damp with a sore bottom

I spent the vast majority of this weekend damp with a slightly sore bottom. I have looked like Casper the Ghost since Friday, my make up bag has been gathering dust and my ghd’s are stone cold. The children are officially and he who helped create them is looking a bit worn out.

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help my blog has been hijacked

My name is Owen; mummy writes about me sometimes, this is my blog debut. I have had to hijack mummy’s blog as I don’t know how to set one up myself – I am only four.

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Supermum doesn’t live here anymore

I was awake at 1.30am this morning, now I have a 16 week old baby so I imagine people think that is pretty normal. However what would you think if I told you that I hadn’t even gone to bed at that time, and that I was actually not in my PJ’s until 2am? I know what you are thinking – dirty little stop out! Going to regret that last glass of wine in the morning!

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Making new friends (and losing them)

New schools are terrifying, lots of new people stood about in established groups, rituals and greetings established. Most have obviously grown up in pre schools and nurseries together and share a history that we have not been part of. However twin boy, twin girl and I have tried to fit in. To be honest the twins are doing a lot better than me. Twin boy has befriended a boy who can produce a competitive amount of green stuff from his nose, so they are clearly friends for life; he also has a trusted circle of pirates that he can turn to for new hints on how to cause significant pain with daggers made of foam and swords made of plastic. Twin girl has found herself chair of the school mothers union, they meet every playtime to look after their silent babies, exchange head lice and discuss the latest going ons in Scooby Doo.

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Mummy, will you always wee yourself now?

Since beautiful baby has arrived she has managed to achieve quite a lot. She has completely ruined my figure, (clearly it was she who had a craving for pizza not me) she has managed to get me to expose my breasts to the postman, the milkman, and very nearly my father-in-law. She has also managed to reduce me (a cynical, sarcastic almost middle aged woman) to an over enthusiastic, baby gurgling, obsessed mummy. Seriously if you come within 50 yards of the house I will entice you into the front room and insist that you spend hours looking at the 500 photos we have taken so far and then force you to stare at her whilst contorting your features into various expressions in order to make her smile, I will also force you to endure listening to me talking in baby speak and my personal favourite talking through the baby to you; i.e. ‘so does mummy’s friend want a cuddle, does she, oh yes she does.’

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