Meh, is what I say to that.

I have 2 children close in age. We decided that that's the way we're going to build our family. It works. It's our own version of chaotic perfection. The din of two children that are both in diapers is a kind of soundtrack to our life at the moment, and we like it.

Not everyone has the same view.

There have been various people, family included, who have said oh, so close in age, they both need you so much, it's exhausting.... oh, wow, what made you do that to yourselves, is that on purpose?.... etc etc. You know the drill.

And my family is even more direct. Someone on my side said to me once (when I was saying that I felt exhausted), in a sort-of-joking-I-don't-know-how-to-make-a-joke-way: well, no one told you to have two kids so close together, you know.

Yeah, thanks. That's ever so helpful.

This, however, doesn't make me feel defeated. Actually, it makes my normal stubborn I-will-do-it-myself-ness even more pronounced. It makes me work that much harder.

Unfortunately, this results in me not accepting any form of help from either sides. It's my way of saying: "Oh, well, if you keep commenting how exhausted I must be for having a newborn and a toddler, then I can prove to you that you're wrong in your judgement, and I can manage, and life is actually really great for us. Just because you didn't go that route doesn't mean we're nuts."

You're being irrational, is what you're thinking. You're justifying your choice of having 2 children close in age to other people by working that much harder and cutting off your nose to spite your face.

And admittedly, you're right.

I just don't like the fact that people can get off commenting about how they think that life is a certain way for me, and how I might not be able to cope. It pisses me off. It makes me proud of myself for learning the hard way. Helping run a business with my husband means... Doing bathtimes myself. Doing snacks and cooking myself. Doing varying naptimes with a newborn who only wants me to hold him all day, otherwise he's crying. Surviving on 3 hours' sleep every night. Speaking to a toddler in a different language hoping that she'll be bilingual, in an environment where all she hears is English all day. People telling me that I should have the toddler in nursery already because she needs to learn English ('she's almost 2, for goodness' sake..she's not talking properly yet, she needs help!') and learn how to "socialize". I get it from all angles. You've heard it all before, so I won't repeat myself.

I'm not ungrateful, though I know I sound like it. It's just that all I hear all day is how tough it must be, and I have to keep saying to those people "It's not tough. Some days it is, but for the most part, it's lovely, and I wouldn't change a thing."

Why can't I just do things the way I want to do them? Why can't I blast my own horn if I want to? Why can't I say "no thank you" when people offer to get my kids random gifts or try and give them chocolate and cookies or tell me that they'll offer to come over so I can get a 'break'?

I want to be selfish. I want to spend time with my kids before I go back to work in the fall, and I'm conscious that this summer will go by extremely quickly. My life clock is ticking faster with each passing month with them, and I feel like being possessive a lot of the time.

Do I stretch myself too thin as a result? Most likely. Does it make me look like a martyr? Probably. Does it keep people at a bit of a distance? Maybe. Do I really care? Well, I care enough to give the subject this much attention and writing space, so obviously I do. But I'd like to not care. Doesn't sit very well with family, though.

I can't help but think that my most important role in life is being their mother. I have other important jobs and other aspirations for myself that exist in the layers underneath, but this is the one that I want to be as perfect as possible. I want them to learn from me and I want to learn from them. I want to watch them as they take first steps, say first words.. I want to watch them as they fall asleep. At least for now, while I still have their pudgy little hands in mine, and I can have them close to me.

I don't care if this results in me being bleary-eyed and not having time to wash my hair and people complaining that they don't see me enough.

Meh, is what I say.*

*This could be the reason that I don't have very many friends.

Brought to you by the word "goo".

I was holding him the other day, watching her play outside with her water/sand table.

She was deftly organising and filling little cups with sand, delighting as she tipped them into the water, squealing when she managed to get herself wet. She would run around with her arms in the air, doing little dances and yelling "Hello!!!" to no one in particular whilst the sunlight caught the tendrils of her hair as they moved in the breeze. I have to remember that colour, I thought to myself. That glint of pure gold with hints of strawberry. I swear, I try and memorize her hair, her long limbs, her mossy green eyes... I try and memorize them every single day so that when I get to the end of my days, those moments will be the sweetness before I leave this planet.

And then he spoke. I hadn't noticed, but he'd been staring up at me, very contentedly, not making a sound. Just scanning my face.

I looked down, and a huge smile spread across his face. His grey-blue elfin eyes with beautifully long lashes... those eyes actually twinkled. No joke. And he said "Goooo", and finished it off with a smirk and a coy tilt of his head. And smiled again.

I was completely taken aback. My heart skipped, as if someone had winked at me, flirted with me. Told me that I was the only beautiful thing in the entire world. I spoke back to him, the same word, same intonation. He smiled again, and waved his arms appreciatively. I kissed his little bald head. I just wanted to devour him, devour this moment.

And then I looked up and saw L watching us.

"Come here and say hello, little miss funnypants", I said. She just smiled and ran off.

I couldn't decide whether to be annoyed and guilty that I was partially ignoring her by trying to have a conversation with him, or be proud that she understood that I needed my time, and that she would give that to me, whilst she played by herself.

Those questions don't have answers. She'll let me know what she needs, and so far, those shouts of delight and wonder as she runs off into the park in front of me, chasing her shadow... those are the only answers I need right now.

Even if you don't read it..I'll still say it.

He doesn't read my blog.

To be fair, he doesn't because he thinks that I should have my "own stuff" that I can keep apart from all of our joint ventures. We share everything, but my writing he assumes I would want to keep private.

I respect his point of view, but I sometimes wish he would take a peek at it. Hopefully, he'd be proud.

Regardless, I'd like to say something. To him, and to all the fathers out there.

It can be a hard deal, being a Daddy. It's hard in the beginning, because babies don't really do much. You can feel out of the loop. You can feel second-fiddle. You crave reciprocation from this little thing, and you're met with crying, explosive poos, and the occasional smile. And the wife, well, she tries her best to give you the rest of herself that's left at the end of the day, but mostly, she'll be passed out on the couch, exhausted.

But you persevere. You ask what you can do to help. You hold your partner's hand while she collapses in a puddle of emotion, talking about how amazing and how hard it is to be a mother. When you have a second, you don't sleep on the couch, but you cook delicious dinners for the family and entertain everyone on the weekends so she gets a break. It's hard, but you manage to make it look easy.

Mister, you make our life more musical, more patient and more loving than I could've ever done on my own. Thank goodness we found each other, and made these amazing little people to share in so many fun road trips.

We may not have time to say it face to face at the moment, but I adore you. Coolest husband and Daddio on the block. Rock fact.

Oh, you mean I can actually ask? Ahh, now I see how it works.

Apologies out there to those of you who have been reading my blog lately thinking umm... this is supposed to be about life in London and your perspective on it, and it's sounding, hmm, rather bleak and grey lately. Is that supposed to be because it always rains over there? Get a grip, lady.

I don't apologise for feeling the way I have been, having had a baby and being on a hormonal Tilt-A-Whirl... but I do apologise to you readers that think I've lost the plot.

Here's the thing: Having kids, no matter how many, is a hard fucking deal the first 3-6 months. It's amazing and I'm really adoring these two beautiful people that have made our life complete magic, but interlaced in that amazing bit is a really hard bit that I forgot about. It can be torture, having had days, weeks, of no sleep. It can be emotionally draining. I'm left questioning my successes and failures every hour of every day, after every tantrum, tear, thrown toy, scraped knee and scream (and some of those happen to be mine).

We've moved houses 5 times in 6 years. Within those 6 years, we had 2 babies in 3 years. I live in a country where I'm still trying to find my way around, and still trying to figure out bus routes, never mind government paperwork, toddler classes and immunisations. I am effectively a single parent from 9am until 10pm, every day, and sometimes on weekends, while my other half tries to do his best to keep his business running so we can have a good life. I do the cooking, laundry, banking, playdates, bathtimes, medical appointments, travel diary management... and still try and take a shower once a day (I'd be lying if I didn't say that on average, that actually happens once every 3 days) and maybe shave my legs once a week. But the house is tidy, the kids are clean, I do manage to scrape my hair back and add some blush to my face, and everyone is healthy and fed. Coffee has become my fuel, because I tend to forget to eat much of anything normally.

I don't have any close friends over here to talk to. I don't have his family to help because they work hard hours in a fast-paced industry. My own family is on a different continent.

So, a lot of times, I'm on my own. Both emotionally and literally. And I look outside of my family unit and I start comparing and contrasting, thinking that other families out there have it cracked, and everyone else other than me can make a really solid and happy family unit and can make it all work seamlessly. I feel like I always drop the ball, I always screw up, I always manage to fail at the most important things, and lately, it's been my relationship. My one thing that I always said I would never potentially neglect, and always work at.

I'm not a hero. There are loads of women out there that have it much harder and don't complain, don't talk about the hard shit, and put on a brave face. I don't deserve a special medal, so I'm not asking for the sympathetic cocking of the head to the side to say "oh, you poor thing."

My issue is that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I pretend that I don't, which is the worst kind of martyr. I pretend that I don't need to vent, I pretend that my tears aren't tears of exhaustion, I make sure that everyone is okay even if I resent the fact that I haven't taken care of my needs at all, and I apologise to everyone before I tell them about my obstacles, because I feel that no one, including my other half, needs to hear my issues. Everyone has a bag of shit, right? I don't want to put my shit in their bag. So my opening line is "I'm sorry, but I just feel that... and don't take this the wrong way, but...". It's quite passive and wimpy, which is not an example that I want to set for my daughter. I want her to own her feelings, to be a sentient and sympathetic human being, and to know how to convey them without regret.

Unfortunately, this ends up pushing people away. And the worst part about that is that my one best friend, my husband, gets pushed the farthest. Instead of asking for help, my exhaustion results in snapping at people. Barking what I need, and not asking for it. Not giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, and expecting the worst. I don't ask for anything, I demand it, out of sheer because I deserve it-ness.

The lines of communication get broken, and it all starts to feel very numb. It's an added layer to our exhaustion that tinges everything with that extra bit of grey, and makes the grooves around our eyes less like happy story-lines, and more like resignation and sadness.

I need to be able to cry without apologising. I need to be able to say "Hey, I feel like crap, and I need a hug." Once I open myself up without fear of judgement, the colour seems to come back into the scene. Everything seems more manageable.

I need to keep trying to let go and embrace the imperfections that I try so hard to hide. Maybe only then will I fix the cracks in the surface and realise how perfect those flaws, to me and my family, really are.

Today. Tomorrow. One minute at a time.

Today I felt like I failed.

We bought L a toddler bed and put it in her room yesterday. She loved it, and being brave, wanted to nap in it, but felt afraid. Confused. Overwhelmed. And at 19 months, has no idea how to convey those sentiments to me, unfortunately. But I felt it in my bones. Something was making her needy for me, and this wasn't something she felt very often, the tough cookie that she is.

Yesterday was the first nap in the bed, and through her tears and anger, she fell asleep in it, with me sitting next to her, stroking her hair.

Today was different. Today was a day that I couldn't sit with her for very long because the Boy needed a feed, and she didn't want him in her room with me and her on the bed, she wanted me all to herself. She yells "Mama! ME. ME. ME." and pulls me to her closely, as if to say "I need you now. It's ME time. MY time. You are MINE."

I sat with her and watched her drift off, and then the Boy let out a cry in the other room, and her eyes snapped open. I told her that I would have to tend to him but come back to her.

She took this as me abandoning her. Leaving her.

As I was feeding her brother, all I heard was gutteral screeching and yelling and crying, yelling "Mama! Maaaamaa!!" desperately. I heard pounding on the walls, I heard the throwing of books, I heard her angry wails, waiting for me to come back to her.

It was the most heartbreaking moment I've ever had as a parent, and after I put the baby down after his feed, I had to stand in the living room to regroup. And as I did so, my heart felt broken. I felt broken. I started to sob. I sobbed because I love them both so very much and felt torn in two. I sobbed because I feel bad that my little girl has to adjust to having another member in the family. I sobbed that I couldn't run to her at every "Mama" that exploded out of her lungs. I sobbed because I felt like I failed as a mother because I couldn't prevent my child from feeling hurt or neglected or abandoned.

I realise, in that rational part of my brain, that my children will always know how monumental my love and pride is for them, but today was a day where I felt confused, lost and helpless to doing what I wanted for them, but ultimately couldn't be torn in half to accomplish what I wanted to.

Some days will be better than others. Today I felt my little girl's hurt, and my throat burns with how profoundly sad I was that I couldn't help her in that moment.

Sure, it's "just a bed" to anyone else, but I don't ever want them to think that when it comes to them, I would view anything as "just". Everything is important. Their world is important. L's world at the moment is in a time of transition, of change. She's learning things before she's ready for them, sometimes.

Today she didn't nap. She needed me to hold her, walk with her, read books with her.

Tomorrow's a new day. I'll leave today in my memory as a lesson in loving, a lesson that my children have taught me about patience, and how the heart, just like any muscle, constantly works itself to its potential to get stronger, and add more layers to be able to love more efficiently.