Wednesday, 18 September 2013


Well I haven't managed to blog for quite some time - apparently having a one year old, a two year old*, a dog and returning to work doesn't leave an awful lot of time for hilarious musings on t'internet. I'm hoping my blog wasn't just a project for maternity leave as I want to keep it up so my children can laugh about how incompetent I was in the future, and I have written evidence to excuse my future actions. (I can't wait for Mattie to have his first hangover. I will be in his room every two hours throughout the night shouting "I'm hungry! I'm cold! I'm thirsty!" And then I will make him get up at 5am to make me breakfast). 
As well as thoroughly neglecting my blog, I have found my return to work has seen me swiftly slip sliding headlong into slummy mummyhood. If I was a tad haphazard before, I'm now positively disastrous. Mattie had his first birthday party at the weekend, a lovely if slightly chaotic day full of children, cake and far too many presents. On waking up on his birthday morning, I realised I hadn't bought him a birthday card. I do realise he can't read yet, but I've saved all their birthday cards for the future so they can grumble "we're not girls mum, what the hell do you want us to do with this? sit and look delightedly through a scrapbook full of their birthday memories in years to come. So there probably ought to be a card from his actual parents in there somewhere. I will find time, at some point, to retrospectively write one.
 Poor M is definitely feeling the pinch of being the second born, and having a part time working mummy. We went for a walk in the woods the other day, where a lovely well meaning lady laughed at the fact that he was toddling about in his socks, and sympathised with me having a child similar to her own who kicked off when we tried to get their shoes on. I just laughed along and neglected to mention that I haven't actually bought him any yet. The shame. If there are other working mummies reading this post, I'd love to know how you fit everything in. We seem to be existing purely on a diet of fish fingers and cbeebies. I turn up at work, my brand new, should-be-on-top-form-to-impress-colleagues work, with dried weetabix and snot crusted to the side of my face. Which of course they are all far too polite to point out, and I discover at ten thirty, having already greeted all the parents and had a chat with the head. It's a good job I'm not easily embarrassed.
Onwards and upwards!

*My boys are 21 months apart. This means for three and a half months of the year, if I tell people their ages, they sound even closer. For the months of September, October, November and December I will be dropping into every conversation, whether its appropriate or not, that I have a two year old and a one year old. If I'm going to be stupid enough to have my children close together, I'm damn well going to get maximum sympathy/admiration for it whenever possible. "Yes I will sign for this parcel Mr Postman. Do you know who else likes to sign for things? My two year old and my one year old." "No, checkout lady, I don't have a loyalty card. Do you know who else doesn't have a loyalty card? My two year old and my one year old." You get the idea.