The Guilt Factor

Each morning, Monday to Friday, for the last 10 minutes of my commute to work just before I walk into the office building, I try and FaceTime the boys for a chat, especially on mornings where they are asleep when I’m leaving the house and I haven’t seen them yet. Alex usually blows me kisses and babbles very important things at me. Rian, more often than not doesn’t want to talk. This morning though, when I was having chats with Alex, in the background he said: ‘ I don’t want to talk to Mama on the phone, I want to talk to her here!’.

For a moment I considered turning around and going straight back home again, giving him a hug and telling him I’ll never leave him. But I can’t, because I have to go to work – and I want to go to work too – and at the end of the day, the bills need to get paid. So I felt the usual pang of guilt that I usually feel a few times a day, except a bit worse than usual because he had said that, and finished my gurgley chat with Alex and headed towards my desk, feeling pretty crap about myself as a mother.

If I had the freedom to choose, I don’t think I would choose to be a full time stay at home mother, I just know it wouldn’t be for me. Part time would be my ideal option, because at same time, I want to be with them all the time too. It’s that very tricky, ever elusive, perfect balance.

Guilt is something I became familiar with very early on, in fact, since the start of my first pregnancy. We are IVF parents, very very lucky ones at that, our treatment worked. So it was a bit of a surprise to me that I didn’t particularly enjoy being pregnant – extremely grateful yes, of course, but pregnancy for me was months of nausea, vomiting, swollen feet, extreme heartburn… ok my hair got a bit thicker and softer and my skin looked nice and almost glowy (possibly from the hot flushes!) for a while but even that catches up with you after the baby is born and your hair falls out and you’re left with these mad sticky outy bits all over your head while it grows back to normal again…!! Aaand breathe…! So no, if I’m honest, I didn’t enjoy being pregnant for the most part. Appreciative, yes, and lots of it I did love and cherish – the feeling of Bump moving around or kicking, but not really any of the rest of it.

Anyway back to the point… so I didn’t enjoy pregnancy, it was tough. I felt guilty about that because of our IVF and I thought of all the women who would swap places with me in a heartbeat because I used to be that woman too. And of course the moment they’re born you’re guilty all the time, am I doing this right, did I do that wrong?

When I went back to work after Rian’s maternity leave, the guilt was immense. How could I leave him every day, why was I working for a major chunk of my wages to pay someone else to see all of his ‘firsts’? And it only got worse, after I had Alex I thought I would be prepared for how it would feel to go back to work, but in fact it was worse again because what I wasn’t prepared for was Rian being old enough now to ask me, after a year of being home, ‘Mama, where are you going? Why won’t you stay here with me?’

It was very hard. I questioned myself a lot at the return to work last year. Why am I doing this?? Oh yes, then I remembered, I just don’t have the choice.

So why do we do this to ourselves? Is there a way to come to terms with this guilt or are we just destined to never be happy whatever the situation is – whether we give up work and stay at home, or if we choose not to stay at home?

I thought a lot last year about whether I wanted to give up work, assuming we could afford it and I could stay at home. It would be tight, but I think if we cut back enough we could probably get by on one wage. And is it even fair to assume that it would be me who stays home, what if their Dad wanted to stay home? I admit that thought didn’t even occur to me at the start. But even if I did stay home, I think the guilt would still find me anyway, and make me think about other things – can we afford to save for their college fund? Can we afford to give them all the things we want to?

And the other thought is – really the main reason I don’t want to give up my job – what will I do when they’re older and not as dependent on me? What if I want to go back to work then, when they’re off to school, and I have a five or six year gap on my CV – it’s hard enough going back after maternity leave,  your confidence is shaken a lot, or at least mine was. So a big gap, for me, would be very intimidating. So is it selfish of me to not want to be in that situation, to not want to sacrifice my career? Does that mean I’m a bad mother? And the guilt factor starts again.

Being a working mother, it sneaks up on you on a regular basis. When a work commitment clashes with an event at their creche or playschool, and we’re faced with missing it. Guilt. At Rian’s playschool Sport’s Day back in June, I took the day off work. Within the first ten minutes, three other mothers had mentioned to me that they hadn’t realised that our childminder, who they see every day dropping off and collecting Rian, wasn’t in fact his mother. Ouch.

Recently, our childcare situation  changed, and I was forced again to consider all of these points. I really struggle to come to some sense of peace with the fact that I’m gone all day from them. Today was their first day in a creche – Alex in particular has never been minded outside his own home until today – and I wasn’t there to drop them off. Guilty. They’re fine of course – the staff are amazing and sent me little updates and photos of them happily playing away, but my guilty mind goes into overdrive and I wonder what will they think of these decisions I’m making now when they’re all grown up? Will they think I’m selfish? Will they resent the fact that I ‘chose’ to leave them with someone other than me while I ‘chose’ not to give up my career? Ultimately, I suppose I’m thinking – how will they judge me? Am I ruining their childhood?!

I don’t know how to make the guilt go away, but I have decided to make some rules for myself.

  • I am not a bad mother. I am doing my best, along with everyone else. Yes, I go to work for myself because I enjoy it, but also of course so that I can give them everything I possibly can not just now but later in life too. I’m doing my best, and I have to tell myself that my best IS good enough.
  • Don’t focus on the negatives – instead I will focus on the times I am there. Their little faces when they see me coming through the door each evening, and the fun we can have all weekend. It makes me more grateful and appreciative of those times.
  • Most importantly of all: I make it my mission that they know they are loved. I know they know. And once they know that, I know I’m not failing completely.

Whatever way I look at it, mother guilt is here to stay, no matter what type of mother you are. There’s no point in questioning why we beat ourselves up over it, but in the end all I can suggest is that we get off our own backs, get off our own cases, and make the most of whatever situation we’re in. Guilt is not a choice, but how we deal with it certainly is.

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How To Survive.. The Toddler Vomiting Bug

Also features on The M Word

There’s loads of things nobody warns you about when you’re waddling around with your Bump all glowy and dreamy and planning your perfect white Pinterest worthy nursery.
Put down that white fluffy rug with the matching white fluffy cushion for your nursing chair, Mama. Seriously, put them back. Don’t mind that sales girl, IT WILL NOT STAY WHITE. Or fluffy. Why?
Well, because it will get Babied and Toddlered, but also, because it is inevitable, at some point, the vomiting bug will find your toddler.
It will not be pretty. But you can do this! You turned that Bump into a Baby didn’t you, if you can do that, you can do anything!

Day 1
You wake up, all seems fine. Toddler or mini human in question decides today is the day they are going to happily eat EVERYTHING you put in front of them, and more. More scrambled egg, darling? Sure! I’ll even slather extra buttery butter on some toast for you too. A glass of milk, my precious? Of course, here, have two. What could possibly go wrong?

All continues to seem fine as they wolf down food as if they haven’t been fed for a week, the more dairy based, gloopy, puke inducing the better. It’s as if they know. I’m convinced they do but that’s a story for another day… crafty little feckers that they are.

Not long later though, you start to notice something is amiss. Maybe they are less energetic than normal…maybe they want more cuddles than usual… or for me, maybe they start producing nappies from the pit of hell in rapid succession. Looking back, I realise now I should have known what was heading my way, in fairness, he’s my second child so I’ve met the vomiting bug a handful of times now. Let’s hope my kids are faster learners than I seem to be.

So anyway, a handful of horrific nappies later, I’m already traumatised and fearful for the next 12-24 hours of parenthood and what lurks ahead, so I decide to issue a house-wide Orange Alert. This is the stage you might want to change out of your nice top, put away your nice cushions, roll up that nice white fluffy rug you ended up buying anyway because of pregnancy nesting hormones.

Keep a beady eye on your toddler and watch out for a change in temperament. Keep a suitable vessel nearby at all times just in case your worst fears are confirmed – I find the basin from the toy Ikea kitchen very useful – he’s familiar with it so it won’t make him think anything is wrong, it’s just a cool game with.. a basin… what’s suspicious about that, basins are cool… but also it is excellent for catching any sudden pukage.
Sometimes you can start to hear the rumblings before any fluids appear – and suddenly, just as I was wondering if that rumble was him or me (dear God am I getting it too?!!), there it was. Projectile. Vomit. Everywhere.
Upgrade monitoring system to Red Alert! It’s happening. In fairness, he got about a third of it into the basin. Could do better, but at least you weren’t wearing your nice top so that’s something.
Sob.

So here we are. The first projectile pukage has subsided for now. Poor little munchkin is just as shocked as you are – first things first, cuddle and reassure them that it’s all going to be ok. After while you wonder who you’re trying to convince more, him or yourself, but nevertheless it helps calm everyone down so just keep repeating it, it will all be ok! Depending on level of carnage, assess the crime scene and decide what needs to be cleaned first. There’s no pretty way around it. It’s everywhere. Into the bath he goes.

Now if you ask me, herein lies a gap in the Vomiting Bug market. Someone needs to invent colour coded puke. Hear me out…. imagine how handy it would be if it was colour coded so you know immediately just what it is you’re tackling here?
Are we talking a once-off puke? A 12 hour thing? A 24 hour one? An ‘I’ll puke today and then stop for a while to make you think you’re in the clear, but then start all over again’ sort of bug?? It’s the unknown that’s the worst part. Are you gonna be up all night changing sheets? Should you completely fast them? What if they get dehydrated? What if we all get it?? It’s a minefield of confusing times.

However, for now, it’s a case of battening down the hatches, get that puke cleaned up, and spend the rest of the day sorely regretting your choice of eggs and buttery butter and milk for breakfast.

Day 2

I was going to start with, ‘Wake up’, but in fact, have you even been asleep? It’s hard to tell really. What was real, and what bits were a dream?
What a night you put in. Who’d have guessed, back in the days of Pinterest Nursery Planning, that there’d be nights when you would just put them on towels to sleep on, never mind perfectly matching bedsets!! LOL at your pregnant self!

So, how are you holding up? You’re a bit on edge really, obviously tired because of the lack of sleep, if you weren’t mopping up puke and emptying the minute fraction of it that made it to the Ikea toy kitchen basin, you were lying there with one ear cocked in fearful anticipation of the now familiar noises that emerge right before the flow of vomit so you can pretend that you’ll make it there in time to catch it all in the basin.
Your hands are raw because you’ve scrubbed them clean a million times, anti-bacterial-gelled them a hundred times, along with frantically disinfecting every inch of surface in the desperation that it doesn’t spread to the other kid or kids or to yourself!

However, he hasn’t puked in a while now and God love him but he must be starving since you fasted him almost a whole day ago. Should you let him nibble on some dry toast? Look at his little face, those eyes, they’re gazing up at you begging for a bit of food… what to do, what to do. Is the bug still lurking, waiting for me to feed it so it can laugh at me while I clean up yet another round?! Seeing as nobody has yet to install the colour coded puke mode, I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Slowly and gradually and with your new best friend Basin close by, attempt re-introduction to food. Dry food. Assess situation closely. It’s a bit of a lottery really, you’ll either end up back at square one, or, maybe the end is nigh, and the light is finally at the end of that long pukey tunnel!

Rejoice.

So you made it through! Reduce alert down to Yellow status – commence boil wash of every stitch of cloth anywhere near anything, but still, be vigilant.

Sanitise everything from yourself to Basin to light switches and door handles. Get some chocolate into you, be nice to yourself, after all you’ve been through a traumatic and trying life experience! And most importantly, maybe keep that white fluffy rug all safely rolled up until, I dunno, until they move out?!

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Alex & Basin

Introducing: STICKY. He lives here now.

Have you ever heard that family statistic, ‘2.4 children’ when referring to the average family size? I always thought the .4 part sounded a bit ridiculous. I mean, what’s .4 of a child?

But now I know. Of course it’s not a child. It’s the other thing that moves in when you have children, whether you like it or not. Whether it’s one child or ten. Congratulations, it’s your new housemate who goes by the name of Sticky.

Sticky McStickerson. Mr Sticky. Sticky McStickface. Sticky Fitzsticker- ok well you get the idea. Call it whatever you want, but Sticky is here to stay whether you like him or not.

Let us count the ways.

Sticky, the THING.

Well this one is fairly self explanatory. You can understand it most of the time, for example when our baby Alex who is 1 and a half, insists on eating everything with his hands, and refuses to go in a highchair. He just has to sit at the table like his 3 and a half year old big brother. God love him, he can barely see over the top of the table so he randomly paws around the general plate area til his chubby little hands grab some food and they shove it into his chubby little cheeks. It’s very cute. Until you notice the inevitable mess that creates, and then, the resulting stickiness.

The little hands flailing about, touching things. Making them Sticky, like a baby superpower Sticky Midas Touch.  It’s not so bad now, I have adjusted the area accordingly so it is well prepared with wipeable surfaces, his chair is protected and covered by an old tablecloth (because in my pre-child wisdom I bought CREAM COLOURED FABRIC CHAIRS. I know, I deserve everything Sticky has to give me. Oh I know!).

But when he hops down from his chair, still flailing Sticky hands, well, it’s every man for himself.  God speed, comrade.

And how can Sticky be a SMELL?

I don’t know, but it is. As soon as those babies arrived in our world, things started to smell Sticky. How many times have you found yourself getting that whiff, and knowing, you were about to encounter something Sticky? Or maybe you just got a whiff of something – in fairness it’s another skill you have to pick up while in the company of babies and kids. What type of nappy am I about to face? Take a whiff. What kind of puke did you just produce? Whiff. You’ll be in little doubt of what lurks ahead. What level of Sticky are we talking here? Whiff’ll tell you.

You’re not alone.

I don’t think it’s surprising when you realise that Sticky also has a unique SOUND. It can range anywhere from a mild generic suction type of Sticky all the way to your standard wet squelchy type of Sticky. I can determine a Sticky type from 100 paces, it’s a skill I have perfected. You can tell what Sticky encounter you’re about to embrace just based on the sound alone, whether it’s coming from under their little feet as they launch themselves towards you and your nice clean top that you’ve just put on, or the Sticky decibels emanating from their pudgy little hands as they clap along to whatever Disney song you’re listening to for the 45th time that day.

Let’s face it, how many times have you looked at something and wondered, ‘what on earth IS that?!’ Well now you know – it’s just Sticky. ‘Why does this feel wet?!’ It’s because of Sticky. ‘How did that get there?!’ Sticky put it there of course. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if Sticky is more like an unwanted squatter more than a housemate now that I come to think about it in more detail!

But don’t worry, it’s not all bad. Some Sticky encounters you’ll barely even notice, or at least, barely even care about. Sticky presents himself in various forms of consistency, some are worse than others. At the start, I’ll admit, when you’re not used to Sticky it’s all a bit uncomfortable. Like being stuck in a lift with someone you vaguely know – well enough to have to force some crap small talk about the weather but not well enough to just ignore them. You just have to acknowledge Sticky, you’ll be informally introduced when your baby produces some scenario that results in Stickiness, but once you get used to eachother, it’s fine. Accept Sticky for what he is – he’ll ruin your clothes, ruin your furniture, cause you to keep a packet of baby wipes within arm’s reach at all times. But you will get used to eachother, and dare I say it, in a weird way become somewhat fond of eachother!

Resistance is futile. Sticky is here to stay – now you know about it, you can prepare yourself and your house accordingly.

Go forth soldier, and embrace the Stickyness!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Threenage Years

Let me start by saying, I feel slightly betrayed by my parenting predecessors. I got warned about things like sleepless nights, explosive nappies, teething, and the start of the tantrums, right up to the Terrible Twos. So you could forgive me for assuming that once we cleared those murky waters that it would be more or less plain sailing til the teenage hormones kick in.

NOT SO.

Let me introduce the Threenager. For those of you with first children under 3, or those of you lucky enough to be given children of relatively sound and logical reasoning minds, a Threenager is your worst nightmare of emotions all bundled up in one big knot lodged in the already unstable mind of a developing child. This recipe makes for very confusing times for everyone involved.

The most surprising thing about becoming a parent was just how much I have learned about myself. I used to wonder what sort of a mother I would be, promising myself I would definitely do this, and I definitely wouldn’t do that. What I wasn’t expecting was to be confronted with aspects of my own personality that I didn’t know about – and, honestly – that I don’t really like!

First up – turns out, I am not a patient person.

There is nothing, NOTHING more frustrating than trying to get a three year old to eat his dinner. It is a form of mental torture. ‘Eat your dinner….. yes haha I can see your snot; eat your dinner. No, I don’t know what kind of dinosaur that is or why he is purple, but eat your dinner. Stop licking things please, just eat your dinner. Yes, you do like it, you’ve eaten this dinner a million times, happily. EAT. YOUR. DINNER!’ … …..breathe. Repeat.

I’m sure this torturous experience must surely have been used on prisoners of war to try and break them. ‘Tell us what you know, or we’ll force you to convince this here Threenager to eat his carefully made, lovingly prepared nutritious meal.’ Ten minutes max would have done the trick. I’d have cracked anyway, in a matter of seconds! Just don’t make me try and reason with a three year old, anything but that!

Another factor in the Patience department is the sheer repetitiveness of the questions firing at you like bullets. Anything from your standard ‘Why?’ on repeat to questioning your driving skills. If we are stopped in traffic, for example ‘ Why are we stopped, why are you not driving, drive please, where are we going, why are we not driving, why are we stopped? ‘  All the way to ‘ Ok, who is driving, Mam are you driving? ‘ (he is still rear facing so can’t see which particular chauffeur is on duty ) – honestly it’s a constant interrogation designed to break you down. IT WORKS.

Temper.

It used to be easy enough to predict the temper tantrums, (not that you’ll ever understand them, LOL, silly you) –  but you can learn to predict what might kick them off. Like if you cut toast the wrong way, or if you peeled a banana the wrong way, or even if you just peeled the banana. Even if you only peeled it because they asked you to. Don’t waste your time thinking how unfair and unjust it is, just try and learn to go with it. Expect some random outbursts – once you learn to expect them that’s half the battle. Eventually you figure out the triggers of the tantrums, you even start to feel a bit smug about the fact you figured out what starts them. But then they go and change the rules again.

Sometimes all it takes is for you to walk into the room. ‘NO MAMA DON’T DO THAT OK?!’ ….’Ehhhhhh ookkkk’… and he’s off. Melt down.

Then approximately 4.2 seconds later they’re skipping up to you, hugging you telling you they love you and asking can they have chocolate for dinner. To be fair, I would love chocolate for my dinner too.

WTF you might wonder? Beats the hell out of me I’m afraid. I’m sure I wasn’t this bad when I was three; they must get it from their Dad…

Moving on – Ok, I’m just going to come out and say it: 3 year olds can be proper A**HOLES.

The main difference here between your Threenager and your Terrible-Two year old, is that the fear is gone. They don’t care what way you try and bribe them, or what you threaten to not give them. They just don’t care. In fact they’ll almost encourage you to challenge them just so that they can say it. NO!

The fear is gone and they don’t give a sh*t. It becomes a battle of wills. The worst bit is when they do it in a public place so the only weapon of armour you have is to glare forcefully at them and hope they comply. They don’t. (Side note, I’m not promoting fear as a parenting tool. I’m not for a minute suggesting anyone uses that to try and control behaviour! I just mean, they just do not care what toy they will no longer have, or what treat they will no longer earn for good behaviour. No fear!)

 

So yet again I find myself in a battle of wits with someone half my size. And half the time I seem to lose as well. To be fair, half the time I admire his tenacity, his unwillingness to just accept a situation, and I hope he fights what he perceives as unfairness with this level of passion throughout his life! But while he’s in Threenage mode, and while it’s me he’s fighting… it’s just so mentally draining!

Having a Threenager is often like carrying a mirror around, one that reflects not only a physical mini version of yourself or your other half, but one that reflects how you act, your mannerisms, things you say. I’ve asked myself ‘Where does he get that from?!’ when I hear a frustrated ‘Come ON, I don’t have time for this!’ directed at his 19 month old baby brother. Or when his Playschool teacher apparently told him ‘ We don’t shout “Jesus Christ!”‘, or my favourite, ‘Mama says it’s important to share’ when he sees anyone anywhere opening a bar of chocolate or a packet of sweets. Chancer.

So I find myself in a constant state of utter confusion, frustration and admiration all rolled into one, being around my Threenager.

However, I have come to the conclusion that it all comes down to picking your battles. This is as much a learning experience for me as it is for them. Don’t try and fight it, after much experimentation I find just to let them get on with it is the best method of defense in the almighty battle of wills. If they don’t want to eat their dinner, fine. If they want to wear some ridiculous combination of clothes, like a big woolly jumper on a hot day, fine. You know eventually they’ll eat when they’re hungry, and they’ll want to take off the big jumper when they get ‘too warmy’ as my Threenager says. The main mistake I keep making is treating them like I would treat a grown adult with developed sense of reasoning! They have none. They don’t know what these emotions are or how to use them. With this in mind, I highly recommend a read of this article which gives a nice insight to what is really going on in that three year old bundle of confusion!

And in the meantime, I shall continue on my quest of understanding my little Threenager and focus on the funny side of how his little mind works, the questions he comes out with and the little stories he tells and things he does. ‘Is that a deal?’ as he regularly asks after he has dictated to me how a situation will play out! Four isn’t too far away, there’s no cutesy little ‘Fournager’ type phrase to give me any sort of heads up about what lies ahead, is there…?

 

3yrold

 

(Thank you to my lovely friend Joanne for her brush lettering skills with this very apt quote I found online!)

 

Before I Ever Met You

When I discovered I was going to be a mother, I sat and wondered about lots of things. Practical things like what things do we need to buy? What should we name you? HOW WILL I GET YOU OUT?!

But more than just the practical things. What would you be like? What kind of person would you be? Who would you look like?

What can I teach you?

But I never expected for it to work the other way around. What would I be like?

What do you teach me?

Before I ever met you, there was so much I didn’t know, things I didn’t know existed. Like the pure strength of the love I have for both of you. Imagine how it’s possible that you can love someone before you even meet them? You can sense and feel their life begin, and with it this amazing bond begins, with someone you’ve never even set eyes on. And then you both arrived bringing this amazing, new type of love, so strong it almost scares you in case someone takes it away. And when you both arrived, I evolved into something else.

Someone else.

Someone, who before they ever met you, never knew they could actually survive on so little sleep. Night after night, sitting up, cuddling you, rocking you back to sleep. Getting up again, battling away imaginary monsters from your curtains, soothing pains in tummies, sore gums….. kissing away the things that wake you from your sleep. But I did.

Someone, who before they ever met you, used to think I’d never be able to do lots of things. I could never manage to get out of the house with one baby in tow… two babies in tow. I could never feed a baby in one hand and make a hasty sandwich for myself with the other. I could never keep one baby entertained, whilst soothing the other off to sleep for a much needed nap. And the ultimate goal, I could never achieve the all time achievement – dual naps. A thing of sheer beauty! But I did.

Someone, who before they ever met you, never really knew too well the pure sense of pride. The feeling may have come now and then at different points in time, if I achieved certain things in life; when I got my first paycheck.. when I took a great photograph. When I married your Dad. And eventually you both arrived. We fought hard to get you, now you’re both here, all I need to do is think of you. I just think of you, and feel overwhelming feelings of pride, as if my heart could burst with it. When it happens, I turn to whoever happens to be near me, and tell them of you. Something you did, something you said. A look you gave, an example of your amazing little personalities. I tell the stories of you, and feel immense pride. I just think of you, and it’s there. I never knew I could do anything so amazing to feel all this pride. But I did.

Someone, who before I ever met you, never really knew fear. Fear of all the things I immediately knew I had to protect you from, and of all the things I know I’ll never be able to shield you from. The hurts and disappointments that are bound to eventually find you. The absolute fear at the thought of you not being my babies anymore and having to send you out into the big scary world – it seems a world away from us at the moment but I’m learning at a rapid pace just how quick this journey is going to fly past. I can still call you my babies now – always – but one day you’ll be brave enough to do things without having to hold my hand. I just hope I can teach you to be strong enough and wise enough for each step of the way. I never knew fear could be this strong at the sheer thought of something. It makes me feel stronger, to know I will do whatever it may take to protect you from as much as I can. I never thought I could take that fear and use it to strengthen my love for you. But I did.

Someone, who before I ever met you, never really knew patience. Ok, honestly, I’m not going to be winning any awards for my levels of patience any time soon. But you have both taught me how to be more patient than I ever knew I could be. You keep us up all night, night after night. You throw tantrums for the most random, ridiculous reasons. You make us try and figure new things out every single day.  You change the rules constantly and consistently, lulling us into a false sense of security feeling like we finally might know what the hell we’re doing, before changing things all over again. You make us watch the same film a million times, or listen to the same song on repeat every hour and somehow we manage to keep our sanity. You bring us right to the edge of that sanity, and yet somehow, at the end of it all, you make us love you even more. I never knew I could display such levels of patience. But I do.

Someone, who before I ever met you, never really knew what hard work was. Hard in the physical sense sometimes, but absolutely hard in the mental sense of the word. Holding it all together, keeping everything going. Working together as a team, learning new things every day and learning new ways to figure things out every single day. I never knew I could work this hard without ever having a day or even an hour off duty. And what’s more, I never knew I could work this hard without ever wanting a day off from it, never wanting a day away from you. But now I do.

All these things you have taught me about myself, all these things I didn’t know I already knew.

Before I ever met you, I never knew I could be this person, so proud of you both, I will carry you always, learn from you always, love you ‘more than all the twinkly stars’…. always.

Who will I be, who have I become?

A Mama.

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Happy Mother’s Day to all of us!

In particular, to my sister Katie and my sister in law Joanne, who both celebrate their first Mother’s Day tomorrow after Joanne gave birth to my gorgeous niece Emma on the 15th of July 2017, and my little sister Katie gave birth to my beautiful nephew Liam on 26th February 2018. Welcome to the world Emma & Liam! I can’t wait to learn new things from each of you too as an Auntie. No doubt your cousins Rian & Alex will be on hand to teach you both the tricks of the trade in torturing… I mean teaching…your parents of all the adventures waiting for them.

 

 

Beautiful Boy
John Lennon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hello 37

Today, I turned 37.

T H I R T Y  S E V E N.

It’s not that I feel old. I remember turning 27 and for some reason, to me that age seemed like a milestone kind of age to reach. At that time, I thought I was positively heading for the proverbial hill, I saw 30 looming in the close distance and I remember thinking that was ancient. I can remember thinking, right, maybe it’s time to start thinking seriously about what it is I want to do with this life of mine.

And now for some reason, 37 is also a birthday that prompted me to stop and think, and sort of take stock. How have these last ten years flown by so fast? I used to wonder – will I settle down and get married? Will I have any children? It was impossible to think of myself adult enough to do either thing. And here I am, a 37 year old wife and mother of two young sons.

I’m really lucky to be able to say that. And I’m really proud of it too. It wasn’t exactly an easy path but as they say, the things we work hardest for bring the best rewards.

So with that in mind, now I’m 37 and hurtling at an alarming pace towards 40, I have decided that my next project will be myself. For as long as I can remember now, losing weight has been a never ending thing I want to acheive. I’ve done it, then lost it, then done it, then lost it. Then I was doing really well, then I did IVF treatment, then thankfully got pregnant. Then I had Rian, and tried again, and started doing really well again. Then more treatment, got pregnant, and here we are back at square one.

A couple of years ago, shortly after I went back to work after Rian’s maternity leave and 3 stone heavier than I was before I had him, an opportunity came my way to take part in a health programme run by a local fitness studio called True Fitness. I applied for a place on a course, where 20 spaces were available. I filled in the form, convinced I wouldn’t win a place, and congratulated myself for trying anyway and thought that was enough effort for one day. At least I tried.

To my alarm I actually did win a place on the course – and sure then I had no choice but to complete it! It petrified me. But I’m so glad I did because it was the thing that completely and forever changed my attitude to exercise, and why I want to do it regularly now. Then, we decided to try for Alex again so in a way I suppose I would say I put myself on hold for a while too.

And here we are. Life with a toddler and a newborn was full on. It still is, with a toddler and a bigger toddler. Despite getting back to regular exercise as soon as I could after our gorgeous Alex arrived, I never got back into the swing of it properly. It’s more than just losing weight – life was so busy and there were other things to focus on, I never really got back to finding myself again. It’s kind of hard to describe.

But since being back at work, things have been full on. I am convinced, the year between a baby turning 1 and 2 years of age, is the hardest one. (So far at least!) Give me the newborn stage any day. It’s tough going, of course it is. Coming up to Christmas I felt so worn out I kept finding myself skipping going to my training sessions, work was busier, I didn’t even find time for myself to write here, which has always been my way of escaping to myself for a few minutes. The ironic thing was, by skippping the training, I was only helping myself to feel more tired.

And so the New Year came around, and something in me clicked again. This is going to be my year, I will do something purely for myself. I don’t mean to make myself out to be another Mother Teresa – big deal, I had kids. So do millions of people. But I wasn’t happy in myself. That’s not to say I was unhappy in my life, far from it –  but I was piling on weight again, and with each pound I gained, I was less and less happy with myself mentally too.

And out of the blue I discovered that True Fitness were launching a Part Two for the original course I did three years ago. Pretty much straight away I put my name down again – the kickstart I needed just landed right in my lap. This time I filled in the form with no fear of what I was signing up to, in fact the opposite.

Before I even started the course this time around, I felt better. The biggest thing I learned at the very first one, which was a complete revelation to me, was that losing weight wasn’t to be my goal, but a side effect of a different goal. At the time I thought, yeah ok fine, that sounds great and all, but really I’m only here to lose the weight. But slowly I realised I wasn’t only there to lose the weight.

We constantly set goals for ourselves in life thinking if we can just reach this one thing, this one milestone, it will make us happy. But do we ever stop and wonder what we’ll do if we actually achieve it? What will we choose as the next thing to make us happy?

There’s a sort of freedom I found when I entered my thirties, which was that I discovered I give zero shits about what people think. And that just seems to strengthen as I go along. I can totally see how I’ll probably end up being a total embarassment to Rian & Alex the way everyone sometimes thought their parents were. Being uncool around their friends by insisting they consider sensible things and all that sort of stuff. They’ll be morto, I won’t give a shite!

And at the ripe old age of 37 it has finally dawned on me. I need to focus on the things I have and enjoy them, to not assume I’ll have them on my way to get the things that I think will make me ‘happy’. Even the things in life that aren’t so great – figure out ways to either make them great, or learn to accept them for what they are. And I need to do this within myself too.

So 37 years old, this will be my year. I might not make it all the way to skinny, and maybe I will. It doesn’t matter. But three weeks into the course and it has already uncovered bits of the old me. I am already so much happier in myself. This is my goal, maybe the weightloss will follow, that will be nothing but a bonus. After the last few years of IVF and then thankfully getting to grow two perfect babies, I’m taking myself back for a little while. Happy Birthday to me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Too Shall Pass

I remember during one particularly tough phase of Rian’s first few months when he had colic, someone said to me ‘This too shall pass’ – and of course it does. I see it quite often in parenting groups; someone will ask for advice on dealing with some tricky new hurdle and usually all we can say is, hang in there, it’s just a phase, this too shall pass!

But do we ever stop to remember that the good things too shall pass? The little stages we love, their little quirks, the new thing they’ve discovered they can do…they change so fast because life is busy passing and we’re constantly just trying to catch up with ourselves. All of the little things they do that may seem inconsequential at the time, you might not even notice them. But I’ve only been a parent now for two years and already I want it to slow down. I want to remember all the little things about them that make me cry with laughter, or cry with frustration.  The things that make my heart want to jump out of my chest with pride and love. All of it.

Recently I was asked by a friend of mine to help put into words a way to describe his new venture in photography – a documentary style ‘day in the life’. While doing it, it made me focus on my own life with my two boys. And it made me realise I seem to be in a constant state of waiting for things to pass. Waiting for Rian’s colic to pass, waiting for his tantrum to calm, waiting for Alex to settle for the night so I might get a few hours sleep myself. I don’t mean to sound like I don’t enjoy all this – of course I do. But I realised that I hardly ever stop to actually look around me, to appreciate fully and more often just what it is we have been given. Especially since there was a time when we thought we’d never have any of this at all when we were told we’d need IVF. It’s always thinking of what job needs to get done next, what dinner needs to be cooked, what day the next round of vaccinations need to be given, the next time one is due a feed and one is due a dinner.

So I decided to stop and look, and started writing. When they’re all grown up, what will I want to remember?

How things feel. The softness of Alex’s little baby cheek, like a soft downy feather. The little grip of his whole hand clutching my thumb. Those little razorblade fingernails that seem to grow at a rate of knots and terrify me in trying to get them cut! The feel of Rian’s little arms wrapped around my neck giving me a ‘huggy’,  the drool that falls on my chest when he falls asleep cuddled into me. His little curls against my face when we snuggle in under the blanket to read a book, and the sticky little hands that chase me hysterically when they’re covered in the residue of his favourite snack of grapes and yoghurt.

 

 

How things sound. The gentle little sucky noise of Alex’s soother as he drifts off for a snooze. The sound of Rian singing at 6am about Gruffalos and trains and having adventures with Woody and Buzz. ‘To finnty…and bond!’ ‘There’s a sake in a b-oot!’ The sound Rian makes when I know he’s working up to a tantrum, and the swift noise I make in an effort to distract him from getting there! The sound of his little feet hopping out of bed when he’s supposed to be asleep and pattering across the hall. And best of all, the sound of Alex’s gurgly little giggles and warbly chats, and the beautiful sound of Rian’s belly laugh, so hard that tears run down his red little cheeks.

How things smell. The gorgeous new baby smell that still just about lingers from Alex. The milky drooly smell that comes from him after a feed. I could breathe that in all day. The lovely smell from Rian’s baby shampoo, and the smell of his bubble bath that he loves splashing around in. That unmistakable whiff that you knew was inevitable when he wolfed in all that fruit for lunch… ok ok maybe this isn’t something I’ll miss too much of when it’s over! And yet somehow, yes, I think I will because it’s part and parcel of who they are now, and I know it won’t always be this way.

One of Rian’s favourite things in life at the moment is Toy Story, and in particular, the third one. At the end of the movie Andy is heading off to college and is getting ready to leave. His mother walks into his empty room, all packed up, and gets emotional. She hugs him and says, ‘I just wish I could be with you always.’

And that’s my wish too, so much! It’s hard now to imagine them both old enough to be going to college, and I’m sure in some ways I’ll be only too delighted to get two smelly teenagers out of my hair, but obviously the day will come when they’ll be old enough to not need me anymore. Well, I hope they’ll always need me in some ways! Hopefully if I do this job right, they’ll want to keep me in their lives just as much as I’ll want them in mine.

 

 

I want to be able to look back, and still feel all those things, and the things still yet to come. To remember how things are, how they were, and how they will be. To be ever thankful that we were given the chance we thought we’d never have, to be their parents, and cherish them always, because as I’ve realised to be true, This Too Shall Pass.

 

*Huge thank you to Johannes for the amazing, and much treasured photographs of our little family; a day in our life.