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So we had a trip to Daddy’s Krav Maga class (where Little Miss and her brother ran riot in the gym for 90 minutes) before heading to Granny & Grandad’s where they played in the garden with a hose for an hour. No surprises the mess that resulted… So of course she passed out on the way home, clutching the bag of sweets she’d been given. Her brother used to be the same when he was younger, too.

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The first time I’ve seen the kids since the weekend. I collected them from school and Niamh rattled on about animals with magic gems being able to talk to her when she’s exploring the neighbourhood during the night-time when everyone is asleep. Austin asked questions about parts of the car. Then we got to the flat, I blinked and they were on Minecraft.

Now I need to peel them away from it so I can do homework with them…

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Today was my first official day in the new flat. Fortunately, to offset the loneliness, I had two volunteers for a sleepover. McDonald’s plus cake plus sweets plus a YouTube marathon certainly helped with things. My PC is all set up and I’m back to having two screens which is nice, too. Maybe I’ll get some work done now (hahahahahaha).

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Tickets: £50, Pepsi Max (2): £6, Sweeties: £3. Watching son laugh out loud and clap along to classic rock tracks: priceless.

We went to see Rock of Ages at the Kings Theatre in Glasgow tonight. The last time I was there was August 2014… when I took his big sister to see the same show. Same time in four years to repeat the tradition with his little sister? He loved it – laughed at all the inappropriate jokes, clapped along to the songs and barely stopped smiling. I wish I could have got a photo of him during the show but I wasn’t about to get my camera out while the performance was on!

My third dad-day (well, one of them)

Original image (c) Soapylove (some rights reserved)
Original image (c) Soapylove (some rights reserved)

Today was Niamh’s third birthday. She’s the youngest of our three kids and the only one I’ve been around since day one (well, day minus 275 approximately if we’re going to split hairs) so the only one I’ve seen grow up from that squidgy, rather disgusting beginning (talking about the birth, not the other bit this time).

Three years ago today I was fortunate enough to be by Gillian’s side (and not holding her hand, I was warned about that) as she popped Niamh out like a cork from a bottle, much to the surprise of the midwife who had assume she was – as usual – in for the long haul. That evening I dressed Niamh in her bedclothes for the first time and left the two of them in the hospital when I headed home.

Tonight I got Niamh ready for bed again and it’s no less special than that first time. Just with more cuddles and kisses and giggles. And I still can’t bear to walk away and leave her, even though nowadays she’s only a few steps away in her room.

It’s staggering how the time has flown and how this screaming, bawling, pooping, peeing… thing, big enough to hold in one hand has turned in a screaming, bawling, pooping, peeing bundle of absolute all-encompassing wonder and adoration who now makes my arms and back ache when she insists on being carried because I’m too damn soft to refuse her.

Roll on the next three years. Or thirty. I need at least one kid to look after me when I start wetting myself again.