Buggy Blogger mum to J (4), B (2) and S (10 months) rejoices in her little gentle-men but concedes that the days of innocence are numbered

There are no two ways about it; I'm severely outnumbered at home these days. The lads are in the majority and the house will be brimming with testosterone sooner than you can warble through a Barry White number.

But before they grow out of short trousers and start getting all masculine on me, I'm pleased to say the boys are still in touch with their softer side.

B's a regular little new man, erm toddler, when it comes to helping with household chores. "Help you" he says at every opportunity which is very endearing though can be slightly time-consuming. His favourite jobs are clearing the table after meals (dispatching yoghurt-smeared spoons to the cutlery drawer), mopping up spillages (speciality, returning used tissues to the box) and helping to unpack the supermarket shopping (yesterday I found a Ribena bottle in the wine rack). Though he may not impress the How Clean is Your House mob, he certainly gets my vote. All credit to him for trying and to be frank with the housework generated by my brood, I need all the help I can get.

Meanwhile J confirmed his status as a 'not yet' real man by requesting quiche for tea instead of the pizza I'd suggested. And everyone describes him as a 'gentle' boy, chiefly illustrated by the fact that he allows the bigger girls at school to pick him up. No I don't mean anything lewd, they literally like to encircle their arms around his torso and hoik him around the playground like a larger-than-life Tiny Tears. Well it seems to keep them happy.

In spite of his enduring gentle side, however, there's no denying that my eldest is fast growing up into a proper slugs-and-snails-and-puppy-dogs'-tails little boy. He wipes his nose on his sleeve, scuffs his shoes and wantonly jumps into muddy puddles. He's started bunny-hopping his scooter in imitation of the 7-year-old wide boys. He does stand-up wees and … heinous crime … leaves the toilet seat up.

But the worst for me was this week when I first felt the shadow of the superheroes fall upon us. Hitherto, we've stuck with innocent pre-school friends such as Thomas the Tank Engine and Winnie the Pooh. But now, under the influence of older worldly-wise schoolmates, it seems we can no longer keep Batman and crew at bay.

I'm not sure who was the most surprised when the nice man in the Santa suit at the school fete asked J what he wanted for Christmas. Our little lad, looking as though butter wouldn’t melt, expressed a budding desire for some 'Venom slime'. "Erm … cough … pardon me?" "You know, some super-gloopy slime, the stuff used by Spiderman's arch-enemy Venom". "Erm, OK then". Yikes, better start scouring the shelves at Woolies asap to try sourcing a bottle of said slime. Otherwise we're going to have a very disappointed young punter on Christmas day.

And on the subject of discontent; oh woe is me! Is my little cherub already starting the tortuous process of morphing into Kevin the Teenager? Better scoop up baby S while he's still small and pliable. Besides, he's the best comfort-object to snivel into round here these days. Wouldn’t chance a Kleenex in my house for a million dollars*.

(*Though might consider it for a bottle of Venom slime.)

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