I am SO the mummy!

I am unashamedly vain about how gorgeous my children are. I make no bones about the fact that they are positively and utterly beautiful.




So then, I preen and puff and allow myself the absolute glory that comes with having given birth to such splendid works of humanity.Seems perfectly fair doesn't it, when you've done the tough bits, like growing them, stretch marks, wobbley bits, teething, no sleep, tantrums, school runs, doctors appointments, snot, nappies, fighting, whining, treading on lego in bare feet, never being able to wee without having to wipe dribbles of boy wee off the seat first, when you do all that ( and more) doesn't it seem fair that you get to snag all the praise, soak up every single comment andintake of breath from strangers and friends alike when they look at your babies and are forced to comment on their outstanding gloriousness? You bet your bottom dollar matey that I am well aware that this is all down to me, Ok the fact is there that some genes were given to me from the daddy ones ( which sounds like I am such a hoochy tart, there are only 2 daddy ones, both husbands and each fathering 3 of the said beautiful people each)Well, yes, they did help make these people but you know, you can give anyone the ingredients for a great meal, doesn't mean it will work out delicious does it? There you go, you understand what I am saying.
So, you can imagine that I find myself in a position that leaves me flummoxed. I have 3 children with some pretty beautiful dark skin, Seth is a light olive and has fairer hair, green eyes, Isaac and Eli though, dark skin, deep brown eyes and dark hair. I have been asked, can you believe it, the question..and not once or twice but SO often....." are they yours?" " Have you adopted them?" " Are they your real children?"
I don't think I will ever quite get used to answering that question ( especially when one man asked if they were my 'actual' children or grandchildren, spit in his eye!!) they are so much a part of me, so obviously grown under my heart, and part of my soul, they are MINE and the fact that it isn't obvious, takes my breath away in a not very pleasant way.
Does it seem fair that the mummy does all the hard work and gets to puke and ache and push and tear, her body gets a pummelling and is left looking like a balloon that has been blown up and let down and blown up and let down again, it leaks and never quite returns to that firm and pre-baby state. All that and what happens? the beloved infant is an absolute replica of the daddy one!! No-one ever asks if H is the father of these boys, one glance and it is clear to all that he is the reason for their being. The sense of injustice when he was a bit hopeless at the birh of Seth and Isaac, in fact with Isaac he was only there for 10 minutes, arriving for the finale and off again to have dinner with the other male relatives in celebration......He got the hang of it with Elijah and did very well indeed, but that's beside the point isn't it?
So, I am here to tell the internet world that I am TOO the mummy, not the nanny, granny, childminder, babysitter or friendly neighbour. I made them myself and did it very beautifully thankyou very much. I am the mummy. Clever, clever me.