Kicking the bucket...

One of these is a cuddly bed comforter... The other is a bucket.
One, when taken into bed and held in the soft arms of a sweet slumbering child results in a sound night's sleep for mummy. The other, when insisted upon as a bed companion, on pain of screaming tantrum puke-fest, and held in an iron grip all night, results in a somewhat broken night of sleep for the consequently grumpy mummy.
Lesson learned = there is really not quite enough room in a standard cot for four soft toys, a two year old who likes to toss around a lot...and a standard household bucket.
I could happily kick that g@d-dmmmm bucket!

A new truck!

She does love her trucks! My little Tom-boy baby... Mummy was secretly pleased, in a slightly guilty sort of a way, to see her completely thrilled with her new dolly and pram though :-) today she headed up the road with grandma, pushing her baby in it's pram... Then quickly doubled back to let me know, as I lugged the weeks groceries in from the car, "mummy, I'm going to go to MY shops now... Bye!"

It's spotty wot!

My angel has a party

So we had the angel's 2nd birthday party and a merry time it was. Part way through the afternoon she came up to me and whispered "I have a fun party mummy"... And my heart was full of joy... And full it remains... I am brimming with the incredible, deep, all-encompassing, take-your-breath-away, proud-as-punch, can't-help-but-smile, gazing-goofily kind of mother love. She is my treasure... And she is a big 2!

My angel turns two!

It's my little angel's birthday and I am gripped by the certainty that she is growing up (despite still wearing 00 sized jeans!). Her pride and joy this year is a much desired scooter (after months of stealing them in the park). We have a few riding lessons to go though :-)

Last night I wore my jeans...

Last night I went out for a drink.
I wore my jeans - the tight ones, the ones I haven't been able to wear since I bought them two years ago... the ones that look hot.
I wore my black and red top, the one that I have had for years and love, the one that has hung in the wardrobe forlornly for years because I couldnt' fit into it but I didn't have the heart to part with it.
I walked into a bar, a trendy bar, and I realise now, this morning, that not once did I wonder whether people were looking with disdain at the short fat chick.  I realise not once did I feel apologetic towards my partner being seen out with me.  I realise that not once did I sit awkwardly, adjusting to cover up or minimise my tummy, boobs, flab.
It feels fantastic.
I feel proud.