Cucumbers and Poo Books

Shortly after my first was born, there was a time when inviting people round was a big thing. It would mean I’d race frantically around the house with a baby wipe in hand, quickly dusting surfaces, cleaning the hob, putting washing away, picking up miscellaneous crap and shoving it in cupboards (I’ve been known to hide clutter in the washing machine before now), hiding reading material from the bathroom (heaven-forbid anyone know we read and poo at the same time) and spraying the house with an air freshener. I would have also had a late-night dash to the shop to buy a cucumber so your plate looked healthier. And why? Well, to be honest I’m not entirely sure why, but I think it had something to do with a misguided attempt to appear in control, to present a serene picture of domesticated bliss. I don’t know why I put this pressure on myself because let me tell you this, if you ever invite me round to yours and you’re still in your PJs, hair unwashed, ‘1,234 QI Facts to Leave You Speechless’ in the bathroom, a cracker shoved down your sofa and a blob of Play-Doh stuck to your wall, I will love you all the more for it. I will love you for showing me that it’s ok to not always have every plate spinning all of the time. So if I’m ever on my way round to yours, just relax and have a cup of tea instead. Balls to hoovering and washing up. And if you feed me cheesy puffs for lunch, I’m yours forever.