If you read the post, the weird photo of my dog and my leg makes sense.

Okay. Today I want to have a bit of a chat to you all about being a grown up. Not necessarily being ‘grown up’, but at least being of the age where you are generally considered by passers-by who do not know you, to be an adult.

Has anyone ever been in a situation, where something happens and you find yourself looking around for a grown up to help or deal with it, only to realise that you are in fact, the adult, and you better get on with this shit right now? God, I hope that doesn’t just happen to me.

And how exactly do these adulting people do it?

I ask this, as I sit here in my pants and top writing this (because it’s too hot for the jeans I stupidly put on and if I go upstairs the puppy will come with me and piss or shit in some hidden location. Only discovered days from now, by which time the smell is unbearable) so here I am. In my frigging pants. And the dog seems to have made some sort of nest on me, I’ll post a pic.

I should think, a proper adult, would manage to be fully dressed in the middle of the day. Don’t get me wrong, I was fully dressed when I emptied and filled the dishwasher, let the dog out, got Poppy ready then went to soft play, got her first haircut, had lunch and a walk in the oriental gardens before getting her to nap and dropping a still-sleeping toddler off at nursery.

And now? I’m exhausted!

But this evil, leering list is staring at me from the kitchen bunker.

Hoover living room, cut the front lawn, hang up washing and re load, re-organise units in the dining room, post a blog, post on Instagram, write 2000 words, try not to lose your shit…

Okay, so the last one isn’t on there, but the rest are. And the hilarious thing? Poppy’s only at nursery for four hours. FOUR HOURS – when do I think I’m going to do all this when I write my stupid lists?  

And this is me on holiday from work, this should be the easy time, but it’s not.

I see some of my friends (but mostly I see acquaintances do this because I struggle to befriend these people due to their apparent perfection) who are beautifully dressed, hair done and bodies back to pre-child glory, holding their well-behaved, also beautifully dressed child in their glorious, spotless home. I’m talking about people who work, often have more than one child and do not pay for a cleaner.

How is this accomplished?

Someone once told me coke is the key – keeps you thin and gives you the buzz required for housework. This was a theory people, not a description of their own methods before you all have visions of coked up mother’s racing round the Lothians in four by fours. I think I’ll try to find another way. Although, it was tempting. *she jokes* Kind of.

As I type I’m ramming last night’s carbonara in my mouth like I bought it from the reduced section; I had the willpower to resist it last night, but sadly not today. So there goes the diet. Add that to my ‘failing to adult properly’ list, it’s a long one too. I like lists.

Some days I’m desperate for the husband to be home so that I can stop worrying about what goes on in a room every time I turn my back, whether the puppy is using the toddler as a chew toy or busy having a shit on my cream carpet in the corner, or maybe Poppy has taken to feeding him crayons like gravy bones as she did yesterday (his poops are now like rainbows, when they grace my carpets) or maybe she has decided to drink from his water bowl and try to lick the peanut butter from his kong toy again. This is life. This is the things I am constantly on the lookout for. But by the time he comes home from work, funnily enough he is less than enthused at the prospect of starting occupation number two.

And in between all this excitement? Keep a clean, tidy house, keep a tidy garden, plan lessons, mark, blog, grow a social media empire, did I mention finish my current novel?

Oops, I forgot the food shop. How on Earth could I forget that? Anyone else with children will understand why the weekly food shop strikes fear into the hearts of any confident parent. Throw in a toddler and it’s like taking a day trip to hell. Anyone else relate to the partner who rarely participates in creating the list or the shop itself but has the cheek to grumble about something they wanted not being there? Those people are lucky if they still have both eyes in their sockets. That’s all I’m saying.

Then some genius goes and says, ‘you need to make time to relax’.

Oh really? Thanks for that brand-new insight into my life. I need to relax? Who the fuck knew!

Here’s the thing though. I can’t.

I can’t because I want things. I want the things that everyone else does – happy, healthy family; nice house and tidy garden; good career; feel organised for my work; visit family and friends… but I want other things too.

I want to write.

I want to be an author.

I want to be published.

And I want these things badly enough that I am willing to work myself to the bone to get them, because to maintain my life and get what I want, my hard work is the only option. It is the currency required to pay for these things. And luck, lots of luck. If anyone has some spare I’d love it.

So…my assessment.

Adulting is difficult. Sitting on the floor, in your pants, difficult.

I love my life, but it’s not easy.

Everyone probably has their own challenges going on. I mean, that’s why the show Desperate Housewives was even started, right?

So, to all of you out there, bravely trying to ‘adult’, I salute you and wish you the best of luck.

Xo