Thursday, 1 December 2016

The Horror of December 1st and Christmas cards!!!!

The horror of December 1st more specifically children's Christmas card lists!

The crumpled, tatty lists of endless names delivered to unsuspecting parents around December 1st. Usually transported to us via book-bags or lunch-boxes,for the less fortunate among us the lists are usually found along with snotty tissues inside a trouser pocket after its been through the wash.

Our children thrust the list upon us with the same urgency as we have when heading for the wine aisle on a Monday Friday evening. Insisting that they need to write Christmas cards for the class that contained thirty children yesterday but somehow manages to produce a list of a thousand recipients.

So during our next lunch hour we make our way to Poundland and purchase one thousand 'high quality' Christmas cards - the size of teabags - for 99p. We feel very pleased with ourselves, we can cross off a 'to do' from our Christmas 'to do' list, but at the same time wonder how our childrens handwriting, that's on the same scale as the Hollywood sign, is ever going to fit in the small cards.

We should never have worried about our children's handwriting, after getting half way through writing 'To Alfie' they develop the need to: eat/play/sleep/poo/draw a picture of next doors cat/seek medical attention/other (delete as appropriate). So as parents we step up and spend the next ten hours writing cards for a thousand three-year-olds that can barely read their own name. The Christmas card list gets lost, we panic, we can barely remember the names on the list never mind how to spell them, so we spend the rest of the night stalking facebook profiles to retrieve correct spellings only to accidentally like Henriettes christenining photos from 2013.

Eventually they're completed, a stack of Christmas cards waiting to be distributed by our little ones. We're very proud of ourselves for being organised and imagine this is how the perfect, smug parent brigade always feels. That is until our children bring home their first batch of Christmas greetings; a Harrods card from little Tommy that is decorated with the actual Gold from the stable and a home made masterpiece from Lucy whose mum is obviously a blue peter presenter.

The 99p cards are scrapped and quickly replaced by the more luxurious Tesco's finest (the ones we were saving for emergencies) and a batch of santa stickers to add a bit more originality. They eventually get sent into school with our very excited children who are eager to spread Christmas cheer to their thousand best friends and we breathe a sigh of relief.

Over the next couple of weeks our children receive hundreds of teabag size cards that we store in the glove box of the car, behind the toaster or on top of the fridge; we promise that we will get a card holder (piece of string) and display them all in pride of place above the fireplace (radiator in our case) Christmas gets closer and the pile of cards, some unopened (the shame), gets bigger. Eventually the start of January arrives and they all get chucked out with the dead tree!!

The January blues are well and truly growing roots and we think things cant get any worse...

We open our Children's bags the night before school starts and as well as discovering a homework assignment that looks like it was influenced by Lucy's Mum; we also find one thousand of Tesco's finest Christmas cards!!!

As pretty as a Christmas card

Monday, 28 November 2016

Rather you than me | A letter to the lady in Sainsbury's

To the lady in Sainsbury's

'Rather you than me!'

They were your exact words as you shook your head in annoyance when one of my two-year-old twins climbed onto the shelf in front of you to get a better look at the cuddly Santa.

'Rather you than me!'

You declared as you watched my little boy announce to the store 'my Santa'. You stood staring at him for a few seconds giving you plenty of time to form your opinion about his questionable behaviour.

'Rather you than me!'

Your words when you saw me running towards him with sheer panic etched onto my face because I had actually lost site of him when I made the decision to chase his twin brother who was heading for the exit.

'Rather you than me!'

Your words rang in my ears as I attempted to hide my anger at my own stupidity - I had  given up looking for a double trolley and convinced myself that my boisterous two year olds would walk around the store like sensible adults.

'Rather you than me!'

Your judgemental tone multiplied the effects that tiredness was taking on me. Tiredness due to the relentless nature of motherhood, sleepless nights, university lectures, money managing, after-school clubs, washing, cleaning, homework, the list is endless.

'Rather you than me!'

The words that on Friday evening, had me questioning my ability to parent my children, my ability to 'control' them in public, my ability to keep them safe.

'Rather you than me!'

A phrase that rattled around my head for hours following our brief meeting. A phrase that told me that my twin boys, my life as a parent of twins, was so awful in your mind that you had to let me know about it.

'Rather you than me!'

I agree

'Rather me than you'

I would rather have a hundred disastrous supermarket visits than miss out on a second filled with double hugs and kisses.

I would rather chase them - giggling - around a thousand stores than have never experienced that single, life changing, magical moment that changed us forever. The moment we discovered there was two of them.

I would rather spend the rest of my days questioning my ability to parent than miss a minute witnessing their inseparable bond.

I would rather die than miss out on being the mother of my two perfect, mischievous, loving twin boys.

And I do believe my children also agree, they would rather have me than you too!

Best wishes

The crazy lady with naughty twins who looked like she was about to cry.

Wednesday, 23 November 2016

Dear Leo....Im sorry

Dear Leo,

This morning you woke to the squeals and shouts of your little twin brothers. Your sleepy eyes greeted them with a smile, a laugh and an offer to play.

I told you to 'stop playing and hurry and get dressed.'

At breakfast you entertained Millie, Max and Bobby with your contagious laugh and the warmth of your heart.

I told you 'to hurry and eat'

During the shortness of our morning together you managed to tell a story; sing Millie's favourite songs; had your brothers and sister screaming with excitement and belly laughing on the floor.

I filled the washing machine and told you 'to calm down and put on your shoes'

Your boisterous playfulness followed you to the car and undeterred you played with the radio to find Christmas songs and asked a thousand questions.

I asked you to 'stop' I  asked you to 'ssshhh'

This evening after getting home from Millie's dance class you turned your bed into a pirate ship. You, Millie, Max and Bobby fought off the sharks and walked the plank.

I told you 'to hurry and have a shower'

You sat and listened to the little ones bed time stories and then asked if you could read them an extra one.

I said 'yes but hurry'

Tonight when the day was nearly over and there was nothing left to hurry for I tucked you into bed, your head older and wiser than eight years, rested on my shoulder, your eyes hazy and your smile sleepy. My beautiful little boy I should say 'Thank you' not 'stop' not 'hurry' and not 'ssshhh'

Thank you for the adventures that you take the little minds on. Thank you for the songs, the joy, the smiles and the knowledge that you provide. Thank you for being the reason that there is so much uncontrollable laughter in our home. Thank you for the magic that you bring to all our lives.

Tomorrow you can sing as much as you want. Laugh as loud as possible and play as hard as you can.

I promise not to hurry you, I promise not to shush you, I promise to join in and play.

I'm sorry for saying 'sssshhhh'

I love you mate.

Love Mummy x x x


Thursday, 13 October 2016

'Mature Student Mummy'- My first month.

I have nearly completed my first month at university and I am ecstatic to report that every fear, misconception, niggle and passing thought of anticipated failure were completely unnecessary.

As a mature student and not just a mature student but a 'mature mummy student' (Woohoo I'm sort of juggling life) embarking on an English and Creative writing degree, I was flooded with uneasiness at the start of my course. I started to have crippling doubts about my decision to leave my Job and return to education; every decision I have made since having the twins has been slightly 'cuckoo'. I would haunt myself with thoughts that every lecturer was going to be a carbon copy of either my year 10 physics teacher or the demon headmaster (unsure which is the lesser evil) I was petrified that I would lose the ability to write, or what I did write would be complete crap! I was convinced everyone would be using words I didn't understand, or they had made a mistake and I should never of got onto the course in the first place.


My first day at uni photo

My biggest fear and the one that could have seen me running for the hills on numerous occasions, was the fear of not fitting in, the fear of being too 'old', the fear of being the only 'old' one. Imagining the 'cool' ones teasing me about my appearance just like when I was back at school. (Although I was always quite fond of my poodle permed fringe and collection of clothing that advertised class b's! I thought I was quite 'edgy')
Thankfully and probably obviously I have found none of the above to be legitimate fears. The lecturers are amazing they aid and encourage everyone's creativity; they are normal people without a hint of the demon headmaster insight. I am pleased to learn that I do understand the English language, reassuring seen as I have being speaking it for the last 34 years and I am not the only 'old' one; there are quite a few of us all on different journeys with the same end goal in sight. The younger ones, I actually don't even notice the age difference, I'm not sure if that says more about their maturity or my lack of it.

I am not just happy with the course I am doing, I am completely and utterly head over heels in love with it, even the poetry module that at the beginning of term disturbed me more than the remake of 'the hills have eyes'. I now get pathetically excited on a Tuesday morning hoping I don't seem to 'geeky' as I raise my hand eager to read to the class.

The last month has also seen me adapt first name terms with the postman; after ordering a small library of books at the beginning of term, they have begun to arrive sporadically. Having a knock at the door every few days feels like Santa delivering a little piece of Christmas. (Not actually read all of them yet but my bookshelf is starting to look really intelligent)

Then there is the kids! They have been little rock stars over the last month and juggling them and uni up until now has been far easier than when I was at work. What's helped is I have decided to lower my standards (they have actually plummeted to the deep dark depths of hell). The kids are beside themselves with excitement; takeaway has now become one of  our main food groups and their toys are allowed to camp out on the living room floor overnight.

Well I do need to prepare myself for the lack of available time when assignment deadlines start fast approaching, that's my excuse anyway!! I know I'm only in the first month and things are definitely going to get a lot tougher and faster paced but I am so thankful that the opportunity to return to study at some level is available to practically everyone in this country. My advice to anyone thinking about returning to do their GGSEs, an access course or a degree would be to do it. Its the best decision I have ever made!

Here's hoping the next few months are as pizza filled, lecture loving and as untidy as the first!

Thursday, 8 September 2016

Summer has nothing on September!

This week the summer holidays came to an end. The beginning of the summer brought out my sentimentality and emotional speeches, declaring how delightful starting nursery school was going to be for Millie, how proud I was of Leo who would be going into year four and how much I was looking forward to spending quality time with all four of my gorgeous children. The reality is that the long six weeks of the summer has knocked that sentimentality right out of my mouth.

Of course it's still delightful that Millie has started school this week.

It's delightful that Leo went back to school.

I was delighted, ridiculously delighted.

I was practically skipping out of that school gate quicker than Millie charged in!

My plan for the summer I imagine echoed every parent's plan who were happy lucky enough to spend six whole weeks with their kids, Fun, Fun, Fun!! What could be more fun than a soft play area even if it meant the place was packed to the roof with screaming kids, the weekly food budget being spent on aluminous coloured icy drinks and burgers that even the crappiest cooks among us would be ashamed to serve up. Having to jump from my chair every ten minutes to locate my children because I just knew that the one time I didn't jump up to check where they were, they would of being abducted by a psycho who had sneaked into the area disguised as a parent! Then finally having to cut my visit short because my three year old 'accidentally' pushed in line for the slide and the kid she pushed in front of  was crying to his angry looking mother who looked like she could last a few rounds with Mike Tyson!

After one to many stressful soft play dates we decided we would stick to outdoor activities. Which have been fun. Picnics, walks, parks, that sort of thing. Other than bloody noses, grazed knees, blisters, removing dead bugs from children's mouths and hyperventilating, feet kicking, ground hitting tantrums! We have had a blast!

Our Summer


However.......

The icing on the big fat activity cake of summer was the school uniform shop! There is just one shop in which to purchase the uniform from and it provides its services to at least half the schools in the city!!!

There are no words to describe my anxiety levels that day. The whole procedure from start to finish can only be described as hell!

The thirty minute queue to enter the shop!

The angelic children that sat around us patiently waiting to try on their new angelic uniforms, whilst my little demons swung on the clothes racks!

The thirty minute wait to pay whilst a dance performance was offered to the customers by my three year old and my niece whether the audience liked it or not and after the dance performance both of the little demons lay down in the middle of the isle through sheer exhaustion and publically announced they were dying of thirst. The angelic children looked on.

Finally the realisation that hit me once I had got to the till, I was going to have to return my newly purchased jeans and bag or sell one of my children to be able to afford the uniform!

I do believe that the school uniform shop day has changed me as a person, in a positive way! When I am having a bad day in the future whether we are running late, books can't be found or the school requests me to dress the kids as giant Mexican space bugs for children in need day with thirty three minutes notice, I am always going to be able to think things could be worse!

The best days ( I feel like I should at least attempt to throw a little light on the situation) and there have been a few where my urge to reach for the wine was practically non existent, were the unplanned days. The sunny garden days. The lovely warm bird watching, bug spotting mornings that rolled into hot summer, water play kind of afternoons. No planning just playing! We had picnic lunches and barbeque teas and it didn't matter that they wanted to scream and dance and run around half naked! I love them days!

Even those days though were not enough to halt my day dreams last week. Imagining what I would do with those rare few child free hours. I fantasised about having my nails done or going out for lunch. Planning a social life or preparing for university next week. I could go on. In fact the reality has been I have cleared out Millie's wardrobe, sorted Leo's Lego, sent requests for special Christmas gifts to Santa, arranged trips for half term and sat outside school fifteen minutes before the gates opened because I couldn't wait to hear about the angelic fun my little demons had experienced!



Tuesday, 19 July 2016

I hated my post twin pregnancy body...............

When the news that I was carrying twins had eventually sunk in, I felt like I had been blessed, aside from the awful pregnancy, I was on top of the world. As my very large pregnant belly got bigger so did my fear of my post pregnancy body. In an attempt to get a a sneaky peek of what I could expect of my post twin belly I took to google.

What will my belly look like after twins?

How to avoid stretch marks twin pregnancy?

Thighs doubled in size carrying twins?

What is twin skin?

What is diastasis recti?

How much does a tummy tuck cost?

Shocked was my initial reaction! Not because of  discovering the vast rage of medical problems that women can experience as a result of a twin pregnancy or not because of the heartwarming stories I had unexpectedly come across of strength and courage during pregnancy and birth, but because of the views or should I say 'The View' that I stumbled upon time after time on various pregnancy and parernting forums and popular mother and baby sites.

The over all feeling that I got was that, women, mothers should be 'grateful' that thier body had grown to protect a health baby! They should embrace and be proud of every stretchmark and inch of  loose skin. If these views seemed to be questioned or someone attempted to put up there hand to declare that they weren't happy with their stretchmarked skin or they were embarrassed by their sagging breasts that had fed their babies, they were shot down 'It doesn't matter what you look like as long as you have a health baby you should be grateful' was the resounding response.

Throughout the rest of my pregnancy I made the conscious decision to be an 'unselfish Mother' I pushed the thoughts of anticipated stretchmarks, twin skin and diastasis recti to the back of my mind and concentrated on moaning about the heat, my back and aching ribs instead!


I was ecstatic after giving birth to the babies they were healthy and happy and perfect!.I couldn't quite believe they had arrived but I knew then they were going to make our lives amazing. I was not thinking about what I looked like or the fact that my stomach felt slightly 'odd' I was in a blissful bubble, content and happy but on noticing strange lumps under the saggy skin that was now my belly, I was quickly diagnosed with diastasis recti! As a result of pregnancy I had grown so much, my stomach muscles had separated and the strange lumps that I had felt was my protruding bowel!

Not a nice thing to be informed of less than 24 hours after giving birth!

There seems to be so much hype on social media at the moment, celebrities, bloggers, mumsnetters and even our friends all singing from the same hymn sheet! 'We should be proud because of what we have created, it doesn't matter about the loose skin, stretchmarks, wobbly bits or whatever else pregnancy has left us with'

But what if we're not proud of what we look like like after giving birth?

What if looking in the mirror doesn't make us go 'Wow, I look amazing, I love how my boobs hang to my knees' or 'I am so proud that my bowel is practically visible through my stomach'

What if everytime we look in the mirror we want to cry??

Does that make us shallow?

Does it make us selfish mothers?

Should giving birth to a precious baby take away our right to have an opinion about our own bodies????

Weeks went by, the love for my perfect little boys grew and grew but the hate I had for my stomach had also multiplied.We are all surrounded by social media, celebrities, our haters and our friends constantly repeating the same thing 'Your body has done an amazing thing, you should be proud' I wanted to cry I desperately wanted to be that woman, I wanted to be a great role model for my daughter and love every part of me no matter what I looked like but every time I looked in the mirror, I realised that I didn't love my post baby belly and I felt incredibly guilty!!!!

I should not have felt guilty!

It's OK if your not happy about your stretch marks, if you look in the mirror at the new lines that were born less than twelve months ago and think they look shit!! that's OK!

It's OK If your gutted that your once washboard stomach has been hijacked by twin skin and you contemplate surgery that's OK.

It's OK if your devastated by the fact your stomach muscles are split because of the great proportions you grew too. If you look in the mirror and instead of feeling proud of the way you look you want a way to fix it. That's OK

If your happy and proud of your post pregnancy body and you want to show it off to the world, that's OK!

Whats not ok is for anyone to tell a woman, a mother, how she should feel about her body after it has been through the most incredible journey ever. That is just not ok.

As women, as mothers we should stand united not in our views but stand united in the acceptance of  each other regardless of our views!

So back to my belly! I am sure you are all desperate to know how that relationship is going. I was told by a Midwife and a GP that I would probably need an operation to fix the hernia that I had and the gap in the muscles of my stomach may never heel completely. After about 6 months, no operations and with the help of a belly band the gap in my stomach closed to about a fingers width and my belly looks pretty amazing for someone who has had twins. I cant say that were at that stage in our relationtionship where we are completely head over heels in love, mainly due to my love affair with food and wine, but were getting there slowly and my belly often seems very forgiving of my affair!

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Working Mummy to Student Mummy

A couple of months back now I told you all that the guilt that I felt when leaving Millie and the Babies to be looked after by someone else, was magnified because I hated was no longer in love with my job. My decision to return to work after the Babies were born was a quick, maybe rash decision that I made when we first found out we were expecting twins (basically my world had been rocked. I was desperately trying to keep the pieces in their original places and prove to everyone I could do it all) and I stuck with that decision. I had been a working Mum of one and then two, I could do it with four. No problem!!?!




Before I started my materninty leave with the twins I genuinely enjoyed my job working in benefits, I thrived off the interaction and satisfaction of helping people. My plan was to spend twelve blissful months on maternity leave and then do a little skip, hop and jump as I returned back to my desk at work every day with bright eyes and eagerness!

Not quite how it went......

A lot of aspects of my role had changed on my return but probably the biggest change was me. I hadn't anticipated falling in love with the 'Stay At Home Mum' role during my maternity leave. I was always eager to get back to work and in a routine after the birth of firstly Leo and then Millie.  I hadn't anticipated getting as much joy from the crazy trips to the, parks, farms, lakes and sandpits as the Babies and Millie did.

I hadn't anticipated the agony of leaving them in tears in the morning because all that they wanted was one more cuddle and I didn't have time.

Cinderella's shoe needed to be found but I didn't have time.

A missing bear was the only comfort that was needed but I didn't have time.

I hadn't anticipated sitting at my desk at work fantasising about visiting a pond to feed the ducks surrounded by laughter and questions rather than sat in a grey office staring blankly at a computer screen.

If I was going to leave the Babies while they are still babies, then it needed to be for something worthwhile and the reason could not have me looking back in years to come regretting my decision not to spend every waking moment with them before they were old enough to attend school.

It was a conversation that I had with Leo that gave me the motivation I had craved to apply to university to do a degree in English and Creative Writing. I have always loved books and have been writing for as long as Leo can remember usually crap, waffle, more recently bits of freelance that I have been paid for and the odd children's story that I have read to him and Millie but regardless of what I have written he has always been my biggest fan. We were driving home from school one afternoon when he asked me if I would be disappointed in him if he decided to be a Scientist instead of an Archaeologist (that question alone makes me want to crack open the champagne, give myself a high five and shout from the roof tops 'my child is a legend' I have defiantly cracked this parenting 8 year olds malarkey) I told him he could do whatever he wanted as long as it made him happy and it was legalish. His response to me was 'We don't care what you do either Mummy! As long as it makes you happy' (another high five to myself, another bottle of champagne that needs cracking open.....THIS KID!!!!)

So after throwing caution to the wind I sent in my application
to university. Filling in that application form took me weeks. I poured my heart, tears, sweat, everything I had into it. I kind of felt that this was my one and only chance, like I was applying for my life. By the time they contacted me to ask for samples of my writing (I didn't send them the waffle from this blog incase you were wondering) and a further few weeks wait was anticipated, I was a nervous wreck.

I eventually got the news that I had hoped for an unconditional offer to study English and Creative
Writing BA (Hons) The excitement and absoloute relief that I felt knowing that I was finally going to be following my dream was indescribable. I still cant quite believe it now and with a whole summer ahead of us before September I cant wait to make some amazing memories with the kids, to spend quality time with Millie before her very first day at school and of course the annual school uniform shopping trip has become a lot more interesting now I will need 'school' clothes too!



Sunday, 3 July 2016

Morning Hate

The last few mornings have been really crappy! Those mornings that you want to put your hands up and say 'I quit', 'I don't want to this anymore!!

Waking up every hour throughout the night because one or both babies have lost their dummies again and then not being able to have a cup of tea once I was up because I am convinced that sticking to this ridiculously expensive diet is going to turn me into Kate Moss's body double by next Thursday just in time for our exoctic vacation!.....(Devon) Did not make the greatest start to the day.'

I just about managed to have a shower whilst listening to a soundtrack of intermittent screams, cry's and giggles but couldn't find anything to wear as the ironing pile currently stands at approximately 5ft 6 and if its not in the ironing pile its going through its 50th spin cycle (anything to delay hanging it on the washing line where it might actually dry)


Im lucky that Leo is a little gem in the mornings (most of the time) and despite his inability to get dressed without getting distracted by the TV, a book or his latest, unique lego creation! He's pretty independent and can usually get himself sorted and ready to leave. Millie on the other hand decided to flat out refuse to get herself dressed until she had finished a fifty piece jigsaw, dressed her dolls and put them to bed. Find plasters smallenough to fit on to her perfectly, uncut, unhurt fingers!!! im sure she detects my sense of failure and no longer care attitude as her demands become greater and my ability to parent becomes non existent when her decision to take half her bedding to nursery because she is freezing (in June whilst wearing a coat) goes by practically unremarked by myself.

The babies despise getting dress but at least they have been preoccupied with the '2 for £5' stickers they had removed from their new 'holiday' tshirts. I wouldn't let the wear new clothes for nursery as a rule and usually delegate old clothes but on that morning I made an exception (ironing pile currently standing as 5ft 6)

I end up dumping everyone in the car in a fit of tantrums, Bobby's sticker had ripped. I refused to let Max bring a suitcase along and everyone decided that they all needed Millies frozen blanket as they were on the brink of hypothermia. Amongst the chorus of  I wants, its mine and arrgghs I remember that I have forgotten to bring along two bags, a signed reading diary and three spare sets of clothes but all four kids are in the car and there all wearing shoes so things could be worse!

Six days later my ironing pile now stands at 5ft 7. I'm not looking quite like the body double of Kate Moss just yet!! Millies got over her sensitivity to the cold and is wearing shorts and sunglasses regardless of the temperature and since packing for our break to Devon next week the boys '2 for £5' sticker collection has quadrupled and I have come to the conclusion that really crappy mornings are here to stay, for the rest of this week at least!

Saturday, 14 May 2016

Twins at nursery | My mini meltdown

Going back to work last year and putting the babies into nursery was not an easy decision for me to make. They have being attending nursery for almost a year now. If you asked them about their nursery experience over the last few months and they were able to communicate without sounding like my sixteen year old self after a bottle of 20/20, they would probably tell you that they had had an absolute ball. Childhood ailments, grazed knees and bite marks aside, they are usually just as enthusiastic when they arrive at nursery as they are when I collect them at the end of the day

For me it’s not quite lived up to the fun at the fair experience they have had! The first weeks (months) I was a nervous, emotional wreck, I’m sure I must have been their every other telephone call and I swear I used to feel their eyes rolling at me from the other end of the phone as I ‘Just called to check how they were all doing (again)?’

They have remained in the baby room since they started last July. I imagine that this is because the girls that care for them have fallen head over heels in love with Max’s boisterous charm and Bobby’s quirkiness so much that they just can’t bear to see them progress to the next room and nothing at all to do with the fact that they are worried about my sanity and how I would of dealt with the adjustment before now!



World Book Day at Nursery
I love that they are in the ‘Baby room’ I love that I drop them off to play with the other ‘Babies’ and I pick them up from the ‘Baby room’. They are my ‘Babies’. Dropping them off until recently has been a bit of a challenge. I carry them from the car to their class room in the morning, one in each arm, even though they both weigh probably as much as a small elephant. This is probably due to the fact that the only time they are not grazing is when they are sleeping. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not a fan of childhood obesity but there quiet when they eat so that kind of swings it!

By the time I get into the safe confinements of the building and someone is offering to help, Max has usually fallen through my arms and I have him in a sort of headlock that Hulk Hogan would have been proud of. For the life of me I have no idea why I put me and them through this ordeal every morning. The babies have no problems walking to and from the car, they have had no problems walking for the last 5 months. They are probably so relieved to be walking and breathing in fresh air rather than suffering from asphyxiation, that they wouldn’t dare venture more than a cats whisker from my side for fear that I may lovingly try to carry them.

I have been through and my mental health has survived ‘the first year at nursery’ turmoil with firstly Leo and then Millie but with the babies it was so much harder. Double the stress, double the anxiety and double the time I have spent googling and obsessing over horror stories about childcare providers, but I think it’s safe to say over the last couple of months I have finally turned a corner. I have genuinely warmed to all the girls that care for Max and Bobby (I have always loved and admired everyone who has cared for Millie at the same nursery, probably because anyone that can deal with her sassiness on a daily basis without seriously losing their mind, is a complete legend in my book) At the end of this week I got the news that they are finally moving up into the next room. I cried like an idiot on hearing the news but I’m actually excited, my little sausages have experienced their first year at nursery!! I feel so proud that at the young age of just one they have been able to experience friendships and relationships outside of their family unit and hearing someone who only met them less than a year ago talk so excitedly about how Bobby helped to clear up or describe so enthusiastically Max’s laugh and his love of the outdoors, not only fills me with complete admiration for the girls caring for them but makes me feel a lot less guilty about my initial decision to return to work and leave them in the hands of strangers in the first place. I do though feel a slight tinge of jealousy when I hear about a new experience they have had, espescially when I have missed that experience because I was at work doing a job that I’m far from passionate about. (Blogpost more about that soon) but there are both thriving and loving the adventures that their days at nursey bring and ultimately their happiness is what matters. I am pretty confident that this new chapter in their young lives is going to prove just as fun and exciting for them as the last few months in the baby room and I am also certain that it’s going to prove just as stressful for me!!
Best of Friends