Somehow I manage to look like the worst mum in the world in the most innocent of situations. Take last weekend for instance, I took my 2 year old daughter to the park, it should have been a lovely, uneventful trip to go on the swings and the slides, but it took a turn for the worse after I announced that we would have to leave to go home. 
She made it very clear that she didn’t want to go by stamping her feet and grizzling before running off to go round the assault course once more.
 To coax her away from the play ground back to the car, I told her that I had spotted some puddles for her to jump around in. Wearing her wellies, I thought this would be a nice treat, all kids like to jump in muddy puddles like Peppa Pig. From the look of it, the water wouldn’t even get over the soles of her shoes, but as she ran into the water, it was like the scene from the Vicar of Dibley. 
It was deceptively deep and up around her waist, Lois was soaked and I was laughing my head off rather than rescuing her. Anyone watching would’ve thought, look at her, telling her little un to go through the water, just to watch her get wet through.
  
 

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