I Just Want You to be Happy, Mummy

I was a new mother. It was all I had ever wanted. I had a tiny baby in my arms. I was trying to feed him, but he wasn't latching on properly. I was hot and tired and stressed and worried. He looked at me, his dark eyes trying to focus on his mummy. I realised my face showed all too clearly how I felt. I wasn't smiling at my darling baby. As I forced my face into a grin, tears made their way out.

I've now been a mother for fours years and seven months. My children are amazing, they bring me joy and still I forget to smile at them. 

I am tired and stressed and worried. My old back injury has flared up and I am in pain. My movements are limited. I can't pick up my boys. If I get down on the floor to play with them I struggle to get back up. I am worried about my mum's test results. I am worried about my friend who has cancer. I am worried that I have upset another friend. I am worried that whatever I say will make things worse. I just want to make things better. I never seem to have enough time to get done all that I want to do. I am easily distracted by the internet and can lose hours making sure I'm not missing anything. I'm not, but that doesn't ever stop me idly flicking between Twitter, Facebook and all my email accounts and Google Reader. My laptop is on it's last legs so I can't watch video or look at images. Even Pinterest makes my laptop to overheat and switch itself off.

Being a parent far exceeds any expectations I had about having children when I was pregnant for the first time. 

But.

There had to be a but. 

My goodness, it is hard work sometimes... most of the time.  My children are so full of energy I can't keep up. I know they need to run around outside, but just getting them dressed, getting their teeth clean, getting their shoes and coats on sometimes takes hours. They ignore me. They don't listen to me. They fight. They crayon on walls, chairs and computer screens. Okay, they did this once and I don't think they'll do it again, but still...

This gets me down. I shout at them, my dear sweet boys. I feel completely inadequate. I feel like everyone else is a better parent. 

When your four year old says 'I just want you to be happy, Mummy' and you realise you haven't been smiling at that beautiful face, that's when you fix a grin and resolve to be a better mother. Then you turn away and cry.

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I Just Want You to be Happy, Mummy

Mothers

Mothers.

They are amazing.

We are amazing.

Today I'm thinking of all the mothers missing a child.

Today I'm thinking of all the children missing a mother.

Today I read this about Missing Midwives at Save The Children

Justin Forsyth, Chief Executive of Save the Children, said: “While in the UK our thoughts turn to our own mums this weekend, we must not turn our backs on the mums and babies who will die today during birth or from complications associated with it. 

“No mother should face giving birth without help. It doesn’t have to be complicated: someone who knows how to dry a baby properly and rub its back to help it breathe can make the difference between life and death. No child is born to die.”  

Today I watched this and thought it was lovely. I know it's an advert, but I love the sentiment. I haven't been sponsored to post this.




Happy Mothering Sunday.



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Mothers

Mother's Day Came Early

This morning Presley was at pre-school and Cash was playing quietly with his brother's toys. I was trying to notify service providers of our impending house move. I found myself getting increasingly frustrated by automated telephone systems. I either didn't have the correct account number or I couldn't find the correct telephone number to call in the first place or after ten minutes on hold the line went dead. I had to hang up time after time, tears of frustration gathering in my eyes. How hard should it be to inform a business of your change of address? Oh and don't even get me started on the telephone provider! By pick-up time I had successfully ticked off just four from my list of twelve.

Moving house is a difficult and stressful time.

I'm upset for Presley having to leave his pre-school. It is so well run, the staff are mature and dedicated and clearly love the children. Today they made a variety of sweets and the baskets to put them in. Blabla (Presley's attempt at saying Barbara) asked him why he loved his mummy, to write on the gift tag. You can see from the photograph above what his response was. His proud, excited face when I walked in, the lovely gift and the beautiful words made me cry.

The sweets were edible too!

This afternoon I read a lovely post by Kelly, who had her last day at work today before going on her second maternity leave. Her last line stopped me in my tracks. I sat up in my seat and read it a few times. She asked

What do you do when your dreams actually come true?

My immediate response was to berate myself for having so little patience with the boys at the moment, for spending time away from them sorting out the house move (and checking my email, blogs, Facebook and Twitter, something I said I wouldn't do during the day *hangs head in shame*). I despaired at the fact that all I ever wanted was a family and I wasn't making the most of it. I never thought it would happen, especially as when I turned thirty six I was single. So to have a wonderful husband and two amazing children really is a dream come true for me.

Thank you Kelly for reminding me of what I have and thank you too Presley for telling me what is important in your life.

This afternoon I stepped away from the laptop, left my phone in my bag and read them stories and gave them cuddles. Bliss.

Mother's Day Came Early

Delusions of Adequacy

As a perfectionist it is difficult to have delusions of adequacy. I aspire to have delusions of adequacy.

There is a running theme in my writing and that is whether I'm a good enough mother. I know that by caring enough about my children to question my parenting clearly demonstrates that I'm not a terrible mother.

But.

I can't shake this nagging feeling that everyone else is better at it than me.

I want to relax and let go of my control freak tendencies, but they've been with me for years. They helped me in my accounting career, but they're no use to me now I'm a stay at home mum. Young children are unpredictable. In fact the only thing that you can be sure of is that they are their own people. They aren't compliant robots. Their personalities are bursting to get out and develop along side speech and motor skills. 

My job is to provide a safe and loving environment where they can bloom. Am I doing this when I'm rolling my eyes and screaming with exasperation when Cash tips over his drink deliberately again? Does it matter if I have to change his clothes again? I know it doesn't, but at the time it's infuriating.

I try to chose my battles. There are some issues where I will not compromise and my word is law. If we're in the front garden and they step one milimetre beyond the missing gate we immediately go back inside. If they throw a toy it gets taken away. Mostly I try to let them do their own thing. They are 'good' children. They are polite, caring and so so sweet, but of course, they have their moments.

This week I gave them some chalks for their blackboard. Presley, 3, accidentally broke a few. Cash, 2, systematically broke each one he picked up. I told him that if he continued I would stop him. He continued. My normally easy-going little boy was being naughty. I wasn't sure what to do. I picked him up and sat him on my lap and explained that what he had done was wrong, we had to look after our things. He cried and said he wanted to play with the chalks. I cobbled together some brand new discipline technique (partly inspired by Supernanny) and told him he had to sit on my knee for two minutes, say sorry and then he could carry on playing.

We don't have a naughty step, we haven't needed one (although when we had a playpen it was called 'the pen' at times). I thought the two minutes would be up and that would be that. Oh no. Cash totally surprised me by stubbornly refusing to say sorry. FOR 75 MINUTES. 

You know when you start something and it seems like a good idea, then you realise it was a hopeless idea, but can't back down? That's where I was this week. Presley was apologising on his brother's behalf, bless him. I ended the stand-off, or should I say sit-off, by putting Cash in his booster seat to eat the tea I hadn't yet made. The boys had a hastily thrown together cold salad instead of the planned hot meal.

So you see, I feel like a failure, a ridiculous failure. Nowhere near adequate.

Who knew that looking after children was so difficult sometimes? I didn't, but of course I wouldn't change them for the world. Especially not when they play at going shopping wearing hats and Mummy's shoes.

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Delusions of Adequacy

I Want My Mummy

"I WANT MY MUMMY. I WANT MY MUMMY", screamed the little boy.

His outstretched arms desperately trying to reach his mother.  His mother was walking away, pushing her younger son in a buggy. The other woman, in the blue apron, gripped the frantic little boy tightly to her hip. His face red and wet, he tried again.

"I WANT MY MUMMY".

The mother swallowed hard and walked out of the door.  Once outside, out of sight of both of her children, she sobbed silently. The mother felt her heart ripping into pieces. She knew she had made the right decision, for the right reasons, but this was almost unbearable.

Eventually the screaming stopped. The mother wiped her eyes with her fingers and took her youngest son home.

***

If you hadn't guessed, this was me this week leaving three year old Presley at nursery for the first time. And the second time.

He had a great time, once he had stopped crying. As I collected him each day he told me what he had played with, what he had for his snack, that he saw a dog. He knows that on Wednesdays and Thursdays now he goes to nursery. He is happy to go - in theory - he just hates it when I have to leave.

I knew it would be distressing for both of us to make the move towards his independence. He had previously only been left with his grandparents for short periods. Nursery is a big step. 

The other woman was one of the nursery teachers, she also runs the toddler group that we go to. Presley knows and likes her. She is kind, patient and wonderful with children. If she hadn't been there at nursery I wouldn't have left my boy with them if he didn't want to be there. I certainly wouldn't have handed him over as I did. She rang me both days to tell me how quickly he had settled and that he was playing happily.

It's still one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I hope he settles quickly next week.

Oh and little two year old Cash, well, he had the house and the toys to himself for two mornings this week. He didn't know what to do with himself. We both idly played with Presely's toys, waiting until midday when we could go and collect him.

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I Want My Mummy

Where did my babies go?

I call them my babies, they'll always be my babies, but they're growing up. 

Presley is nearly three. He is a tall slim boy and has never really had a baby face, he has always had the face of a boy.

Cash is nearly two. He has always been a little fuller in the face, but acts so much older than his 21 months. I expect that is because he is the younger sibling and copies his brother. You wouldn't really call him a toddler any more.

I have two boys.

Each day they become more independent. They can clean their teeth on their own. They use knives and forks and cups without lids. They can undress and dress themselves - after a fashion!

Presley and Cash play together a lot more. They have invented games called 'going to Aunty Helen's house' and 'hopdyhoptic'. No, I haven't a clue what that means either, but it appears to involve opening and closing the kitchen door over and over again.

They run around the garden and clear up leaves and sticks, placing them the garden bin. They 'help' around the house and repeatedly try to put their toy cereal boxes in the recycling box.

They are wonderful little lads.

They still need their Mummy though. Mummy rubs it better and Mummy kisses it better each time they hurt themselves. They can be howling inconsolably over a bumped arm, but as soon as Mummy has rubbed or kissed it they stop the tears and declare 'that's better now'. 

This was Presley's first scabby knee of the Summer. Short trousers are no protection against running too fast over stoney tarmac.

Cash still has a bottle of cow's milk three times a day. I expect the health visitor will comment on this when he has his two year development check. I'll miss this closeness when he moves over to a cup to drink his milk (or a cereal bowl once the Coco Pops have been eaten, like his brother).

Right now I still get to cradle him like a baby and have him relax in my arms.

Right now I still get to cuddle them both on my lap, whenever I want, and cover them with kisses.

I know this won't last forever and I am clinging on to it as I cling on to them, stroking their soft skin and hair.

One day they won't want a kiss from their Mummy.

One day they won't let their Mummy cuddle them.

One day they won't need me to rub it better or kiss it better.

One day I won't be needed and this makes me feel sad right now, although I expect that by the time I have two amazing teenage sons I'll be heart-burstingly proud of them - all from a respectful distance of course. 

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Where did my babies go?

Good Enough

Is good enough, well, good enough?

In another life I was a perfectionist. In my career I set myself high standards. I met deadlines. I had a clean house and a tidy garden. I was in control.

Then I had children.

When you have children you can't be a perfectionist. They are actually quite selfish and demanding - who knew?! You are no longer in control of when you eat or sleep. Every time you think you've got a routine they change on you. The old switcheroo.

My house gets cleaned when I notice that it needs doing instead of every day or week. Is this good enough?

My husband is no longer the total focus of my life. Sometimes he isn't even second in my affections, especially in the evenings when I'm on my laptop. This isn't good enough.

I'm rubbish at keeping in touch with my friends, it can take me months to reply to emails. Again, not good enough.

Now to the big question. Am I a good enough mother?

I love my children more than life. I would do anything for them. Am I a natural mother? Am I maternal? I'd like to think so, but I constantly feel that I could do better.

Take food for example. Presley and Cash eat pretty well, but I often hide vegetables in sauces. Even so they don't always have their five-a-day. Sometimes I forget to offer them a drink. Presley won't drink milk from a cup so I give him Coco Pops and he swigs chocolate milk from the cereal bowl. Is this good enough? I think I could do better.

They watch some television. Not much, but more than I would like. I use CBeebies as a babysitter so I can cook their dinner while I drink a hot cup of tea in peace.

I do some cooking and craft activities with the boys, but nowhere near as much as I could. I'm not good with mess and am glad there is a craft table at playgroup. I do spend quite a bit of time just watching them play with their toys. I think it is important that they can amuse themselves and they are playing together more and more, but should I be doing more with them?

I don't take both of them to the park on my own as they both run in different directions, usually towards swinging swings. I feel like I'm letting them down because they were born so close together. I use the age gap as an excuse to stay at home sometimes.

Is this good enough? Am I a good enough mother? Andy thinks so. As far as we can tell, Presley and Cash think so. They are lovely little boys. They are happy, clean and healthy.

Why then am I so hard on myself?

I never think I am good enough, but every day I try to do better. Tomorrow is another day. Perhaps tomorrow I will think I'm good enough.

***

This post was written for the BMB carnival that is being held on Tuesday at A Place of My Own. All entries must have a song title as the post title. My title is 'Good Enough' by Dodgy.

Good Enough

Job Description

Job Title:

Mother

Hours:

7am to 7pm seven days a week (if you’re lucky). Occasional (frequent) nights. On-call every night.

Pay:

[This section has deliberately been left blank].

Holiday:

You may be granted the odd night out if you can find a reliable babysitter that you trust implicitly, otherwise time off is not permitted.

Sickness:

Generally you are not permitted to be ill. Sickies can not be taken unless you have prior agreement from your partner that they will drive the night before and you can have a drink and a bit of a lie-in the following day.

Uniform:

Pyjamas may be worn, although if venturing out of the house try to change into any maternity clothes that still fit and pick sick off your shoulder. Brush hair weekly. What’s lipstick?

Skills required:

Cooking, cleaning, washing, bathing, tidying, chauffeuring, precision pushchair pushing, nappy changing, nail clipping, teeth cleaning, teething gel dispensing, administering Calpol, phoning NHS direct, replacing socks every five minutes, putting books back in bookcase as required (could be up to twenty times a day), cuddling, comforting, carrying, teddy finding, reading, doing funny voices, tidying, patience of a saint, stepping on lego without swearing, singing, dancing, tickling, puppetry, drawing, pulling faces, general entertaining, teaching and mind reading.

Benefits:

Spending time with the most amazing, incredible human beings imaginable, your children. Smiles, giggles, kisses and cuddles.

Photo credit

Job Description

Stories and Songs Meme

I've been tagged by the lovely Mum at The Mad House for the equally lovely Fraught Mummy's Stories and Songs Meme.

Music is an enormous part of my life. One of my earliest memories is of playing singles on Mum and Dad's record player. It must have been the Christmas when I was three that I played Wizzard's 'I wish it could be Christmas every day' over and over again. I still love that song, although I'd imagine they were a bit sick of hearing it!

I could never go on Desert Island Discs. I would never be able to list my top ten, there are too many to chose from. There are so many songs that can instantly transport me back to different times in my life.

I find it difficult to listen to the songs we played at my brother's funeral, or my Dad's funeral. Music was important to them too. I want 'Do You Realise?' by The Flaming Lips played at my funeral - it's my favourite song of all time. We had it at our wedding too.

We spent longer choosing the music for our wedding than I spent choosing my dress. We chose songs and music by Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, The Flaming Lips, Elton John and Albert Ammons. Occasionally I hear the instrumental version of 'Your Song' from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack playing underneath an interview with someone who desperately doesn't want to be voted off some TV show or other. It makes me smile. I walked down the aisle to that music.

'Yes' by McAlmont & Butler is the soundtrack to my twenties. Despite going through some difficult times then, that song always cheered me up. 'My Happiness' by Powderfinger is the song I associate with living in Australia for a year.

When I met Andy I started singing again. He had been writing and recording music for a while and, after a nervous start, I joined him.

The song I've chosen to play on here is none of the above. I've chosen the first song I sang to baby Presley. I didn't know many nursery rhymes back then, but I wondered if he would like me to sing to him. He must have only been two or three weeks old and Andy was back at work.

I cradled my new baby and started to sing to him. The words caught in my throat and I started to cry. I sang through the sobs. It hit me that he was mine, I was his mother. I was a mother singing to her child. This made me enormously happy.

This is the song I sang:

So, who wants to join in? If you would like to be tagged for this one please let me know and I'll add you here.

Tag, you're it:

Geekymummy

Mummy from the heart

The Trying Mammy

Stories and Songs Meme