The obligatory "So this is my first post" post.

So this is my first post. (Ah ha ha yeah it had to be said.)

I started a blog just before the Wild Thing was born. I have no idea where it was or how to find it now, but to save us all the trouble of trying to find it (because I know you want to) I can pretty much sum it up - it had three posts in which I just moaned about how much I wanted the baby out of me.

Fast forward three years and yes, the baby finally came out (thank god).

I had big ideas of the sort of mother I wanted to be. Me in a long flowy dress, with my partner (a devastatingly gorgeous man of course) in a garden full of flowers, happily swinging our spotlessly clean, well-behaved child between us, laughing and enjoying the sunshine. Never getting cranky or frustrated.

The mum I really am isn't quite like that. The devastatingly gorgeous partner is there (suck up points: 1) but that's about where it ends. My child does get dirty, he picks his nose and presents me with his boogers. He does swing between our hands but that's usually when we're just trying to get him to go somewhere and he thinks that's more fun than walking (good thing he's small for his age).

The only flowers in our garden are clover and that's only because after working 6 days a week my devastatingly gorgeous partner (score: 2) is too tired to mow the lawn and I wouldn't have a clue where the lawnmower is let alone how to start it (and TBH even if I did know I probably wouldn't do it anyway because I have enough trouble keeping up with the housework inside the house let alone outside).

Yeah I do have some long flowy dresses but they're reserved for the days when my jeans are either in the laundry waiting to be washed, in the washing machine starting to smell because i've forgotten to hang them out, or wet out on the line because it's rained all week and the only times they would have been dry were when I was at work (the upside of that is at least the rain might get rid of the smell of being left in the washing machine).

And I do get cranky, and one of my child's favourite words is "frustrated". He learned it from one of the kids' shows on TV but I wonder why it seemed to strike such a chord with him. :-S

But I'm ok with it all. I love my big man and my little man and I wouldn't change them for anything. My child who proudly announces to shoppers in Target that "My Daddy has pink undies", and my man who tellos me he loves me even when I'm tired and cranky and look like I've been dragged through a hedge (well in my defense last week I had actually been dragged through a hedge. And a bush and several trees, but I digress...). They're my world and will probably feature a lot in this blog that probably no-one will ever read.