Things are getting worse - please send chocolate

So, at this moment in time, I have been a 'full time' mum (not that anyone actually ever gets to be a Mum part time - merely some of us are physically with our kids all hours wishing we were at work and feeling crappy about it, whilst the rest of us are at work carrying our kids in our hearts and wishing we were at home and feeling crappy about that) for just over two months.

I am beginning to immerse myself in all things child based, managing (so far) to resist both Jeremy Kyle and CBeebies, and not having a tantrum when it takes two hours to get out of the house to go to the shop for one pint of milk because either Midget needs the toilet, an apple, the exact pair of socks to match their wellies, or Buzz Lightyear has to be found. So far we are all alive and mostly well.

The reason I choose to be at home with my Midgets is simple - our childcare provider could no longer look after them. I looked around the local childcare on offer and was pretty disgusted by what I saw - someone shouted at my son for not being potty trained (even though they knew this was the case), others boasted of "huge televisions on all day" (impressive, er, not), and others complained that my then year old child was "too loud and screamed a lot" (yes, I know).

My partner fully admitted that he would not have the patience to look after the pair of them, so somebody had to step up and that person was me.

So although I chose to be with them, it was more of a case of pulling the short straw, and this is also the reason I feel I have the right to bitch about it a bit.

I had never thought that I had the patience or insanity to stay at home with children all day. It turns out I was correct. I am constantly learning things from them. As Franklin P Jones observed "You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance".
More and more, I am noticing a huge change in how the people around me react when I tell them of my change career of direction. These fall broadly into two categories - the "but what will you do all day? Just look after the children?" , and the "excellent, all women should be at home with their children."

The former category are mostly people without children. They are also mostly women. So it's nice to see girl power in existence and the mass support one receives from one's gender. I must admit it did always look pretty easy, but it depends if you use the telly to babysit or if you actually haul yourself into the garden for a full on jelly fight with your own and half the neighbourhood's kids whilst snuffling with the most recent cold you've picked up from some little snotbucket at playgroup and baking a cake with your left toe.

The second category are mostly snooty FTM's (full time mum's). Previously, I dealt with them at the local playgroup that I dragged the two midgets along to (whilst I silently died a little inside as I sat with these insidiously snide bitches) by reminding myself that I would be going to work soon. And that they wouldn't.

They would regard me with piteous looks, tutting gently, or directing their downright disapproval in my direction. They would ignore their own little monsters, screeching from lack of Fruit Shoot (or other additive filled monstrosity that I would rather smugly not allow my kids to have) as they raced around the impossibly small rooms thwacking their counterparts in the face with a Lego rocket meticulously constructed (by their mother in the hope that we will believe 'Little Alice is a genius' rather than a spiteful little shit).

They would regale me with their tales of what their "hubbies" did for a living, parade about in their gas guzzling estate cars in which they transported one small child one mile, and offer me sympathy for not having a husband nor a car (despite my explanation that I didn't drive as more of an ethical move rather than an inability to do so).

They would also tut at my eldest, a lovely kid who has delayed development syndrome and ADHD, zoomed about the room like a looney, whilst my youngest screamed for England.

They would judge me for not allowing him the snacks on offer, and only feeding him organic food. That I limited the amount of time the Midgets watched television. That I allowed them to pretty much roll about in their own poo so long as they didn't eat it or smear it on someone else (that's actually going a bit far, but you get where I'm going with this). That if I threatened to bring them home if they didn't behave, I followed through with it.

And now - I am now one of them. How long before I actually become one of them?

People - things are getting worse, please send chocolate.