Today's letter was D and the word was discipline. Discipline - a word that used to conjure up images of a pale and flabby middle aged woman rummaging around Ann Summers for a paddle and some flimsy furry handcuffs to add a bit of spice to her ailing sex life with her increasingly impotent husband.

Disciplining children is an entirely different kettle of fish. And I am absolutely shit at it. On the whole, Benny and Chops are good boys which makes it harder to differentiate between bad behaviour and normal small child behaviour. So I have been issuing telling offs largely based on how irritating I find their behaviour, whether or not it was funny, if there is potential for something to get broken and whether or not it is dangerous.

Earlier today, Benny bit me on the leg. I squealed, swore and raised my voice to tell him off. He looked at me in shock and his lip started to tremble. Then he started crying, big sobs. I felt awful and apologised to him and gave him a big cuddle. So somehow I get bitten and end up apologising to Benny. Well played son, well played.

The main reason for a telling off occurs when I am trying to change their clothes and nappies. Benny arches his back and goes all rigid whereas Chops is like a noodle. They both try to escape from me and I desperately want them to understand that this would have been over 20 minutes ago if they would just stay still and let me change them. The worst is when they have a stinky nappy. This is where I desperately wish I was an octopus. I have one hand holding up the legs, another hand wiping the bum, another hand trying to swipe away their hands from their bums, another hand trying to keep the other boy from eating the dirty nappy and wet wipes. How many hands is that? 4 hands. Well if I was an octopus I could hold 4 glasses of wine as well.
Anyway, you can guarantee that the baby in question will break away despite my desperate pleas "please stay still Chops. Don't move, don't you even think about it, don't you dare. Just stay still for 5 poxy minutes for the love of God child. Benny, don't you touch the wet wipes. Give it to mummy. Give it to mummy. Give it to mummy please. Give it to mummy now. Chops! Godammit! Get back here now for crying out loud. Get here. Don't you dare move, for Christ's sake". And there it is, Chops is crawling down the hallway, stopping every so often to sit down and leave a poo print on the carpet. Benny is sitting there with a mouth full of wet wipes and I'm sat there with my head in my hands and poo all over my hands and legs.

This ordeal has taken around half an hour. And I now have to repeat it with the other boy.

Twins are twice as nice you say? Yeah, something like that.