As most of you will know, I’ve spent this week implementing
Operation Dry At Night. This happened
for two reasons. One, because they told
me they didn’t want to wear pull ups at night and two, because I only had one
pull up left and couldn’t be arsed to schlep to the shops to buy more. So I went with it. It’s been a hellish piss-soaked disaster and
they are now back in pull ups. It got me
thinking though of all the bloody awful scenarios we find ourselves in as
parents. Here’s my top five:
1) When they ask me to fix something and then bleat at me
incessantly while I try to do it. This
is like the Crystal Maze, or some other similarly challenging and stressful
game show. Except it’s more stressful
because the consequence of failing is the mother of all meltdowns from an
irrational toddler, and the whole time I’m trying to fix whatever shitty
plastic toy they’ve broken, they are shouting at me: “MUMMY FIX IT! MUMMMY I
WANT IT! NOW MUMMY NOOOOW!” “I AM SHITTING TRYING TO FIX IT! STOP SHOUTING AT
ME!” and putting their unhelpful
little mitts in the way and hitting me and pushing each other and OH MY GOD HOW
IS ANYONE SUPPOSED TO FIX ANYTHING UNDER THESE CONDITIONS?
2) When I have to go to the toilet with them when we’re out
and about. Oh sweet Jesus. Here’s why this is so fucking awful: firstly, trying to cram three people in your
average toilet cubicle is nigh on impossible, especially when the only person
aware of the space constraints has a massive backpack on that keeps getting
wedged in the door – the door that the motherfucking three year olds are
standing in the way of fully opening.
Once I’ve managed to cram the three of us into the cubicle, I then have
to hold one child on the toilet whilst simultaneously stopping the other one
from picking up the toilet brush, sticking their hands in the sanitary towel
bin and pulling all of the toilet
roll off the roll. And it’s even worse if I also need a wee. Then I have to suffer “MUMMY ARE YOU DOING A
POO? CAN I TOUCH YOUR BOTTOM MUMMY? THAT IS A BIG WEE YOU ARE DOING MUMMY. IT IS ENORMOUS.” at the same time as wrestling
the pair of them, in a bid to stop them from opening the cubicle door while I’m
mid-wee.
3) When they deliberately hurt me when we’re having a cuddle. I swear every toddler I know has their own
thing. One friend’s little boy headbutts
her, another friend has a boob grabber, and for my two it’s pinching me. They grab my jumper or trousers and with it,
grab a handful of my actual skin. They
know they’re doing it, they just don’t give two shits because, to them, I am
barely human. Let’s remember my son
refers to me as ‘the lady’. He couldn’t
care less if he hurts ‘the lady’s’ arm.
What’s she still doing hanging around here anyway?!
4) When they won’t stop fighting. If you only have one child then take a moment
to revel in the peace because when you have two, there is no peace. One of the most irritating things you can say
to someone with twins is “Oh at least you must get a bit of time when they play
together.” Hahahahahahahahaha. No. They play nicely for approximately 37 ½ seconds
every third Tuesday of the month. If I’m
lucky. The rest of the time they fight:
over toys (even though we have two of everything), over who sits where (SHE IS
IN MY SEAT! GET OUT OF MY SEAT!” [drags his sister off the seat by her hair]),
over absolutely nothing (“He is looking at me Mama. I don’t like it. Make him stop.” [smacks her brother in the
face]) and of course, over me. It is
fucking exhausting. Sometimes I separate
them. Other times I leave them to it and
hide in the kitchen. #survivalofthefittest
5) When they break shit.
I have lost count of how much stuff my two have broken – a TV, a living
room lamp, a toaster, their toy kitchen, my iPhone 6, their dolls house – the list
is endless. This afternoon we were
waiting for the Tesco man to arrive, an activity which is Very Exciting when
you’re three. He arrived and Daisy, who
was stood on a stool at the living room window shrieked “HE’S HERE ZACH! HE’S
HERE!” Zach ran up to window, dragged Daisy off the stool, Daisy grabbed hold of
the television in a bid to stay where she was (the one I bought to replace the first
TV that they broke), lost her footing and fell off the stool, bringing the whole television down on top of
her. On top of her. All I could see was her arms and legs poking
out either side! Once I’d ascertained she was alright, (& said a silent thank
you that it wasn’t the massive old TV that she’d pulled on top of her – pretty sure
that would have killed heron impact!) I examined the TV.
The screen has come away from the casing in the corner, but other than that
it still works. For now.
So, to sum up, if you have kids, they’ll hurt you, break all
your shit, put you under unnecessary pressure when you’re trying to help them,
never let you pee alone again and fight, all the fucking time. And you’ll still love them and think they are
the most amazing creatures to have ever walked the earth. Go figure.
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