No shit!

I don't know how I forgot to mention this on my top ten worst things about having kids because it is right up there!  Going to the loo on your own.  To put it crudely, as soon as you have kids you can forget ever taking a shit in peace again.  And let's face it this is the only time you now have left to read anything, so it's a double whammy!  No matter how many times I tell them to leave me alone to enjoy a much needed bit of me time, they always find some excuse to interrupt me.  My ass only has to hover over the toilet bowl before they've either barged in with a question that couldn't possibly have waited 10 mins, or they suddenly absolutely have to poo right now themselves, or they decide to fight outside the door, so that I end up screaming at them to "shut it", obviously completely crushing any hope of relaxation!  Whoever thought that one could miss the most basic of functions so much?!    

By Mummy Dearest

Sodding end!

This morning I said to my daughter "you're the sodding end," as she wound her brother up for the zillionth time.  "I like being a sodding end" came the reply!  This last comment to be topped only by her one the other day.  She had climbed into bed with me for a cuddle in the morning and I was complaining bitterly about her freezing cold feet seeking out my warm toastie body, when she had the cheek to say "just stop whining and cuddle me mama!"  Perfect bloody little parrot!!  

Turning kids into ourselves ...oh no!

You know too much of yourself is rubbing off on your kids when while driving an imaginary car at the playground your four year old daughter shouts out of her imaginary car window "it was my right of way you cow".  When I tried to berate her she said, "I'm only pretending mama, it's OK if I'm only pretending isn't it?"  I've realised that parenting is an interesting balance between trying to create perfect clones of yourself and trying to ensure that your kids turn out nothing like you!  I am currently trying to train my kids military style to be on time for school and naps.  As I mentioned in my top 10, what I have in mind is the Sound of Music ...before Julie Andrews turned up and ruined it all.  I can frequently be heard reminding my children that when we're in a hurry all I want is silence and obedience!   The reason being purely due to my own shortcomings.  As women we are supposed to be great at multitasking, but I find that post-kids I am unable to operate with their incessant noise in the background.  In fact, I seem to need complete silence to achieve anything  ...and this is not withstanding having trained myself to do my homework in front of TV (I actually convinced my poor deluded mother that I worked better that way!)  Can you believe she fell for that?  I can't.  In hindsight, I obviously realise that the reason I was often up till midnight doing my homework is because I was so utterly distracted by the TV.  How my mother did not realise this is beyond me.  But I digress.  So the reason I insist on silence and obedience is that if I don't I will invariably forget what I'm meant to be doing and leave half the things I need behind me.  Unfortunately, I almost never get the 'Silence' and 'Obedience' I so desperately crave, so I'm reduced to a neurotic shouting mess every school morning, undoubtedly leaving the neighbours with a very bad impression of my parenting skills!

By Mummy Dearest

My top ten

After the New Year it's practically obligatory to have a top ten list, so here's mine...

The top 10 worst things about children:

1. The NOISE!  Oh God the noise.  This has been without a doubt the hardest thing for me to contend with when it comes to motherhood.  Particularly in the mornings.  I have never been a morning person and have tried my damnedest to convince my kids not to talk to me first thing in the morning, but to no avail.  When I tell them "I'm still asleep", they say, "but your eyes are open"!  It feels like I spend half my life "ssshing" them, so it's a wonder they are so articulate and chatty.  I will always wonder why God did not see fit to include a mute button when he invented children.
   
2. Having to repeat myself 50 times a day.  I often feel as though I'm going prematurely senile!
   
3. The way kids seem fascinated by the bottoms of their shoes and insist on touching them no matter how many bloody times you tell them not to.  And talking of shoes, how kids invariably put their shoes on the wrong feet every single time, no matter how many times you tell them to simply put them on the opposite way to whichever way they think is the right way.
   
4. Touching cars.  Why is it that kids seem to to love trailing their hands along filthy cars?!  We recently went out for a pizza with friends to celebrate my daughter's birthday.  Having been the embodiment of patient perfect motherhood, holding back on my natural tendency towards authoritarianism and actually letting a few things slid, I blew up just as we got to the car to leave.  Having held everything in all day, I faltered and let rip when my daughter seemed to purposely trail her had and the cuff of her just washed cream sheepskin coat along the side of my filthy car.  I shouted, no bellowed, at her so loudly that my husband jumped and innocent passers-by stopped in their tracks.  My husband and I then proceeded to argue over the admonishment for most of the journey home, setting another great example for our kids in the obstacle course that is parenthood.
5. The infighting.  My 5 year old is bossy and anal, and likes things done 'just so' ...a little like her mother.  My 3 year old has a screech from hell, something like a pneumatic drill.  They are both wind-up merchants, so squabbling is a frequent occurrence and drives me mental ...more noise!  
6. The way they pick their noses and then show you the offending object before gleefully and proudly popping it into their mouths!  It makes my skin crawl.
7. The incessant "whys?"  I know it's a sign of an intelligent and inquisitive mind and I should be grateful, but when it makes it impossible to enjoy a bit of music in the car because my son is asking me why the man we just passed is on his phone and who he's talking and where he's going and why he's going there ...I sometimes despair.  My husband says this is simply my punishment for asking so many damned questions myself.
8. Dirty clothes. My son has a knack of getting every item of clothing dirty at mealtimes, no matter how many bibs or aprons I make him wear, or how far up I roll his sleeves.  The other day he was eating a lamb chop when he decided to show me an little 'ouch' on his elbow.  Needless to say, he did this with the lamp chop in his hand and managed to get it all over the shoulder of his wool 'hand wash only' cardigan. 
9. Volume control.  Now you would think that if God was going to be so hard on parents as to not provide a mute button, he would at least provide volume control.  But no!  Kids seem to be clueless when it comes to controlling the level of their voices.  They switch from a great whisper to top volume in a heartbeat, just as you were beginning to think they'd cracked it. 
10. School mornings.  Not being a natural morning person, I find these particularly trying.  I have tried time and time again to explain that there is no time for never-ending questions, chit chat or general dilly dallying, but to no avail.  You see what I would like on school mornings is the 'Sound of Music' ...before Julie Andrews turned up and ruined it all!  I want military precision, but instead I tend to get Hogan's Heroes. 

The top 10 best things about kids:

1. The blissful look they have on their faces as they sleep the sleep of innocence.  
   
2. The rosy cheeked do-eyed look they have when they first wake up.
   
3. Christmas morning.  The look of pure delight and wonder when they realise that Father Xmas really has been. 
   
4. Listening to them having a conversation together.  The questions, the answers!
5. Cuddles, hugs and kisses.  When they're not fighting they're the most affectionate little cuties ever.  There's nothing quite like the sort of unconditional bear hug you get from a small child who still thinks its parents are perfection personified, even though you frequently tell them you're not.
6. The natural hearty laugh of a kid who genuinely finds something hilarious  ...and it only takes a fart, a burp, or a tickle to have them in stitches!
7. The squeezeablity of those tiny bottoms.  I probably wouldn't be allowed to say this in the police state which has become the UK, but luckily I don't live there anymore!
8. The smell of a newborn.  Nothing beats it.
9. The way they are so forgiving  ..."oh mummy, you're the best mama in the world.  I wouldn't change you for any other mummy in the world."  Even when you feel you've had a particularly bad mother day.  Long may it last, but not much past puberty I reckon!
10. The sense of pride you feel when you look at the little creatures and remember that you actually played a large part in making them and they're magical.

By Mummy Dearest

Sleep Deprivation Talking

On a number of occasions I’ve found myself saying to my son age (almost) 3, “stop being selfish and go to sleep”.  It has just dawned on me that in 12 years time I shall be saying “stop being selfish and wake up!”  Let’s be truthful here, kids are basically selfish.  They think the world revolves around them and most of the time, it does.  My daughter aged (almost) 5 frequently wants things “now” and my son wants them “right now!”  Not withstanding the fact that I’ve most likely got my arms full and obviously can’t do anything “now”, let alone “right now”. 

This all applies until I desperately need something done “now.”  Then they’re all terribly laid back and can easily mess around for a good 20 minutes putting a pair of shoes on the wrong feet, at which point I have to either succumb and drop everything in my over-laden arms, or risk bursting a blood vessel trying to convince them of the urgency of getting to school on time  …for once!  Of course I spend most of my time oscillating between feeling as though my whole world will come crashing down if I’m late just one more time and acknowledging that the world as I knew it has already been floored, so what does it all matter anyway in the grand scheme of things? 

There are days when I sincerely wish I could be more laid back and care less about most things, but unfortunately, I’m just too anal to wish for anything other than the things most important to me, because I’m constantly thinking “careful what you wish for!”  In reality, the older I get, the more anally retentive I become and being a natural born worrier (with a bit of “brought up by a single mother” warrior thrown in) just adds to the dilemmas of my daily life.  I seesaw in character between Brie Vandecamp and Lynette Scavo.  I’m the career woman turned stay-at-home mum who fluctuates between hysterical mother and Bakewell tart (and by that I mean bake a home-made tart well).  My kids reflect my inner madness.  My daughter is a cross between an overly cloned mini me on the anal front and a hoodie who runs around saying “bollocks” at varying volumes to gauge the effect it has on my temperament.  My son meanwhile catches on fast to the hilarity of repeatedly saying something inappropriate such as “bollocks” while waiting in his high chair for lunch to be served.

All I can say at the end of a day, is this motherhood / parenthood lark is a lot harder than anyone ever let on.  As with everything in life, one only appreciates what one had when it’s gone.  I do miss the freedom and spontaneity I had pre-kids, although even then I doubt that “spontaneous” would have been the first word my friends would have used to describe me.  All that said, I know full well that as hard as these years with young kids are, they will probably be the ones I miss most.  The years when it only takes a cheeky grin or a touch of their exceedingly soft skin to melt your resolve.  Although I already often feel as though I’m talking to a teenager while engaging with my four year old, the actual teenage years will undoubtedly be a lot harder  …all the strife without so much of the cuddling to make up for it!

By Mummy Dearest

Breastfeeding Boobs!

I’d spent years before actually getting pregnant looking forward to the big event, just so I could have boobs for a while …God having skipped over me when he has handing out breasts.  But never in my wildest (or wettest) dreams had I ever imagined that my bee stings would grow big enough to give Jane Mansfield a run for her money!  During the course of my pregnancy I had driven my husband mad making him take nudey pics of what I thought were fabulous specimens …little did I know there would be a whole new definition of fabulous to come.  Of course no one had warned me that not only would they be enormous, but they would also have the warped lumpy look of cheap silicone implants.  Oh well, I guess if it’s OK for the WAGs, who’s complaining?  The only problem is, although your other half is obviously very interested in them, the damn things are so sensitive that he only has to look at them and the very idea of him touching them turns them into ejaculating rockets.  The only other one interested in these new accessories, besides yourself, is a tiny little creature who can’t even focus on them properly yet ...what a waste!  Of course, nothing stopped me from admiring them in the mirror every morning and taking more pictures for posterity.  I'm glad I did too because on several occasions since then, when challenged by my girlfriends as to the mammoth proportions I achieved, I am able to simply whip out the pictures and prove them very wrong indeed!  


By Mummy Dearest

My First Experience of Birth

What can I say about motherhood?  Nothing and no one quite prepares you for it.  My mother always made it sound like a walk in the park whereas I’ve found it to be more of a walk in the jungle!  The unexpected is always inevitably hiding around the next bush.   Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed every minute of it so far (who am I kidding, it's the toughest thing I've ever done and from what I've heard it doesn't get any easier!). However, while still childless (and utterly naïve), I clearly remember telling prospective parents that kids don’t have to change your lives …of course now I feel rather foolish.  My life bears very little resemblance to what it was almost 5 years ago.  I’ve gone from career woman to mother and housewife.  Of course it’s all absolutely instinctual, so there’s nothing to worry about …not!  You get back from the hospital babe in arms and after all the excitement and hoopla from the family in waiting, off you go to bed in nervous anticipation of the night ahead.  Meanwhile, your husband assumes you being a woman, you’ll know exactly what to do.  Good grief, where the hell did he get that idea from?  I was thinking we must have forgotten the manual at the hospital.  Or are we women supposed to come with one attached at birth?   My daughter must have left hers in the bloodied waters of her birthing pool because I didn’t see it.  No one actually thinks to ask you whether you know how to change your first nappy. Luckily for me I had younger cousins and a younger brother as guinea pigs some years before, so I wasn’t a total novice.  Even so, when the nurse turned up a few hours after our daughter was born to see whether she’d made her first deposit, I jumped at the chance to let someone else change her  …in hindsight, a wise choice given the number of nappies one has to change from that point on. 

However, I see I’ve jumped ahead of myself.  I suppose I should have started at the beginning, when the little being who was about to change our lives forever made her grand entrance into the world.  I had decided to go the natural route …no pain relief, I’d be armed only with a birthing pool, my yoga breathing and some aromatherapy oils.   After about an hour in the pool and I was beginning to think I might have been a bit misguided.  The words “bugger” and “not sure I can do this” sprang to mind.  Perhaps now would be a good time for it to learn to crawl …preferably backwards.  Then a tiny bit of panic crept in when I realised, at this stage I probably didn’t have much choice in the matter.  At this point I look up from my oh so ladylike squatting position to see the doctor had arrived.  Meanwhile the contractions are getting stronger and I instinctively start doing my caveman impression.  I start to feel like I must be doing a pretty good job because I sounded just like they do in the films, when the doctor pipes up and tells me I’m not doing it right.  Not doing it right!!! What the bloody hell did he know, it’s not like he’d ever given it a go!  It was all I could do not to launch myself out of the pool and across the room to throttle him …it’s lucky for him that I was weighed down by what felt like a rather large watermelon trying to exit a small hose pipe.

I decided instead to get back to doing my damnedest not to swear profusely between breaths.  My mother had assured me I wouldn’t swear …too beautiful a moment and all that; I had assured her I would.  However, considering that not long before I could easily have had a job as a trooper, I was doing remarkably well with only minimal blasphemy and the odd four-letter word.  However, the beautiful moment definitely comes post-partum.  Oh my God it’s all over and we’re all alive …my husband too and he hadn’t even fainted bless him (I imagine the fingernails digging into his palms probably helped keep him lucid). There’s nothing quite like the sense of relief when you think there’s no pushing left to be done.  It’s easily got to be as good as any great orgasm …no orgasm has ever made me cry with sheer joy and disbelief at the feat I’d just achieved.  I had to actually ask whether it was out because I was afraid to believe it.  In fact, I was so happy I almost forgot to ask what sex the baby was!  Of course it’s not actually over because shortly after being lulled into a false feeling of serenity with new gorgeous perfect pink babe in arms (at this point even if she had looked like an armadillo I would have thought she was perfect, in fact, I think the beauty of your child is directly and proportionately related to the number of hours you spend pushing!), you’re asked to start pushing again and this time there’s no long awaited prize at the end of it, just a big lump of flesh you’d probably rather not have had to see.  To top it all, the bundle of joy you’ve just started bonding with has been whisked away to have all its bits poked and measured. 

Once my second delivery of the morning was over, the doctor informed me that I needed a couple of stitches (my daughter had exited with some enthusiasm and shot out like a torpedo with a target).  “Stitch me up nice and tight, I’d like to have good sex again,” I announced to the surprise of everyone in the room.  I couldn’t tell whether the look of shock on the faces of my midwife, my doula and the doctor was due to their being a fairly religious lot or because they were stunned that I could already be thinking of sex less than an hour after giving birth!  As it was, contrary to popular belief that the last thing one can imagine after giving birth is having sex, as my husband and I settled into our tiny double hospital bed I declared that I could definitely imagine having sex again, but I couldn’t imagine ever going to the loo again!  In fact, it took me three days before I could muster up the courage  …to go to the loo that is, not to have sex.  By that time, I had realised the wonderful feeling of numbness down below had been due to the injection I’d been given prior to being stitched up.  As soon as that wore off sex disappeared into the deepest recesses of my mind and stayed there for quite some time I can assure you.  When at my six week check up my doctor seemed surprised that we’d only had sex twice since the birth, I thought the man must be mad …or then again perhaps he was just a man.  I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was still rather sore and his solution …we should have more sex!  Talk about a one-track mind!!

By Mummy Dearest