Starting at bedtime. Go to bed, sometime around 10, with two small children. Have one or the other of you bounce on you for some time while you try desperately to settle them both off to sleep. Eventually get near to sleep, switch on your Slimpod (review) and fade off to sleep.
To be woken, rudely at some time not nearly later enough by your toddler having night terrors. Spend some time reasoning, cajoling, cuddling, getting exasperated and so on, using Pabobo Luminous Penguin (competition win) and eventually give up and turn your back to feed the baby, at which point toddler cuddles into your back so you can’t move and passes out.
Spend the rest of the night balanced uncomfortably between two sleeping children. Wake up and tweet about requiring matchsticks to keep eyes open.
Do washing. Feed children, start to organise for trip away on the morrow (Butlins, review). Dash to toddler’s swimming lesson. Fail to do anything while toddler swimming as you’re feeding the bottomless pit that is your son.
Dash to supermarket for bread and nappies. Run round with three children, finishing up as bottomless pit starts to scream. Look in confusion at the £52 bill that is run up, mutter something about life with four children to the checkout woman who is cooing over the baby.
Wait in carpark with screaming baby in car while some idiot parks across the back of your car. Heroically restrain yourself from teaching the toddler new swearwords.
Come home. Be incredibly grateful for the practical skills of your 12 year old who cooks lunch (leftovers from the unsuccessful Try it Tuesday meal) while you’re feeding the bottomless pit.
Pry child off. Hang washing out, bring washing in, put washing on. Feed child. Pry child off. Put pizza dough on for later. Hang more washing out while running around organising snacks etc for evening of swimming lessons. Realise toddler has slightly leaky nappy as you are heading for the car, congratulate yourself on having packed washable nappies.
Make it to rookie lifeguard lesson by skin of teeth. Drop big kids at door, drive round to carpark where machine eats your money. Leave note on windscreen instead.
Make it into leisure centre where woman from previous weeks is taking up three comfy chairs for her coat and scarf and studiously ignoring you as you sit on uncomfy chairs. Commence child changing operation. Congratulate yourself on bringing change of clothes for toddler.
Change baby. Discover you should have brought nappy nippa in washable nappy bag and that he’s leaked through clothes (change of clothes is of course in bag in cafe area) and on to Snugglebundl baby lifting blanket (review). Temporarily dress baby, go out fetch rest of stuff, finish change.
Tweet about all of this once you’re sat down. Woman commences leave comfy chair operation (how long does it take to put on a scarf???) – dive into them as soon as feasible. Feed baby.
Discover 20 minutes later that baby pushed your top up when you sat down and you’ve been flashing the entire cafe throughout. Tweet about this.
Fail to do any work again as you’re feeding the bottomless pit throughout.
Sigh a lot.
Make it home, discover it’s raining on the two loads of nearly dry washing you need for tomorrow. Race around in rain with big children bringing it in.
Make pizza from scratch while rehearsing half a dozen blogposts in your head. Walk into the living room to discover toddler has fallen asleep on the floor. Sigh some more.
Serve and eat tea, and really cherish beer, while attempting to wake toddler up enough to eat. Fail dismally and take her to bed.
Finish eating, deal with damp washing, find and pack various things, fail to find other things (precisely where is the bit of the Oxpwr unit that allows you to charge it?? (review)). Make lots of mental notes about stuff to pack for trip.
Grab a few minutes to blog while partner dances with bottomless pit. Give up and go to bed.
There you go, 24 hours of living the dream. Are you jealous now?
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