Living the dream

G&T - 29 months  M - 7 months

I used to love shoes. Mary Janes, slingbacks, sparkly, stylish, the higher the better. If I saw a pair I wanted, I'd think about them, visit them, try to convince myself I didn't need them... Then delight in the gorgeousness of my feet when they were mine. I was nearly six months pregnant with the twins when I went to a friend's wedding in a pair of sky-high Miu Mius. Yes, I was enormous and exhausted... but they were Miu Mius. These days, leaving the house is an irritation because it means removing my infeasibly comfortable pair of bootie slippers. Even if I do wrench them off my feet, nine times out of ten, it's only to put on trainers. My life these days is somewhat less than glamorous. Instead of fabulous footwear, I get excited about buggies and T-shirts with Minnie Mouse on them. The other night, I spent a good 45 minutes constructing an impressive multi-line Brio train track, complete with MegaBlok tunnels. My husband thought it was hilarious, pointing out that if, for once, the twins hadn't made an epic mess that I had to tidy up, I should perhaps, you know, relax. But the truth is, I enjoyed my engineering exploits. That's what passes for intellectual stimulation for me these days. The old me had a job with deadlines and responsibilities. The new me has wooden train tracks. The old me had novels and newspapers, the new me has Spot the Dog and nursery rhymes. The old me thought counting was working out if I could afford one more pair of shoes. The new me spends time counting how many odd baby socks I have that have inexplicably lost their pair (23 at last count, by the way. How? How? How???). The 25-year-old me would laugh herself silly at the sad old woman I've become. Well, no, actually she wouldn't. Whenever I find myself wistfully reading friends' Facebook posts about fab nights out or Tweets from one glamorous party or another, I remember. I had that life. I had an absolute blast at uni, making the best friends I will ever have, lived the high-life in London, working my dream job on a magazine, I partied, I danced, I was thin... And the whole time, there was a little thing missing. A baby. Or three. I always wanted to be a mum. OK, so my 25-inch waist is a thing of the past and instead of donning a tiny mini and a strappy top, I now consider myself dolled-up if there's no sick on me, but it's now that I'm living the dream. I laugh. A lot. My girls are such little comedians. In the past week alone, the twins have independently choreographed an entire dance routine to Spirit in the Sky, started copying my baby-food choo-choo and feeding one another, and decided that it's hilarious to replace the words of familiar songs (and my name) with 'Nunk'. And then there's M's adorable new-found ability to launch herself onto the floor and wiggle like a madman in order to reach something six inches away. Yes, it's tough having three tiny tots so close together, and glamour is not a word any sane person would apply to me, but I wouldn't change a thing. My little trio are so full of fun, I don't really mind that I'm not. I do miss the shoes, though...