I remember what it was like to have young children. I remember what Saturday mornings were like.
They were shit.
I'd get woken up at something beginning with 5, with a pathetic 'Mum....', then a silence, then a slightly more aggressive 'MUM...', then a shorter silence, then a thump and the pattering of ever-growing feet until our bedroom door creaked open.
'Time to get up,' the voice would say.
It wasn't effing time to effing get up. And it wouldn't be effing time for another three hours. At least.
But one of us duly did get up and go downstairs, make some cereal and turn the telly on. And usually, because our bleary, tear-stained eyes had been forced awake, we would stay downstairs pretending to watch endless episodes of Thomas the Tank on loop.
The other parent, the one who's turn it was to stay in bed, would feel full of smugness, turn over and be just about to drop off again when... 'Mu-uuumm' - the other little horror would wake up.
Yes. I remember.
But let me tell you now, parents of young children - it does get better. In fact, Saturday mornings are now to be looked forward to as small oasis's of contentment and pottering and doing whatever you bleedin' want to do, thank you very much.
I am a single parent now but my Saturday mornings with an 11 and 13 year old are full of personal joy. Here's why.
1) They get up later. I thought it would never happen, but their body clocks seem to have become more human, less robot.
2) I would tell you what time they get up but, to be honest, I'm not sure - because they leave you alone. They just go downstairs and turn the xbox on. That's all they want to do. They even feed the cat.
3) They don't make their own breakfasts because they are a-waiting pancakes. This has become a Saturday morning tradition. But they know that if they wake me up too early, I will be like a savage dog, and pancakes will not be forthcoming. So when I slouch downstairs at about 10am, we are all pancake-ready. I make, they eat. It works well.
4) It is at this point that I warn them that we will be doing something outside that afternoon. Groans are followed by reluctant acceptance.
5) After pancakes, they want to be left alone again, so I make a pot of real coffee (oh, the luxury) and scoot back upstairs to my 'office' (aka bed) to do some writing (aka fiddling about on Twitter). For at least an hour.
Readers with small children - imagine that. An hour's Twittering with no interruptions. It is almost unbelievable, isn't it? But it will come to you.
It is now midday. To all those parents who've been up for 6-and-a-half hours, I salute you. You will have the last laugh, of course - when you get to my stage, I will be a lonely worn-out husk because my kids will have left home.
But for now, I am revelling in my lazy day pancake filled Saturday mornings. May they arrive with you sooner than you think.