Bit By Bit: A Belated Mother’s Day Post

Mother’s Day really isn’t a big thing for me.  Don’t get me wrong, I like it because I get to see my family, and that’s always lovely, but I really don’t give two hoots about my children who have only just learnt to talk/sit up at a table (occasionally)/put their pants on (Zach: so proud), demonstrating their adoration and love for me because the world tells them to. They do that all day long, every single day (when they shit on my carpet, when they smack me in the face and tell me I’m boring, and when they refuse to do anything I ask them to).  That’s love, right there.

What Mother’s Day does for me, as I read all the mum blogs fired out and watch my nearest and dearest being mums, is make me think about where we’ve been and where we’re going.  And that has made me realise that, bit by bit, it’s getting easier.  I mean, it’s still fucking awful a lot of the time, but it’s less fucking awful, more of the time.  I am winning.

It’s less awful because they can walk places.  It takes quite a long time, and we have to stop to examine every single leaf/twig/stone/snail (“UGH, I HATE SNAILS! NO, I LOVE SNAILS! I WANT THE SNAIL MUMMY! WHY CAN’T I HAVE THE SNAIL?”), but it’s better than the shitting, unwieldy, anger-inducing, pain-inflicting double buggy. I am on lots of social media groups for twins and one of the main questions I see asked is “What’s the best double buggy to buy? We want something lightweight, easy to push and folds down small.” Hahahahhahahahhahahhahaaaaaaaaaaa! Nope.  Never going to happen.  That just doesn’t exist. Double buggies are heavy, and hard to push (because there’s two bloody children in them), and they don’t fold down small (because twins). If you’re expecting twins and looking for a double buggy, this is my advice:  don’t spend lots of money, accept that it’s going to be shit whatever you buy and know that this too shall pass.  Lastly, if anyone is ever mean to you about the double buggy (and they likely will be) tell them to fuck off. No decent human being is ever mean to a person who is trying to transport two babies at once.  They are, in all probability, a total tool and deserve being told to fuck off. 

It’s less awful because they do sleep a bit more.  Whenever I feel totally desperate – buttock clenching, teeth grinding, I-cannot-cope-with-this desperate – I remind myself that this time last year, they regularly got up at 4.30.  They get up at 5.30/6 now.  It’s not great (it’s awful, so bloody awful), but it is better than 4.30.  And they sleep through more than they used to.  Again, not every night and not even the majority of the time.  However, there was a point where they were up all night.  All the night, every night.  At least we are not still there (if we were, I absolutely would have given one of them away by now. Seriously.)

It’s less awful because I can get them to do stuff for me.  Yesterday, at my brother’s house, Zach asked for some squash.  I’d got up 47 thousand times already, and I just wanted to sit down for five fucking minutes.  I told him to get the beaker, then I’d get the squash (yes, yes I know you’re not supposed to give them squash in a beaker but a) I’m exhausted and b) they only have squash when we’re not at home and sometimes, you just have to let it go, if you’re going to come out the other side in one piece). He got the beaker, I got the squash and it was slightly less awful than having to do the whole job by myself.  Small wins people, small wins.  Plus, I’m setting him (& Dais) up for when they’re older, when they will erase the sleep debt by waiting on me, hand and foot!

These are small things.  But they are things, and they are better.  Parenthood, motherhood, single motherhood, single motherhood to twins, is a long game.  You have to keep your eyes on the prize (the love, the unparalleled, unconditional, unequivocal love that they offer you, even when you are being the grumpiest, shoutiest, worst parent in the world) and in the meantime, be kind to yourself.  Lower your expectations – of them, of you , of the rest of the world.  And if ever you find yourself feeling bottom-of-the-pit-can’t-do-this, remember that sleep deprivation is a weapon of torture.  It’s something that military powers use to get the enemy to break.  And you, despite weeks/months/years of sleep deprivation, are still standing.  You are a soldier on the front line of parenting and you have got this.  Not all at once, but bit by bit, you’ve got this.