I had a mini realisation about my blog last night. I had a gander back through my posts and it kind of dawned on me that I’ve never once complained about life as a Mum. I don’t really know why. I think it’s some kind of internal mindset I must have previously had that makes me think that if I have a whinge about something then it makes me a bad person. That maybe something bad will happen and it will all be my fault because I complained when I should have just kept it to myself. But what dawned on me more than anything is that for a fellow Mummyofatoddler out there, I ain’t fooling no one!
There is post upon post of me explaining how much I love my little fella and that hasn’t changed – of course I do. Along with every other hard working Mum out there, but when thinking about blog inspiration this week and what was on my mind, it dawned on me that this shit just got real.
I’ve had a bloody horrible week so far. As previously explained in other posts, I’m currently a full time stay at home Mum. Prior to this new arrangement I worked Part Time in the mornings and the rest of the time I was doing my Motherly duties. It almost makes you want to say part time employed and part time Mum. But that most definitely isn’t the case. Anyway, I digress. So this week the husband was away for two nights with work and left me and the little man at home. Me with a stinking cold on already limited sleep and Ethan with somewhat unexplained desires to wake up in the middle of the night. I dreaded it before he’d even gone.
So here I am, full of snot and a serious lack of sleep hours in the bank and on day one I get woken at 5am with “Mummy lets go downstairs!” No Ethan. Let’s not. Let’s just pretend you didn’t say that. Pigs might fly.
And so followed the longest day in the history of the universe. Everything seemed ten times worse than it probably was. The “Mummy play!” demands seemed to be none stop when they were probably, to be fair, only once every half an hour, the temper tantrums, the food throwing and bath water splashing felt enough to tip me over the edge and when bedtime finally came, some FOURTEEN AND A HALF HOURS after our day started (with just a one hour nap, I should add!) I said a silent prayer (I’m not even religious) that I wouldn’t see my child awake until 7am the next day.
There. I said it out loud. I feel as guilty as hell saying it but I know it doesn’t make me a bad person or a bad Mum because I know that EVERY MOTHER HAS FELT THE SAME AT SOME POINT.
So, yesterday morning when I got woken up and gingerly glanced at the clock already wincing at the thought of it being 5am. I did a real life punch in the air when I saw that it was 6.55am. WE HAD SURVIVED THE NIGHT! I felt refreshed and ready to start again and I genuinely did go into him and thanked him, and he responded with “That’s okay Mummy!” and gave me the biggest and most much needed hug possible.
And how can you be annoyed with that? Instant forgiveness for a crappy previous day due to mushy unconditional love.
Yes, yes here it comes again. The ‘lovey dovey, somewhat sickly and annoying to some’ part of the post. But this time it’s coupled with me confessing that as much as I love my boy… Sometimes I find it bloody hard.
And that’s okay. Because it IS hard. But I do it well. So it’s okay.