All posts filed under: Parenting

Five going on fifteen

I’ve noticed a shift in attitude from my 5-year old boy recently.  He has always known his own mind and has never been afraid to ask for what he wants, exactly when he wants it. But, this is more than ‘I want juice’, ‘I said the blue cup, not the red one’, ‘I’m not drinking anything until you make me a fresh drink in a new cup and if the beverage/colour of cup/way it is delivered is fitting to my mood then I will refrain from throwing it across the kitchen table in a blaze of fury’ kind of way.  Much more. For example, when I asked him to brush his teeth this morning, he told me to ‘just zip it’. JUST.ZIP.IT. To which, once I had peeled my jaw off the floor, I responded with ‘Please don’t speak to me in that way’ OH, JUST SHUT UP. I will not shut-up. Now, please go and brush your teeth. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, I WILL DO IT WHEN I AM READY. I need you to brush your teeth now please. …

5 things I thought I’d always remember… but don’t

My nephews came to us for a sleepover recently and for one whole night, I had an additional 5-year old and a 2-year old to look after. It was brilliant fun and they were no trouble at all, however I did get an insight into what it might be like to have 3 children and have a brand new respect for those who do. I was not too worried about the 5-year old, because I also have one of those and believe most problems can be easily resolved with food, a quick run around the garden, or Star Wars.  The 2-year old on the other hand came with a nappy changing bag, bottles, formula, dummies and instructions on how to prevent him rolling out of bed. I looked at the bottle and to the little container of formula. Then back to the bottle again. “Just one before bed” his dad told me. I lost count of how many bottles of milk I made up for my own son when he was a baby. Sometimes 5 or 6 a day, I think.  I …

My Miracle Baby

They call them miracle babies, the ones conceived after years of unexplained infertility. The couples who try and try and try and then one day, when they are least expecting it, when they have all but given up hope, something in the sky aligns, the timing is right and they are pregnant. There are also many babies conceived on the first attempt. Couples who did not have to endure months of trying, the two-week wait that feels like an age, or the disappointment when the line does not turn blue. Again. That was us. The Greek God(zilla) and I got pregnant with our son on the first attempt. I did not have to pee on a single ovulation stick, keep a fertility diary, or consider assisted conception. I did not really understand the struggle many other couples go through then. I had no idea of the feelings of frustration, anger, resentment, confusion and deep sadness that follows when it just doesn’t seem to work out. Until we started trying for number two. I think I assumed it would just …

The Guilt Trap

Guilt. It’s a funny thing. It gets under your skin and makes you do all kinds of crazy shit. As a parent, guilt keeps many of us awake at night with its persistent nagging over how much TV you let your kids watch, if you read to them enough, play with them enough, or mollycoddle them too much. As a full-time working mum, I hid behind a cloak of guilt that grew heavier with every ball I dropped. It would niggle away at me saying DO MORE, BE BETTER, GO HOME AND MAKE SOCK PUPPETS WITH YOUR CHILD. It is what kept me up until midnight finishing the housework, and what set my alarm for 6am to get a quick shower in before the rest of the house awoke. It made me strive to be more organised and helped me to feel more in control. Guilt pushed me to live up to my own expectations of myself, and I was addicted to it. I got my fix every time I had to work late at the …

Raising an Independent Boy

Boys. I live with two of them.  A big one and a big one in training. I will leave you to decide who is who. They exhaust, amaze and consume my heart, often all at the same time.  I spend my days tidying toys, books and magazines away.  I return socks and underpants to the laundry basket they were intended to reach.  I wipe surfaces clean. I help them both fasten tricky buttons and straighten shirts. I prepare home-cooked meals. I clear empty plates away. I unload and reload the dishwasher.  I put the toilet seat back down. I listen to fart jokes and pretend to find them funny.  I am third in line for the remote control, the shower and the sofa.  ALWAYS. When I went to NYC, I admit I was worried how they would cope without me.  Obviously, the Greek God(zilla) is perfectly capable; however he does not know the day-to-day routine as well as I do, whereas our son knows it a little too well! I need not have worried. Everything ran smoothly and they both had a …