Check out my big macs...

That awkward moment when you're absent-mindedly doing the breastfeeders self grope to remind yourself which boob needs feeding from next, and you accidently make eye contact with the fat guy sitting alone on the next table at mcdonalds, who raises his eyebrows, and takes a very slow bite of his burger.

Knew I should have gone to Wagamamas.

Ins Innas Now

For the last few days Curlyhead has been asking me if we can watch 'ins innas now'. Repeatedly.

'Mama, can we watch ins innas now? I love ins innas now. Tan we watch it on the telly mama? Mam, when is ins innas now going to be on?'

The only reply i can give to this is '...what?...'

We're watching The Tigger Movie on channel five. During the adverts, the trailer for We Bought A Zoo comes on and Curlyhead goes nuts. 'It's on mama! It's on!'

The voice over man says, 'We Bought A Zoo. In Cinemas Now'.

Curlyhead sighs. 'I love ins innas now.'

Messy, messy morning.

My children have devised a sophisticated telepathic relay system whereby they will immediately wake the moment the other one has fallen asleep. By this means they intend on slowly torturing me with sleep deprivation until they can eventually overthrow me and become feral masters of cosycottage. It's working. I'm slowly becoming a terrible mother.

It took me FOUR attempts to toast hot cross buns this morning, and when I finally managed to save one from burning, Curlyhead decided she no longer wanted one for breakfast. Instead she scraped the chocolate fudge icing from last nights cake decorating/chocolate massacre off the kitchen table with her fingernails and ate that. Oh, and took two bites out of each apple in the fruit bowl and put it back. Must have had at least one of her five a day.

Smileybaby has eaten his bodyweight in banana and toast this morning. He would probably be crawling by now if it wasn't for his odd instant reflex to flemmy-vomit in front of himself the second he gets into the all-fours position, and subsequently loses all interest in getting anywhere, prefering instead to mash his chubby baby hands into the sick and splash.

I can't wait for my 45 minute intervals of sleep tonight.

I'm not just a parent, I'm an intern.

My LITTLE sister is turning 21 today. Do you know what this means? This means that the next family big birthday is mine. and its the thirtieth one. I know, right?

Thirty is like proper grown up isn't it? But I think my issue with it is different from many of my friends' issues with hitting the big three oh. You see, I have no ticking biological clock - my baby making days are over at the ripe old age of twenty six. Also, I'm married, so I'm not worried about having to maybe think about eventually settling down one day at some point like many others, because any more settled and I could wear this sofa as an oversized pair of trousers.

No, my problem is... what do I do now? The only thing it seems there is left to strive towards is career based, and as I spend a large part of my life wiping bodily fluids, cutting fruit up into small peices and trying to work out whether that cry is one worth responding to, I'm becoming less and less qualified for...well anything by the day. It is as if the degree I acheived in July 2010 is disintergrating bit by bit every time I kiss a milky, dribbly cheek or make a poo joke for the entertainment of my daughter. Every time I sing the wheels on the bus a line from Plath disappears forever.

So, today my mission is to try and consider ways in which the normal, mundane tasks of motherhood can be applied to the working world, so that rather than a career death, parenthood can be newly considered an internship of sorts, perfectly preparing you to become the ideal candidate for any position by the time your child is school aged. Will blog later with the results. Any suggestions welcome!

blah blah sponging off the taxpayer blah blah

One of the biggest talking points at the moment is the government's plans to cap benefits. Now, I don't have the time or energy to explain, or even try and understand the fine points of all the changes, other people have done this far better than me.

I would, however, like to respond to the, frankly rather boring and predictable responses that always come up whenever benefits are discussed in public. They are often uttered by those who proudly state they have always worked, never claimed benefits, and invariably wonder at people who dare to have children, homes, televisions, food, water etc. without considering who is going to pay for them.

Well, all I can say about these commenters is that I'm very pleased for them that they've never been in a position of vulnerability or disadvantage, and they're right, if everyone was intelligent enough to never need any help from anyone, ever, the world would be a much better place. Unfortunately, we're not all as brilliant at being human beings as they are.

The one thing I feel that needs to be flagged up in the debate is what these benefits are really for. They are not for the stereotypedbyJeremyKyle toothless drunken babymachines who live on richmond cigarettes and the tears of their illegitimate children. They are for those children whose reality is living in very real poverty, the stress of which leads to family breakdown, illness and a future population angry at the world who, quite rightly, grow up thinking that the least the world owes them is a flat screen telly. Reducing benefits to these families will do nothing to bridge the divide that is becoming bigger and bigger between the taxpayers and the ones who increasingly have less and less choice. When graduates are fighting for jobs and unemployment is at its highest in seventeen years, perhaps now is the time to invest in those children who are going to have to pay back our debts and eventually dig us out of the field size hole that all of those commenters who 'have never claimed a benefit' undoubtedly harvested a few prize crops from... if you forgive the convoluted metaphor...

Shitstorm. Warning - contains graphic images of a faecal nature

Within ten minutes today, my living room went from the usual chaos and disorder, to chaos, disorder, and so much poo. Was changing smileyboy's mildly dirty nappy when curlyhead looked at me with panic in her eyes, whinced 'Mummeeeeeey' and let out a rather wet fart. Left smileyboy nappyless but clean on the changing mat, lifted curlyhead under the arms and whooshed her, superman style, to the bathroom. Most of it went in the toilet, apart from a lump that was lost into the husbands discarded socks on the bathroom floor. A pile of washing and some good handwashing later and I lead curlyhead, naked from the waist down, into the living room. Smileyboy was not on his changing mat. He had wriggled/rolled to the other end of the living room. Unfortunately, somewhere along this epic journey of his, his newlyintroducedtosolids bowels had exploded in a fudge of undigested carrot and yuck. And it was everywhere. EVERYWHERE. And he looked so so happy with himself, kicking around his chubby, shit covered legs and grabbing his pooey feet like it was the best fun in the world. Brilliant.