I blame the camping. Before camping I was functional. BC I was coping with life. BC I was zen mother and loving it. (Okay, maybe not the zen bit.)
And now? Now it ain’t pretty. Yummy Mummy? Hardly. Scrummy Mummy? Not at my place. Instead we have a Real Mummy scale, modelled on the richter scale with slightly less catastrophic results. And I can tell you right now that “scrummy” and “yummy” don’t feature (except in the Mummy’s-gorging-herself-on-food-again sense).
Here it is. The Real Mummy scale:
1 DON’T be casual about departure time. Packing ALWAYS expands to take up all available time + twenty percent.
2 DON’T assume thick black clouds on horizon won’t come your way. They will. Thick black clouds = rain. Rain = misery for five-year-old over-excited campers.
3 DON’T assume swiftly-moving thick black clouds will bypass campsite. They won’t. They’ll just arrive fast. Swiftly-moving thick black clouds = wind + rain. Wind + rain = bad news if erecting tent and minding over-excited five-year-old and fretful baby simultaneously.