Bank meeting at 9.00.
8.20, Emma keeps whining “Maaaaamaaaamaaamaaamaaa”.
I look at her, wondering whether she only remembers my “name” when she is upset or whether “mama” is just an expression she invented to express her boredom.
Then I look at my face in the mirror.
And I did it.
It was yesterday morning and I still feel ashamed.
My hair looked good at the meeting, though.