Joseph, not a day passes without me contemplating your future and what life will ultimately hold for you. I know you need me to help you understand, what is very much an alien world to yours.
I find it funny that I spend so much time researching how to get my baby to sleep through the night (or even more than one hour at a time), how to entertain my bored toddler, how to get them to eat more than bread and cheese, and how to stop breastfeeding. But so much of my parenting expectations are set by society.
She didn't mind that I didn't cook her dinner every night. She was happy to eat grilled cheese every night of the week. And sneak in lots of chocolate and snackies and wine after (hence the reason we both put on some weight!).
Getting ready to go out to the sounds of Whitney Houston, Spandau Ballet, Michael Jackson (even had his poster on my wall when he looked like he should) all on vinyl, to name but a few. It was a time when hair would survive any hurricane, rock hard from a can of cheap extra hold hairspray.
For those of you who have followed my blog for a while, you will be aware that one of my daughters is in the world of modelling and acting. This, of course, fills me with immense pride but no more than my other daughter's achievements, or my son's.
You wait years for your children to start speaking, imagining all the wonderful conversations you'll have when they can finally communicate in words rather than just pointing and saying 'ba!' How you will have intelligent discussions over the breakfast table, rather than spending the time dodging flying Weetabix and wiping the jam off your jeans.
To me (in the words of Winnicot) it's about being a 'good enough' parent and recognising that it's ok not to get it right all of the time. In fact, not only is it ok not to be perfect, it will actually give your child benefits in their journey through life.
My daughter recently finished a topic on chemical bonding in school. It was a relatively simple topic and I was shocked that she did badly in the test, given that she aces all her other subjects effortlessly.
I had slumped down in a chair and was unaware of the commotion, as a swarm of doctors and midwives surrounded me and hoisted me up onto a bed. A short time later, I opened my eyes to find myself breathing through an oxygen mask and shaking uncontrollably. All I could hear repeatedly were the words, 'We need blood!'
To an extent this was true, although the music festivals now tend to be of the kid friendly variety, as do the restaurants and the holidays. I am happy about the changes but I would lie if I said it was an easy transition into parenthood. It is more like a seismic overnight shift.
With the half-term holidays over and most children going back to school this week, it's time to get back into the routine of the dreaded school run. You might think that the trick of getting your child out the door and into school should be relatively easy right?
Six years ago my youngest son was diagnosed with autism and in the blink of an eye all things accessed so easily were tragically snatched away. The simple task of booking a family holiday soon became something drifting quickly out of my reach.
I genuinely think the world was a softer place where there was less threat of a child catching a glimpse of breaking news that would scar their growing brain cells. Of course Maggie Thatcher must have made a damning speech in parliament and the Berlin Wall came down within my news era, but I was never subjected to it with the same brutality that a child could be today.
Rachel and a long-standing gay male friend had joked for years about becoming parents together. Eventually, we plucked up our courage and asked him and his partner whether they'd consider embarking on parenthood with us - not as a joke, but for real.
Beside the bookcase is a broken breadstick. A half-eaten biscuit lies in the hallway. And Cheerios litter the kitchen floor like confetti. I do not need to go far to find the perpetrator of such food related carnage, the trail of crumbs weaving behind her as she toddles away makes identification easy.
The toys that are so fixed, so finished, that every plastic gesture is forever frozen can never be anything else. They can't be transferred. A motorbike in miniature detail can't be a skier, or a truck, a buggy, a stone, a King Wasp or a cake - it can only be a motorbike. Non-transferable and a touch cold because of it.
Breastfeeding out and about gets a pretty bad image in the news. All we tend to hear about are stories of mums being asked to leave shops, restaurants, swimming pools, libraries, public transport and so on.