Seriously should I ever suffer a moment of softness or perhaps a blow to the head and you hear me say I would like a fourth child then you have my permission to shoot me. Don’t mess around with my kneecaps just go straight in for the kill; right between the eyes.
As lovely as they are, and mine have moments when they are absolute stars, really this whole offspring situation is getting old and immensely stressful. And I seriously cannot listen to any more bloody whining.
For example I am currently on a weekend break; once this meant an impulsive trip to Paris or New York or a country club in the cotswolds. The break would signal a time of peace and relaxation with the only stress rising from losing at a recreational game of tennis or billard’s.
So far my weekend break has involved a caravan, a lot of swimming with people shorter than me who don’t yet realise weeing in the pool is rather anti social, and a range of evening entertainment that starts at 5.30pm a time which used to be cocktail hour. To make matters worse the evening entertainment is led by a spotty teenager who clearly inhales speed before his performance to ensure he can speak at immense speed and at full pitch for three hours whilst the children clamber over him and the stage. His saving grace is that he distracts the children so we bigger people can seek solace in a bottle of gin and reminisce about holidays gone by.
But anyway with three children there is just not a moments peace; bb goes down for a nap and we have to go on overdrive for activities for the older two to ensure all three get enough positive attention. When they flip out through over tiredness which is inevitable as they are boogying on down until Cinderella’s coach turns into a pumpkin we have to resist giving them something to cry about by smacking them on their jacksie, as that is frowned upon (never did me any harm…) Although every little thing they do nicely we have to hold an award ceremony for. Everytime twin girl does something I ask first time she expects a round of applause. I am lucky if I even get a thank you when I wipe their backsides.
Don’t get me wrong, we are having a rather lovely time on our jolies, but there have been at least fifteen to twenty times when I could happily deny all knowledge that the older two belong to us.
In amongst many lovely times the worse moment has been when over-competitive twin boy turned into Satans spawn at soft play when his sister beat him in a race. Watched by a sea of fantastically behaved children I chose to walk away with bb in my arms tutting loudly as he who helped create them tried to calm the situation. To re emphasise that in no way could that writhing screeching child on the floor be mine I even commented to another parent “where’s the mother, that poor chap must be on his own…”
Twin girl is going through a stage of breaking down into pools of tears if you even hint at telling her off; and jaysus it is annoying. She managed to bawl through breakfast because we refused her choice of footwear for the day. Red sparkly heels are only appropriate day wear for ladies of the night…
And bb, well she is still at the age of adorable but she seems to want to play at four am and I have other things in the diary then.
So this blog is my permission slip for murder if you hear me murmuring about baby number four.
I just can’t take any more whinging…