25 year old Laura is 25, with three kids under the age of ten. She has her troublesome first born, seven-year-old Lucas, her adorable-but-mischievous four-year-old daughter, Hayley, and lastly, little Dylan, who is only a year old, and wails all night every night. Three kids from three different men. Some people may judge Laura, but she is just searching for the right man. She hasn't found him yet.. or has she?
"Muuu-mmyyyyy!" Comes a shrill child's voice, intruding into my peaceful, saturday morning lie-in. I roll over. "Muuuuu-mmyyyyyyyyyy! Mummy? Mummy?" the voice gets more and more urgent, until I have to say:
"In my room sweetie!" Just seconds later, my four year old daughter scampers in, dragging her night-time blankie and Ted-ted the bear with her. She scrambles into bed with me and snuggles close.
"Mummy, Lucas won't let me watch boogiebeebies!" She whines.
"What's he watching?" I ask, with a yawn.
"Twansformers." Comes the reply.
"Well, can't you find something that both of you want to watch?"
"Nooo!" I sigh, and get up, pulling on my silky dressing gown. Then I pull her onto my hip and carry her down the stairs, thinking all the while that she is far too big to be carried now. When I get down, Lucas is sitting in front of the t.v, clutching the remote and staring at a cartoon of some robots who turn into cars.
"Morning Luca!" I say brightly. He looks around, his eyes wide, caught red-handed. "Are you going to share the telly?"
"But Muuu-umm!" He begins, but I silence him with a look.
"Just find something you both want to watch. What about CBBC?" This is always the solution. They have this argument at least once a week, and CBBC nearly always has something they both want to watch. But as Lucas flips over, I see that Horrible Histories is playing, and neither of them like that.
At this point, I hear the baby, Dylan, begin to cry upstairs. I set Hayley down on the sofa and rush out, calling: "What about spongebob?" This is favored, and I soon hear the sounds of the Sponge-Bob Square-Pants theme song playing.
Dylan is still squalling, and when I get into the nursery, he is kicking about, screaming fit to bust. I grab him and shush him.
What a great start to the day... I think, irritably..