Yet another blogging mummy

  I've just re-read the last few posts. It really does seem like I am raising some sort of terrorist. I want to caveat that with this; My daughter is the most scrumptious, delightful, innocently sweetest, kindest, most gorgeous golden little girl you could hope to meet. She is my life, my world, my absolute joy and sunshine. She makes me laugh constantly and the joy she brings to my life is indescribable. I love her with the fiercest but also the most squidgy love, and her cuddles make me melt into little chocolatey puddles on the floor. Sometimes I feel like I love her a little too much, and then I realise that's the stupidest thing I have ever had the misfortune to think. I feel that in the past year, it's been difficult, and I've written about it honestly, but that doesn't take away from my infinite and unceasing love for her. My posts seem quite negative, and I think that's because this is how I've been feeling. It's not been easy. But what preschool

 Well. It's been a weekend.  6 am wake ups every day (which are, obviously, reserved for weekends. She only sleeps in on the days when we actually have to be somewhere) and 3-5 wakings during the night. She wants milk. But she wants chocolate milk. She wants a wee wee. She wants some more milk. She is cold. She's too hot. She wants to be in my bed. And in my tummy, and in my head, and on my head. The wake ups are immediately followed by some sort of howling because I won't let her watch TV immediately upon waking up. This eventually fizzles and subsides to sniffling crying noises, and resigned, disgruntled hurrumphs. After a little while, I try and get out of bed, as now I'm up and she's up and everyone is up, and there is enormous resistance from her end that I attempted to get out of bed. All she wants is for me to lie in bed next to her. All she wants, in actual fact, is to be able to control everything in her life.  4:30 am, 4 days til moving day - I've bee