I found this post (and this one) this morning, and they both seem like someone else’s life, as usual. Time for another installment.
Dear self,
Here are some things you should never forget (even when your eye bags are capacious enough to keep things in):
that the whole street knows when Son 2 has woken up, because he shouts for you louder than a brass band
that Son 1 is curled into your back (all elbows and knees) if he’s been wet in the night, and covering his ears in his own bed if he’s been dry
that they are still putting away adult-sized portions of banana porridge each, while a nation’s oat-farmers tremble
that Son 2 often goes back to the table for a quick punt after getting dressed, to clear up any leftovers
that they both choose a train to set carefully on the bathroom radiator so they’ve got an audience
that their Thomas bubble bath smells like watermelons
that they spend bath time chucking water at each other, making poo jokes and laughing hysterically
that you let the bathtime poo jokes go, because you say ‘no more poo and wee talk, please’ at least 70 000 times a day, and frankly there’s a limit
that Son 1 insists on getting out first, and Son 2 refuses to get out at all because he’s ‘fwimmin, Mummy’
that Son 1 dresses himself for the promise of a sticker, in between claims that he’s ‘feeling a bit delicate this morning’
that Son 2 raises holy hell if you so much as approach him with socks, because he just wants to jump around naked forever
that with all of these shenanigans you have approximately thirteen minutes to get yourself ready
and you spend eleven of them in the shower with the heat whacked up to max
and every morning you stare at the shower tiles, wondering whether you’ve got this
and honestly, some mornings you haven’t
but more often than not, you have.