Have you ever laughed so much that a little bit of wee comes out? Seriously.

This is a given for those who have had children, but is generally kept under control, and for want of a better word, nice, by some serious pelvic floor exercises and a little less hysteria.

My latest embarrassment came while watching the new Mamma Mia movie.

I went with my fabulous partner in crime Leone, and can I say, we both love a chick flick as much as the next girl, but Mamma Mia took us to new heights of hilarity.

As far as musicals go, this one really takes the cake. Pierce Brosnan is tragically bad and Meryl Streep is surprisingly good.

From the camp dance routines, to the crazy, plastic-surgery-loving best friend, this one is a ball of laughs and will have you singing along to the tunes – I mean, you can’t possibly be any worse than the actors.

Seeing the film has turned me into a pathetic ABBA singer. Not only am I belting out Fernando like a squawking pigeon, but I’m doing the dance steps to Super Trouper and, let me tell you, those swinging arms do not bode well in an enclosed space with a lot of breakables.

Worst of all, I actually truly believe that Dancing Queen was written, if not about me, then for me.

I was born to dance, if only in my living room with my horrified child looking on. I want to twirl and jump and pretend that I am the queen of the dance floor – just for a minute.

All right every night for the past week.

I so want to wear those platform boots and a shiny jumpsuit with lots of bling. I can just see it now; me, a dining table stage, an echo mike and ABBA Gold on the stereo. Completely absurd, but also comforting in a strange way.

This kind of performance is pretty much expected of me. If I wasn’t wearing something with sequins and trying to outdo the latest Australian Idol contestants, then I just wouldn’t be me.

As luck would have it, my little boy has resigned himself to my mania and sometimes he even joins in. Along with his eye-rolling and loud sighs, there is the occasional busting of a move and many, many bouts of hysterical giggling. Most of it coming from me.

I mean really, what would Z’s world be like without my ridiculous shenanigans? Probably a whole lot more normal I’m guessing.

My outrageous behaviour only cements the fact that unfortunately 6-year-old Z is actually the real adult in our relationship. Shocker!

Tina Shaw is the Publisher of the online magazine for solo parents, The Single Parent Bible (www.singleparentbible.com.au) and the Director of the Single Parents in Business network (www.singleparentsinbusiness.com).