I know. I am a bad blogger. Never the most prolific even at my creative blogging height, I have now sunk to a new low of, er, none.
Even my husband has forgotten their existence, and my potential readership has fallen to three, depending on the availability of those particular family members.
Father Blogmas most certainly will not be popping down my chimney this year.
However, in my defense, I haven't stopped blogging entirely. I have a burgeoning folder of half-written posts; witty one-liners hanging in mid air; the unfinished baby-related anecdotes and exasperated mental meanderings of a sleep-deprived new(ish) mum.
Not to mention the many partially written posts that have never made it out through my fingers but still circulate in some shady part of my ransacked brain, only to emerge during bouts of insomnia, appearing as the support act to my fear of abandoning Iris to childcare, and a collapsing property market.
Also in my defense, m'lord, I have been sucked into a veritable maelstrom of babydom. Day-shift blurs into night-shift, with a two hour reprieve for housework and 'me' (well, 'tv and wine') time. One step forward soon mutates into five steps back, little islands of 'this isn't so hard', turning into rather larger land masses of 'oh, shit!'.
Excuses made, I bid you a very merry festive season, and hope to be back to my (ahem) prolific best very soon. Mum.