Mummy Big, Maisy Small

Being a mother is often a thankless job. I should have learned that by watching my mum, but I was too busy demanding ever more from her. Thankfully, I'm learning it now... through the lives my sisters.

I remember growing up wanting to be their age. Do what they did. If they had It, I wanted one. But when they became mothers I knew this was one experience I could wait for. Not because my nieces and nephew are anything less than amazing little munchkins, but because while utterly gorgeous, a lot of times they simply suck the life out of their doting mums.

Whether it's by refusing to eat (or only eat pistachios), refusing to talk in public while chatting like a banshee at home or just refusing to do as they're asked (especially when their immediate safety is concerned); children are draining.

They're also their parents harshest critics. Last week while my sister was reading Master Two his new library book, Maisy Big, Maisy Small, he came up with a doozie. Like all good parents, Sister likes to point to things of importance when flipping through a brightly coloured picture book. Following her lead, Master Two pointed to the page below:

L: daddy. R: mummy

My sister has recently given birth to her third child in as many years and she's still a svelte size 10. Yet to her adoring boy (who favours cuddles with his Mumma over anything), she's a short and stumpy version of Maisy.

He's just lucky he's so cute.

P.S. It should be noted Daddy wasn't too pleased at his tall and thin caricature either... he's been trying to beef up at the gym ever since!