So, Ciara’s been going through some developmental challenges lately. In just 6 short months she’s gone from barely stringing sentences together, to chatting NON STOP!

She can now count in sequence, she is potty trained, even waking up in the night and demanding a new pair of pants because:

‘I don’t want a nappy mummy’

She’s been specifically asking for people she hasn’t seen in a while, so memory is not an issue for this little dot. She’s asked for Auntie Becky and E, Nanny, and Grandad with the paw patrol bike, and often talks about her friends at preschool David, Chester and Lana with the pretty hair. It’s amazing isn’t it? How bloody clever is my kid! My heart could burst.

But… all of this extra feeling, knowing, and awareness must be a pretty crazy place in this little one’s head. I know this, because mummy is getting the brunt of it all.

‘I don’t want to’ is her favourite phrase.

‘No mummy’ is the second.

Whilst she’s doing all these amazing, magical, things, I find myself getting frustrated with her outbursts. I feel terrible about it but I can’t help sometimes wishing she’s just put the fucking blue pants on, instead of demanding rainbow ones. Or eat the damn toast you asked for 10 minutes ago kid! Who gives a flying fuck if the corner has come off, you don’t eat the crusts anyway!!!

So there’s a bit of wee in your potty already, sorry Mummy hasn’t had chance to rinse it out whilst dealing with your other 10,000 demands in the last 5 minutes.

I love you, but if you scream in my face one more time about having to put your coat on I’m gonna set the bastard coat on fire!

(Disclaimer no 2 – I don’t actually say this to her, I just roll my eyes whilst thinking it)

Then I take a deep breath and start the process of answering why Marshall has a red hat, Chase on the case has a blue one, and explaining that it’s a ‘Pumpkin’ and not a ‘Cuntpin’

I even allow the ingratitude that I got her an ‘Everest pillow’ instead of a Skye one. The world hasn’t ended my dear child just say ‘thank you Mummy’

Then I go to bed at night feeling so bad about wishing she would do as she’s told, I feel bad for not taking in the fact she’s learning, and her inquisitive nature is what might make her a Detective Inspector one day.

I feel bad that I tutted whilst having to kiss both knees when there wasn’t even a ‘baddie’ on either of them.

But guess what? I’m not the only person in the world to feel utterly fucked off and guilty all at once, and neither are you.

We’re human. It’s demanding being a mum and we don’t always get chance to take a deep breath and take in everything that’s going on, because we’re too busy trying to get tea on the table that you know your kid won’t even eat, and 20,000 pairs of pants washed ready for nursery tomorrow.

Every night before she goes to bed we have half hour chill time. We have cuddles, we read stories and we sing twinkle twinkle, and every night I tell her how amazing she is and how much I love her. Even when she’s tested me to the absolute limit.

I don’t always get it right, but I’m confident she knows I’m doing my best and that I love her more than life itself and that is enough.