House of Twins

Now, there's a nice bit of Cypress Hill to wake you up on a Friday afternoon.

I'm not going to bore you too much with the ins and outs of my brain at the present time because this blog is about my children and their life, not mine. Monday and Tuesday were bad days. Yesterday was a good day. Today is an ok day.

I'm not depressed. I still want to get up in the morning. I like taking showers. I still straighten my hair. I have to put make-up (or 'a face' - dh loves this expression) on before I leave the house. I'm not neglecting the house, or dh or the girls.

However, something isn't quite right. Every so often I feel completely and utterly overwhelmed by everything and want to run away and hide. I'm a born worrier, but this is an extra layer of double-strength anxiety on top of all my usual worries. The thing is, I have less to worry about now than I did a few months ago.

The anxiousness alternates with anger. I tend to rant when I'm irritated anyway but this is more red-mist, irrational, wanting to destroy things rage. I can't abide violence normally and can't watch anything more adult than a 12 film because at the first hint of an argument I hide behind a cushion. I'm not one for throwing things normally - I regard such a loss of self-control as unseemly - but I have moments where I actually want to break things. It's not good. I don't like it.

As I live in London and my counselling is on the NHS, rather predictably I haven't heard anything yet about a session. I don't see this as a long-term thing and actually I think I'll be able to conquer it on my own. I'm a fighter and I'll beat it, whatever 'it' is. However, I pay enough in taxes so I may as well get something back from the health service, even if i'm 'better' by the time I have counselling.

I haven't got angry with the girls for a while now. I could feel myself losing it this morning when they kept bickering and making each other cry, but I fought the feelings that were surging inside me and managed to keep them under control. The feelings, not the children. I have no control over them it seems!

Gah. I hate this. I don't like admitting to any kind of failure, even to myself so writing this for public consumption is hard. However, I feel it helps to have an outlet for it all and this is mine. Plus, if someone reads this, identifies with it and seeks help, I feel it's worth doing.

Owwww! I am too old to lie on wooden floors for any length of time. Let me explain...

Wednesday morning. My 'working at home' day (ho ho). Dh is on earlies this week so it was just me and the monsters ladies. They were both in a bit of a grump for no obvious reason. They both wanted me to cuddle them so I was operating a strict hug rotation system - one in arms, one occupied with a toy and change over every few minutes.

This worked ok for a couple of hours, until G decided she wanted some extended 1-2-1 time with me. By this point, I was starting to get a little weary. Lifting two 22lb weights up and down every few minutes does get rather tiring after a while. G seemed to be settling and R seemed happy enough with the shape sorter. With G still in my arms, I shuffled forwards on my bottom, off the pillow I was sitting on and on to the (wooden) floor. I laid back and put my head on the pillow and rested G on my chest. I checked her reaction. She seemed to like it. Peace.

Except..she liked it a bit too much and feel asleep on top of me. Now, neither of my girls are especially heavy for their age but a 22lb dead weight managed to effectively pin me to the floor. Oh and she was snoring, loudly.

At this point, R noticed that she was being deprived of cuddle time and decided to get a piece of the action. I crooked my free arm around her waist and manoevred her backwards. She promptly feel asleep. I really couldn't move now.

There was a knock at the door. Bugger. Figuring that it was probably a salesman or someone trying to give me a pamphlet, I decided to ignore it. There was a second knock, more insistent this time. I manoevred myself into a half-upright position, managing to wake R and G up in the process. They weren't impressed and decided to express their dissatisfaction by emitting ear-piercing wails. I put R on the floor and with G wailing in my arms, ran to the door and opened it. Lucky I did. Dorothy, my beloved laptop and third child had been away for repair and a delivery man was returning my baby to me. One of my other babies stopped crying, looked the man up and down as I signed the delivery sheet, decided he wasn't worth a smile and resumed her hysterics.

My back and shoulders have ached ever since. Still, it's good to have Dorothy back.

...R and G are identical. Absolutely, completely and utterly.

The test is 99.99996368% accurate, which is pretty irrefutable in my book. The zygosity test measures 16 DNA markers, each of which has a number assigned to it. Every single marker for each child is the same. They are monozygotic.

So, they aren't the result of a piece of hereditary wizardry (I'm now hoping my sister gets the non-ID twins!). They are a rather marvellous freak of nature and I mean that in the best sense.

I'm finding it all a bit mind-blowing to be perfectly honest. Within two days of 'the deed', one egg split and became two. They had a falling-out (that's siblings for you) and took refuge in separate sacs, where they stayed for the next nine months, growing entirely independent of each other. That's pretty amazing.

I'm sitting here realising how unbelievably lucky I am. There are so many variables to consider when carrying identical twins. All of the following are possible: same sac, tangled umbilical cords, increased chance of early labour, assorted heath difficulties, twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome and many others that I haven't thought of - and I dodged every single one.

It looks like dh and I have got an awful lot of explaining to do. We've spent nearly two years telling everyone that the girls are non-identical, even in the face of some pretty strong opposition and now we have to backtrack and say 'Guess what? You were right and we were wrong. They ARE identical! Ha ha ha!'*

*I'll insert my Mummy disclaimer here though. Genetically they may be absolutely the same (and rather frighteningly like their father) but to me they will always be different. They remain, as they always have been, just R and G.

So, I went to see my GP on Friday and wasn't given the usual SAD, depressed in January diagnosis. I told her everything that was going on and she asked me some questions. It turns out that I have a mild case of depression (PND wasn't mentioned at any stage - I wouldn't define it as that) because I'm definitely not right but I'm not suicidal or anything like that. I just feel very frustrated, very angry and I don't want to carry on feeling like this.

My GP suggested that I try counselling so she's referred me to the local NHS service. It'll probably take ages to get an appointment but at least there is something in the pipeline. She said that I could have tablets if I wanted, but I decided against that option at this stage.

I have really enjoyed being at home the last few days but am going into work tomorrow. I have a couple of meetings to attend but other than that, I'll just see how it goes. I'm planning to take a week off in February so if I can get through to then, I'll be happy.

On some level I feel like a failure because I should be able to cope with everything and I can't. I don't see my current state as a long-term one. It's just a hurdle that I need to overcome. For now, I'm just going to keep swimming and hopefully, eventually, things will get better.

This morning I was chatting away to my Mum on the phone and noticed that R had taken all of her toys out of the toy box (so far, so normal) and had managed to climb into it. Where on earth did she learn to do that?!
As a parent, you spend an inordinate amount of time trying to ‘teach’ your children things: clapping, waving, how toys work, who Mummy and Daddy are, manners, discipline, affection, words and movement and 98% of the time they ignore you. Then they do something completely unexpected and catch you off-guard i.e. G doing her lazarus impression and going from occasionally pulling herself up to assisted walking within a couple of weeks.
You get so caught up in helping them reach various milestones that it is easy to forget how much of what we learn and know is absorbed subconsciously.

Woof! Meow! Rrrrrr!

It was going to happen sooner or later. No-one can live with a combination of job uncertainty for 9 months (and ongoing), distinctly dodgy ‘female’ health AND being a mother of twins without it eventually catching up with them and biting them on the backside.

The incident with G that I mentioned last week was not an isolated one. The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred on Monday morning during a hellish drive to work and nursery. The journey which can take half an hour on a good day took 90 minutes, a good 30 of which G spent screaming her head off in the back of the car. I cracked and screamed and shouted and ranted at the top of my voice as I drove along. I banged the steering wheel in frustration. I made some undignified animal-like noises, ranted obscenities and basically lost it. What were R and G doing during all of this? Sleeping of course! Note to self: rant and rave when G is on sleep strike. She’ll be snoozing in seconds!

Anyway, I composed myself, dropped the girls off at nursery, went to work, sat at my desk and phoned my GP. I have an appointment with her on Friday afternoon. I hope they don’t cart me off to the funny farm. I’m willing to bet that I’ll get the ‘Everyone gets depressed in January’ speech but at least I’m trying to do something. Every couple of months at the moment, I hit a brick wall and everything gets too much. I’m pretty good at not letting my work life affect my home life normally but something has to give when I start going mental at my girls for no good reason.

For a laugh, I also phoned my health visitor. I didn’t have her direct number to hand so I phoned the Practice number (she’s based at a different surgery to my GP). The phone rang for about 5 minutes and I then sat in a queue for another 5 minutes. Finally, a ‘human being’ spoke to me. I told her (voice cracking with emotion) that I would like to speak to the health visitor. The reply? An audible sigh of boredom, followed by “You’ve come through to the wrong department. I can’t transfer you from here. I’ll put you down to reception” Click. Brrrr. The phone went dead. She had cut me off!

Tell you what, it’s a bloody good job I wasn’t about to do myself or my children any harm. I can see how families slip through the social services net. I know I’m not an urgent case. I don’t require extensive help. The girls are lucky enough not to need extra services. However, it would be nice to be treated sympathetically on only the second occasion I have contacted my health visitor in thirteen months.

The upshot of all of this is that I’m not at work at the moment. I have taken the rest of the week off as annual leave, with the support and sympathy of my manager. Dh is working so I am at home looking after the girls today and Friday. I’ll take them to nursery as normal tomorrow and I’m going to have a day to myself.

I’m not a fruitloop and I don’t want to be given an illness label. I’m just going through a difficult time and I’ll feel much better when various things are resolved. I haven’t shouted at the girls since Monday morning. I feel more able to deal with their foibles now. I’ll get there. I just need a time-out from work for a bit.

Here:

and here:

I have loads to report on this month as the girls’ development continues apace:

1. Drink. After an attempt at a cold turkey transition from follow-on milk to cows milk failed spectacularly (bottles put eagerly to lips, tasted, disgusted looks, bottles thrown onto the floor), we are trying a new tack of putting an ounce of moo juice in with five ounces of formula and are planning to increase the former and decrease the latter gradually over a few weeks. G seems to need milk more than R. They both down their 7am bottles like seasoned drinkers but R tends to leave most of her evening bottle. G happily helps her out with it though once she’s downed her own milk. They both guzzle more water now, as I noticed at nursery that they have their beaker with their food whereas at home they were offered it afterwards. They are now presented with their beaker at the same time as their food and drink more as a result. They haven’t tried fruit juice yet as I’d like them to stick to water for the time being.
2. Food. G seems to have a bigger appetite than R and is also more determined to feed herself with a spoon (R appears to be an advocate of the ‘what do you think I’m paying you for?!’ philosophy), but they both handle finger foods with aplomb. They now eat selected bits and pieces from the children’s menu in restaurants (and from our plates of course!) although I always take an emergency jar and dessert, just in case. They really like my home made vegetarian lasagne and didn’t even mind the garlicky bits, although G stank of the stuff every time she drifted past me yesterday! R has shown a liking for broccoli and Brussels sprouts but don’t worry, I’m trying to discourage it. G still loves her yogurts.
3. Teeth. They have six each now and are gnawing away on anything they can get hold of – furniture, toys, each other so we’re just waiting for them to cut some more.
4. Weight. According to our (vaguely accurate) scales, G is 21lb 9oz (9.8kgs) and R is 20lb 11oz (9.4kgs)
5. Walking. Houston, we have a walker! G can now pootle along with her walker and will also put one foot in front of the other if we walk with her, if she can be bothered. R has just started to do the same, but can’t quite get the hang of walking and pushing at the same time.
6. Standing. R is now an expert at standing independently and likes showing off her skill wherever she goes, in the manner of a teetering Russian gymnast, complete with arms in the air. She even claps herself if she manages to stay upright for a long period of time. G is now very confident about pulling herself up to stand and leans against things but doesn’t seem willing to let go and stand alone just yet.
7. Dancing. They both wave their arms in the air and sway from side to side when they hear a piece of music they like. Unfortunately they prefer to do this to nursery rhymes rather than actual music but I noticed G swaying along to a Queen song the other day!
8. Chatting. They are still babbling away, mimicking our speech and some of their noises are starting to sound like actual words. I’m not quite sure what language they are in, but they seem to think that we understand them. Their favourite word is still Dada and they occasionally say Mama. They also say da (which I think is ta) when they want something, e.g. an object. They say yeah and uh-oh a lot, but indiscriminately.
9. Hugs and kisses. When we pick them up, they snuggle into our chests and say aaaah, which is very cute. G has started open-mouth, tongue waggling, kissing things (people, toys, objects, anything really).
10. Motor skills. They are both able to put shapes in the appropriate slots in their shape sorter.
11. Naps. We have moved the girls from two naps a day (one in the morning and one in the afternoon) to one long afternoon nap, which has meant an adjustment to their routine.
11. Groups. After my unsuccessful foray into baby groups last year, I’ve been resistant to attending anything else. However, if dh isn’t working on Sundays we now take them to Toddler World (soft play) at our local leisure centre for an hour or so. It’s great because there are loads of babies and toddlers there and you don’t feel obliged to make small talk with random people, if you aren’t in the mood. There are a few sets of twins that go (not the same ones as Twins Club) and we’re starting to spot familiar faces when we go. The girls seem to enjoy it, it wears them out and we treat ourselves to a Starbucks beverage afterwards.
12. Cross-stitch project. Over Christmas, I embarked on a new project (an alphabet decorated with mice) and have completed just under a quarter of it. I expect my progress on it to slow down considerably, but I’m planning to complete and frame it in time for the girls’ 2nd birthday.

R and G received letters from our GP this morning and I assumed they contained details of their MMR vaccine appointments. Nope! Apparently, the Department of Health is recommending an additional vaccination called Menitorix, which is a combination vaccine of a particular type of flu and Meningitis C for all babies below a year old and the girls just qualify to have it.

So, the Menitorix vaccination is booked for 23rd January and their MMR vaccine is booked for 6th February, as you have to have the former before you can have the latter.

These will be their sixth and seventh injections each – they had the Vitamin K injection when they were born, their BCG when they were a month old (apparently we live in a high risk area, so all babies round here receive it), followed by the three standard injections every baby has, all before they were six months old.

I wonder how they will react now they are older and have a greater understanding of the world around them and what’s happening to them?

I’m almost ashamed to write this, but I completely and utterly lost it with G at bath time this evening. She was being incredibly whingy and I couldn’t distract her out of it. As I undressed her for her bath, she launched into a level 5 grump (we have a grump scale, 1 being a mild whinge and 5 being a monster rage). I put her in the bath and gave her a toy to play with. The toy was flung out in a fit of rage. I hastily washed her hair and removed her from the bath, placing her on a towel. She screwed up her face in contorted rage and let out a blood-curdling scream.

I’d had enough. “GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE! Why the **** don’t you SHUT UP!!!” I screamed back. She continued screaming. R sat in the Hop n Pop, cackling as she watched. I was torn between bursting into tears and launching into a bellowing screaming fit of rage. Instead, I calmly (on the outside, I was boiling with rage inside) dried G, dressed her in her pyjamas and put her in her highchair and gave her bedtime bottle. I did the same with R. I walked into the bathroom, shut the door and counted to “Five and twenty” (anyone who watched the recent BBC adaptation of Little Dorrit will get the reference), took a deep breath and walked out to face the girls again. They were taking it in turns to suck their bottles and giggle at each other.

Bedtime continued as normal. I read them two stories, including G’s favourite: ‘Wibbly Pig’. I apologised to G for my behaviour. She smiled sleepily at me and by the time I had kissed them goodnight, we had made up.

I’m so angry with myself. Ok, G was having a bit of a tantrum. I didn’t need to react in the way I did. I acted in a stupid and ridiculously childish way and I can’t even begin to imagine what the neighbours must think of me, if they were at home to hear it.

I was forcibly reminded this week that I am incredibly lucky to have the girls. So many people would love to be in my position and I need to keep things in proportion. Toddlers have tantrums. It goes with the territory. I don’t need to resort to them myself.

R has been standing up on her own without holding on to anything for about a week now so we assumed that she would be walking before G. WRONG! This morning, G (who has only been pulling herself up to standing on a regular basis for a couple of weeks) pulled herself up on her Thomas the Tank Engine walker and took her first tentative footsteps. Completely amazing...

...Except that I missed it first time. I was upstairs sorting washing out and dh called me down to see the miracle in action. Luckily G was so chuffed with her new skill that she kept doing it but it wasn’t quite the same. I’m still really chuffed with her though. I love the walk that toddlers do, where they don’t bend their legs and shuffle along like the tin man from the Wizard of Oz!

R’s reaction was really interesting. She crawled after G as she walked along, realised she couldn’t keep up and burst into tears of anger and frustration when she tried to walk with her walker and couldn’t co-ordinate it.

I’ve got a video of G toddling along to upload but I need to rotate it to save everyone getting a sore neck as they try to view it!

When I picked the girls up from nursery yesterday, I spotted a bouncy chair with what looked like a pile of blankets and a dummy on top. Closer inspection revealed a little pink face and tiny dots for eyes. A little baby! A very little baby. What on earth was ‘it’ doing there, looking utterly out of place and surrounded by marauding toddlers?

Turns out that he is the new boy, just five months old and yesterday was his first full day at nursery. For a brief moment, I wondered how something so small would cope with it all. Then I remembered that the girls started settling in at nursery when they were four and a half months old and started doing full days just before they were five months old.

I stood back and compared the peacefully sleeping little baby with my two loud, boisterous, mischievous (big) little girls. It doesn’t seem possible that such a dramatic change can take place in a matter of months, yet quite clearly it does. R and G were the little bundles in the bouncy chairs when they started nursery last May and now they are little (ish) people.

It’s completely mad. The whole thing. All of it. How did they go from tiddlers to toddlers seemingly overnight, behind my back?

Just had a thought. G has started kissing people. Open mouthed. With tongue waggling and everything. Proper snogging. Oh god. You can imagine what I’m thinking can’t you? Heck.

Today is a home day. Home days are 84% more dull than nursery days and 63% less interesting than going-out days. Daddy appears to be at work so Mummy is looking after us. She does her best, bless her but she’s so slow at doing things. I suppose it’s because there’s only one of her and two of us. I try to be patient with her but she’s very trying at times. Sometimes I just have to roll my eyes and sigh at her to make my point.

I decide that I’m going to enact Operation Cupboard today. I’ve been working on the logistics for weeks. Grace is helping me with it but she’s a bit dense. I have to communicate with her using a special language of squeals and babbles, decipherable only to other twins so that Mummy and Daddy don’t intercept our messages and foil my plans. The cupboards in the kitchen look so exciting. I bet there are all sorts of treasures in there. I may even find the keys that Mummy and Daddy are convinced I am looking for when I scope the room and suss things out.

This nappy thing is utterly humiliating. I’m sure I could use the toilet if I was allowed. Mummy tickles my tummy to distract me but I’m not in the mood this morning. I tell her so and she copies me. Why does she do that? I’m clearly living with complete idiots.

Why does Mummy insist on helping me with breakfast? I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself. I’m not a baby you know. I’m sure there was a mix-up at the hospital and a really stupid baby is living with my real parents, who are geniuses and would understand exactly what I want. Never mind. Sigh. I’ll put up with this lot for now.

Mummy is wearing a pair of my tights on her head! I should find this kind of humour beneath me but it’s actually pretty hilarious. I’m sure it’s ok to laugh frivolously sometimes. I spend a little while observing Grace’s play patterns and making notes. She’s about average for a 1 year old but the books I’ve read on development are so general. I’ve already put a note in my diary to start walking in February.

Grace and I make the final plans for Operation Cupboard. She’s going to create a distraction over by the stairgate while I launch my assault on the kitchen. It’s very handy that she can cry at will. She’ll make a great actress when she grows up.

Mummy scoops me up and apparently it’s time for a nap. I’m quite glad actually. All this plotting and planning is pretty tiring. Grace wants to have a gossip so we stand up in our cots and chat for a bit but I’m actually pretty sleepy. I lie down and close my eyes. I can still hear Grace chuntering on but after spending nearly two years with her I’m used to it and have developed the ability to sleep through anything, even her level 5 wobblers.

Hmm, good snack today. Rice cakes. Very healthy. I can put in a bit of standing practice before lunch. I might even do some ‘letting go’ practice, which is really hard work but Mummy seems to like it so I’d better have a go.

Lunch. Not bad today. I still think I could feed myself most of it but Grace ruins my chances by smearing lamb casserole in her hair. I’m surrounded by amateurs.

Damn. Mummy dealt with Grace more quickly than I was anticipating by distracting her with a new toy. I managed to get one of the cupboards open but Mummy saw what I was doing, shut it and moved me over to the playpen. She ruins all my fun. Maybe she’s not as daft as she looks.

I’m getting sleepy again. I’ll rub my face and Mummy might notice and take me upstairs. If she doesn’t, I’ll reach up, grab her glasses and poke her in the eye. Why does Grace have to make such a drama out of everything? Why can’t she just lie down and go to sleep?

More food. Just a small snack but delicious nonetheless. Snack time is great because I get to feed myself. What’s that noise? Is that Daddy arriving home? Oh look at Grace, rushing over to greet him. She’s sooo needy. I’ll just wait over here and give him a little smile. If he doesn’t cuddle me in the next ten minutes I’ll have a little ‘chat’ with him.

Tea time! My favourite meal of the day. Always messy finger foods. Mummy attempts to give me something green to eat. Apparently it’s called kiwi fruit. Yuck! It’s all wet and slippery. To show willing, I put a little bit to my lips and Mummy thinks I might eat it. Think again, sucker! Oh look, I dropped it on the floor! Shame...

Daddy crawls about the floor with Grace and I. He likes giving us lots of snuggly cuddles. Sometimes I don’t want to be cuddled though (too much to do!) so I have to wriggle away.

Ooh, must be on the home stretch. I can hear Mummy running our bath. I pop in to the bathroom to make sure she’s heating it to exactly the right temperature. Could do with more bubbles. I’m in a splashy mood tonight.

Mummy and Daddy always choose the wrong story. I crawl over to the bookcase to select a more suitable book but they are ploughing on regardless with whatever childish trash they have chosen tonight. Mummy is now reading Wibbly Pig. Oh well. Grace likes it so I suppose I’ll have to tolerate it.

Night Mummy. Night Daddy. I might start work on Operation Stairgate tomorrow. When will Mummy and Daddy realise that they do exactly what I tell them? Grown-ups are hopeless.

Zzzzzzzz.

6am – hellloooooo? Hellooooooo? Is anyone else awake? Ruuuuuuth? They may not have heard me. I’ll give it a couple of seconds and shout a bit louder. Nope, nothing. I guess I’d better crank up the Gracie-ometer and upgrade to a stage 4 grump.

6.50am – door opens – about blooming time. Quick! Pretend to be asleep. Oh, it’s Mummy. Daddy must be out. Never mind. Mummy mutters something about a banshee. I don’t know what that is so I ask her where Daddy is. She doesn’t look very impressed.

6.55am – nappy change. Whoa! The lights are so bright, man! Must hide my eyes. Mummy laughs and calls me a Wibbly Pig. Grown-ups are so weird. It must be a home day today because Mummy is in her pyjamas. Oh well.

7am – miiiiilk, yum! Chomp, chomp, slurp. Cor, this is good stuff. Oh no! Finished it. Hang on, I’d better let Mummy know. I’ll drop it on the floor. Ooh, I feel stuffed. Buuuuuuuurp. Ah, that’s better. Not quite sure what to do next so I’ll have a little wail. Just a little one, mind – I want to conserve my crying energy for later, if I need it.

7.15am – what am I wearing today? Oh, not too bad. At least these days she gets me dressed when we’re at home. For ages she was too lazy to dress us and we’d wear sleepsuits all day. Now I wear things in pretty colours with buttons. I love buttons almost as much as I love Daddy. I check my hair – looking good!

7.30am – playtime. Ruth and I get up to mischief while Mummy unloads the dishwasher and puts the washing machine on. Mummy does soooo much washing. I can’t think where it all comes from. Ruth and I are only little so we can’t be that dirty. Mummy and Daddy must roll around in mud a lot. I can hear a man’s voice. Daddy? Oh no it’s that silly old man Terry Wogan that Mummy likes, chuntering on.

7.45am – Mummy lifts me up and says I smell. Charming! Uh oh, nappy change. I decide to crawl off while Mummy is opening the cream. I can feel the air circulating around my bits. Quite nice! Suddenly, Mummy grabs me, puts me back on the mat and tries to distract me while she sorts the new nappy out. You’d think that after a year she’d be really quick but it takes at least 10 seconds. She’s so slow! Cheryl can change my nappy in 4 seconds at nursery.

8.30am – what’s that smell? Food? Ooh, toast today. Oh and here’s my water beaker. I’ll have a swig. Right, that’s enough. Oopsie. Dropped it on the floor. What’s next? Gawd, she’s on a go-slow today. I’ll fling the rest of my toast on the floor to hurry her up. Rice Krispies, yummy! They taste even better when I spit them back out of my mouth, smear them around my bib and the high chair tray and shovel them back in again.

9am – MORE PLAYTIME! Ruth has already crawled over to our toy boxes and is standing up pulling things out and chattering. I’d better go and join her. She’s muttering something about an assault on the kitchen cupboards this afternoon. I’d rather raid our socks and tights drawer but maybe we can do that after lunch.

10am – Mummy picks me up and says the N word. Just because I rubbed my face a bit about 10 minutes ago, she thinks I’m ready to go up to the dark place. She’s so stupid. I was just brushing the Rice Krispie crumbs out of my eyes.

10.05am – Ruth and I are both in our cots, bouncing up and down. It’s soooo funny. Oh no! Ruth is lying down. She’s gone quiet. I bet she’s sleeping. I’ll try and wake her up. RUUUUUTH! RUUUUUTH! HELLOOOOOOOO! How long can I keep this up?
10.25am – feeling a bit sleepy now, but I’m not telling anyone. I’ll just have a little cry instead. Mummy popped in to see me a little while ago and rubbed my tummy. I don’t know why she does this. I’m not a genie. Also, what’s with all the shushing?

11am – there’s Mummy again. I’ve only been asleep for about 4 minutes. If I feel a bit tired I can always have a bit of a wobbler later. Snack time! I’m starving. It’s at least five years since I last ate a morsel. I may fade away.

11.30am – walkies! Our buggy is soooo cool. Mummy wraps me up in a big coat and zips up the big sleeping bag on the buggy. She’s trapped my hands. I can’t wave at people now. She’s so rubbish. Ha! Free hands. Oh it’s a bit cold actually. I’m not going to tell Mummy this or she might stop playing the fun game where she stops wheeling us along and tucks me back in again. I bet we’re going to M&S. She’s so predictable.

12.30am – back home. I’m famished and starting to feel faint. Must be lunch time. I hate carrots, why does she make me have them? I’ll drop them on the floor. Whoopee, yogurts! I LOVE yogurts. I had the best dream the other night. The whole world was made of yogurt and I ate lots and lots of it.

1pm – playtime again. Ruth commences Operation Cupboard. I create a distraction over by the stairgate while she launches her assault on the kitchen. It works for a few seconds but Mummy works out what’s going on and we get put in our playpen. Mummy joins us and Ruth and I fight to sit on her lap. Ruth is playing with a really interesting toy so I have to steal it. Ruth starts to cry and Mummy puts on her annoyed face. I sit on Ruth to shut her up. Ruth pushes me off her lap. Mummy separates us and gives us different toys to play with. Ruth and I play the standing and cruising game. I’m not sure what cruising is so I just stand around holding on to things and letting go with one hand occasionally. Mummy claps and says nice things when I do this. I don’t know why. She must be very stupid.

2pm – another nap. I actually feel quite sleepy but I’m not telling Mummy that!

3pm – I have a rumbly tummy now. Belly belly belly! I could just eat a small snackette. Mummy must have read my mind. Mummy asks me where my head is. She’s so silly. She asks me this every day and it’s always in the same place.

3.30pm – the front door clicks. I peer around the dining room door. IT’S DADDY! I LOVE HIM! I sit on my knees, wave my arms in the air and put on my saddest face. He sweeps me into his arms with lots of kisses and big aaah cuddles.

4.30pm – I’m starving! I hope it’s tea-time soon. Tea is always fun because Mummy gives us finger foods to play with and I get really messy. I make the uh-oh noise over and over because Mummy and Daddy seem to like it. Apparently it reminds them of a song by a bouncy lady.

5pm – Guess what? It’s playtime again. Mummy has got the socks out for us to play with. Ruth and I get the changing mat out and we sit on it pretending that we’re in a boat. I put the socks I’m holding in my mouth and tell Daddy what I’m doing but the sound is a bit muffled. Daddy laughs and tells me I’m very special. I love my Daddy. He’s so nice to me.

5.45pm – I can hear water running. It must be bath time. I crawl into the bathroom and Ruth follows me. We stand up, holding on to the edge of the bath while Mummy puts the bubbly stuff in. Ruth throws her socks into the bath and cackles evilly. NAKED TIME! Brilliant! Mummy washes our hair. Ruth and I splash each other – it’s so much fun! Daddy moans about getting wet but I only splash him because I love him.

6pm – miiiiilk time! Yummy. Oh no, not the toothbrush! If I shut my mouth really tight they can’t brush my teeth. Mummy prises my mouth open. She’s so mean to me.

6.20pm – story time. Wonder what we’ll read tonight? Hopefully it’s the one with the piggy playing hide and seek with the flaps. I like that one. Oh no, Mummy has chosen a BORING one. I wish Uncle T was here. He’s so great at reading stories. Oooh, we’re getting another story. It’s the one with the Wibbly Pig, hurrah! Mummy isn’t so bad after all.

6.30pm – nappy check. So embarrassing! I don’t poo all the time, just a bit more when I’m growing teeth and when I’ve eaten quorn. My teeth hurt so much, especially the ones I haven’t grown yet. I don’t make any fuss about it at all though. I’m so brave.

6.35pm – bedtime. Mummy or Daddy zips me up in my lovely snuggly grobag and they both kiss me goodnight. I set my special alarm, which generates a random time for me to wake up in the night. I’m sure Mummy and Daddy will be very pleased to see me and I might even go in their room for cuddles if they’re lucky.

I’ll have a quick wail before I go to sleep.....Zzzzzzzzzzzz