10 parenting questions I ask myself (aka I have no idea what I’m doing)

I haven’t blogged in a while. What is there to say? Imatwinmama is supposed to be figuring things out with this multiple parenting lark but honestly, I have far more questions than answers. Apart from “Who am I? What day is it?” Here are some of the questions that have plagued me in recent months:

1. Is it ok for the twins to eat peanut butter on toast for most of their meals?

2. Is it bad that I deliberately exposed the twins to chickenpox (and it worked)?

3. Is it bad that I drink alcohol pretty much every night? Talking of which, where’s the wine??

4. Is it normal that I fantasize about my cats – once considered to be my fur babies – mysteriously disappearing and never returning, just so I can get some goddamn peace and quiet (or less hassle) and save money?

5. Why do parents of older children insist on telling me that it never gets easier, it just changes? Can’t they see how effing DEPRESSING that is??

6. When will this end??

7. Why can’t I have more patience? Why do I apply adult norms and values to a 2-year old and then lose my shit when they do what 2-year olds do??

8. When will I be able to take them places on my own, sans buggy, without feeling terrified that they’ll run away from me in opposite directions and something awful will happen to the one I can’t follow?

9. Why do I insist on a clean-as-you-go approach, knowing full well that this means I’m cleaning ALL DAY when it would make more sense to leave the mess and clean up after they’ve gone to bed? Am I a masochist??

10. How is it possible, despite questions 1-9 and many, MANY tear-filled days (them and me), for me to love two human beings SO intensely?

Because that’s the thing isn’t it? It’s so damn hard, and sometimes so unenjoyable, and yet so bloody amazing as well. Parenting means experiencing the spectrum of all emotions in one day, until you flake on the sofa at the end of it all, utterly exhausted, physically and mentally. It’s being climbed up, clambered on, pulled, pushed and dragged all day until you want no human contact (sorry hubby). It’s discovering bruises all over, all unintentional, all battle scars from the crazy day. It’s having hair pulled, clothes bitten, house trashed, nerves shredded…

But it’s also laughter, smiles, singing, dancing, playing, cuddles, endless rewatching of Frozen (getting weirdly emotional at Let it Go), baking, chatting, drawing…

I hate the hard days. But I love the good days. And even the hard days have good bits.

I am immensely lucky. It doesn’t always feel that way, and I’ve never shed so many frustrated tears, but those girls are the best decision I ever made. I just wish I knew what the heck I was doing!!


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