I was a less than exceptional mother yesterday:
A restless nights sleep is cut short by The Young Man banging on his door 'open the door, mumma. Open door please, mumma'. A quick jab to my husbands leg solves that one, however, the cries of the lady baby can not be remedied by this selfless soul. Breasts required. Day starts.
After making myself a coffee that i have no chance of drinking, I put on playschool, nurse the little one, sort the washing, nurse he little one, empty the dishwasher, nurse the little one, clean the coffee machine and nurse the little one. Playschool Over.
Rain means that a brief respite with friends is called short. Cue grumpy toddler. A nutritious lunch of chocolate eggs and a glass of milk are served on the couch, in front of playschool. Daytime sleeps are short. Mine, nonexistent.
By 5.30 my sense of humour is well and truly lost under the pile of clean, sorted washing that The Young Man has thrown to the floor (for the 387th time). Husband due home in less than 15 minutes. I calmly walk to the bathroom and run myself a deep hot bath.
Dave's arrival is met with one crying lady baby, one crying toddler, no dinner- but a lovely hot bath waiting for ME, ME, ME! I enthusiastically hop in dunking my head right under the water and holding my breath, stretching my lungs to capacity. There is a reason that John The Baptist baptised man in water- its rejuvenating. I emerge ready for another day.
Oh no, that's not where it ends. Our delicious Indian take away went cold while we put over tired children to sleep, over and over.