...I feel frazzled. Today is one of those days. I debated for a while whether or not to post this. But then I figured - parenting isn't a piece of cake for anyone. Who am I to wear rose-tinted-blog spectacles?
So, then. There are times when...
...I simply don't know what he wants & he doesn't want the things I think he does. He cries and holds his arms up to me so I pick him up; then he cries and wiggles about, kicking my stomach and pinching my skin between his foot and my trouser/skirt waistband, so I put him down again...and he cries. He disdainfully turns away from anything I offer him and progresses further into frustration. Both of us completely exasperated. But then I don't think he knows what he wants either and he certainly couldn't tell me if he did.
...I think we should have shares in a tissue company, when I'm sick to the back teeth with having his snot all over me and if I see him wipe it all over his face one more time I...I don't know what I'll do. But it can't be fun for him either. It's not his fault he's teething or poorly. He must feel wretched, poor thing.
...I wonder if one of those playpen things would be useful; I could just sit him in it and not worry about the CDs, books, DVDs, board games etc being pulled from the shelves and onto the floor again. But I know he would be miserable as hell in one and, at the end of the day, it's only stuff. Stuff we don't really need to be happy. So what're a few sticky finger prints on discs between family members? Books, however require respect. We're working on that one and I'm pleased to report that he hasn't ripped any yet.
...I nearly cave in and give Isaac Calpol or Neurofen for children. But I know too much, thus don't take the adult versions myself. Simon and I have agreed that it's really only a last resort when we're at our wits' end. I know there are alternatives to pharmaceuticals that work, their effects just take a little longer to kick in. His liver will thank me in the long run.
...I dream of the day that Roisin will just bloody listen. If she could absorb and understand information as quickly as an adult then I wouldn't have to say the same god damn thing six times in less than three minutes, each time rearranging the words and usually increasing the volume until I'm heard and comprehension is reached. It's impossible to get her attention and I really do wonder what goes on in her brain sometimes. But then I know she is only four and the most important thing in her world right now is: "will I get sparkly party shoes with heels for Christmas?"
...I'd like Isaac to be able to sleep in the push chair. It'd be lovely to spend a whole day out and not have to worry about him having a nap. But then I think: he won't nap forever. You wanted to carry him in a sling and even if you hadn't I don't think he'd be happy in a push chair; he's just not that kind of child. And we're not that sort of family.
...I want to be deaf to his wailing. Seriously. WHAT DO YOU WANT? or LET ME SLEEP? But then I know it's his only real means of communication right now and I know how utterly pissed off I'd be if I couldn't communicate other than cry when upset.
...Aoife really needs to understand that if she doesn't want some toy or other to be trashed then she A) should stop teasing her little sister with it and B) needs to put it away so that the other two can't get at it. But then I remember she's only six, despite increasingly acting like a twenty six year old.
...for one flippant nano-second, I want Simon to be the stay at home parent and I go out to work. But then I snap out of it and realise that I would actually be miserable and miss my little munchkin to death.
...I'd like force feeding to be acceptable. But then I think - he's developing his own tastes and of course he isn't going to like everything immediately. Plus if he was really hungry then he'd eat it.
...I wish the dog would just bugger off for once. Isaac is starting to pet her nicely and give her kisses now, but it terrifies her and she pants and shakes to excess. She's so bloody nervous! She uses me as her safe point which is also where Isaac usually wants to be. But then I think - I taught her to come to me when she's afraid of new things when she was a puppy. Of course she's going to be how she is, he's a constantly changing little person - how weird it must be from doggy eyes! And she really is very good with him.
...I can't wait for Aoife to grow up and see that, as an adult: you don't always get to do whatever you want, you don't tell children to do things for a laugh, you do actually have a reason for most things and it's usually experience, money really doesn't grow on trees! But then I remember exactly how I was when I was a child and I'm sure I had much the same viewpoint as her.
...I seriously think Isaac would be better off in nursery school with people who are qualified to look after him. He's not the baby I couldn't imagine handing over to anyone else anymore. Interaction with other children would be good for him and the time apart would probably be good for me too, I think. But then I see his little face when all he wants is his Mummy and I know I'm the only one that can stop him hurting, even if it is only temporary and I think to myself "he's my son, I chose to bring him into the world and so I choose to care for him myself".
...I am selfish and wish it was just me, Simon and the dog. But then I wonder how happy I'd really be without my little Wiggler and the girls? They've each brought a new dimension to my life and taught me things about myself I never thought existed. I'd most likely be working the same hours for the same employer doing the same old things. Now, even if I go back to that, I know I have three amazing little people waiting to show me something new they've learned about or learned to do. Awesome!
...I hate myself for thinking all of these things and for even writing this post about them. But then I know it doesn't make me a bad person because I'm only human and not to acknowledge how I feel would be of far greater detriment to our little family than doing so now. I feel these awful things infrequently, particularly when I'm poorly and fed up with my own snot too, and it's usually in these moments that they're all there...in my brain...sniping away at me and it's in then that I feel my worst and go a little crazy.
So I'm not sorry for putting this out there or if any of it upsets your sensibilities. I defy any parent to look me in the eye and tell me they don't have moments such as these.
And now it's written down, it's not in my brain anymore and I can properly get on with being a Mum.
