Before the Bean was born, I thought I knew What Kind of Parent I Would Be.
I imagined I would not be a slave, neither to nappies nor to nap times, not to toddler tantrums or brimming laundry baskets.
I resolved that there would be no snacks-cum-bribery and no electronic devices before the age of two. (Are you laughing yet?)
I pitied, with barely hidden disdain, the mothers who ventured outdoors with stains on their clothes and biscuit crumbs in their handbags - not me who would "let herself go".
I pontificated about the merits of fine motor skill activities and reading nooks, certain my child would master "playing by himself".
I determined that there would be monthly date nights with Mr P&P, during which we would discuss more worldly and important issues than the latest in washable training pants.
And worst of all,
I preached. To mothers whose children were not sitting nicely, who couldn't keep an adult conversation going for longer than 30 seconds, who'd bail on nights out. I suggested ways in which they might do better, appear calmer, remain more self-aware and less consumed.
I imagined I would not be a slave, neither to nappies nor to nap times, not to toddler tantrums or brimming laundry baskets.
I resolved that there would be no snacks-cum-bribery and no electronic devices before the age of two. (Are you laughing yet?)
I pitied, with barely hidden disdain, the mothers who ventured outdoors with stains on their clothes and biscuit crumbs in their handbags - not me who would "let herself go".
I pontificated about the merits of fine motor skill activities and reading nooks, certain my child would master "playing by himself".
I determined that there would be monthly date nights with Mr P&P, during which we would discuss more worldly and important issues than the latest in washable training pants.
And worst of all,
I preached. To mothers whose children were not sitting nicely, who couldn't keep an adult conversation going for longer than 30 seconds, who'd bail on nights out. I suggested ways in which they might do better, appear calmer, remain more self-aware and less consumed.
And now I am a mother, and I am all of the opposite. Our home is at barely tolerable levels of cleanliness despite seemingly never-ending evenings spent trying to keep on top of it all. I’m not even sure where my make-up bag is, I wear the same 3 pairs of comfy pants on rotation, my shoulders are almost always smeared with something snotty. I parent in a way that I never thought imaginable, going ever-closer to Attachment Parenting practices (though, I hasten to add, I don’t hate parenting method labels any less now than I did previously) and putting the Bean’s needs above everyone else's. Even those of my husband - Mr P&P and I have been on all of 3 date nights in 18 months, and guess what we talk about? A hint: it isn’t world affairs, not even what amazing educational activity we can come up with, for without YouTube-shaped toddler entertainment we would surely die.
Well no-shit-Sherlock, the sheer banality of this should come as a surprise noone, least of all me. What right to complain do I have, really, when every parent the (Western) world over goes through the same thing.
But sometimes brick walls are hit, and the “advice” you so magnanimously bestowed on others in The Days Before comes back to bite you in the ass. Already vulnerable, already tired, already weary from weeks of living past my husband without the energy to even think about his issues lest they distract from the endless will-never-get-done lists swirling in my head, I was told How To Do it Better. By someone who meant well but doesn’t have children, who didn’t know that keeping the Bean up late and going out (OUT!) together for a drink (A DRINK!) was already a big deal as it was.
Well no-shit-Sherlock, the sheer banality of this should come as a surprise noone, least of all me. What right to complain do I have, really, when every parent the (Western) world over goes through the same thing.
But sometimes brick walls are hit, and the “advice” you so magnanimously bestowed on others in The Days Before comes back to bite you in the ass. Already vulnerable, already tired, already weary from weeks of living past my husband without the energy to even think about his issues lest they distract from the endless will-never-get-done lists swirling in my head, I was told How To Do it Better. By someone who meant well but doesn’t have children, who didn’t know that keeping the Bean up late and going out (OUT!) together for a drink (A DRINK!) was already a big deal as it was.
And just like that, I reached the end of my tether. I admitted to M-Big that I was not okay, and he admitted the same back. The lack of sleep, the relentless Milanese heat, the stresses of work followed by the intensity of our toddler’s demands, the loneliness of having to plod on regardless: sometimes it is just not okay.
But never fear, because we know we’ve been here before. Last summer was the same, and my twitter feed tells me we’re not the only ones who long for this school year to end. Who’d have thought this would apply to tiny toddlers, but there you go.
In a few days we’ll go to stay with the grandparents, get some rest, be fed. It will all be okay. I will remember with my head as well as my heart that we are very, very fortunate to have each other. I will realise once more that the best way to parent is, indeed, to let the toddler in your bed at 3am if it feels right. I will stop caring, just a little, that the current version of me is not immaculately groomed but perpetually late, creased, baggy-eyed and always on the look-out for a sleepy toddler cuddle.
But never fear, because we know we’ve been here before. Last summer was the same, and my twitter feed tells me we’re not the only ones who long for this school year to end. Who’d have thought this would apply to tiny toddlers, but there you go.
In a few days we’ll go to stay with the grandparents, get some rest, be fed. It will all be okay. I will remember with my head as well as my heart that we are very, very fortunate to have each other. I will realise once more that the best way to parent is, indeed, to let the toddler in your bed at 3am if it feels right. I will stop caring, just a little, that the current version of me is not immaculately groomed but perpetually late, creased, baggy-eyed and always on the look-out for a sleepy toddler cuddle.
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