Not a mother

I can put down a Venetian blind in a room with a sleeping baby, and not make a sound.

I can unstrap a car seat, pick up two plastic bags of shopping , a nappy bag, and a crinkly book, and walk twenty metres, up eight stairs, unlock two doors, answer a text, and not wake the sleeping baby I’m carrying.

I can breastfeed a sleeping infant after a swim, do a one handed nappy change simultaneously, and wrap him in a dry towel in the pram for a sleep.

I can hang out washing on the verandah whilst playing peek a boo with the small person inside and keeping an eyeball out for sharp hurty things.

I can eat dumplings whilst keeping the bowl out of reach of the high chair and cutting one open to cool and feed to his lordship, boss of all the food.

I can pack a nappy bag whilst putting on my makeup.

I can fight through three lanes of traffic in record time whilst singing baa baa black sheep sixteen times and handing small toys to the backseat at red lights.

I’m not a mother.

I’m a ninja, I tell you.

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