The reality of parenting
So thank you to the lovely Sammi-Jo AKA Mother Freckle for asked me to do a guest post. I love her blog and Instagram account for its honesty and humour while she and Daddy Freckle document #therealityofparenting And what a reality check it is! These tiny humans come into your life and completely take over to the point where you are left having an existential crisis everyday wondering “who am I and what’s the point of it all? They are all-consuming, exhausting and emotionally draining BUT (and its a big but) they give you a massive reality check and, I think, make you much better people.
Since having my daughter I worry less about what people think of me, I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore and all selfishness has gone out the window as this little human being is my priority in life now. I couldn’t be happier for it. It’s not easy. In fact, lets call it its ridiculously hard work. From the endless breast milk soaked nights to navigating the inexplicable rages of a nearly two year old, they really put you to the test. But we do have funny, tender moments along the way. The smiles, random cuddles, their gorgeous little sleepy faces when they first wake up ah
When I was thinking about the realities of parenting, I thought about the shit stuff (quite literally in some memorable instances) but then I also began to think about the nice(ish) stuff and thought that would be far better reading than you listening to me waffling on about missing a family wedding because of a massive dose of mastitis (true story) or the time I forgot to pack a nappy for after swimming (another true story you can guess how that one ended).
So here, in the spirit of celebrating the realities of parenting in all its glories, is a list of mildly amusing/annoying things my kid does:
She wants to eat what is on my plate even though it’s the same as the food on her plate.
She has said mama a total of five times but says daddy on repeat all day every day and through the night.
She has all morning to poo but waits until we have our coats on and its time to leave for nursery.
Monday to Friday we have to wake her up after 7am and endure her grumpy wrath. On Saturdays and Sundays we get a 5am wakeup call with a rousing dawn chorus of the daddy song.
On a similar theme, when in the car, she falls asleep exactly five minutes before we arrive at our destination.
No two bed times are the same. Sometimes she goes straight down, sometimes she’s still partying two hours later treating us to a mega mix of Twinkle, Twinkle, the Wheels on the Bus, the Daddy Song (obvs) and more recently to switch it up shes added Happy Birthday to her repertoire. Thank you darling. Consequently, because she doesn’t share her evening schedule with us in advanced, our evening meal is either cremated beyond recognition or is a hastily thrown together cheese sandwich at 9:30pm when any hope of a bit of us time has evaporated and we admit defeat and go to bed.
She likes us to read the same book to her again and again and again until we are rocking in a corner and have to hide said book for the sake of our sanity.
Shes obsessed with “doggies” and will run full pelt at them wherever we are. Chihuahuas, Collies, Rottweilers, to her they all have one sole purpose in life – to be vigorously hugged and rolled on. Cue frantic running after and scooping up of child and explaining for the 1000th time that not all doggies want a finger in the eye or up the bum (another true story).
She very kindly leaves me little tokens of her affection dotted around so it’s a lovely, lovely surprise when I find snot on the back of my work trousers or a half-eaten rice cake stuck to the bedroom curtain.
Shes obsessed with bubbles which quite frankly I’m happy about as they cost 50p and keep her entertained for ages. She literally went into a frenzy when we bought a bubble machine.
To continue this point, the many, many toys she has laying gathering dust as she is more interested in the TV remote, our mobile phones, the contents of my handbag and the cupboard of doom under the kitchen sink.
She loves Justin’s House. It literally stops her in her tracks. She will watch it for hours (thank you YouTube). I would consider this a win for mummy and an opportunity to sit down and rest my eyes for a second but the truth is I’m usually cleaning up after her or putting a load of washing on while she is under Justin’s spell.
Sound familiar? I’m sure you could add many, many more to the list. Shes strong-willed (ahem) and a proper cheeky monkey but shes funny and smart and kind. This is all I could hope for her.
The reality of parenting is that nobody has the perfect parenting plan, or has all the answers (if they tell you they do, nod and smile politely and back away slowly these people are pathological liars and may be trying to entice you into a cult). From my experience everyone is just muddling through and everyone is doing their best which is more than good enough. I think as long as we don’t take it all too seriously and only scream into a cushion once a day then we are doing just fine.
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