It happened again today.

We were at a child’s birthday party. We had just arrived.

I received the expected smiles, bemusement and downright confusion when Precious pulled up.

I unloaded a third of her cargo and two thirds remained strapped in.

Off Roo ran to play on the equipment after momentarily stopping to say happy birthday to the birthday boy.

The twins, used to the set up, wait patiently for me to either provide them with food, drink or for a temporary release from the spacious confines of their imprisonment.

One at a time.

Because I am neither crazy nor stupid.

If I get both those twins out of the pram they will run, full pelt, in opposite directions. One towards the car park and the other for the road on the other side of the park.

And most people, although well meaning, will watch on in confusion as I grab the nearest by the arm, swing him onto my chest and bolt after the twin headed for certain doom.

No driver has the vision to be able to see a child under three feet running underneath its wheels at the speed of light.

Like a flash of white with a ginger hue, one or two of my children will be lost to me forever.

And so, strapped in, locked from the tantalizing grass, the twins remain.

And again, I am told:

“It must be hard. You know, with twins.”

And I am told:

“I don’t know how you do it, you are super woman!”

And I am asked, again, for the eleventy billionth time in two years:

“How do you cope?”

Here’s the lowdown on how I cope:

Coffee.

Sense of humour.

And for heaven’s sake, if you are the mother of more than one small children?

You NEED. A. GOOD. PRAM.

It’s for their own good!