Of all the things I read pre-kids, and actually the majority of stuff I’ve digested since, I don’t remember much about the sheer tedium of parenting. I don’t mean every moment of every day. There are times it’s amazing, when I could live in that moment forever. They’re usually the small, seemingly insignificant things like the delight on their faces as they find a dandelion ready for blowing away times on the clock. Or the satisfied smile as I draw on their backs with my finger, singing, “I draw a snake upon your back and who do you think has bitten you?” And there are of course hideous times, like yet another Mega Meltdown, or when they refuse to eat a meal I’ve slaved over, or one of them does a huge poop just before we’re about to leave the house.
No, I’m talking about pretty much everything else inbetween. The endless, ENDLESS cleaning. How can they make so much mess? Unfortunately I’m too neurotic to let it slide!
The repetition of things which excite them. Like how they can watch Peppa Pig for hours until I can quote every episode and the music whirrs around in my head all night. Or how if I laugh at something delightful they do, they then do it over and over and over and over and OVER again to elicit the same reaction, which of course I can’t after about the third go. Or they’ll discover a new word they love and then just repeat it for hours, getting louder and louder unless I not only acknowledge them but feign enthusiasm.
Add to this the complete lack of freedom. Not that I expected any kind of freedom when I chose to get pregnant, but knowing it in theory and actually living it, every day, is harder than I thought it would be. I can count on one hand the number of times we can call upon a family babysitter in one year. It’s amazing how infrequently people offer when you have TWO toddlers who need watching. I don’t blame them; I wasn’t exactly Mary Poppins before I became a twin mama!
So we almost never go out without the kids. And going out WITH the kids is too stressful to be enjoyable. I’m not talking about daytimes as such. For me, daytime is about them and I’m happy for it to be that way, despite the tedium. But then I feel like the evenings should be for us to have some time to regroup. We do to an extent. The girls are in bed by 8pm at the latest but I’m so exhausted that I go to bed at 10pm so there’s a two-hour window for relaxation. That’s when we squeeze in a film or tv show on Netflix. Gone are the days of the cinema. #1stworldproblems
It’s good to have a bit of a moan sometimes but a good friend recently told me about the SUMO philosophy: Shut Up and Move On. I’m allowed a little hippo time (where I wallow in self-pity) but then it’s time to drag myself out of it and STFU. So with that in mind, it’s time for me to remember to be bloody thankful for what I’ve got, put my pitiful problems into perspective and get over myself. After all, kids may be boring sometimes but they are also effing AWESOME!