pelvic floor? Don't make me laugh

If you've ever wondered what stopped all your internal organs falling straight out of your bum, that's them. Only not actually plasticine, in the same way that real pelvises don't have plastic bolts to loosen and tighten up the joints. Could have done with those, mind you, with the pelvic girdle pain in pregnancies two and three.

Making plasticine muscles came at the end of a run of ten days without a break for me, on placement then back in college. So hysteria levels were pretty high, even before a colleague decided to make the anal sphincter muscles brown and I saw the haemorrhoid purple strip still sitting in the packet. I am loving everything about midwifery but the scope for endless jokes about bodily functions is an unexpected bonus.

It's a family failing. Get me, my brother and my dad around a dinner table, give us a couple of glasses of wine each and mention farting. Instant helpless laughter. It's not big, it's not clever but bloody hell it's funny and sometimes that's what you need.

When I worked in a difficult inner-city school, the Friday afternoon hilarity was what kept us all going from week to week. Driving home with my eyes still streaming and stomach muscles aching made it all seem not quite so bad. I don't have many fond memories of teaching, but the gang of us known as the Slackers' Tea Club falling about the staffroom at 4.30 on a Friday is an exception.

Meanwhile, family life goes on. Dan's school bus got stuck in the ice and Mr M had to go and rescue him at 7pm from the village they'd finally reached, having got on the bus at half three. Eva is up on her feet and walking and at least I didn't miss the first shoe shopping even though I am missing so much else. Do I feel guilty? Don't know. I genuinely don't know. Perhaps it's a kind of meta-guilt; feeling guilty about whether or not I should feel guilty. After all as we all know a mother's place is in the wrong, whatever choices you make. I can't feel bad for enjoying time out of the house learning new things and doing new stuff and Mr M is having a fine time being a domestic goddess, counting his chickens and making pies. Sometimes I'm jealous of his time with the children, but then I'm an awkward sod because four months ago I couldn't wait to get out of the house.

Still, you've got to laugh.