Now, when you become a parent, there is a moment when you think 'few, at least I won't die alone, someone will care for me and miss me when I'm gone'.
Ok, so maybe there isn't really a moment but it may well cross your mind that someone will care for you when you are old and grey and can no longer die your own hair.
Well, at least you think they may pick out a not too bad nursing home in which you can rot in a puddle of your own pee.
Anyway, you think that this 'caring', the helping you dress, wiping the drool from your face etc, will happen a LONG way down the line.
What you do not expect is that every morning your not-quite-three-year old will insist on:
Not only picking out your knickers but helping you climb in them ( yes mine are big enough for a climb, though I don't quite need a rope yet);
That she will, while wearing one of your bras herself, hoist your boobies into their scaffolding, scorning any brassiere that is slightly 'scanty';
You certainly do not expect to have your under arm deodorant applied for you.
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