I was thinking last night about the Duchess of Cambridge expecting her third child. And I thought, I don’t make having three little kids at home sound very appealing.
For starters I routinely look tired. And dishevelled. And my favourite joke is to say to people that I haven’t slept since 2008.
When I do talk – I talk a lot about the chaos. And it is chaos and it has been from the start.
In 2013 I had a newborn, an 18-month-old and a four-year-old. And a husband who was rarely home. I can’t even remember the ensuing 12 months because it unfolded in a blur. I do remember how at times the sheer thought of getting all three kids dressed and into the car left me feeling overwhelmed.
Fast forward four years and my days are full of “Sit down please” and “Don’t put the tomato sauce bottle in your mouth” and “Could you please just eat one bite of sandwich for me? PLEASE” and “Stop chasing the dog” and “Get into bed NOW!” and “Why are there six trains in my handbag? ” and “Your hat! Quick go back!” and “Just for two minutes could everyone stop talking?” and “NO MORE POO JOKES!”
I have spent more hours than I care to think about searching for lost teddy bears. And playing trains. And reading Pig The Pug. And pointing out fire engines and tallying the points for SPOTTO and researching Shopkins.
I have written column after column talking about how my boys seem to develop the temperament of Kanye West at 4pm. How my daughter once-upon-a-time was known to follow me around the house narrating our day. It was like living with Evan in The Secret Life Of Us. I have admitted how at the end of each day I have nothing left to give and as messages ping on my phone and emails arrive in my Inbox all I want to do is sit in silence with a cup of tea and speak to no-one.