Mummy to two mildly irritating daughters. Connoisseur of chocolate. Try-hard runner and fitness demon (kind of). Lover of the written word.
Hello! I'm Sam, more widely known as "Me Too" from Mouse, Moo and Me Too. I live in Southampton with my two daughters - Mouse is three, and Moo is five months. I started my blog shortly after Moo was born, as I have a habit of getting us into slightly odd scenarios that my friends found quite amusing. They urged me to write, and before long I'd grown into a fully fledged blog.
I like to think I'm vaguely funny, on occasion! I've found the adjustment to two children from one quite challenging which makes for a lot of blogging material, and a hearty level of chocolate and caffeine consumption. I like to inject a bit of wit into most of my posts, because it gets me through the day, frankly.
Please do read more of my lovely words over at mousemoometoo.com, and I'm very easily found across various social media platforms. Feel free to say hi, I'm quite friendly.
They started to tell us about the absolute non-negotiables - the car seat, that would be researched with absolute scrutiny, likewise the breathing sensor pads. My husband and I threw an almost imperceptible glance towards each other. "Oh, they're in it now alright. They're in the baby game. And they don't even know the half of it."
Since my foray into the world of motherhood, I've definitely gained a whole host of new skills. I can't quite put my finger on them at the moment, but refereeing and extreme multi-tasking will be in there. I'm sure there are others *muses wistfully for a moment*.
Well, my twenties are well and truly set adrift on memory bliss. My name's Sam, I'm 32, and I fucking hate it. I wish I was in the happy camp, greeting each birthday with enthusiasm and a friendly hug, but I seem to be turning more and more hostile.
Yes, top me up good, because shit is about to get real. When I've previously looked into the dizzying concept of schools, from behind a cushion with a soothing whale song app primed and ready for deployment, I've got myself in a pisser of a muddle
At my lowest point, I hand her to my husband and say, "There was nothing even wrong with us before. We were fine, just us two. Why did we ever think a baby was a good idea? I don't even want her." I don't even want her. I actually said that.
Some months ago, myself and my family regaled in that rare antiqued delight, the holiday. To proper abroadland, on a metal vessel that required a passport to access. Long-haul, transatlantic. I know, right?
The toddler, on the other hand...Mouse has encountered more calamitous incidents than me and her father put together. Her latest badge of honour is a sizeable graze on her elbow from pissing about in the garden wearing flip flops on the wrong feet. It blends in nicely with the receding scab borne from a pretty savage slide at soft play.
How the hell did my life come to this, where a trip to a garden centre on a Saturday afternoon gives me happy feels? Not for the gardening crap, you understand, I barely have time to clean my house let alone fart around with a herbaceous border. And yet....the lure of the place is strong
Perhaps my title is a little unfair. Your threenager may be an absolute darling, and if that's the case then frankly you have no business here. I can almost feel you mocking me over the interweb. I expect your child went to bed at 7pm, with zero fuss, head gently turned towards the Gro Clock to await the yellow burst which signifies a magical new day. A day in which you and your child will learn and laugh and love. As I said, you have no business here.
So, to answer your question. He hasn't got cancer, because I know that's what you're assuming. He's not ill. He's just very unlucky. I'll predict your next sentence too, because 8 times out of 10 this is what people will utter in response: "Isn't he lucky to have such a lovely shaped head though? Most people couldn't carry off that look.
14/07/2016 11:48 BST
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