You would be forgiven

for thinking I was murdering someone this evening. Or at the very least torturing them to within an inch of their life.

Why?

Because he is 3. And I asked him to get out of the bath.

He did not get out of the bath.

I asked him again.

He did not get out of the bath.

And I gave him three……two……one……

And took him out of the bath.

What ensued could be likened to the demonic possession scenes in the Exorcist, minus the projectile vomiting (that was the other day).

At one point I thought his little jugular vein might just explode.

At least he isn't shy about expressing his opinions. Loudly. Incredibly loudly.

The neighbours must think we are feral. Seriously. The tantrums, and the sheer power behind each of my darling child's screams, well, they would shake the most stoic ones, right to the core.

He would have been a rocking town crier.

Anyway, eventually, after what seemed like hours, he did stop. And I put him to bed. And did the standard "Night night, love you, sweet dreams" that I do every night, even on those nights where I am pushed to my very limits… so sometimes the tone may not be exactly "gentle" but still.

Tonight I went back in. I had to. I explained to my nearly 4 year old that I truly hate getting cross at him. I want to cuddle him and laugh with him and give him butterfly kisses on his cheek and listen to him laugh. I don't want to yell at him, and I don't want to say the same things over and over again.

And I suggested that next time, rather than chucking a massive wobbly, perhaps he could try talking to me about what was upsetting him.

I really don't know if he understood what I was saying, but it sure as hell made me feel better anyway.

It isn't wrong that I took a photo of him mid tantrum is it? Reason my child is crying….. I got him out of the bath.

Yep. Kids.

They do say some funny things. And you find yourself saying funny things too.

The other night we were eating dinner, and Master 3 lifted up his cup to the girls and promptly clinked it with Miss 6's glass, declaring loudly "CHEESE!"

Cheese.

"Cheers little man, cheers. Not cheese."

Massive grins, massive giggles, and prompt declaration of "CHEEEEEEEERS!"

I'll leave you with a "thing you never thought you would hear yourself say"….

You don't need goggles for bed.

Night.

A reason to be proud.

That is what we are given, as parents, so very many times throughout the lives of our babies.

Miss 6 was moved up to the blue readers today. She was just about beside herself when she told me, and I was proud as punch. I gave her massive cuddles and kisses and shared her obvious excitement, and it was just a beautifully special moment.

Master 3 finally put some pants on, without my asking. This is the child who wakes in the morning, strips off and runs around the house in the all together for as long as is humanly possible before I manage to wrangle underpants on his tiny little patootie. And when he put his pants on by himself this morning, without my asking, well, yes, I was proud. And when he told me about when he went to the circus and there was a man there who was standing on a football, actually, no, a soccer ball, and well, isn't he a bit clever, in the words of Master 3, well, super cute and mega proudness at my little man's ability to express himself.

Miss 5 didn't spill a drop tonight. Not. A. Drop. She managed to get to the bathtub and lean over enough that none of the vomit landed on the floor, or on herself. And by god I was proud of her for that. And my non-vomit-related proudness of my darling Miss 5 is that she is just such a gorgeous soul. Massive perfectionist. Amazing at what she does. Immensely talented at vomit channelling.

You are not warned often enough prior to becoming a parent just how much of the bodily fluids and solids of your child you will be coming into contact with. And not even just the obvious ones. Stuff you never knew existed, except perhaps in horror films.

Ask any parent about a "number 3" and you will see them physically recoil, shudder, dry retch and many times simply just change the topic.

I am not sure how many non-parents have been woken up by another party by virtue of said other party vomiting on their face. That was a night I won't forget in a hurry.

I will also not forget the night I was awoken, quite concerned that there was a leak in the roof. No. There was a child lying beside me. In my bed. Asleep. Leaking. Profusely. Getting peed on is another way in which I really do not love being woken up.

For those who are you yet to have children, I'm going to warn you about a few things for if you do take that incredibly rewarding path. For those who already have children, nod and chuckle as you recognise those which apply to you.

You will be peed on.

You will more than likely be shat on.

You will have boogers wiped on you.

You will be farted on. Your children will hold in their farts until you are changing their nappies then let them rip and laugh. And sometimes they will follow through. And they will laugh even harder.

If you are not directly shat on, it will be on your clothes. And you won't know from where the smell is coming, but you'll smell it everywhere you go.

You will utter the phrase "get your finger out of your nose" at least half a dozen times a day. Multiply this for more children.

You will hear your mother come out of your mouth and you will gasp. And then you will instantly understand. And that is quite cathartic.

You will be "that" mother when your child gets an award at assembly. Because seriously, it is super cool to see them so excited and you get all proud (not in a bodily functions reaching bath kind of way, that is a whole different level of proud).

You will never sleep again. Ok that is a bit dramatic. But seriously. Try setting your alarm to go off each night every 20 minutes for about 4 years. It never gets easier.

You will sound like a broken record on numerous occasions. And you will tell your children you sound like a broken record. And they will ask you what a record is.

You will always feel as though you are stuffing at least some parts up. You aren't. You're being the best mum you can be.

You will cry when your children grow out of shoes you only bought them weeks before. Not because your babies are growing up, but shoes, well, they aren't cheap.

You may never jump on a trampoline again.

Take baby wipes with you wherever you go. No matter what. And use them for everything. Bathroom needs a clean? Baby wipe. Shoes need polishing? Baby wipe. Ceiling fan is dusty? Baby wipe. Quick makeup remover? Baby wipe.

There are lots of things I could say. I won't. Well, I may at another time. I can't actually even remember what my point was.

I didn't get vomited on though. That's a positive for the day.

Time got away from me.

I'll leave it at that.

But today I knew I was coming back tonight, because of something Master 3 said.

We were driving along the Western Ring Road in Melbourne, having just attended a fabulous birthday party at an indoor trampoline venue, where the kids bounced and bounced and bounced and then ate and ate and ate and left there with rosy cheeks and blue lips from the cupcakes.

And we were chatting about life and things in general, as we tend to do on car trips.

Master 3, quite suddenly, and not prompted by anything in the conversation or otherwise let out "I know why Jake died."

I was, understandably, quite taken aback.

"Do you little man? Why did Jake die?"

I wasn't quite sure what to expect in answer.

"That cloud took him."

Um. What?

"A cloud took him?"

"That cloud, that cloud is the reason he died."

"Which cloud baby?"

"The stripy one, there."

And that's when I saw it.

"You mean the cloud directly over the hospital?"

And he said "Yes. That cloud is the reason Jake died."

And I'm getting goose bumps even recanting the tale.

He was transfixed. And so very sure.

He certainly has an eye. I'll let you decide how to interpret that.

But I just had to share……..