All I want for Christmas…

I often wonder where my darling daughter gets some of her diva-esque traits but long before Motherhood I was the kind of girl that might’ve produced a tabulated excel spreadsheet Christmas list for one of my long-suffering ex’s. It contained a complicated gift-combination system of standalone Christmas, Birthday (it’s in January) and ‘Joint’. Suggestions ranged from books, dvd’s and clothes to expensive make-up, beauty products and perfume and a ‘Wild Card’ where the buyer got to go freestyle and actually choose a surprise gift from a pre-selected shop (Anthropologie, Selfridges and Space NK were a safe bet).

So this year? As I sat next to my three year old with an aching wrist from dictating her absolutely massive Christmas list, I decided to write my own letter to the big fella with some very reasonable requests.

Dear Santa,
I’ve been a really good girl this year. If we could just overlook the constant swearing, the road rage, the secretly laughing at my children’s dramatic cry-faces and the incessant muttering under my breath with a maniacal smile plastered on my face. Oh and the non-stop scoffing of the treat drawer despite proclaiming I am ‘Paleo’. Aside from those minor issues, I have pretty much been an angel.
So I would like to request the following:
1. To be able to run without pissing myself (aka a new pelvic floor). I exercise most days and I do yoga but after two children in two years and the nature of my last labour (where my son literally flew out of my vagina at National Speed Limit) my pelvic floor must be in tatters and after a mile (or ten minutes of jumping about to Charlottes Belly Blitz) it’s game over.
2. I’d like two boobs of the same size, that don’t resemble a tennis ball in one of my daughters knee socks.
3. I’d like to sleep for 8 hours a night UNINTERRUPTED. At least once a week.
4. I’d like my children to eat the meals I prepare for them, without complaint (them), idle threats (me) and tears and tantrums (all of us).
5. And finally, I’d like to go one whole day without wiping a nose / arse / sticky face.
And that’s it!
So I expect you’ll get back to me, yeah Santa?
*sits waiting patiently, humming Mariah ‘All I want for Christmas….’*