Blogging about not blogging.

I’m that amazing at blogging.

That I’m blogging about not blogging.

Dick.

Like why haven’t I?

Surely I have loads of time to.

Said no mother ever…….

But I haven’t so I’m sorry. 

I’ll try harder.

I’ll try harder at most things. I don’t think I’m too bad at this parenting thing but I find you are usually your worst critic. Lying in bed shattered, exhausted and wide awake wondering if maybe you could have done a little better today. Or that you must wash son 2 training kit tomorrow in order to get it dry in your ridiculously cold house in time for said training. Or trying to recall whether you put a night nappy on son 4, then hoping you did, then finding out at 2am infact you didn’t. So you end up cradling a baby and trying to encourage a pissy, but wiped down, 4 year old to snuggle daddy without daddy realising why he is snuggling him.

But in all fairness most of us do try our best. 

Maybe we could be better or do better but maybe also we should look at where we fucking rocked life. Nailed getting ourselves dressed and numerous offspring and just made it through the day.

Loving them. Always loving them.

Even when it’s really hard and you swear a lot under your breath or in your head or sometimes just out loud.

There’s always love.

And to trying again tomorrow. 

Photo of my amazing cooking achievements both of which went down like a shit bomb but oh fucking well. 

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