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.
Mummy And Her Lads 