When the day starts off not quite going to plan sometimes it’s best to go back to bed and pretend Thursday isn’t happening and just wait patiently for Friday. Except when you have a child they don’t understand the joy of hiding from the world and demand entertainment and food or whatever, so you’re faced with twatty Thursday and all the poo (literally, today, and not just Sophie’s) it can fling at you.

Today started not quite going to plan. Warning sirens were going off in my head because my plan to go to the zoo with a friend was cancelled due to the bloody rain (yeah we could just wear waterproofs and get a little bit less wet but we’d all end up cold and miserable) so we decided to give soft play a go. But then the rain cleared up and blue sky appeared and we thought “ah I’m sure if it rains now it’ll be a slight drizzle” and the zoo was back on, only to be cancelled at the speed of light as we were about to leave when the blue buggered off somewhere and down came the rain and washed the zoo trip out. OFF TO SOFT PLAY!

This part of the day was pretty fun, Sophie played very nicely with my friend’s gorgeous twin girls, we were there early so the hordes of over threes who aren’t supposed to be in the baby bit but go in the damn baby bit anyway hasn’t turned up yet, and we got lots of lovely pictures to show what a wonderful time we were having. Good stuff.

There followed me being stuck in the car on my drive eating my salad of sadness I’d made up for our zoo lunch while Sophie slept. For an hour. It isn’t worth waking her up as getting her to nap is damn near impossible lately so I stayed put and actually closed my eyes for a few minutes myself. Somehow.

Then came the screaming and crying because she had trapped wind and wouldn’t come near me to receive my love and comforting. Rejection. A few good farts though and she was happy as Larry and back running around trying to kiss the cats.

I noticed I had been a little over-enthusiastic at soft play and I felt like my right knee was on backwards and as if somebody was plucking nerves out of my back causing me to spasm with pain. (Checks ‘pain’ on the list of crap Thursday things)

We’re doing well. There’s more.

My gazebo decides it’s too good for my garden and grabs a good gust of wind to abandon me but fails and snaps one of its own legs off somehow. (Checks ‘dismantle a million-piece gazebo and fit it back into the packaging’ off)

Sophie throws her dinner on the floor. Obviously.

Backtracking slightly to what happened when I went into our alleyway too retrieve the disobedient gazebo, I happened upon a puddle of wee and a lovely pile of poo from one of our darling cats, (Tilly, it’s always bloody Tilly) who then watched me as I cleaned it up and went mad with the steam mop.

I declared that tonight was Daddy’s turn to do bedtime so I could collapse on the sofa and weep but then realised that we’d forgotten to get Sophie to play her fun ‘tidy up’ game and I had to put all her toys away. Grr.

So that, ladies and gentlemen, leads us up to now, where I am lying in the bath eating Aldi brand Buenos and taking some joy in the fact that I didn’t cave and face-plant a chocolate fudge cake but stayed strong and came in under my syn-allowance.

Fin.