6.02am: (yes I ALWAYS check the time) Littlest B starts to stir. He had a long day yesterday with lots of first birthday excitement and I calmly explain, he is one now. He has to sleep longer. I shush him before he wakes his older brother a give him a bottle of milk. He starts to drift back off and I sneakily make it back to my bed at 6.29am as the clock ticks over and the radio alarm comes on. I don't think so *hits the off button*
6.45am: Littlest B starts to stir again and I know that if I don't jump in the shower now, I'm not getting one *races to the shower*. As I climb out, Baby B come in and says "Morning Mummy, Ikes (this is what he calls his brother Isaac) is awake too. I read him a teddy book and he is ok." So far so good. I go into the bedroom to draw the curtains and discover that Littlest B needs a change. BIG TIME. I try to impose a 'no poo before 7am' rule. Never works. I wrestle the wriggle bum whilst talking to Baby B about pirates, his new friend at preschool and the fact that Daddy will buy him ice cream on Saturday morning and manage to keep my dignity with my towel, however mission 'clean poo off me and the carpet' will now commence (no-one said this was a glamorous post). Baby B is still talking.
7.10am: Baby B is encouraged to get pj's off, get washed and get dressed for pre-school whilst I also get dressed. Once I have chased Littlest B out of the spare room where he is pulling books off the book shelf, I find Baby B with a mouth FULL of toothpaste and soap bubbles in the front of his hair. I rectify this situation whilst shaking Littlest B aka biting baby off of my leg. He is next on the dressing station so I wrestle him into some too big trousers and a too big top whilst Baby B runs at me over and over hanging around my neck shouting "piggy back Mummy" and hits me with a giant light saber.
7.30am: Ok lets be calm. We're all dressed. Breakfast time. Baby B wants cereal and apple juice. DONE. I try Littlest B with some cereal. He spits it out. I make him some toast. Baby B pours his apple juice down himself. Clothes are removed. He continues eating breakfast with a blanket over his lap and my scarf on. Littlest B is now covered in soft cheese (hair and all) and Baby B wants peanut butter on toast. Serve toast. Clean up Littlest B. Clean up the highchair. Clean up the floor.
7.55am: Lunch box to make.
"What would you like in your sandwich?"
"I don't want a sandwich. I want a wrap up (tortilla) like yesterday (Monday)"
"I don't have any wraps. I'll get some later and you can have that tomorrow. Would you like cheese and ham?"
"No Mummy. Come on, we'll go Tesco and get a wrap up and I have that one for pre-school…"
Argument continues whilst I make a cheese and ham sandwich and try to keep Littlest B out of the drawers/cupboards.
8.15am: Baby B is still talking at me. I find out some clean dry clothes for Baby B whilst boys fight over a toy bus and Little B screams like he is being hurt. He isn't. He's just perfected this kind of scream. I give Littlest B his cup and he spits it out all over himself. I find out a clean dry t-shirt for Littlest B. I make sure Baby B has everything he needs for pre-school as he unpacks his dress up box, dresses up like a pirate and declares he is taking it all to pre-school. I boil the kettle in hope. I get Baby B's shoes but he tells me he will do it and he immediately pulls the velcro straps out of their loops. He spends 10mins threading them back through and getting shoes on whilst I stop Littlest B from climbing on him. He is still talking at me.
8.55am: I go out to get the pram out of the car as Littlest B pushes his face against the glass door screaming. He thinks I've left him. Not today son, not today. I set up the pram and stand Baby B outside with his pre-school stuff dressed as a pirate. He continues to tell me a story about ice-cream and chocolate buttons. I check myself in the WC mirror for breakfast remnants on my face as Littlest B drops a toy into the toilet. I remove toy, wash up the baby and put him in the pram. We walk to pre-school with Baby B talking to me about all sorts and starting EVERY sentence with "Mummy?"
We stop to talk to a few Mummies, realise we forgot our snack contribution, we fight the pirate gear off of Baby B and I finally leave him in pre-school where he has run off to the carpet without saying goodbye to Mummy. I walk to the post office to collect a parcel and come home with a very grumpy 1 year old. He goes for a lay down with his bottle.
The previously boiled kettle is re-boiled.
Following this I feel that my tea will go down very nicely, I might even have a bit of leftover birthday cake! Elevenses. Housework will keep.
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