, you don't want to hear about that. Welcome to my world.

Despite this recurring madness, I've decided that this would be the perfect time in my life to start a new business venture. Because who doesn't start a new line of work while six months pregnant, right? There's a vintage fair in Old Spitalfield's market in Brick Lane that's simply calling my name. I have all the vintage goodies that I bought with the intent of stocking my Etsy shop still spilling out of my storage (because it turns out that having a toddler doesn't mesh well with spending hours on the computer uploading photos and writing descriptions for items for sale... who knew?!) and it's doing my head in. I'm sitting on money, and I'd much rather be spending it on obscene amounts of salad from Marks and Spencer. So after some research, this vintage fair presented itself as a viable option, and I'm going to give it a go. The first incarnation of my stall will appear in a couple of weeks, and depending on the reception may very well become a regular thing. What could be better than returning to my market stall roots and being forced to buy ridiculous amounts of vintage from local charity shops without fear of repercussion from Himself? I see no down side. So wish me luck, and if you're feeling really charitable, come see me on the stall so I can leave you in charge while I pee like the pregnant lady I am. *grin*

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