Day 1: Small Child A projectile vomits all over my car
Day 2: Small Child B projectile vomits all over my bed
Day 3: Mother is curled in foetal position in office loo rueing the day she ever stopped taking birth control
I love my children, I really do.
They are a miracle.
It’s just that their unconditional love is leaving me sleep deprived and ill with whatever freakish little virus they have chosen to gift me with.
Also, their unconditional love has become quite conditional.
“Mummy, if you do XYZ, I love you. If you don’t, you won’t be my mummy anymore, you’ll only be my… my… step mummy! How can you say no to your only, most beautiful daughter like that?”
Of course, as soon as a single tear trickles down from my only, most beautiful daughter’s eye, two irate big brothers join the fray.
“Really Mom? You made her cry. Is it really such a big deal. Just let her have an ice-cream. (or a Monster High Zombie Doll or an iPad).”
I’ve developed a thick skin. Long gone are the days when, “You can’t come to my party!” used to move me to tears. These days I just shrug it off with, “No invite. No party.”
My kids are early bloomers in the fields of negotiation and blackmail.
Hey, maybe they’ll grow up to be politicians?