My nanny cooks for the children. When she prepares their food she makes extra child-sized portions and fills the freezer for the days when she’s not at work. When my husband’s working late and I can’t be bothered to cook, I eat them.
The children received more than their own body-weight in Easter eggs. I ate them all the same week. My husband didn’t notice until several months later when I told him I had rationed them and given the kids a small piece each day. He applauded my restraint.
I drank like a thirsty fish during the first two months of my second pregnancy. In fact I only realised I was pregnant when my hangover wouldn’t shift. Now two, the twins make a grab for the Chablis when I open the fridge.
I use CBeebies to distract the children when my husband and I are upstairs having sex.
I am always late for the pre-school run. My nanny walks all the way and is always early. I can’t let the teachers see she is better than me, so when it’s my turn I put the children in the car, park round the corner and pretend we’ve walked.
I have taught my three year old to put on DVDs, fetch drinks and prepare his own snacks. He’s just having trouble getting the measures right for the perfect G&T.
Last week I wanted to have an uninterrupted yet technically un-necessary telephone conversation with a friend. I sat in the park for an hour and let my children go feral, eating litter and playing with discarded cans of Special Brew.
On a number of occasions I have given my children Calpol when, strictly speaking, they didn’t have a fever. But they were whinging and I needed them to sleep.
I have a rule that I never drink alcohol before the children go to sleep. Sometimes I close all the curtains at 5pm, play a pre-recorded episode of In The Night Garden and send them to bed.
Confessions of a Bad Mother may be followed by Confessions of a Bad Wife. If I can be bothered.