Tag: blogging

Holidaysssss!

My kids are awesome. I mean, they are also bloody hard work and sometimes fucking ridiculous , but most the time, they are great little characters who warm the cockles of me ‘eart.

We’ve just been on a long weekend away in Speyside, Scotland, and I cannot tell you how needed it was.

June was our ‘annus horribilis’ as her maj would say. What felt like a year of ‘testing us’ – all rolled into one messy messy month.

I’ve been ill. 8 weeks of ill. It started with a temperature, wheezing and throat popping, and three days of sleeping, and has continued with lung pain, chesty mucus filled (ew) coughing, more wheezing, pulled muscles and, fellow mothers will understand, some VERY testing pressure on those pelvic floor muscles during the worst coughing fits.

Don’t worry pals – I’ve been thoroughly checked over, the big bad stuff has been ruled out and we’re now testing for the minor things but honestly, covid was a hilarious breeze for me compared to this.

It’s been testing, toddlers don’t understand that they can’t jump on you or get picked up, so, as all parents do, I’ve been putting my health second and that’s not good.

On top of all this… POX! Yes, it made its way into the lad household. And no, of course, they couldn’t both get it at the same time so Lad Dad and I had to take long periods off twice last month for childcare, and both worked evenings to make up for it. This did not help my health or our sanity. But we are lucky we both have very supportive and flexible employers.

Throw a couple of other bugs and pains in and we’ve been more on the childcare than the ‘office’ the whole month.

But, on to the good stuff, we got away together. And though it was at times tiring, we had a lovely family bonding holiday.

Benji is full of character. He asks loads of questions, sometimes on repeat but generally ones that it’s fun to answer. I like to teach him. And… I’ll be honest… it’s exposed some scary gaps in my knowledge. He’s been learning about planets and I REALLY need to study this as I swear he knows more than me.

We don’t always eat evening meals together but since the holiday, where we were in a shared eating/tv space, he’s taken to appearing with his fork , taking a seat and coming out with ‘what we having tonight guys?’. It’s a bad habit but it’s hard to discourage when we’re laughing so hard.

Jake is a lot more independent, he’s safe on steps, and quite good at playing by himself now. We don’t have to watch him constantly anymore. He also has more and more words and can communicate quite effectively so that’s made things a ton easier. He’s a cheeky one though – always causing trouble and giving me a little smile as he knows he’s being naughty.

Best of all is that he now CUDDLES!! I’ve said before that he’s never still and he’d only just started to sit on my lap recently but now he voluntarily reaches up for cuddles and I love it. That gorgeous smell, that little hand in mine. Sigh.

The best thing is seeing how they play together now. Benji has always been very caring and he (generally) looks after Jake, and he’ll tell us if he thinks something dangerous is happening.

They’re a nice age, we can eat out, we did loads of great days out, we can relax, just a little, in public. It was a lovely holiday.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all chill, but there’s been a steady reduction in panicked parent eyes at each other. I know we’ll still have tantrums and fights but the positive is far outweighing the negative just now.

RAGE!!!

The writing of this post has been postponed by sick lads and an even sicker husband. Yep, the household got the dreaded Covid. 2 years into it and literally 2 weeks from some relaxed guidance, we finally succumbed. I say WE, but in fact for some insane unknown reason I have remained negative. I am dreading it appearing later when everyone else is better but at least it has meant that one member of the house can get out for essentials.

As you can imagine, two kids at home has not helped with the rage – especially when you can’t even take them to the park and if I have to watch Wreck It Ralph ONE MORE TIME, I will rip the TV off the wall…. but we’ve also had some fun times. Although testing positive, the two lads have actually been in good form. The weather was nice and we got some garden play in, did some baking, reading, jigsaws etc but by the end of the day, me and Lad Dad are juggling work and childcare AGAIN and there are VERY frayed tempers all round.

Pre household plague, we were having lunch with friends with kids of similar ages, and talking about how tough three year olds are. I don’t remember my exact words but it was something along the lines of ‘I have found an anger so uncontrollable in myself I didn’t know it existed’. The husbands looked at each other knowingly but in honesty Lad Dad is also short tempered (he would agree).

This is mostly driven by Benji, who along with the disappearance of his cherubic blonde-ness, has managed to also suppress the little cherub inside, replaced instead by a tantrum throwing, whining, argumentative little shit. Everything is a battle.

And what’s with the thing where they make their legs useless so you can’t put them down or hold them properly and if they’re not doing that they make themselves weigh like 10 stone and are completely immoveable. WAAAAAH. Breathe.

Tell me I’m not alone here.

When he was about 2, chatting to other parents, I was like ‘isn’t it lovely how they’re all getting their own little characters now’? NO, no it is not. What happened to parents always being right. Now, I’m repeatedly being told that I’m a bad guy and that I am not the boss anymore. And I’m getting corrected all the time too – and even when I’m right it’s just easier to let him think he is because my god, that whining goes right through me.

This is affecting Jake too, who adores his older brother violently (and I mean that literally) and has taken to copying the dramatic head throw backs and screaming for no reason. In fairness, he probably would have done that anyway because he’s at a frustrated stage but it’s tough work to have both at this ear bleeding level of NOISE at the same time.

And I am finding myself just seeing red. Way too quickly.

Usually I am the patient parent (Lad Dad would agree); Benji and him have always butted heads a bit, but I’m the one who tolerated all this silliness. But I am swamped at work and the two hours between work and their bed time has become tough tough going and it’s an absolutely knackering flurry of food, baths, milk and arguments.

After dinner, there’s an hour of them literally just beating each up with me and Lad Dad in the middle prising them apart like some kind of useless boxing referees. We lose, more often than not, and despite all our best efforts, at least one of them will be crying by bath-time.

So I lose it. Not every day, but too often. There’s a poker hot anger in me that I can’t seem to control anymore and I yell in a way that I didn’t think I was capable of. It’s loud and horrible and it hurts my throat. It goes against everything that I wanted to be as a mother but it takes over. It’s just simmering below the surface these days and I’m far more easily triggered than I remember being. (At least since I was a kid, always had a short temper then, ask my sisters…. no actually don’t, I want those stories to disappear forever).

As fast as it comes, it’s gone. I feel guilty. Why am I endlessly guilty as a mother? I cuddle them. I probably undo any good work that might have come out of that, if there is such a thing.

I have one of the most supportive mum friendship groups in the world and the other night, we discussed this… it’s happening to us all. These kids know how to push our buttons and they’re dealing with a lot of frustration themselves which comes out in full emotional response.

My mother always told us that she didn’t really like us until we were 5. I used to feel shock at this but honestly? I kind of get it now. I fiercely love my children, they are adorable 50% of the time. But… well you know. I won’t go off again. Breathe.

Sure, it’s reassuring that I’m not alone and doesn’t make me feel like quite such a shit parent but… I don’t like it in myself, it’s tiring, and I’m trying to be better. My little sister once told me she screams into towels when she wants to get cross. I totally get that now and it’s going to be my coping mechanism from now on. Poor towels, they’ll probably burst into flames.

Missing writing…

Going back to a 5 day week has taken away my obvious blog writing time and at the end of a day where I’m up at 6.30, feeding lads, dressing lads, taking lads to nursery, coming back to go straight into work which is CRAZY busy, working all day (including a lunchtime walk I cannot survive without), picking up the lads, feeding lads, bathing lads, bedtime for lads… eat dinner staring blankly at nothing, attempt adult conversation with lad dad, fail because brain is broken, TV, bed…. then repeat. I thought I just didn’t have the brain capacity to write.

I think it is 100% important to add here that all of this load is very much shared by lad dad, he is super hands on as I’ve mentioned before and I’m lucky and eternally grateful to him. Although I suspect I don’t tell him that enough. I’m not very gushy. Want some dry humour? Sarcasm? I’m your gal. Lovey dovey bursts of praise, not my thing. I suspect I’m awful to live with. I’ll show him this complimentary paragraph then run away screaming so I don’t have to see his reaction and that will be the box ticked for a week or so.

Getting away from my stiff upper lip and back to daily life -I don’t even think i’m tired… I’m just in survival mode. Maybe that is just what being a parent is!

That makes it sound negative and believe me, it’s not, my boys bring me so so much joy but the title of my next blog is ‘RAGE’ so I think that tells you that not every moment is Hollywood perfection. Threenagers, my GOD. What is this devil child doing to me? Anyway, I’m saving that for the next one. Breathe.

I got slightly drunk with 3 of my best friends on Friday and it was so great… to have those rambling nonsensical conversations with the women that know you best, know your secrets, never judge (ok, I may be in denial on that one) and most of all knew you pre-children. It was nice to do something for me. It breaks up the….. and god I hate that I’m writing this word…. monotony. I don’t even want to talk about my hangover coping mechanisms on Saturday but suffice to say it involved rosè…

What all this has made me realise is that I miss this. I miss writing. It helps me organise my thoughts, it helps clear my head and it also helps with that feeling of monotony because this is something (like time with my friends) that I do for me. I’m going to make sure I find time to do it every week (write, not drink too much). I’ve certainly got enough to say as anyone who knows me will tell you.

I was telling my colleague that I think I have a book or two in me (doesn’t everyone think this though?). And I feel like this is a good way to start disciplining myself to sit and write and not find excuses to put it off. But I don’t want to stop the blog being fun to write either – there’s a balance.

I feel like this post has been a bit rambly and all over the place so, if you got this far, thanks for indulging me in my thought vomit. RAGE will be a far better constructed blog, promise.

End of an Era….

Lad 1
Lad 2

Today was my last Gymboree class, and in fact, likely the last ever baby class I will take one of my own to. I’ve run out of holidays at work which I’ve been using to work a 4 day week, and, my workload is insane just now and I can’t keep trying to cram 5 days into 4 forever and not have something give. So I just had to cancel the last baby class I had left.

….I cried.

I didn’t mean to! I was even holding it together as we sang the end of sessions songs I’ve sung with both lads over the years knowing that I’ll remember these Gymbo songs as long as I live. But then, they did a special hip hip hooray for Jake and I just kinda lost it. My mask caught my tears but didn’t hide them. Other mums sympathised; nobody made me feel silly. These classes, and the friendships and bonding over similar aged children they bring, have been part of my support bubble for so long. I’ll miss them.

The other parents yes, but also the amazing teachers – and not just Gymboree – but Baby Sensory and Jo Jingles too. These people are a lifeline to mothers. They are epic.

And I know there will be other classes to take the lads to, and when they’re older and I’m taking them to football and swimming or coding camp or pirate kung fu zombie extravaganza or whatever they get into, it will fill my diary up again. But these won’t be the same – they’ll not have me holding them, helping them. A teacher will take them away while I watch from the sidelines or go get a coffee. I’m unlikely to have that level of one on one class interaction again. (On reflection I think swimming might be the exception on this one but consider this train of thought an out of the pool one).

It made me sad, it’s the end of an era. And Lad 2 got a fairly raw deal because lock down made his classes smaller and shorter and adults wore masks and I KNOW they know no different but there is so much interaction with a smile and funny faces that is just lost.

This also just signifies the end of the baby bubble. We are done with the kids thang, more than happy with what we got. Our little angels (lol). And from now on, it’s grown up stuff during the week. No more maternity leave and clever use of holidays to extend my bubble. Just boring adult stuff. Till the weekend at least.

I took lots of pictures today, and I lay on the mat with Jake lying on me (avoiding the teeth obviously cos that’s still an occasional issue) and tried to take a nice picture and then I realised it was pointless. I just enjoyed that moment with him cuddling me (yep regular readers, Jake cuddles now!). And I realised that I haven’t done enough of that ‘enjoying’ recently.

I don’t really do New Year’s Resolutions per se – but this year I’m introducing a late one. Start taking those moments, acknowledge them, and enjoy them. I think with all the working from home, batch cooking, car fixing, damp tackling, finance wrangling, bum wiping etc etc etc etc ETC… it’s not always possible to realise how amazing and valuable these moments are. I’m going to focus on that, and rope Lad Dad into it too.

Final thought. I have two almost identical pictures of my two lads at Gymboree (see above). It was an accident really because I was just taking pictures but I absolutely love that I have these two similar pictures – as a reminder of all the lovely people I met and times we had through both boys classes.

I feel sad today, but I know I’ll always look back on the times I had with the lads at these classes as happy and wonderful and value the friendships that came from them.

Ho Ho OH please leave me alone for one minute….

I don’t think I need to say this, but just in case it’s not clear. I love my children, I am devoted to the lads, they bring me joy and make me laugh…. Nobody needs to doubt that.

But…

We’ve just had two weeks of rather full on childcare. We took them out of nursery in the run up to Christmas to make sure we could get safely to my parents in Omicron times, and our nursery was shut until 3rd January which is totally fair enough.

We did a lot of fun things, we went to the zoo – we even got to see the pandas, a true rarity – we went to museums, parks and we saw family and friends, safely, after rigorous testing and following all guidelines of course. I’m not saying that sarcastically, I’m annoyingly rule following when it comes to these things. Was very boring at school.

Despite all this lovely memory forming, I was struggling mentally a bit and I didn’t know why because isn’t this meant to be that lovely time where we sing carols, gather round the tree, eat too many pigs in blankets and dream of, sing it with me, a ‘Whiiitteeee Christmassssss!’ (Thanks Bing – Crosby to be clear, not that bloody bunny). But I felt..not myself…and I couldn’t work out why.

Then, I was scrolling through Twitter in one of very few moments I had to myself, and I saw a post by Kat Storr (@thesocialstorr) which immediately resonated with me. I was ‘touched out’. She spoke about the same thing, never being left alone, feeling a bit suffocated, always being touched. And I understood why I felt that way, and, given the response to her tweet, we were not alone.

I realised I hadn’t been to the toilet alone for days, and I rarely didn’t have a child hanging on to me, wanting to be on my lap, wanting to be in my bed, just wanting me me me all the time.

With Lad 1, this is not so bad most of the time, he’s very cuddly and most the time I love that, I love his tight hugs, and his small hand holding mine, his nonsensical stories, the way that he smells even, but I’ve been his favourite for a while now and it’s A LOT, I have no space, I have no me time.

I do generally love the affection but the problem is when you add in Lad 2 – and that’s when the real over touching begins.

As mentioned before, Lad 2 is rough and tumble, he bites, he grabs, he hair pulls – and this is mostly aimed solely at me and Benji. Benji uses me to hide behind and then I’ll spend what feels like hours with the two of them all over me trying to get to or away from each other, while I try to avoid Jake’s teeth (he bit through my skin the other day, it’s painful!) and stop Benji pushing Jake away too hard and it’s just this huge wrestling match which is absolutely exhausting and they get hurt. And I get hurt. This ‘aggressive love’ ALWAYS ends in tears, sometimes mine if I’m honest.

Then, there is my favourite moment of the day. Both bathed, cosy jammies, with their milk, watching Night Garden probably, and Jake SITS STILL on my lap, leaning against me, just enjoying his milk. And he is still. Jake is never still. Even my mother-in-law was taken aback by how physical he is, and I’ve spoken about this on another blog. I cherish this brief moment, This is when I get to enjoy his baby smell. I love it.

I know this sounds like I want the touching to be on my terms, and maybe that makes me a bad mother, but is this so unreasonable? I gave them my body for 9 months each, longer if you count the breastfeeding (which I loved before anyone has a go at me!). But sometimes, I just want to have a cup of coffee – we all know I mean gin, but let’s pretend for second- and watch adult TV, not that kind, and maybe even, gasp, have a conversation with the lad dad without being interrupted.

Overall, I know I’ll remember the holidays as a lovely time, complicated again by covid, but by no means lessened in enjoyment. And I know when they’re older, and liking their mother isn’t cool, that I’ll miss their cuddles and squeezes. Maybe not those bites though…

But for now, with them both back at nursery, I can just enjoy my breathing space again.

Comparing Parenting

Now that we are well past the massive development periods that are the first year of a baby’s life, I’ve been reflecting on what those leaps and jumps meant to me and to others.

I have tried very hard to avoid being a competitive parent but I think it’s human nature to COMPARE your kids to other kids of the same age. Who rolls first? Crawls first? Eats well or sleeps well? Why does this matter? (Well, I get the sleep on big style, a tired mumma finds everything that much harder.)

Since having a second child, there’s been a big moment of realisation for me that I wasted a lot of time overthinking all this with Benji – because, brand new information here folks, all kids are different… WHAT!!

Benji was an early talker but one of the last of our friend’s children to walk. However, by 15 months, he had a lot of words and could identify things in that classic ol’ game – ‘where’s your nose/tummy etc. ‘ He loved (and still does) looking at books, puzzles and learning letters and numbers. He prioritised mental development.

Jake, just hitting 15 months, is the complete opposite, he is very physical, he walked early and is adventurous and fearless – he takes my breathe away sometimes with his recklessness. He packs a punch for a baby. If I’m honest, he’s a bit of a thug, I constantly have to watch him around other children and it’s not relaxing (I’m implying other bits of parenting is relaxing, literally nothing about parenting is relaxing). Luckily he’s got a melt your heart smile so he somewhat gets away with it.

However he’s not really saying much yet beyond the dada, mama, bubbles, hello side of things yet.

The thing is? It doesn’t matter to me now – they’re happy, healthy and hitting the official development goals and we are very lucky. I’m taking some credit for this though – bit of nature, bit of nurture.

The thing is, where do we find the balance in the future? I don’t want to be pushy but I want my lads to do well in life, and I want to give them the opportunities to do it. However, I don’t want to drain their joy in a talent by taking them to a million after school and weekend classes until they resent their skill… and probably me.

And I definitely don’t want to be comparing mine with others as they grow up because they are all going to excel and struggle at different things. Lad Dad and I are neither arty or mathsy so this may be their hiccup too – and if one of their friends turns out to be the next Banksy or {insert name of a famous mathematician here, bloody hell, who’s a famous mathematician…. gah!}, I’ll be happy for them and not jealous.

So why did it matter when they were babies? After thinking on this for a while, I realised it was not competitive parenting or comparing parenting or even jealousy… it was fear. Because if they’re not hitting milestones, then you question their health.

Google anything these days, literally anything about your baby, and the most frequent ‘diagnosis’ – from a non doctor obviously – is something that will scare or worry you.

It’s not that I fear having to handle something challenging… it’s that I want the path my children follow to be without struggle and pain. Don’t all parents want their children to meet the least resistance?

I cannot say this enough. Don’t. Read. These. Articles. Look at proper medical websites or speak to Health Visitors if you have concerns about development, and more likely than not, it’s nothing.

The advice I’d give my past self, although I’m a stubborn person so I’d probably tell myself to mind my own business, is not to worry, not to compare this and that and just be supportive and provide what they need in terms of feeling secure. It’s advice I’m going to try to lead with as they grow up but watch this space….

Thanks as always for reading and any comments or feedback welcome.

FIBONACCI of COURSE! Finally thought of one.

Santa visiting lads…

This year we did a Santa visit for the first time. It’s really the first year that Benji has been aware of the whole Santa and stocking thing and as he’s obsessed with being a ‘good guy’ at the moment – they’ve been covering Police Officers at nursery – this has wrapped up (pun not intended but I’m not apologising) nicely with the whole nice and naughty list thang.

For me, this has brought back a child like excitement about Christmas, I wouldn’t have said I was jaded by Christmas, because I love seeing my family and friends, choosing presents, time off work etc, but after the utter fudging (see, I’m watching my swearing!) debacle that was Christmas 2020, it is so lovely to feel hope and joy and all those festive tingly feelings through the excitement of a child.

As I write, there is still a worry that plans could be affected AGAIN and the very thought of that fills me with dread, but, rest assured, if we end up stuck here alone again, Benji and Jake won’t know any different and we’ll have a lovely family time where me and Lad Dad day drink a bit too much, eat everything in sight (party food!!) and take a thousand pictures just to try to get one nice one.

Back to visiting Santa, as I’ve mentioned before, my boys are both pretty confident but Santa can be scary and I was expecting Benji to be the problem. But nope, this time it was Jake, JAKE who bites everyone (I’m still going to do a biting post one day), shoves little girls over at Gymboree and is absolutely and terrifyingly fearless. He absolutely screamed at Santa, wriggled and fought him and even shoved the present away. I’ve never seen him like that and I got the giggles to be honest, bad mummy.

I’d had visions of a lovely family shot of everyone smiling angelically at Santa that we could treasure for years to come, but no. We got what you see above…. although I actually love this picture of Jake for reasons I can’t understand! And Benji looks nice at least! He likes presents. And he had been promised lunch at the Dobbies cafe after. He’s easily pleased that one.

I think paying to visit Santa might be a relatively new thing, probably nicked from America and monetised, because I don’t remember visiting Santa in that way when I was little myself.

We definitely had one that came to our primary school – identified loudly as my friend’s grandpa or something when I was 9 and had made the logical, but sad decision that Santa couldn’t possibly be real. ‘Why?’ my mum asked me. My answer? Not how can anyone deliver presents that fast or any conclusion that I think other kids come to. For me it was simple. ‘Reindeer can’t fly’. I was sworn to secrecy for my little sister, then became filled with dread that when she did work it out, Santa wouldn’t come anymore. On reflection, I think she knew earlier than she let on but didn’t say for fear of no stocking. Luckily my parents like stockings too and we continued that tradition long into adulthood.

So, to be able to now continue the secret the whole world keeps about Santa for my own children, and share the excitement with Benji (Jake doesn’t really get it but he sure likes pulling things off the Christmas tree), I’m seeing Christmas with fresh eyes this year.

And that’s not just because the way Christmas and New Year fall this year, I get 2 weeks off to explore that day drinking. Promise 😉

Not quite the black death…

I didn’t write a blog last week. Why? We have had a brutal time. BRUTAL. This virus-ridden (not THAT virus) household has been plagued (word intended) with….

  • Hand Foot and Mouth – Jake and Me
  • Impetigo – Jake
  • Conjunctivitis – Lad Dad, Benji but Jake by far the worst (see pic)
  • Vomiting and Diarrohea… Diarohea… Diorrhia…. the shits – Benji and Jake
  • A horrendous and very painful cough that won’t go away? – Benji, Jake and Me (not Covid, I tested!)

This resulted in more pharmacy trips than I can count (pharmacists are awesome but limited on under 2s), one GP appointment which, (and I’m not getting drawn into any further discussion on this sensitive topic), I had to fight for and two trips to Sick Kids, Edinburgh. We have so many creams and drops and ointments I feel like I could open my own chemist.

I will never, ever give my lads Spaghetti Hoops again, I’m not even sure I can look at a can of it again after seeing what it looked and smelled like after regurgitation. I thought it would be gentle on their tummies.

We’ve had to take time off work, or make up hours in the evening after bedtimes, and finding space to just BREATHE has been really hard. Especially as that cough made it hard to actually breathe, and after two kids, required a few crossed legs….

The routine of eye cleaning, cream applying, ointment adding… it seemed endless and was exhausting. The usual 15 minutes to get them ready in the morning was taking 40. We were rushing everywhere and late and work was impacted. We were impacted.

You also feel bad, because you know that even though this feels awful for you, of course there are other parents having it tougher. But when you’re in it, it’s hard to think beyond it.

The whole thing felt so bad at the time, because when you’re in that quick sand, and you’re tired, and you’re overwhelmed and there’s no end in sight… it feels insurmountable and you wonder how you’ll ever cope – but once again you did. Because you have to – when people say you have to take the rough with the smooth, weeks of broken sleeps (that sounds like a song I’m going to need to write now), worry and driving to hospital at night is the rough.

You also miss the Parent Army (previous blog), who normally prop you up during the rough times, because you can’t really see them in case you pass things on. It all felt a bit lonely but at least we had each other.

On the tough parenting days, (not just sickness but in general), my advice to Lad Dad is to always find the joy. Even when Benji is being a total threenager (hate the phrase but it’s a definite thing), he’ll suddenly do a dance or share something with Jake and I catch Lad Dad’s eye and we smile. This is why we signed up and them being sick is just part of that overall shebang.

We’re (hopefully), coming out of it now, and there’s light at the end of the tunnel, and less pink eyes and crustiness everywhere. And less sheet washing.

I promise to write something more positive next time, but honestly, I just needed to get that rant off my chest – hacking cough included.

The Parent Army

It doesn’t take a village – it takes an army.

Something happened recently to a close mum friend. I won’t go into the details of it but it got me thinking about the might of the Parent Army once it is mobilised.

Finding my Parent Army has been an underrated benefit of having a family. I’m 40 now and I guess I thought I was done making friends, I certainly thought I’d only pick up a few choice friends through baby classes and play dates but that we’d grow apart as the kids grew up and went to different nurseries etc.

It’s been quite the opposite.

I now have a network of the most amazing people (mums and dads!) who I rely on for advice, support, bitching and gin when needed. More importantly, I know that if I needed help, and we all do, I would have it. This ranges from the emergency nappy I needed the other day to the knowledge that I would trust them with the lads if, for whatever reason, I had to leave them for a bit. And this is big. Trusting someone with my children. I’d like to think they think the same of me.

Unlike the other great superhero armies, the Parent Army doesn’t need capes, although god knows I’d love an excuse to wear one. And I’m really not sure I can pull off a cat suit though the other mums definitely can! Our uniform is snot trails, milk sick and ‘is it poo or is it chocolate’ brown splodges. We wear mismatched socks, have chaos hair and rock comfy mum shoes – no heels allowed.

Our marching is done with a buggy in front of us and a nappy bag so full of all the crap we need to carry ‘just in case’, that the weight of it would challenge any regular soldier.

If you see us together, desperately drinking coffee before it gets spilt or burns someone, eating a bacon roll that we shouldn’t because, once again, there was no time for breakfast, and comparing horror stories while laughing at who we are now – don’t be afraid of enlisting.

We are welcoming, we are strong and we support each other, no matter what. And if that coffee is sometimes wine, do not judge – unless it’s 9am.

The Parent Army mobilises when it needs to, and it’s always ready. Finding my troops has been an absolute highlight of my life. Parents are not alone, we have each other, and no soldier will be left behind.

Confident lads..

I’m sitting having a debate with myself, and will obviously be having one with lad dad, about how we feel about sharing pictures of the mini lads online. So far, I’ve been using shots of them from behind but I’m very aware that that’s probably not enough – plus the little fu… rascals won’t pose for many of those. 

I would obviously never post anything explicit or embarrassing but I do wonder whether it’s fair of me to do it without asking their permission, which they obviously cannot give… although, FACT, Benji would 100% say yes – that kid is vain. Every time I take a picture or video of him, he already wants first approval. 

You see, dear reader, Benji and Jake have been born to ‘confident people’. 

In fact, part of what attracted me to James (aka lad dad) is that, after dating two shy guys in a row, I was so happy that I could take him to a party where he knew nobody, leave him alone for an hour and he’d be fine. Within that hour, he’d have joined a football team, been invited to a barbecue and probably stolen a friend from me. I think he’d say the same of me, although not the football part obviously. I prefer gin.

This is of course, pre-kids… We do NOT attend parties these days, we attend chaotic and exhausting play dates. We DO attend barbecues, but they start at 12, and we’re home by 4 for our weekly Tesco delivery (other supermarkets are available). Day drinking is the new night drinking. 

Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m anxious about many things. Parenting has made me more anxious. I didn’t expect the constant underlying fear of bad things happening to them. A future topic I think. 

I’m not always as confident as I might appear. As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve been having a confidence stumble about my return to work. And I can feel self-conscious about making new friends, although other parents, on the same journey, are generally amazing. (There are exceptions – cliquey mums are the worst). 

But generally, I’m a confident extrovert. So is James. 

Based on absolutely no science,  I think this means the boys will be confident too. I know they’re young and it’s too soon to say, especially with Jake, but Benji is an outgoing little lad. He seems to make friends easily and tells me he already has 10 best friends, and only one of them is not a real person. 

Sometimes I make the list, sometimes I don’t. I’m ok with that – I don’t want to end up with a 30 year old simpering about how his mummy is his best friend. 

Most of the time, I like that he’s confident, and I like it in me too. I’ve seen people struggle with shyness and it seems to be to be a harder path. Maybe I’m wrong and I’d welcome other opinions. However, I know confidence can come across as brashness, I’ve definitely been abrasive in my time and that’s not ideal either – it’s a trait I’ve got better at managing in my older age but I’m aware it can be a bit much.

My perspective is that I need to provide the foundations for them to feel secure, but keep them grounded as they grow up by slagging them off. Sensible parenting legend right here. 

In conclusion, I think some well-selected pictures can do no harm. As long as lad dad agrees. 

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