For some strange reason...

for the last couple of years I have thought that 33 would be a great year for me. Well, it started out okay with sick baby going to sleep about 12.08am, after doing a huge poo and getting a clean nappy, and sleeping until 5.30am. Then Mum rang to wish me happy birthday and tell me that they had to put their 18 yr old cat down today. Finally I dropped a glass on the kitchen countertop, breaking the glasss and then half of the broken glass fell onto my foot, bruising and cutting it at the same time, then a shard of glass cut the underside of my big toe. And now Australia has just lost the Bledisloe Cup, again. Hopefully the next 364 days of being 33 will be better than this one. Whinge over now.