It has struck me lately how immensely exhausted I am.
Not just the general end of the day tiredness we all get, but a pure, absolutely shattered, all day consuming, can’t quite function enough to string a sentence together sort of tired.
However, one other thing I have noticed and think about often now I’m on my own is that I am absolutely in love with motherhood. In love with being mom and having that one special little person around me all of the time. If I could do it again I would. In a heartbeat.
I love to watch her, to play, to teach her new things, to learn together, to just be together. For some, it’s not like this, I totally appreciate that, but for me, I feel I was born to do this. To exist with her by my side. It’s the only thing I know I’m any good at. She was meant to be here.
I love it, yet I am worn by it in equal measure. I think we may all feel this way at times, especially with little ones running about. So here are a few honest thoughts on the pros and cons of life as a mamma. It’s not for those with a weak stomach. I’m straight. I’m to the point. I like to say it how it is. Of course it applies to all parents who are hands on and involved with the raising of their kids, but I think this one will hit a resonating and accurately truthful spot with a lot of the moms out there, who, lets face it, often do a lot more of the hands on kind of stuff! Here’s my tale of motherhood, worts, sick, mess and all. Good stuff too 😉 I hope it raises a smile or two. It made me smile writing it.
Sickness: Getting in from a shopping trip and cleaning up sick before your bag is even off your back. Knowing that the frozen peas in your trendy hessian bag for life are going to defrost before you have cleared it all up, acknowledging the simple task of putting them in the freezer first is something easier said than done when you have a daughter with a severe gag reflex, who will continue to be sick, making more mess to clean up, if it’s left to linger longer than a few seconds. Realizing that your wipe clean only new rug probably will not wipe clean at all and needs to now go into the washing machine. Feeling disheartened that you know the colours will probably run and ruin the whole thing. Discovering that you are out of washing powder, having to leave the rug to sit and fester for the rest of the day until you have the energy to go shopping again tomorrow. Contemplating washing the rug the next day when it’s pouring with rain and knowing it will take at least 3 days to dry indoors, keeping a dim glimmer of hope that it doesn’t smell damp again after that long and need to be rewashed. Scraping off what you can into the bin with a spoon whilst trying not to gag yourself. Sitting on your tired knees, literally scooping up chunks of vomit with your newly purchased packet of £2.49 a pop water wipes. Feeling annoyed that you were hoping these expensive wipes, that you couldnt afford when she was a baby as she needed several packets a week then, so now buy as a treat, are now being used in great mass to clean up sick, rather than sitting for a few weeks in your bag as you had hoped, ensuring you got your money’s worth out of those pricy bastards, with an added feel good factor of being able to clean your little one’s face with a chemical free product. Having to change the bin before it’s even full so the smell doesn’t stick to the kitchen. Having to change your daughter’s clothes and give her a bath all before lunchtime, knowing all of these things should have lasted until bedtime, when they will have to be done again anyway.
Getting to comfort her and make her feel better after being sick or feeling unwell. Getting those somewhat desperate, feel sorry for myself cuddles off my little girl who really needs and wants me in those moments. Completely surrendering to what she needs and feeling that love and bond, whether it be letting her lay across my lap until she feels better or simply kissing her head and assuring her she’s ok before she runs off to play again. Feeling loved and needed and knowing I’m helping her in that moment and offering love and security.
Above: Sick in all its glory. Sorry Emi. I write the truth 😉
Tantrums: Watching your child have a major meltdown at the fact you have put butter on their toast underneath their layer of jam. Feeling pissed off that they are now refusing to eat the toast you have got out of bed to make at 6.30am especially for them after they have demanded it of you since about an hour earlier. Not having the patience to pander to a little dictator at that time in the morning, so casually making tea and switching off as they scream and slam the door in the other room, probably breaking things you rather like along the way. Getting worked up and frustrated inside and trying your hardest not to scream and slam the door in return. Snapping back at them when they throw the food onto the floor, them wanting that reaction, as you see it catching your furniture along the way, making more unnecessary mess to clean up. After 20 minutes of hell, realizing it has all gone quiet and going in to see the child happily chowing down on the now cold toast they were so against a few minutes ago, whilst giggling away to CBeebies on tv. Walking off in astonishment after hearing them say they are still hungry and asking for more of the toast they apparently so hated before. Feeling mentally drained before it’s even light outside, knowing the rest of the day could bring another 3 or 4 of these breakdowns and not feeling ready for it or able to cope. Wondering how the hell you will get through the day with a start like this. Praying for bedtime already at 7am. Doing breathing exercises to keep your cool by the kettle, as you reach for the normal tea, knowing you need it in a time where you would usually be happy to settle for decaffeinated. Hearing it all starting again because the tv programme she has watched has finished and you get the blame for turning it off, somehow from the kitchen without access to the remote control. Calming her down again and taking in her requested second round of toast, only for her to refuse it and say she’s not hungry anymore. Feeling your blood bubble inside but trying with everything you have not to show her she’s got to you. Begrudgingly eating the would be wasted toast so it doesn’t end up in the bin, even though you have tried to be good and have just a banana and some nuts for breakfast that day. Knowing its a losing battle and sitting back and enjoying the toast instead whilst looking down at your ever expanding mum tum you should have shifted 4 years ago. Knowing that putting the toast in the bin would bother you more than eating it, so accepting the extra calories you didn’t initially want are an acceptable second option to otherwise pointless wasting of food. Knowing you have had bread every day for the last week and really need to cut down on starchy carbs, whilst knowing you are gaining so much comfort from them at the same time. Waiting until you have eaten the last crust before hearing another meltdown when she realizes you have eaten the toast she didnt even want because it was hers.
The rare occassions when she has a meltdown and there is a good reason behind it. Those times she breaks downs and is angry and I am able to keep my cool and let her do what she needs in letting it flow. The patience I have learned over time in how to deal with someone who has no control over how to deal with their own emotions themselves at that age. The lessons I have learned in not taking it personally. The triumph of getting through a tantrum and coming out the other end still liking each other immensly. The fact they don’t remember these things 5 minutes after it has happened but will remember me being there instead.
Above: The come down to a massive tantrum out on a day trip with friends. I am half eating, half trying to find the will to smile and half hoping she eats her lunch and stops being a diva…thats a strained face right there…the show must go on…second pic…the face says it all…early morning bad start, mom annoyed, picky nose kid not bothered
Bedtime: That same routine every night of fighting her to get up the stairs as she does not want to go to bed. Having to physically carry up a strong willed 4 year old if she refuses. Watching as she brushes her front teeth only, really hard and really fast within about 15 seconds to make a point that she has done them. Chasing her across the landing to bring her back into the bathroom so that I can help her brush them properly. Having to hear her fake cry as I try and brush her back teeth, with her exaggerating that I am making her teeth hurt and making her sick. Once teeth are done, rechasing her across the landing again to bring her back to the bathroom to have a wee before sleep. Having to physically put her on the toilet as she protests that she doesnt even need one. Fighting against her superhuman mini person strength and replacing her back on the toilet about 4 times until she finally sits there and has a wee that sounds as if it it has been stored up there for about a decade. Watching her smirk at me as she does so. Going into the bedroom to find she has taken off the pyjamas you placed on her 5 minutes ago and dumped them on the floor in a heap. Reading her bedtime story and leaving the room, only for her to refuse to settle or wake up an hour later so you lose any chance of an evening yourself. Never getting to sleep in your own bed as she has security issues, sleeping next to her in part every night and forgetting what it’s like to sleep alone and comfortably. Wondering if when you do eventually make it back to your own room, if it will be taken over by spiders from lack of use. Waking up each morning and finding you have no battery power on your phone, when you know you fully charged it the night before. Charging it again and finding 100 versions of the same selfie of you asleep in the background and your daughter’s big face up close and having to spend the morning deleting most of them to make space on your phone again. Wondering if you should install a camera to see what exactly she gets up to in the 2 hours she is probably awake before I surface unwillingly at around 7am.
Those evening that she does not fight to go to bed and looks forward to her routine. Those times she sets the timer to show me that she is learning and wanting to brush her teeth for 2 minutes, watching on at her little happy face as she proudly and manically brushes her teeth herself to show me. Those times she cannot wait for our one on one time in bed, curled up together, warm and cozy, with an arm around each other and a good book to share. The nights I will read to her and she memorizes the story front to back and reads it in her own way back to me. Those nights where all she wants is me by her side to cuddle her and feel secure in the knowledge that I am there for her. Those nights where she wakes up in the early hours, desperately checks that I’m still around, reaches over to hold my hand, says she loves me in a half-asleep croaky voice and falls back into a deep happy sleep. Knowing she feels loved and secure with me. Waking up to her beaming face wanting to spend yet more time with me. She’s always smiling when she wakes up. Waking up with her wanting to get on with the day and make more memories with her mom. Having some novelty funny pictures to look back on that I didn’t have to bribe her to get myself.
Above: One of many 6.30am selfies
Being just us two: Finding it hard some days to keep her occupied and do two people’s jobs in one. Seeing her dad sometimes and watching her love him and his time, then seeing the difference in her asking for him after times we may not see him for a while. Feeling bored with routine and no one to share daily silly things with. Wondering what the point of life is sometimes without someone to share it with. Shared life is just better. Sitting down at the end of the day after she’s asleep and having no one to share the day with and discuss or laugh about things she has done. Sitting down at the end of the day and not having any adult company to be with, to talk to, to touch. Staying mute all evening whilst knitting, knowing I’m only 30 and am already living the evening of a 75-year-old granny, yet knowing I’m too tired to do anything else anyway. Trying to keep on top of all the things we used to share as a team by myself, whilst trying to still ensure she is occupied and not breaking things. Constantly juggling money, housework, time. Feeling like giving in some days yet somehow keep being strong and doing what needs to get done. Keeping her busy so that she is constantly learning and happy, not feeling she is lacking in only having one of us here full time. Dealing with my own baggage and emotions, trying to stay positive for her and me. Constantly trying to put her before myself and what I may want. Wanting to go out but knowing sometimes it’s harder to enjoy activities with only two of us. Doing those activities you have pushed yourself to do for her and then being surrounded in parks, at theatres, by seemingly happy families and couples living the life you so wanted, and coming away feeling like utter shit. Like you are not enough for her alone.
Realizing that you can do anything when you have to. Feeling a sense of achievement when you manage something foreign to you, like building a lawnmower out of the box for the first time ever, having been given no alternative apart from not mowing the grass which badly needed doing. Knowing that you are capable and she is safe in your sole care. Having so much time together that she’s like a mini best friend and companion. Having been able to spend the really important first years of her life with her, never missing a thing. Getting to be there for all the crucial milestones. Coming together through times of grief to form an unbreakable close bond. Knowing that her not having much materially now will mean that she will appreciate everything she eventually will have in later life. Knowing that I will teach her to earn whatever she has in life and to work hard in all that she does, whether that be baking a cake or her later studies. Passing on my own life skills to her and watching her enjoy learning them. Being a little team and helping each other get through the days. Compromising together. Her insight into when I may not be feeling well and her care and love in giving me the space I need in those times, even at her tender age, she knows. Knowing she still has people she loves in her life. Knowing I am doing whats best for her. Loving how precious I am to her and she is to me.
Writing this I have laughed and cried at what a menace and a sweetheart she is wrapped in one parcel. Kiss your babies goodnight and take nothing for granted. Parenthood is a bloody rollercoaster and it’s important we laugh at the struggles in order to get through them and appreciate the good bits in equal measure. Goodnight. I’m off for a cuddle x