Earlier today Dom, Charlotte and I were having a relaxing family lunch when Dom came out with the question, ‘can babies have babies?’

I took a couple of seconds to compute the question and replied, ‘no, only grown up women have babies.’

Then I thought about how I was giving Dom assumptions about women’s roles in life and amended it to, ‘some grown up women have babies if they want to?’

You can guess what the next question was, can’t you?

‘How does the baby get in the mummy’s tummy?’

But it was okay, I knew the answer to this. Everyone knows what to say when this question is asked by young children and the answer keeps the child happy until the age of about 7/8.

‘Mummy has a special cuddle with Daddy and that makes the baby,’ I said, confident that I could relax now for another 3 or 4 years.

‘How do you do the special cuddle?’

I sat in stunned silence. Dom wasn’t following the script, what do I say.

‘I want to see the special cuddle,’ continues Dom.

A rather nervous giggle escaped me.

‘You can’t see the special cuddle, it’s a private thing between mummies and daddies.’

‘But I want to do the special cuddle with you and daddy and charlotte!’

At this point my rational mind ran out of the door red with embarrassment to have a school girly giggle outside.

‘How about you, me, Daddy and Charlotte have a family cuddle,’ I said. ‘That a nice thing to do.’

Luckily this catches on and Dom starts talking about inane things about family cuddles and who will hold Charlotte etc. I mentally curse whoever came up with the special cuddle phrase when talking about the birds and the bees. To think this time last year I was worried because he wasn’t talking.

Dom had his first day at a new nursery today. I was looking forward to some toddler free time and Dom was looking forward to playing with the trains, home corner, water, etc.

We woke up bright and early so we would have a calm morning getting ready. Despite having loads of time, it some how got away from me and I ended up running out of the door with my hair half done and Lottie was in some daggy old ‘house clothes’ that I’d found in the drawer.

It’s okay, I thought. The nursery is only five minutes away. Lottie can get wrapped up in her Buggy Snuggle so no one will see her grottiness and I’ll just drop Dom off then come home, finishing doing my hair, have a drink catch up on emails/crits and do some WRITING.

We arrived. I showed hubby where Dom’s classroom was so he would know where to drop the little monster off in the mornings. Dom happily wondered off into the playground and found something to play with. The teacher offered us a tour of the nursery and it slowly became apparent, that we were expected to stay. Unfortunately we weren’t expecting to stay.

‘Take Charlotte,’ I said to hubby.

‘I have loads of work to do today, I have the weekend post to get out,’ he replied and off he toddled, (which was fair enough as he is the breadwinner in the family and it is imossible to do work with a baby crawling around.)

So, I stayed with Dom and followed him around (with Lottie in my arms) as he went from activity to activity, happily playing independently. Everyone cooed over Lottie and no one mentioned that she was inappropriately dressed in light weight ¾ length leggings and no socks on a cool day, but I bet they were thinking it.

Things were going well, until Lottie filled her nappy. I didn’t expect to be staying so I hadn’t brought a change. I carried her about hoping that others couldn’t smell her and feeling guilty that she was sitting in her own mess. Finally I clutched at straws and hoped that I’d put a nappy under the pram. The caretaker unlocked the door so I could go out to the pram and check. I’d brought the small changing mat, wipes and the plastic bags. In fact, I’d brought everything except a nappy. Lottie was starting to leak, so I had no choice but to leave early. I asked the teacher what would be happening tomorrow. Was I still expected to stay?

‘You can go into the family room tomorrow,’ she told me in her broad Irish accent. ‘So make you sure you bring a nappy for the baby.’

Dom got upset that we were leaving early. I got upset that I looked like an idiot who under dressed her baby and couldn’t even remember to bring a nappy when going out. The thing is, I don’t remember them telling me I had to stay. Hubby (who was there when the teachers did the home visit and told us the details about the first day) doesn’t remember them telling us we had to stay.

I can make a new impression tomorrow, right? I can convince the teachers that I am a together mother, can’t I? Please tell me that the first day of school will be better! At least Dom had a good morning, even if it was a little shorter than expected.

We've had two weeks of sunshine. All praise the sun god Apollo for finally gracing us with his presence. To celebrate Dom Lottie and I have been checking out the local parks. This means also checking out the park amenities, which are always a little, ummm...fruity...spicy...cesspooly (yes I have to create a new word)

I try to put it off (we all go before we leave the house) but on a hot day we have to drink lots of water and that leads to the inevitable. I delicately walked into one particular cesspool encouraging Dom to avoid the puddles on the cement floor. We got into the cubicle (that had no loo paper) and Dom suddenly notices the graffiti.

'Mummy, what does that say?'
I should have lied, but I'm no good at lying, so instead I said in my primmest voice.
'I'm not reading that to you. Some naughty people have written not very nice words on the door and I will NEVER read them to you.'
Dom just finishes his business. And we leave the loo with Dom shaking his wet hands all over the queuing people because there were no dryers.

I'm thinking of taking a black marker pen with me next time I go into a park loo and writing some Julia Donaldon, or some Michael Rosen on the walls and door. I'm sure mothers will be grateful to have the choice of reading WE'RE GOING ON A BEAR HUNT, or THE GRUFFALO to their toileting little ones rather than obscenities or the boring GAZZ IZ HOT. I LUV JAY 4EVA etc And, I'm sure kids will enjoy it. Shame it'll be vandalism.

Well, it’s been ages since I’ve posted. The kids have recovered from chicken pox and I managed to survive with a shred of sanity. Only a shred mind you.

I have the mammoth task of sorting out my books. I arrived in the UK with three books. Eleven years later we have them piled up in a couple of cupboards. I have to sort them. We are desperate for the space, but I can’t get rid of them.

A couple of things I’ve learnt about myself from sorting my books.

-I make too many impulse buys. There are loads of books with a 3 for 2 sticker on that I have not read and I keep looking at and thinking –nah. Yet, I can’t get rid of them.

-I get suckered in by tourist books every time we visit somewhere. We have guides about Hampton Court, the Vatican City, the Tower and the Green Man etc. I buy them just in case the place is featured in a story and it’s research. Thus far I have never used any of them. And yet I can’t get rid of them.

I have plans, when I’m and older and greyer I’m going to be the mad book lady. My house will be floor to ceiling in books. The kids in the area will whisper about the mad book lady. There will be rumours that she’s a witch and all her books are full of spells. Or better yet, the books are actually people who have crossed her and she’s changed them into books. On dark nights you can hear the books telling their stories and asking for help on the breeze.

Anyway, I’d better sort the books and postpone the creation of the mad book lady for a little while.