GOING, GOING…GONE.

Our son’s first week at home has been nothing, if not, eventful. And thanks to my own childhood boot camp Boy Scout training (bar that one embarrassing incident at Brownies), we were pretty much setup and definitely came prepared. But the one thing we weren’t prepared for, was…

The Zombie Apocolypse

I mean, we always knew it was going to happen. People have waved placards about it. There was even that documentary on the subject that Simon Pegg “You’ve got RED on you”, made with his cricket bat. And, low, we did heed the warning signs, but like Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries when hearing the statistics that one-in-one “reality-tv weddings” end in divorce, we too said…

“That won’t happen to us”.

But low…it did happen. Hypnotized by a tiny invader, he infiltrated our defenses and we’ve both been bitten.

Now, the wee small hours of the morning see our soulless lifeless bodies limply staggering, inch-by-inch, eyes hanging out of our heads. Our mournful moans and grunts echo hauntingly through the house, guided purely by muscle memory, changing nappies, mixing formula, expressing milk in a syringe, boiling utensils…all in a semi-conscious state. The sleep deprived Walking Dead. The children that Boris Karloff forgot.

We may never sleep again.

Resistance is futile…

“Join us…join us…”

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