Wow, think it's been an eternity and a day since I wrote in here.. What brings me back here? A freak phonecall with my ex, Tony, who is now, my friend Tony. Strange. Talking everything through with him tonight and reading through this diary with him tonight, only word I can think of to describe it is CRAZY!

I was blinkered and blind. I believed that I was dead inside, reading through this, I really loved him whilst we were together. It sounds crazy, but yeah, it's come as a shock to me though reading it through has jogged some memories, nostalgia and emotion. However, happy as things are now, we're good friends, can't remember the last time we rowed, can remember the last time we had sex though, we were both sick, quite amusing if you think about it.

So, yes, single mother. My son is beautiful, 2 years old, not Tony's though. I lost the plot for a while, ended up seeing somebody born in the same year as my parents with the true belief at the time that I wouldn't fall for him, and with no disrespect to what I had with my ex Tony, this guy ended up being the first man that hurt me and to be honest, probably the last man that hurt me if things carry on as they are.

So I worked out tonight there are two of me. The Mummy me and the Me me. The Me me is a mess. The Me me is stone cold dead inside to a certain extent, running from any suggestion of intimacy, romance or emotion. The Mummy me is doing fine though, I am happy to report. The Mummy me has a routine and a love for her child that feels so strong at times I could cry. The Me me is in hiding, trying not to face up to the last 5 years of my life which saw me go from a reasonably normal relationship to a bed-hopping freak who fell in love with the only guy who happened to be a prick. The Me me has more self-image issues than ever, but pretends it doesn't matter because the Mummy me is so happy. No, I don't have split personality and if any parent tries to tell me that they don't suffer with the 'two people' syndrome parenthood brings, I will accuse them outright of lying.

I can't write in chronological order of events that have happened, or what my emotions were, my head doesn't work like that, I am disorganised and messy, ditsy as I have been described by others and most definately, definately, chaotic. But I'm genuine and I like to think that a quality that isn't always present in others, it's one I've held true to myself since I can remember and one of the main things I love about me.

So here I am, 13st 9lbs, size 16, Mummy to gorgeous Jack, falling apart at every other seam in my life but then my argument is, my life can wait. My boy is what is important. And I am tired and off to bed now.