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Mummy Bear's Porridge. (Warning, this one has a few swears in it!)

As I ate stone-cold porridge from our breakfast table yesterday I was reminded of a quote I saw on Facebook some time ago. It said; ‘you know you’re a mummy when you can understand why mamma bear’s porridge was cold...’ 

I am going to suggest that I can relate to mamma bear in more ways then one...for example, not only is my porridge cold, but daddy’s is to hot, probably because he moaned it was cold so I nuked it to within an inch of it’s life just to prove a point.

The baby’s porridge is, of course just right. I’d like to say it’s because I want nothing but perfection for the little darling. The truth is, more likely, that anything less then perfection would be spat out or lobbed on the floor and I really want the toddler to eat at least something that day.

So the baby’s porridge is perfect, for that reason.

Like mamma bear, what I don’t then need is some spoilt little blonde brat eating the toddler’s perfect porridge. It took ages to get it right and the toddler will scream the place down if someone else eats it. And then refuse food for the rest of the day.

So yeah, I can even relate to mamma bear chaseing Goldilocks away, or at least scaring the shit out of her so she dosen’t come back. I’d even be tempted to eat her, after all, it’ll be the first meal in ages I’d be able to eat warm. But I wouldn’t because I’d get in trouble for that and I don’t have the time to be in that much trouble.

Best go back to making more perfect porridge. 

Yeah, I think I can relate to mamma bear!  

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