This is a photo of Milla after scoffing a bowl of yummy spaghetti bolognaise (my mum’s recipe of course). The photo brought back some simple but warm childhood memories for me.

Remember happily playing and hearing the words, “Dinner’s Ready!”?
Remember sitting up at the table and being presented with your meal of which you had no part to play in preparing?
Remember asking, “May I please leave the table?” when you had demolished what was on the plate and running off, not to do the dishes, but to keep playing?

Childhood really was so good.

You could eat and not have a care in the world as to how much was on your face.
You had a warm bath waiting for you after dinner and clean pj’s to jump into.
Bed was made, clean and with your favourite bedtime toys waiting for you.

I’m so glad as a mother that I can now do all this for Milla and Finn. I hope I can do it as well as my own mother and Milla and Finn will one day think fondly of those childhood days when their mum took such good care of them.

Last weekend I turned 21…oh, alright 31.
Anyway, I usually dread the day and find myself heavily contemplating life and re-assessing my goals.
This time it was different and for the first time in many years I loved my birthday! Milla was the reason. She caused me to happily reminisce about birthdays – blowing out candles, singing, excitedly ripping open presents, eating horrible party food, spending time with family and friends. Milla was so excited about my birthday that she got me excited too. We blew out the candles together (well, I blew them out and she spluttered all over the cake), she helped me open my presents and I got my very first birthday card with a gorgeous drawing of what was, of course very plain to see; a cat and an elephant in a swimming pool.
Birthdays are fun again. Lucky me.

The so-called ‘terrible twos’ have hit our household.
I thought this would be something I could deal with quite well – I mean, if I can command the attention and successfully discipline 60 odd school children at one time, surely I can deal with one little, almost two year old girl, right?
Wrong.
I find myself caught in her manipulative, sticky web every time.
I either:
1) laugh hysterically at what she’s doing (running down the hallway with just her Elmo slippers on when she should be getting into her pj’s)
2) join in with what she’s doing (jumping up and down on the couch, making tidal waves in the bath) or;
3) find myself beaten and almost in tears with frustration because she just does, not, listen (“Finn does not eat sultanas Milla”, “Finn does not need his nose picked Milla”, “Finn doesn’t like paste in his hair Milla”).
My blonde haired, blue eyed Toddzilla sure makes life interesting, challenging, and oh so good!

Just thought I’d show you a little of the fun things that have been filling our days. Here is what we did yesterday- dress ups. So all we did was cut out the shapes from poster paper, which is always handy to have around, draw on them and then stick them to our clothes with pegs. Wrigglebot wanted to be the Beast (a big dog from ‘The Sandlot Kids’) and Squirm just wanted to be a lady. That’s the way we do craft here, not quite what you could sell on Etsy but fun nonetheless.

This is why I get the ‘mother of the year’ award once again. I watched while my three year old son convinced my two year old daughter to lie down on the tiles while he jumped over her. It was like watching a stuntman, I was transfixed by the drama, the risk of injury. I didn’t stop them, I took a photo.

Being a mum involves every minute of my day. Either the kids are with me wishing I was an octopus (they have eight arms), or I am cleaning up after them or sleeping. I’m not complaining, I quite enjoy being needed, I finally have the popularity that everyone thinks they want in high school. Sometimes though, I struggle to turn the mummy off.

I set the table and everybody gets a splade and no knives, including Husband. I’m about to go to bed at ten o’clock, scandalously late I know, and I say, ‘Husband, don’t you think you should go to bed now?’ He looks at me, looks at his watch and makes it clear that he can choose his own bedtime. I’m out with friends and I remind them to say please and thank you and then I’ll announce that I am going to go and do wees.

I love being a mum but I need to figure out how to turn the mummy off because not all my friends want to be reminded to eat their vegetables and need their ouches kissed better.

The delightful development of Baby Number Two – due December – has recently thrown me into a dither of both excitement and busyness (the busyness involving the couch and a supply of nausea remedies that don’t work), but I’m here now, and I hardly know which toddler tale to tell.

One of the biggest changes that have occurred in the last X months, other than my little fella turning into a big boy before my very eyes, is that he’s started talking. He can now hold a conversation, particularly if it involves the ‘n-word’, for example:

Archer: *Grunt, grunt*
Me: Archer, is there a poo in your nappy?
A: No…*Grunt*
Me: Are you sure?
A:………No.

and,

Me: Are you ready to get out of the bath?
A: No.
Me: You want to stay in a bit longer?
A: No. *Megawatt smile*

and my favourite,

Me: Would you like a banana Archie?
A: No.
Me: An apple?
A: No.
Me: An Iced VoVo?
A: *Megawatt smile*

The fact that Archer has neither seen, nor heard of an Iced VoVo doesn’t matter, because he has a radar in his brain that detects sugar in foods or in the names of foods.

All this talking business is more fun than I could have thought, with him popping out new words just about every day. Although I have a vague recollection of someone telling me that having a strong little personality verbally asserting his opinions all day long poses certain… new challenges? I can’t imagine what they could possibly have meant…

Being a mother of two is certainly a juggling act and I have discovered I don’t juggle so well some days.
I often find myself still in my pyjamas at 10:30am with a cold cup of tea sitting on the bench.
Milla has found pleasure in running away and starting a game of chase when a mundane morning task must be done (e.g. nappy change, getting dressed) and I have not indulged, so she too has been found still in her pyjamas at 10:30am.
Finn is probably the most well looked after because if his needs aren’t met, the crying continues.

I have decided to set myself mini-goals and take it slow. My first mini-goal is for me to eat breakfast before it’s lunch time. This is something I have not managed to do for six weeks.

I’m sure as with anything in life I will improve with practise? (Please note the question mark and read with hopeful tone!)

So at the start of this year I knew it was going to be a hard one. With three kids three and under, including a newborn, I was quite certain that this year would probably be the hardest so far. And so I feel a slight sense of achievement that I’m six months in and still standing. My sanity is questionable at times, I’m quite often in a coma like state of exhaustion come evenings but I’m still here.

The little one is sleeping well and starting to get into a little bit of a routine. The older two have settled down and have begun learning to be patient as I can’t respond to every need straight away, mind you I think the little one is learning that too, he doesn’t have much of a choice with an older brother and sister. I have learnt to discern which screams mean ‘Danger, danger!’ and which mean, ‘Mummy I’m tired.’ I have learnt what is most important and what can be put off until later. And I am beginning to learn to ask for help when I need it.

I will try and write more about all of our adventures because I do enjoy doing it but sometimes a dirty nappy, a snotty child and a spilled drink all collude to distract me. Just so you don’t think I’m perfect, I doubt anybody really would, here is a photo of the great pile of clean washing to be folded. The kids find it more of an adventure when it is a huge pile and I am more than willing to oblige.

Sorry if I had you concerned, I haven’t been on morphine for this long. Life has just become ridiculously busy. Just when you think you couldn’t possibly fit more into your day, baby number two arrives and you are right back at the bottom of the pile, scrounging to get back on top of it all.

I am gradually on the mend after another emergency c-section.
No, I didn’t get the natural birth I had so hoped for because he was almost 5 kilos and there was no way he was going to get out. I made it to 41 weeks, was admitted to hospital the night before my c-section was booked in and I went into natural labour that night. 1cm dialated after 8 hours – I don’t think I need to say any more.
Another emergency c-section was the worst case scenario (in terms of the birth) for me this time around.
At Milla’s birth the staff were so stressed, no one congratulated us, she was whisked away from me and I wasn’t even offered a cuddle.
But this time around it was a completely different birth experience. It was a real celebration. There were jokes being made by the staff (even one from me demanding liposuction while they were there), they were all talking to us during the procedure telling us what they were doing and how much longer it would be. Some staff came and held my hand at times and told me how excited they were to be there to witness this birth. And when Finn was born they all cheered – mostly because it was the biggest baby they had delivered in a long while, but also because my gorgeous boy’s life had begun. My husband got to cut the cord this time around, and I was given a nice long cuddle and was able to give him a million kisses before they had to take him away. I felt the elation that I had heard comes after having a natural birth.

So, there is now a new man in my life and I love him intensely. It may sound strange but despite feeling incredibly sleep deprived and like my body is broken to bits, on the inside I feel whole heartedly happy and complete.