How weird is being a parent? You spend every day willing your babies to grow, learn and develop and then find yourself looking back at photos and feeling sad that your babies have in fact grown and developed and that they aren’t really babies anymore. It’s the most incredible thing to watch a miniature human develop but god, is it bloody hard at times.
I’m having an ‘I’m a really rubbish parent’ kinda day today. We’ve had a couple of mega tantrums from an overly tired four year old who has decided that sleep is for the weak and she certainly ain’t weak. I’m scrolling through photos of my beautiful girl as a tiny tot and its filling me with all the feels. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could go back in time and spend just a single day with them as they were then, just one day to soak up their babyness and cuddle them tight and really appreciate them in all their miniature glory, instead of battling with the most determined and strong willed child that ever lived? I remember reading a quote somewhere (on the internet, probs) saying that the very parts of a child’s personality that drive you insanely crazy will be the exact things that drive your babies far in life – I don’t doubt that for a moment.
I feel like sometimes I’m the mum I never wanted to be; the mum that constantly shouts. Each morning I wake up and have a quick word with myself, reminding me that today I must be more mindful, don’t shout, don’t stress out, just chill. But before I know it, it’s pre-8am and I’m raising my voice because Nora has been storing a mouthful of porridge in her cheek for the past 8 minutes. JUST CHEW THE FOOD, NORA. Of course, then comes the crazy parent guilt.
I’m raising these tiny people and personally moulding them into the adults they’ll be in years to come and it totally frightens me. I just want to make sure I’m doing this parenting thing right and days like today make me feel like I’m probably not. Children grow up too quickly. Everyone tells you that before you have them, but you never quite realise it until you experience it for yourself. I must make a conscious effort to appreciate the moment and to take a step back and realise that eating a bowl of porridge in the most painfully slow way possible isn’t really worth shouting too much over, is it? As bloody exasperating as it may be. I guess our children learn by testing the boundaries. Maybe my boundaries are a little too strict and maybe my expectations are a little too high.
Anyway, I’m off to cuddle the aforementioned hormonal four year old now and hope that tomorrow we both wake up on the better side of the forever-shared bed.