I could soooo pass for Beyonce.  Yeah, I could.  Darkened room, your 20ft away with cotton balls stuffed in your ears……. see???

I have just realised that I don’t refer to myself by my name, nor sign my posts.  It’s not because I am afraid of some freakshow finding out my name or my name is something freaky like Hermione or something (hey Moo, Harry Potter reference!  Are you proud of your Mummy?  No?  You wanna go me?) it’s just that I am so used to being called anything but the moniker that my parents thrust upon me.  Ever since that now 5ft 8 amazon child was ripped from my body by the doctor that was late for his golf game, I have been referred to in many ways.

Mum, Mummy, Moo’s mum, Too’s mum, Boo’s mum, DH’s wife, M or R’s daughter, Honey, Darling, Hey you, Scrubba (by my high school best friend) and my personal favourite:

Excuse-me-sorry-to-bother-you-but-your-son-is insert weird/destructive/antisocial action here.

One thing that I loved about returning to work after my children were born was that I was finally going to be known as me, not someone elses appendage.  But my boss has now started to refer to me as ‘Button’ and the name has stuck, except for those that call me ‘Princess’ cause they really really don’t understand the utter importance of matching your shoes with your handbag and your nail polish with your lipstick.  Heathens.

So for those of you that are moderately interested or those that lay awake realising that their lives are not complete until they know the name of that mad woman that seems to be attached to her laptop typing whatever pops into her head…..

My name is Kelley.

Now we can all sleep soundly at night.

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