Friday, 13 March 2009

The dating game

I am thinking of hiring a social secretary. Not for me you understand, as since the arrival of children a big night chez nous consists of a chilled bottle of supermarket plonk, a plastic tray of Singapore noodles fresh from the back of the delivery bike and a new episode of Grand Designs, but for my five-year-old son. 

Since he started school in September he's had more dates than I ever have. Not really that surprising as my boring history of serial monogamy means most of my relationships fast forwarded through the romance and passion phase straight to the sofa and Sky remote stage. 

Every week brings new invitations for a play dates, and as this involves another mother picking up, entertaining and feeding my child I say bring it on. The only problem is that now the twins are out and I can't hide behind my blossoming bump anymore I am expected to reciprocate. 

I have tried using the line that with four children of my own I already have a full house, but Mr Sociable ain't falling for that one, and while he's happy to go round and show off his one man demolition skills at other children's houses, he thinks it's time we returned the favour. So now we have three play dates lined up and if his tales from other people's houses are anything to go by poor mummy will have to combine the skills of party entertainer, cordon bleu chef and, most disturbingly, peep show owner. 

Yes, it seems that not only is my firstborn more in demand than me, he's also seeing more action (again not surprising as with month-old twins and a throbbing c-section scar our bedroom is reserved exclusively for sleeping). After his last play date he was hardly back inside the front door before he revealed that his little friend's big sister had shown him her boobies. As all are primary school age I doubt it was that much of a thrill, but I am not sure how I will be able to live up to this standard of entertainment. 

I just live in hope that by the time they are at school I will be able to sell the twins on the idea that they were born with their own personal play date for life, and they'll just have to save their booby spotting for their teenage years. 


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