Five years since trying to become a mum and nearly six months since becoming one

I had a really clever thought about being a mother today, about what it is to be one. But it's slipped my mind.

That probably says more than my smartarse musing would have!

We had a social worker visit today, not an official one, just a catchup with E, your social worker. She's very lovely and it was good to see her, but also strange as it's been two whole months now without any such visits. We slightly go into overdrive about how brilliant it all is, how settled you are, how you're doing this that and the other, and how clever you are and attached to us you now are. All of which is true, but that feeling of pleasing the social workers never leaves one. Once you're irrevocably 'ours', not long now, I'm not sure what dealing we will have with the social work system or if we're cut loose. I think it's there if you need it, but the assessment period is truly over. Til the next child, if there is to be one. Luckily I didn't have blood on my top this morning, like I do now from earlier when you smashed your face on the floor whilst careering around the living room. Ah, wooden floors.

I have a massive urge to get very pissed. I'm not a big drinker, definitely a binge drinker. That doesn't look so good written down does it... But I mean that I like the feeling of being a bit pissed much more than the taste of wine for the sake of it. Oh I just remembered my clever thought – it was about how parenting is like Groundhog Day, but a really good one where you don't mind doing the same things every day. But that leads into the wanting to get pissed thing, because lovely though it is, I do love that release and abandon of a couple of drinks from the daily sensible role.

On that note, Pa Cooke is having himself a little party for one in his office/den whilst I make dinner, blog, fold laundry and plan tomorrow's activities.