Surely I had some ideas about what I thought it would be like having children before I had them. Try as I might, I can not remember. Knowing me, it was probably my ruddy cheeked children and I tromping up the hills every afternoon, spending hours doing interesting things like going to museums and reading books.
No, the last almost four years of reality have completely erased what ever fantatsies I may have had. Though, of some things I can be certain:
Whatever I thought, I am most certain it was not spending the better part of 2 hours reading the complete guide to Lego Star Wars and explaining over and over what podracers, MTTs and Wookies are, whilst simultaneously clicking my tongue at the baby (apparently the funniest thing ever done by a human being), at the same time being pummelled in the kidney by the youngest.
The cookies the fantasy children and I made were almost certainly beautiful works of art that I could bring out to impress guests. They most certainly were not rolled out with a half-full bottle of wine because we couldn't find the rolling pin and most definitely not half burnt hockey pucks that we had to cover in sugar and sprinkles to make mildly edible.
Afternoon activities were probably not taking turns singing down the vacuum cleaner hose or having the small boy stand inches away from me on his stool so he could watch me doing dishes. I don't think I ever explained to my fantasy children (yet again) that calling somone a "stinky poo poo" is neither funny or appropriate and that, no, we can not get a dog when the 2 cats die.
No, it would be fair to say that I never imagined that having children would be this...mundane/bizarre/crazy/boring/fun/ridiculous/beautiful.
Probably better it was all a surprise.