Tag: parents

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.

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.

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.

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.