Some days I look at you and I despise you. Your perfect barren body mocks mine which has been scarred by childbirth twice over. Your breasts sit high upon your chest, two pert mounds, braless, and yet they don’t sag near your stomach button.
Some ruffian has laid their lips on my daughter. Some cheeky little so and so has had the nerve to declare himself my daughters first boyfriend and sealed the deal with a puckered up kiss which apparently she willingly accepted.
I have issues, I know I have a little bit of ocd but was unaware of how much it defined me with my children. I like things away and tidy, I like my wardrobe to be ordered and my shoes in pairs in boxes.
Its looking like Twin Boys best career option is to go into politics. Not my first choice for him but apparently it can be lucrative so I should be able to look forward to a decent level of sheltered housing when my mummy madness progresses into senility.