A well informed source informs me that statistically the children least ready to start school are premature twin boys. Tick. Tick. Tick. My lot will be commencing school at 12 at this rate. Anyway, I now preempt any discussion with other mothers about my children with "well, of course they're developmentally delayed" which seems to quash everybody's competitive spirit. People want to fight warriors, not chiwawas.
Just as I was resigned to a life lived 3 months behind the pack, however, two things happened. Firstly, George undid his seatbelt. I double checked it before we left Mum's birthday party and got home to find him climbing out of his carseat. Then I found Edgar, who is still on pureed food, with cake crumbs around his mouth. Carpe diem my son. There's no birthday cake at home, that's for sure.
I know I should be appalled that the only thing my children excel at is escapism and binge eating, but secretly I feel overjoyed. There's hope yet; I was sure they were going to struggle to land jobs in the Bunnings' carpark.