My husband reckons there’s nothing quite like parenthood to bring out more of your character faults than you really want to, or should, know about. I pleaded guilty long ago to being lazy and selfish, so you can imagine how interesting it makes parenting baby twins when they both come into focus. Funnily enough though, what I had previously thought of as my greatest strength has actually turned out to be my biggest downfall! No, I’m not Superwoman or even Nigella, but I am Mrs Super-Organised. My husband might argue the point and say that in actual fact I’m a control freak, but whatever, it’s always worked for us before. I’ve written endless lists, planned our social lives, time-tabled the household, project-managed our house renovation, and had our lives running like clockwork...and that’s all before getting our 4 year old son up for breakfast. And as I say, it worked for us. Well, at any rate it did...before babies, that is.
They are tricky little critters, aren’t they? Because quite clearly they haven’t read the baby manuals which tell them how to behave (whereas we’ve spent many an evening devouring those same manuals trying to work out why they’re not following the instructions). I’m not sure when it all started to fall apart in our house – but probably the night I’d decided to stick to feeding the girls simultaneously. Lily had her milk, but darling little Poppy clamped her tiny mouth tightly shut and fixed me in her steely gaze, with an expression of ‘No way Mum, I’m a feisty little strong-willed female, too’. It turned into the night from hell, each baby taking two-hourly feeds completely out of step with the other, meaning I was up just about all night. By 5am I was delirious - if someone had offered to swap me a mug of hot chocolate for my babies, I would have taken it and snuggled myself right back into bed (you know I’m only joking, right?).
Clearly, the organizational skills which had served me so well weren’t cutting the mustard here. No matter how hard I tried to establish any kind of routine the girls had their own agenda, and all order in the house lay with those two small, pink bundles. Many a day ended with my knickers tightly in a twist, but slowly I came to accept I had to let go the need for control (it’s hard to even write that, let alone actually do it) and just go with the flow (breathe Amy, breathe). All this from the woman who had the girls entire wardrobe colour-coordinated and age-ranged before they were even born. Yes, that same woman who uttered those immortal words, “These babies are going to fit in with my life, not the other way round”!
So, here I am trying to take the more relaxed approach and, whilst it doesn’t come naturally and Mother Earth I’m definitely not, things are slightly more chilled round these parts recently. Anyway, I console myself that all is not lost. I still get to organize my husband (lucky him). Speaking of whom, shall we agree to call him DH from now on? That’s short for ‘Dear Husband’ if you didn’t know. On a good day that is, you can work out for yourself what it means on a bad day.
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Monday, 28 September 2009
The Conspiracy
These days there are only two ways to enjoy a glass of wine. You can slowly sip a nice Pinot Grigiot over a delicious meal, or you can quickly throw a large glass of the nearest plonk down your throat whilst ignoring the background chorus of babies working up to a full volume. Just lately I’ve been doing far more of the latter, having decided that wine must be the best stress relief available, and quite frankly the only thing that keeps me going all day…. *that’s the thought of it readers, not actually drinking it all day*
Four months ago I gave birth to two healthy baby girls via the sun roof (“too posh to push?” asked a friend, who somewhat missed the point that I was just not daft enough to want to push). My repeated requests for morphine meant that I managed to keep my rose-tinted specs on for at least a couple of days. Because quite firmly on they were - I so believed I could easily do this! How could I not, having previously been a midwife and now a primary school teacher, well I practically had degrees in the subject and after all, how hard can a baby be? Even two? Erh...
It was then I found out about the conspiracy. The one that all parents buy into, never to tell non parents just how impossible it is. Oh yes, they all sit back and watch you witter with excitement during your first pregnancy, buying all the outfits and expensive equipment, all the while being smug and thinking ‘you just wait’. Because they KNOW that baby won’t be impressed by the swing that cost a hundred pounds and, that whilst your beige mobile is obviously the most tasteful you could find and exactly matches the decor, it’s not going to make him happy in the way that the hideous bright plastic one will. And of course they know that newborn dungarees or tights or dresses or socks or jeans, while exceptionally cute in the shops, should actually remain there – for in the newborn daze (no, not a typo) babygro’s are actually the easiest thing to put on them - all day every day. In fact mine are still in them now, at 4 months old. All day, every day.
So, back to the conspiracy. I am just not being a part of it. I’ve never been good at holding my tongue (go on, ask my husband), so I have to speak out. So far I have done really well in controlling the urge to run up to pregnant women on the street and grab them, ranting like a madwoman. Because obviously they just might think I really am mental. But I want to tell them to go home immediately and sleep for at least 4 weeks and bank enough sleep while you can. And make sure you go out and socialize now as if your life depended on it, for life as you know it is over for a good long while. But mostly I want to say brace yourselves for the roller-coaster ride of your life. Just hold on tight!
Silly, silly me though. You can’t do that can you? Of course you can’t. Why would they listen to me? Instead I’m doing the sensible thing by writing it all down and putting it in a blog. Now, did anyone see that bottle of vino?
Four months ago I gave birth to two healthy baby girls via the sun roof (“too posh to push?” asked a friend, who somewhat missed the point that I was just not daft enough to want to push). My repeated requests for morphine meant that I managed to keep my rose-tinted specs on for at least a couple of days. Because quite firmly on they were - I so believed I could easily do this! How could I not, having previously been a midwife and now a primary school teacher, well I practically had degrees in the subject and after all, how hard can a baby be? Even two? Erh...
It was then I found out about the conspiracy. The one that all parents buy into, never to tell non parents just how impossible it is. Oh yes, they all sit back and watch you witter with excitement during your first pregnancy, buying all the outfits and expensive equipment, all the while being smug and thinking ‘you just wait’. Because they KNOW that baby won’t be impressed by the swing that cost a hundred pounds and, that whilst your beige mobile is obviously the most tasteful you could find and exactly matches the decor, it’s not going to make him happy in the way that the hideous bright plastic one will. And of course they know that newborn dungarees or tights or dresses or socks or jeans, while exceptionally cute in the shops, should actually remain there – for in the newborn daze (no, not a typo) babygro’s are actually the easiest thing to put on them - all day every day. In fact mine are still in them now, at 4 months old. All day, every day.
So, back to the conspiracy. I am just not being a part of it. I’ve never been good at holding my tongue (go on, ask my husband), so I have to speak out. So far I have done really well in controlling the urge to run up to pregnant women on the street and grab them, ranting like a madwoman. Because obviously they just might think I really am mental. But I want to tell them to go home immediately and sleep for at least 4 weeks and bank enough sleep while you can. And make sure you go out and socialize now as if your life depended on it, for life as you know it is over for a good long while. But mostly I want to say brace yourselves for the roller-coaster ride of your life. Just hold on tight!
Silly, silly me though. You can’t do that can you? Of course you can’t. Why would they listen to me? Instead I’m doing the sensible thing by writing it all down and putting it in a blog. Now, did anyone see that bottle of vino?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
