As I sit down to write this, I’m not entirely sure where it’s going. I’m not even certain it will get published, but I’m going to go with it anyway.
I’ve always written blog posts that are real. Posts that I’m pretty sure other people will relate to in some way. This can be hard in itself because sometimes you don’t always want to share everything with everyone. But sometimes you want to get it off your chest aswell, which kind of leaves you stuck between a rock and a hard place.
I’m making this sound a little deep, and it’s not that way at all. But it is something that’s pretty big for me at the moment. I say pretty big when in actual fact I mean HUGE. The centre of my universe in fact. My little boy.
My little boy. My three year old. My threenager. My terror. My pain in the bum. My angel. My sweetheart. My morning. My noon and my night.
He is all of those things at the moment and every day is a new challenge. My God they don’t warn you about life with a three year old. You hear about the terrible twos right? Don’t believe a word they say! Two, was a piece of cake! Three, however? Different story.
Now I don’t know if it’s just me and my naivety or my lack of knowledge of parenting prior to becoming one, but I don’t ever recall hearing about Mums talking about this kind of stuff until more recently. These days it does seem to be everywhere which kind of makes it easier to write this post, because I know I’m not alone and I know I won’t be judged. And anyone that does? Well they can just go and do one.
You see eighty five percent of the time, my little person is perfect. He has impeccable manners. He is happy. He makes everyone laugh. He is clever. He is smart. He has amazing speech. Seriously, I couldn’t have asked for such a wonderful kid. I am beyond proud. And it doesn’t take a genius to work out that I’m totally smitten with him. But it’s that remaining fifteen percent that leaves me feeling like I’m pretty shit at being ‘Mummy’.
There are tantrums. Usually when he can’t have his own way. Tantrums when he is overtired and won’t sleep. Tantrums when he is sleepy and won’t wake up. And tantrums when it’s dinnertime and he doesn’t want to eat.
Why do these tantrums make fifteen percent feel like sixty percent? Why are they so overpowering? Why do they take over the good stuff and make it feel so much worse than it actually is?
Is it lack of patience on my part? Is it hormones? Is it tiredness? The answer is probably all three. And another answer is, it’s normal. I get that. These little mini humans don’t come with a frickin guide book or Haynes manual, telling you how to handle them. They are growing everyday dealing with their own frustrations. I get that too. But blimmin heck are their frustrations bloody frustrating!
Once again, I’m still not sure where this post is going, or what I’m hoping to achieve. It will probably sit in the drafts folder for a few weeks, if not forever! But if you’re reading it, I guess i got brave.
I’m glad that these kind of things get discussed these days. In my parent’s day and age I don’t think it did at all. They just got on with it. But I think it’s important that we all talk about it. So that we’re not all sat at home thinking it’s just us. It’s not just us feeling like we’re going a little bit insane after a particularly bad day.
They’re clever little things, kids. They go from making you feel like everything is rubbish to everything is perfect within minutes. From totally frazzled to totally calm with one smile. And totally wound up to totally in love with one sleepy sigh.
I’m off to listen to sleepy sighs and grab one more cheeky goodnight kiss before the chaos of tomorrow starts. Then we’ll ride this whole crazy rollercoaster again in the morning. And all because he is totally worth it.
Thanks for reading.
Please feel free to leave me a comment. I’d love to know what you think. It’s not just me, right? 😉
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