To my darling Noah
I'm so sorry life isn't going to be the charmed one I promised you when you were just a little wriggler in my tummy, but I promise it will be the best life I can give you.
I watched you sleep today after you conked out on the sofa. I thought of the life I had planned for you. You and Ben coming home after your first day of school telling me about the friends you made and the exciting things you learned. All the birthdays with all your friends as you both, of course, would be the most popular kids in your class. Your first day at secondary school, looking so young but still so grown up in trousers and a blazer. You'll probably have the bad shoes and product free hair that all year seven boys seem to sport. You and Ben would both ace your GCSEs and A levels. You would both graduate with honours, and I would be the proudest mum ever, crying her heart out in the crowd. Naturally you quickly land your dream job and probably move out into some fancy apartment with black granite worktops in the kitchen. You send me lots of photos of your many holidays, except the lads holidays. Mummy doesn't need to see photos of that. One day you'll bring a girl with you to one of our many family get togethers. You'll tell me that she's the one. You get married and eventually give me beautiful little red haired grandchildren. Of course, you may be gay and bring home a lovely man and tell me he's the one. You get married and adopt a few cute dogs and live happily ever after. Either way, mummy is happy if you are.
It makes me cry to think that this may not be your life. In my darkest moments I fear that you might never speak. I might never hear you say "I love you mummy". You might never be toilet trained. You might have to go to a special school. You might never make friends. You might never experience true love. You might never have a job. You might never live independently.
I do strive to be more optimistic. We may have caught this early enough to reverse it with the right help. It might not be autism. It might not be global development delay. You might just be a slow starter. I read the social services report last week and it struck me how far you had come since they made their observations. You smile at me a lot more now and make eye contact. You do respond to your name sometimes, and I don't always have to sing the Wheels on the Bus to get your attention. You don't have any sensory issues with noise or light etc. and you're still chilled when your routine is disrupted. You rarely cry or have tantrums and aren't a fussy eater. So maybe they're wrong. Either way, I shall do everything I can to make sure your life is as wonderful as possible and you get every help you need. I would like to say I would move mountains, but mountains are very big and we should probably navigate our way around or over it. I would punch a great shark for you though or kick a bear in the balls should be it be required. That, mummy can do.
It saddened me to realise that all the cute little things you do are probably because of these disorders. Your hand flapping, jumping up and down, trying to spin everything you can get your hands on, laughing at nothing and smiling at nothing. Or maybe these are just quirks that you will grow out of. Maybe my mum is right and it is your great nan that makes you laugh for hours in your cot at night. She passed away the year before you were born. Your nana says you're an old soul so you're more likely to be able to see her than Ben is. Apparently Ben is a brand new soul, which is why he looked permanently surprised during his first year. I don't know if I believe in that kind of stuff, but it is quite a comforting thought.
Of course, I recognise that these are all my worries, my hopes and my dreams. Not yours. None of this makes a blind bit of difference to you. You're completely oblivious. You have no concept of tomorrows or yesterdays, living only in the moment. The things that upset you most are when mummy switches off the television or when you fall off the sofa. I'm thinking about how I feel. It needs to be about what you feel, want and need. You're happy in your own world. You're always smiling and laughing so it seems like a happy place. Maybe mummy should join you in there instead. We would have such a lovely time together.
All my love
Mummy.x
Thursday, 7 July 2016
Wednesday, 9 March 2016
Scaredy Cat
Since I found out I was pregnant in December 2013, I have lived in a state of constant fear. I was scared about how I, somebody who has been unable to keep a house plant alive for more than a fortnight, was going to successfully raise a child by myself.
I was scared on the way to the hospital two weeks later when I was bleeding and was half hoping and half fearing that I was having a miscarriage. Half an hour later I was even more terrified to be told I was expecting twins. I think my exact words were "TWINS! TWINS!! What the fuck do you mean by twins? TWINS?!"
Throughout the entire pregnancy I convinced myself I had lost them. I wouldn't believe otherwise until I had a scan or the midwife reassured me their hearts were beating just fine.
Oddly enough I wasn't scared about giving birth. I was worried that I would poo myself in front of everyone, which I didn't (I had a plan). Being induced was pretty horrific and 20 odd hours into an excruciating labour I was told the boys were in distress and my blood pressure was dropping. You bet your arse I was scared. I had an emergency c-section. I was scared it would hurt. I was scared the doctors were secretly using my intestines as a lasso behind the screen. I was scared the boys wouldn't make it. I was scared I would die. I was scared when my sons didn't cry. I was scared when they were being given oxygen. I was scared when I forgot how to breathe and had to have oxygen.
I was petrified when I came around and realised that I was now a mother to two tiny people. For the first 6 months I lived in fear that my babies would be taken by SIDS.
Constant peeping on them and poking them in the night.
I also live in fear that the boys will be snatched from me by somebody intent on doing them harm. I worry that paedophiles are lurking around every corner. I worry that every tiny red mark that appears on their bodies is meningitis.
If you'd have asked me 3 years ago what my biggest fear was, I would have said clowns or China dolls. Now my biggest fear is that I won't be able to keep my sons safe and protect them from all the evil in the world.
Right now I'm scared. My boys are being referred to a paediatrician to investigate their delayed development, especially Chops who is showing the signs of autism. I'm scared for them, what it could mean. Will they have a normal life? What of all the hopes and dreams I had for them? How will I cope? What can I do to help them? What could I have done to prevent this? Could I have done anything to prevent this? Am I worrying about nothing?
Nothing is worse than the fear of the unknown. I have that fear. But I trust that I have the strength to get us through this. And wine. I also trust in wine to help get us through this.
I was scared on the way to the hospital two weeks later when I was bleeding and was half hoping and half fearing that I was having a miscarriage. Half an hour later I was even more terrified to be told I was expecting twins. I think my exact words were "TWINS! TWINS!! What the fuck do you mean by twins? TWINS?!"
Throughout the entire pregnancy I convinced myself I had lost them. I wouldn't believe otherwise until I had a scan or the midwife reassured me their hearts were beating just fine.
Oddly enough I wasn't scared about giving birth. I was worried that I would poo myself in front of everyone, which I didn't (I had a plan). Being induced was pretty horrific and 20 odd hours into an excruciating labour I was told the boys were in distress and my blood pressure was dropping. You bet your arse I was scared. I had an emergency c-section. I was scared it would hurt. I was scared the doctors were secretly using my intestines as a lasso behind the screen. I was scared the boys wouldn't make it. I was scared I would die. I was scared when my sons didn't cry. I was scared when they were being given oxygen. I was scared when I forgot how to breathe and had to have oxygen.
I was petrified when I came around and realised that I was now a mother to two tiny people. For the first 6 months I lived in fear that my babies would be taken by SIDS.
Constant peeping on them and poking them in the night.
I also live in fear that the boys will be snatched from me by somebody intent on doing them harm. I worry that paedophiles are lurking around every corner. I worry that every tiny red mark that appears on their bodies is meningitis.
If you'd have asked me 3 years ago what my biggest fear was, I would have said clowns or China dolls. Now my biggest fear is that I won't be able to keep my sons safe and protect them from all the evil in the world.
Right now I'm scared. My boys are being referred to a paediatrician to investigate their delayed development, especially Chops who is showing the signs of autism. I'm scared for them, what it could mean. Will they have a normal life? What of all the hopes and dreams I had for them? How will I cope? What can I do to help them? What could I have done to prevent this? Could I have done anything to prevent this? Am I worrying about nothing?
Nothing is worse than the fear of the unknown. I have that fear. But I trust that I have the strength to get us through this. And wine. I also trust in wine to help get us through this.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
A Day in the Life
People often ask me "how do you do it?" The truth is, as I sit here drinking my second glass of prosecco, I have no idea. I just do because I have to. I just take it one day at a time. The following is an example of a typical day.
I wake up frighteningly early for no apparent reason. I can't hear the boys so I assume they're still asleep. I go into their room so I can gaze adoringly upon them and plan to sneak back into bed for a bit. They're both awake. Sleepy but awake. There will be no sneaking back to bed for me.
First thing on the agenda is a nappy change for the boys. I sit on the sofa, pretending to fiddle with my phone and wait for a boy to stray too close to me. Chops is first to be captured. We go through the usual struggle which ends up with me being kicked in the throat. When he's changed, he climbs off the sofa taking some cushions with him. He throws them on the floor and rolls around on them.
Benny is too clever to allow himself to get caught, so I have to chase him around until I wrangle him on to the sofa. He screams and kicks me. I attempt to calm him down by singing "There's a Hole in the Middle of the Sea". Chops is enchanted by my soulful voice. Benny screams even harder.
Next up is breakfast. Chops watches Baby TV and Benny looks at a book. I make eggy bread and a fruit salad. I wrestle the boys into their highchairs, serve them breakfast and disappear for a quick shower. I return to a remarkably tidy carpet and to Benny rubbing kiwi fruit into his hair.
Next step is getting them dressed. It is every bit as frightening as it sounds. Imagine trying to undress and redress a particularly cantankerous octopus, and its equally arsey mate, and you kind of get the gist. Socks are the worst.
Oh my God, the socks.
Finally I can get myself ready. I haven't washed any of my own clothes for about a month, so I dress in some stuff I was going to give to charity, put on a bit of war paint and I am good to go in less than 5 minutes. Gorgeous.
There is a final wrestling match as I put the boys' coats and shoes on. Of course I win, but it was touch and go for a while.
Boys are stuffed into their pushchair, bags, blankets and bunnies are loaded up. Snack pots are filled and I am absolutely exhausted.
Three and a half hours after waking up, we are off!
First stop is the Post Office. The boys are unusually quiet which I appreciate. Until I turn around and see they were using their snack pots to catapult Hula Hoops across the floor. I scrabble around picking them up and stuff them in my handbag. The financial advisor accosts me and somehow persuades me to make an appointment to discuss life insurance. I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't have any money.
Next stop is The Golden Boot. A couple of weeks ago I bought the boys their first shoes. They were apoplectic and so I said I would come back another day. Today was that day. What was I thinking?! They cried. They tried to escape. Noah turned into a noodle whenever I tried to get him to stand up. There was kamikaze moves off the chair. The assistant bought old bubbles, tried to get them interested in the train. It was awful. The end results? A photo of a gormless, open mouthed Benny with a bubble popping in his face and a morose looking Chops. A third picture has me in it. Looking like a whale in a dress, dazed looking as a boy sprints off in each direction. The latter has been put in a fridge magnet frame and a duplicate property dedicated to "give to nan". Oh joy.
The next hour in the shops passes by in a haze of crying and things being pulled off the shelves. Eventually Chops has a nap but Benny is going strong. My will to live has been decimated and I take the boys home.
Nappy change (see earlier) and lunch (see breakfast) ensue. Then I put the boys in bed for a nap (them) and to sit with my head in my hands for a couple of hours.
Chops wakes first. I take the opportunity to give him a cuddle on the sofa. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it feels like heaven. After 5 minutes or so he bites me on the bloody arm! I'm somewhat shocked and tell him off and it's quite obvious not a single bother was given. He runs off to do whatever it is he likes to do. I go to wake Benny up by tickling his nose. My attempts to cuddle him are rebuffed. So I start cooking dinner. Food is partly eaten and partly worn. Boys are scrubbed and the futile nightly attempt to brush their teeth ends up with them chewing the brushes.
It's an hour until their bed time. Yay! There is a bottle of prosecco in the fridge which has been calling my name.
The daily fight to get the boys into pyjamas ensues. I get battered again. Eventually boys are in bed and I finish tidying up. I go to sort out my handbag and discover the hula hoops from earlier. They were bbq beef flavour. My handbag now reeks of bbq beef.
The time has come! I put my feet up with a glass of wine. It feels amazing. I notice the finger prints all over the TV. I try to un-notice them. It doesn't work so I end up cleaning the TV. And the cabinet. And the windowsill. And then I do some hoovering. And then I remembered that I am supposed to be relaxing tonight.
And here I am still. Trying to summon the energy to go to bed and recharge my batteries so I can do it all again tomorrow.
I wake up frighteningly early for no apparent reason. I can't hear the boys so I assume they're still asleep. I go into their room so I can gaze adoringly upon them and plan to sneak back into bed for a bit. They're both awake. Sleepy but awake. There will be no sneaking back to bed for me.
First thing on the agenda is a nappy change for the boys. I sit on the sofa, pretending to fiddle with my phone and wait for a boy to stray too close to me. Chops is first to be captured. We go through the usual struggle which ends up with me being kicked in the throat. When he's changed, he climbs off the sofa taking some cushions with him. He throws them on the floor and rolls around on them.
Benny is too clever to allow himself to get caught, so I have to chase him around until I wrangle him on to the sofa. He screams and kicks me. I attempt to calm him down by singing "There's a Hole in the Middle of the Sea". Chops is enchanted by my soulful voice. Benny screams even harder.
Next up is breakfast. Chops watches Baby TV and Benny looks at a book. I make eggy bread and a fruit salad. I wrestle the boys into their highchairs, serve them breakfast and disappear for a quick shower. I return to a remarkably tidy carpet and to Benny rubbing kiwi fruit into his hair.
Next step is getting them dressed. It is every bit as frightening as it sounds. Imagine trying to undress and redress a particularly cantankerous octopus, and its equally arsey mate, and you kind of get the gist. Socks are the worst.
Oh my God, the socks.
Finally I can get myself ready. I haven't washed any of my own clothes for about a month, so I dress in some stuff I was going to give to charity, put on a bit of war paint and I am good to go in less than 5 minutes. Gorgeous.
There is a final wrestling match as I put the boys' coats and shoes on. Of course I win, but it was touch and go for a while.
Boys are stuffed into their pushchair, bags, blankets and bunnies are loaded up. Snack pots are filled and I am absolutely exhausted.
Three and a half hours after waking up, we are off!
First stop is the Post Office. The boys are unusually quiet which I appreciate. Until I turn around and see they were using their snack pots to catapult Hula Hoops across the floor. I scrabble around picking them up and stuff them in my handbag. The financial advisor accosts me and somehow persuades me to make an appointment to discuss life insurance. I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't have any money.
Next stop is The Golden Boot. A couple of weeks ago I bought the boys their first shoes. They were apoplectic and so I said I would come back another day. Today was that day. What was I thinking?! They cried. They tried to escape. Noah turned into a noodle whenever I tried to get him to stand up. There was kamikaze moves off the chair. The assistant bought old bubbles, tried to get them interested in the train. It was awful. The end results? A photo of a gormless, open mouthed Benny with a bubble popping in his face and a morose looking Chops. A third picture has me in it. Looking like a whale in a dress, dazed looking as a boy sprints off in each direction. The latter has been put in a fridge magnet frame and a duplicate property dedicated to "give to nan". Oh joy.
The next hour in the shops passes by in a haze of crying and things being pulled off the shelves. Eventually Chops has a nap but Benny is going strong. My will to live has been decimated and I take the boys home.
Nappy change (see earlier) and lunch (see breakfast) ensue. Then I put the boys in bed for a nap (them) and to sit with my head in my hands for a couple of hours.
Chops wakes first. I take the opportunity to give him a cuddle on the sofa. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it feels like heaven. After 5 minutes or so he bites me on the bloody arm! I'm somewhat shocked and tell him off and it's quite obvious not a single bother was given. He runs off to do whatever it is he likes to do. I go to wake Benny up by tickling his nose. My attempts to cuddle him are rebuffed. So I start cooking dinner. Food is partly eaten and partly worn. Boys are scrubbed and the futile nightly attempt to brush their teeth ends up with them chewing the brushes.
It's an hour until their bed time. Yay! There is a bottle of prosecco in the fridge which has been calling my name.
The daily fight to get the boys into pyjamas ensues. I get battered again. Eventually boys are in bed and I finish tidying up. I go to sort out my handbag and discover the hula hoops from earlier. They were bbq beef flavour. My handbag now reeks of bbq beef.
The time has come! I put my feet up with a glass of wine. It feels amazing. I notice the finger prints all over the TV. I try to un-notice them. It doesn't work so I end up cleaning the TV. And the cabinet. And the windowsill. And then I do some hoovering. And then I remembered that I am supposed to be relaxing tonight.
And here I am still. Trying to summon the energy to go to bed and recharge my batteries so I can do it all again tomorrow.
Wednesday, 23 December 2015
How do they know?!
Somehow, even though I don't tell them, the boys are always aware when I'm going to have a busy day so they can ensure I don't get any sleep. Last night, I was busting a hump trying to get packed and cleaned up for our Christmas visit to mum and Bill's today. About 3 am, I heard the vocal styling of Ben. I ignored him for a while as he often goes back to sleep. Not tonight though. Tonight was full on wails which made me think he was being murdered. I go into him and scoop him up. He gives me his "thank God you rescued me from this trauma" sigh and I survey the damage - bears have been forcibly evicted, even cuddlebunny, and everything on the bedside cabinet has also been chucked off. I take him to the living room and strap him in his chair and rock him back to sleep. It only took 30 minutes which is great compared to last night's 2 1/2 hours.
At 3:45 am I climb into bed, safe in the knowledge that, as the boys didn't get to sleep until late, I would be able to sleep until 8:30, maybe later.
At 6:00, I am woken by Noah crying. Noah isn't generally an arsehole like his twin and only cries when something is really wrong. So I get him out of his cot, he'd done what we maturely refer to in this house as "a stinky". I found this out by sticking my hand down the back of his nappy as I didn't actually think he had been. WTF was I thinking? He is presently relaxing in his chair watching Baby TV. I now hear Ben having a grumble.
And so the day begins. I haven't even recovered from yesterday which only finished a few hours ago for me.
I now only have 7 hours to finish preparing for our 5 day visit. I've been warned not to bring a load of stuff with me again and it's going well in that aspect, but I suspect I will panic at some point and throw everything I own into the bags, just in case, because they don't have shops in Herne Bay if I forget anything.
Time to crack open the Red Bull.
Tuesday, 15 December 2015
It's the most wonderful time of the year?!
Once again the cinnamon spiced breath of Christmas can be felt on the back of my neck. Yet another event which I must change my entire view of due to having children.
Christmas for me had always been about the food, the drink and the social activities. The search for the perfect glittery outfit for pubbing and clubbing on Christmas eve, the afternoon jaunts to the pub with your friends, sitting around a fire and drinking mulled wine, mulled cider, baileys, hot toddys, winter pimms etc, the work Christmas parties... Now apparently it's all about making your own decorations with the kids, Christmas eve boxes and the phrase "it's all about the children."
I would desperately love to create a winter wonderland in our home for the boys - big trees, colourful hand and foot shaped tree decorations and flashy lights, but I have sadly been afflicted with laziness and a lack of vision and imagination.
I have so far managed to put some tinsel around the lamp and a Paperchase wreath on the door. I attempted to put up a garland and a little sign, but both broke as there is nothing in the world which will hold them up. Blue tack isn't strong enough the suction hooks that don't create any suction and the adhesive hooks which will rip the wall off when I try to peel them off after Christmas.
I had visions of my two angelic looking boys dancing around the living room to Christmas music whilst I cheerfully sang along as I transformed the living room in to a festive haven. The harsh reality was a pair of boys whinging because I switched off Baby TV to put Christmas music channels on and then crying at Wizzard because they were scared of the big beards.
Singing along to the festive tunes was replaced by lots of under the breath swearing as I realised the lights were a fraction too short, that the wall stickers look like they were put up by a blind man and that the garland that broke because the suction hooks holding them up were remarkably suction free. Not to mention that every time I dropped a hook or a piece of blue tack, the boys were sitting under the ladder ready to eat anything that came their way.
In all honesty, I'm not that bothered this year. The boys are too young to grasp the concept of Christmas. I haven't bought them many presents as they don't care about toys, especially when there is tupperware, coat hangers and plastic bottles to play with.
To make it worse, I can't even drink at the moment due to taking painkillers for my bad back (yet another symptom of my impending elderly personism). To rub it in further, I have just acquired a bottle of salted caramel liqueur. I can see it out of the corner of my eye now, teasing me. Hinting at what i'm missing out on. The wanton hussy.
Next year the boys will be aware of what's going on and I will invite santa in and some elves. And I will do crafty things involving salt dough, glitter and paint and baking cookies and shit. But this year is the last year I shall entertain my inner Grinch. We've been together a long time, but it's time to say goodbye because from now on, it is all about the children.
Christmas for me had always been about the food, the drink and the social activities. The search for the perfect glittery outfit for pubbing and clubbing on Christmas eve, the afternoon jaunts to the pub with your friends, sitting around a fire and drinking mulled wine, mulled cider, baileys, hot toddys, winter pimms etc, the work Christmas parties... Now apparently it's all about making your own decorations with the kids, Christmas eve boxes and the phrase "it's all about the children."
I would desperately love to create a winter wonderland in our home for the boys - big trees, colourful hand and foot shaped tree decorations and flashy lights, but I have sadly been afflicted with laziness and a lack of vision and imagination.
I have so far managed to put some tinsel around the lamp and a Paperchase wreath on the door. I attempted to put up a garland and a little sign, but both broke as there is nothing in the world which will hold them up. Blue tack isn't strong enough the suction hooks that don't create any suction and the adhesive hooks which will rip the wall off when I try to peel them off after Christmas.
I had visions of my two angelic looking boys dancing around the living room to Christmas music whilst I cheerfully sang along as I transformed the living room in to a festive haven. The harsh reality was a pair of boys whinging because I switched off Baby TV to put Christmas music channels on and then crying at Wizzard because they were scared of the big beards.
Singing along to the festive tunes was replaced by lots of under the breath swearing as I realised the lights were a fraction too short, that the wall stickers look like they were put up by a blind man and that the garland that broke because the suction hooks holding them up were remarkably suction free. Not to mention that every time I dropped a hook or a piece of blue tack, the boys were sitting under the ladder ready to eat anything that came their way.
In all honesty, I'm not that bothered this year. The boys are too young to grasp the concept of Christmas. I haven't bought them many presents as they don't care about toys, especially when there is tupperware, coat hangers and plastic bottles to play with.
To make it worse, I can't even drink at the moment due to taking painkillers for my bad back (yet another symptom of my impending elderly personism). To rub it in further, I have just acquired a bottle of salted caramel liqueur. I can see it out of the corner of my eye now, teasing me. Hinting at what i'm missing out on. The wanton hussy.
Next year the boys will be aware of what's going on and I will invite santa in and some elves. And I will do crafty things involving salt dough, glitter and paint and baking cookies and shit. But this year is the last year I shall entertain my inner Grinch. We've been together a long time, but it's time to say goodbye because from now on, it is all about the children.
Monday, 30 November 2015
One of those days
Today is one of those days.
Today is one of those horrible days when I wish I wasn't a mother, where I question whether or not I am the sort of person that should be a mother.
I should never have been able to have children. The doctor told me so. It never bothered me as I never wanted children. But when I found out I was pregnant, I somehow knew that these were my babies, that this was meant to be.
Unfortunately today is one of those days when I question that. I don't usually have such beastly thoughts about my boys, not since the PND days, and I suspect a lot of it is down to tiredness. Special thanks to Benny for deciding that he now wants to be awake between 11pm and 2:30am.
Many little things have been irritating me today but I finally had a cry shortly after lunch. I was on the floor picking up bits of lunch the boys deemed to be not good enough for them when Benny launched his cup out of his high chair. It landed on the plate I was collecting the food on and it smashed in half. I told him off. I told myself off for telling him off. He, after all, didn't do it deliberately. I carried on picking the food up when Benny reached over and grabbed a handful of my hair. I gave him another telling off but could feel myself starting to well up. I sat on the floor and felt bits of food hitting the back of my head. I lost it and sat there sobbing. All sorts went through my mind. What had become of me? This isn't me. This enormous fat girl with saggy tits and flabby belly. This girl with no make up on, with frizzy hair in horrible condition. This girl with stubbly legs, cracked lips, rough skin, food stained dress that i've been wearing for three days.as I haven't had a chance to wash any of my own clothes out for nearly a week. I didn't recognise myself. I haven't recognised myself in a long time. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't matter anymore. I want my old life back.
My old life wasn't fantastic. I had a job that paid well but that I was falling out of love with. I had a fancy flat in the town centre and, more importantly, I had complete 100% freedom. I can't even have a wee without an audience screaming at me.
But today is just one of those days. It'll be over soon and tomorrow will be a better day.
Today is one of those horrible days when I wish I wasn't a mother, where I question whether or not I am the sort of person that should be a mother.
I should never have been able to have children. The doctor told me so. It never bothered me as I never wanted children. But when I found out I was pregnant, I somehow knew that these were my babies, that this was meant to be.
Unfortunately today is one of those days when I question that. I don't usually have such beastly thoughts about my boys, not since the PND days, and I suspect a lot of it is down to tiredness. Special thanks to Benny for deciding that he now wants to be awake between 11pm and 2:30am.
Many little things have been irritating me today but I finally had a cry shortly after lunch. I was on the floor picking up bits of lunch the boys deemed to be not good enough for them when Benny launched his cup out of his high chair. It landed on the plate I was collecting the food on and it smashed in half. I told him off. I told myself off for telling him off. He, after all, didn't do it deliberately. I carried on picking the food up when Benny reached over and grabbed a handful of my hair. I gave him another telling off but could feel myself starting to well up. I sat on the floor and felt bits of food hitting the back of my head. I lost it and sat there sobbing. All sorts went through my mind. What had become of me? This isn't me. This enormous fat girl with saggy tits and flabby belly. This girl with no make up on, with frizzy hair in horrible condition. This girl with stubbly legs, cracked lips, rough skin, food stained dress that i've been wearing for three days.as I haven't had a chance to wash any of my own clothes out for nearly a week. I didn't recognise myself. I haven't recognised myself in a long time. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't matter anymore. I want my old life back.
My old life wasn't fantastic. I had a job that paid well but that I was falling out of love with. I had a fancy flat in the town centre and, more importantly, I had complete 100% freedom. I can't even have a wee without an audience screaming at me.
But today is just one of those days. It'll be over soon and tomorrow will be a better day.
Thursday, 12 November 2015
Today's letter was D and the word was discipline. Discipline - a word that used to conjure up images of a pale and flabby middle aged woman rummaging around Ann Summers for a paddle and some flimsy furry handcuffs to add a bit of spice to her ailing sex life with her increasingly impotent husband.
Disciplining children is an entirely different kettle of fish. And I am absolutely shit at it. On the whole, Benny and Chops are good boys which makes it harder to differentiate between bad behaviour and normal small child behaviour. So I have been issuing telling offs largely based on how irritating I find their behaviour, whether or not it was funny, if there is potential for something to get broken and whether or not it is dangerous.
Earlier today, Benny bit me on the leg. I squealed, swore and raised my voice to tell him off. He looked at me in shock and his lip started to tremble. Then he started crying, big sobs. I felt awful and apologised to him and gave him a big cuddle. So somehow I get bitten and end up apologising to Benny. Well played son, well played.
The main reason for a telling off occurs when I am trying to change their clothes and nappies. Benny arches his back and goes all rigid whereas Chops is like a noodle. They both try to escape from me and I desperately want them to understand that this would have been over 20 minutes ago if they would just stay still and let me change them. The worst is when they have a stinky nappy. This is where I desperately wish I was an octopus. I have one hand holding up the legs, another hand wiping the bum, another hand trying to swipe away their hands from their bums, another hand trying to keep the other boy from eating the dirty nappy and wet wipes. How many hands is that? 4 hands. Well if I was an octopus I could hold 4 glasses of wine as well.
Anyway, you can guarantee that the baby in question will break away despite my desperate pleas "please stay still Chops. Don't move, don't you even think about it, don't you dare. Just stay still for 5 poxy minutes for the love of God child. Benny, don't you touch the wet wipes. Give it to mummy. Give it to mummy. Give it to mummy please. Give it to mummy now. Chops! Godammit! Get back here now for crying out loud. Get here. Don't you dare move, for Christ's sake". And there it is, Chops is crawling down the hallway, stopping every so often to sit down and leave a poo print on the carpet. Benny is sitting there with a mouth full of wet wipes and I'm sat there with my head in my hands and poo all over my hands and legs.
This ordeal has taken around half an hour. And I now have to repeat it with the other boy.
Twins are twice as nice you say? Yeah, something like that.
Disciplining children is an entirely different kettle of fish. And I am absolutely shit at it. On the whole, Benny and Chops are good boys which makes it harder to differentiate between bad behaviour and normal small child behaviour. So I have been issuing telling offs largely based on how irritating I find their behaviour, whether or not it was funny, if there is potential for something to get broken and whether or not it is dangerous.
Earlier today, Benny bit me on the leg. I squealed, swore and raised my voice to tell him off. He looked at me in shock and his lip started to tremble. Then he started crying, big sobs. I felt awful and apologised to him and gave him a big cuddle. So somehow I get bitten and end up apologising to Benny. Well played son, well played.
The main reason for a telling off occurs when I am trying to change their clothes and nappies. Benny arches his back and goes all rigid whereas Chops is like a noodle. They both try to escape from me and I desperately want them to understand that this would have been over 20 minutes ago if they would just stay still and let me change them. The worst is when they have a stinky nappy. This is where I desperately wish I was an octopus. I have one hand holding up the legs, another hand wiping the bum, another hand trying to swipe away their hands from their bums, another hand trying to keep the other boy from eating the dirty nappy and wet wipes. How many hands is that? 4 hands. Well if I was an octopus I could hold 4 glasses of wine as well.
Anyway, you can guarantee that the baby in question will break away despite my desperate pleas "please stay still Chops. Don't move, don't you even think about it, don't you dare. Just stay still for 5 poxy minutes for the love of God child. Benny, don't you touch the wet wipes. Give it to mummy. Give it to mummy. Give it to mummy please. Give it to mummy now. Chops! Godammit! Get back here now for crying out loud. Get here. Don't you dare move, for Christ's sake". And there it is, Chops is crawling down the hallway, stopping every so often to sit down and leave a poo print on the carpet. Benny is sitting there with a mouth full of wet wipes and I'm sat there with my head in my hands and poo all over my hands and legs.
This ordeal has taken around half an hour. And I now have to repeat it with the other boy.
Twins are twice as nice you say? Yeah, something like that.
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