For many years I have put off writing a blog. Juggling stepchildren, raising two babies (only 18 months apart), a gaming obsessed husband and one slightly feral cat was enough for anybody. Yet, life changes constantly.

Thrown into the mix, various disabilities, a classy hearing aid and a sexy walking stick, I should be dragged out to pasture with my blue badge stapled to my backside!

I am not a pristine or put together mummy and excel at messing anything up put in my path. The Queen of overthinking, the correct road never taken, my life is like the jumbled patterns in a kaleidoscope. I can turn any simple task  into a challenge and a definite adventure.

Looking into the mirror, I have no such thing as a messy bun hair do, my tangled mane is permanently shaped into a ponytail held together by dry shampoo and cheap hairspray. A tatty old dressing gown is covered by various unknown stains with a few holes in for good measure.

My wardrobe has long seen the likes of pretty clothes, gym gear and work suits. Now it is just a collection of three t-shirts, a manky bra and shabby fashion without the chic. No high heeled shoes or kinky boots, just a years old pair of trainers and a pair of hospital slippers, you know for those special occasions when you want to look nice.

Any make up I have is now long out of date, only to be used if I would like a dose of conjunctivitis. I am not even sure if I can remember how to apply any of it anyway!

My once radiant glow now has my son questioning the blackness around my eyes and asking how often do I need to shave my moustache like daddy. FFS. In all honesty, I probably de-fuzz my upper lip quite regularly in comparison to my overgrown legs and hairy fandango. Can’t wait for shorts season, at least one set of lips will be smooth and tangle free. Warm from the waist down in winter!

The problem with an onslaught of hotter weather is the necessity for summer clothes and the exposing flesh. I have never had a perfect body, I am short and fairly top heavy but for quite a few years I did look after it. Then life changes threw curve balls.

A decade later, decay has set in thanks to pregnancy, sleep deprivation, wine, and late-night pizza. My stomach has more scars and lines on it than a geographical map. My arse, once perky and small, is now flatter than roadkill patterned like a golf ball.

Once toned arms and legs hang like string beans and my boobs are now part of my waist measurements. The last time I saw my front bottom area was before my first pregnancy. Today, I must lift my c-section shelf in the vain hope I might see some greying pubes!

My zest for life has disappeared into another realm, sucked out of me from the long, drawn out hours breastfeeding. I never realised how much resentment, almost psychotic rage I could develop for my other half during those moments. As he slept soundly whilst I nursed a hungry baby throughout the night, he would snore just to make me aware what a total bellend he was.

The struggle is real. I honestly have no idea how I fell pregnant again just months later. The mechanics I understand, the will and energy to do the act, non-existent. Plus, with two older children and a newborn in the house, I cannot even imagine when or where we managed to do it!

So, in order to try and get my shit together, I though it was about time I wrote my story down. I am not going to lie; our bonkers blended family has been bewildering and perplexing at times. There have been epic parenting fails combined with the fact that I really didn’t know what I was getting myself into! Send wine immediately!