Bribe them. 'If you stop trying to touch your brothers willy you can have a sticker later' or 'If you stop being a little shit you will be my favourite for the day' (that one's in my head)
Hysteria grew, until I was almost shrieking "Zlatan, I need Zlatan" upon entering anywhere that vaguely looked like it might contain some sort of memorabilia or souvenir.
There’s something about knowing, for definite that you’ll never again hold a newborn baby who belongs to you. As my daughter passes through each phase, I mourn the ending of things...
I didn't love my baby. I didn't even know what love should feel like. I just knew that I didn't feel it. I felt detached, and I felt alien. I felt I was playing a role...
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