Poops

It finds me wherever I go. Today it found its way onto my eyelashes and eyebrows, and even into my "bangs" (in parentheses because I did not cut them but they grew in after my hormones stopped raging post-breastfeeding). (Which reminds me that I think my hormones have stopped altogether. And some of you can go on and on about how that's not possible but I'm not really talking science here. Think about the figurative meaning.)

At least that was my baby's poops. I find goose poops in my flat sometimes, remnants from the Gardens that have made their way into my home via the stroller ("pushchair"). I almost ran straight over some dog poops on the sidewalk ("pavement") today.

One thing you can't say about London is that it's clean. And my family sure isn't adding to the sterility, by any means.

But we do recycle!!

Five gold stars and two blue ribbons later, it's still poops.

Poops.