Today I congratulated myself on being super frigging women as by ten a.m I had achieved an awesome amount of domesticity.
Word of warning people, never ever do that. The washing may be done, the floor may be hoovered, the bogs may be skid free, and this evenings dinner may be bubbling on the stove but listen. THERE IS SO MUCH THAT CAN STILL GO TITS UP. Sky high I tell you.
Firstly I had achieved greatness only to look down and realise that I was still in my pyjamas and smelt not dissimilar to a builders bum cleavage. Whoops. And what is that noise? Oh that would be Blossom waking from her nap. So no chance of a shower.
Blossom has had a bit of a bug so on that theme had crapped right up to her ears. I am a poo ninja so it takes more than that to rile me.
I wash and quickly bung my hair up so we can get out for a walk with the dog in the sunshine, we all need the fresh air. Monty still has his pyjama top on, no underwear or anything on his lower half for that matter and if you were to google feral urchin his image would pop up. Obviously not quite super women then given that I neglected to get both of us dressed.
We venture out, Monty looking less Russell Brand,I no longer smell of an armpit and Blossom has all traces of poop removed from her earlobes. Monty is on his balance bike and about five minutes into our journey my heart sinks. We are never going to get home before my fifty second birthday. Could a kid move any more slowly on a wheeled vehicle? I swear he is talking in reverse and it's actually last week on account that time is now going backwards.
Finally we stagger home but we are now stars of a black and white movie and it is 1963 or something. We eat our lunch and Blossom doesn't throw up all over the table which I take as a positive based on yesterdays bench mark.
We head back out into the sunshine, this time to the beach and with the scooter
Just as we get back to our house a dog runs out in front of a van as I screech and flap my arms like big bird to make the van stop. I called the owner who comes to pick the dog up as Monty informs her we are heroes. Well we are aren't we? The kid is not wrong.
Of course just as I am about to start sorting dinner I realise I have made spaghetti bolognaise and we have naff all spaghetti so out we trundle again to pick some up and I also remember some other bits we need from Boots so we dash in there as well. Monty shouts very loudly that Mummy needs lady nappies to everyone in the shop which I do not and that is not what they are but that is now what everyone thinks I have in my basket. I would like to reiterate my pelvic floor is in top condition despite having two children and I was not buying tena lady.
It is only when I am asking the lady at the counter about nit shampoo because oh yes I forgot to tell you MONTY HAS NITS when I clock someone I know smiling at me . Shitshitshit! She heard about the nits.
'Hiya' I squeak.
'You look well' she beams back at me.
'Yeah hot innit?' I reply aware that my answer has no relation to her previous statement.
Cringing I slink away trying not to scratch my own head in case she thinks I am riddled with lice.
Does anyone else have days like these because I am starting to think that a documentary is being made about me but no one has told me? I mean it's fine, as long as I get a large amount of money at the end.