Saying it’s been one of those days would be the understatement of the year. Dear Lord. I feel like I’ve been not just dragged through a hedge backwards, but yanked unceremoniously through an entire Grand National course, then dragged headfirst round a forest for good measure.

Firstly, there was the crap nights sleep. Nothing new there, that’s true. Except DB2 has taught himself a new trick now at night. He likes to have a good old chat in the dark. Now, when I say the word ‘chat’, I don’t mean a few little gurgles and coos then off to sleep. I’m talking full on ‘ooh’ing, ‘aah’ing and general squealing, for approximately two hours on the trot. It’s quite amazing that he doesn’t get frustrated or bored. He is simply quite happy to yacker on to himself in the wee small hours, while I attempt to wrap my pillow round my head and resist the urge to weep.
He gets away with it because it’s bloody cute too. Humph. Babies. They have a way of getting around you by being cute. It really is a very unfair weapon to employ on an irritated parent.
Let’s not also forget the energetic body slamming that accompanies the nocturnal conversations. DB2 likes to exercise those limbs in the night, thrusting his not inconsiderable bottom down again and again on his mattress.
Though it is quite funny, seeing these seemingly dislocated legs levitating over the side of the Moses basket, like two exploring creatures, hovering with anticipation in the air before hurtling down again.

So, after not much sleep, I really was ill prepared for the incident that I shall refer to as ‘KEY-GATE.’

I drove OH into work, a pleasant enough 30 minute drive through the rolling Dorset countryside, dropped him off, then drove back again, happily telling DB1 stories whilst we both planned out what we would do when we got home. We both agreed to have a little play before the cleaners arrived at 10 (I know…luxury, but only while we have the house on the Market!)

This was until we actually arrived home and noticed, with horrible dawning realisation, that the door keys were in OHs pocket. At work. Half an hours drive away. As you can imagine, a variety of expletives emerged exuberantly from my mouth at this point, mainly comparing my husband unfavourably to male genitalia.

DB2, with perfect timing, chose this exact moment to do a massive poo.

So, after having to change DB2 on the front car seat, his poor bum cheeks pinkening in the freezing cold, with DB1 wailing about his banana cake (currently trapped inside), we headed off. Again.

I said not a word to OH when we arrived, simply greeted him with an insulting gesture involving one hand and a forehead. He understood. And wisely chose not to say anything in response.
It was after I drove of that I realised that chances of getting home in time for the cleaner were highly slim. Even driving at a fairly speedy rate and swearing at cyclists and tractors couldn’t quite get us there in time.

Fortunately the cleaner understood, and was happy to come a bit later. Phew. The house was disappearing under a furry blanket of dust, so I would have been rather gutted to miss out.

Things were rather calmer until after lunch. I’d arranged a lovely visit to see Father Christmas at the garden centre, with one of DB1s little friends. We were all going to walk to it, then visit Santa and have a look round the not inconsiderable display. Or that was the plan, anyway.

The actual reality went along these lines. DB1 deliberately wouldn’t stop slurping on his smoothie at lunch, despite it being long since empty. He then threw a wobbly about me seizing it and lobbing it in the bin. Yes, I did do it in a churlish way, I admit, but it was quite irritating, seeing the look of triumph in his eyes, knowing full well that we were in a hurry and that he was holding up

He then refused to stop playing with my Buddha statue, despite me trying to change his nappy. Buddha got thrown across the room. (I’m sure this goes against several Buddhist doctrines) More time wasted.

The real rant-attack was over the ‘winter coat’. Dear God. What an unbelievable fuss. My mother bought him an absolutely lovely snuggly, stylish winter coat last year. The sort of coat I’d quite like, if it was a bit bigger. Chocolate brown corduroy with a trendy fold up neck. However, for reasons best known to himself, DB1 took major offense at it. (the only other item of clothing he’d done this with was the lurid green African dashiki that my in-laws randomly purchased for him from Womad festival, but that I found a bit more understandable…)
He ran away from it, screaming his head off in fear and loathing, before I collared him and bundled him into it. The resulting fall out was terrifying. DS1 threw himself on the ground, screeching ‘GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!’ at the top of his voice, beating the floor with anguished fists. (I wonder if poor old Buddha, still lying on the floor at this point, looked over and gave a smug nod, thinking ‘karma’.)

At this point, DB2 decided to add to the noise with a few bellows of his own. I hastily whisked them both off outside, hoping the screeching would stop. It was at that point exactly that it started to rain. Heavily. Once again, I uttered a good few expletives under my breath. After scooping DB1 off the pavement, where he’d oddly decided to curl up in a hedgehog-like ball of despair, we ploughed on bravely. DB1s howls increased in volume to deafening volumes. I gave him 5 seconds to stop, or we were going home.

We ended up going home.

It took DB1 about 30 minutes to calm down from the ensuing rage that followed. Funny, he was just completely unable to grasp the fundamental concept that, in order to enjoy the treat, we had to actually get there first. Which involved walking.

It is with shattered nerves that I now write this… It’s not even 2pm yet and I feel like it’s been a week since this morning…