why every child needs a pacifier

I jump at the chance to swing thigh into action and get some good old fashion exercise when I can, but Tuesday was ridiculous. I clocked thirty kilometres in the name of a small bunny with long, floppy ears that crinkle when chewed. It all began trying to get a tired boy to sleep in his pram.

Four kilometres. At the end of which I discovered my little person's gums were no longer wrapped around a wet bunny ear. Bunny was missing. I lifted the little, sleeping person up and out, dangling him up around my shoulders to get my head in under the visor, just to make sure. With arms floppy and swaying in the breeze, tt exerted little snores while I pulled the seat apart, one-handed.

Turn around. Backtrack. Eight kilometres. tt still sleeping. Could I really have missed b along the way?

Deflated, exhausted, feet blistered, I called a cab and called it a day. The fare began as any other until I asked him to turn around and do 20km/h along the curb to continue the search. He was amused until the curb of the quiet road-side became a four lane main road. A dad himself, in sympathy, he hit the hazards lights.

Twelve k's. 'Ahh, excuse me? Would you mind turning back, just so that we can check once more'.

Sixteen. The driver turned to me with fear and trepidation but I called off the search. b and his two adored ears, which for the first time ever had a chance to dry, was out in the wilderness of Bukit Timah, left for dead. I may never recover.

Bedtime last night was as expected, with the absence of b woefully agonised over for two hours. At which point I abandoned tt and left j in charge, slipped on running shoes and called a cab. Back at the scene that I will forever agonise over and tt will have forgotten by Sunday, I resumed the search.

Twenty-four, -eight.

'Taxi!'

Thirty-two.

Dear Bunny, Ri.p. old friend.