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Pretty fucking amazing actually…

March 2, 2016

There is a tendency with this honest parent blogging lark to be all ‘there’s shit down my walls and Sudocreme in my hair’ about things. And yes from time to time there is shit and or Sudocreme on various surfaces around my house, and on my person. But this is only for a very small percentage of the time when you step back and look at the big picture. For all the shit and Sudocreme there is literally hundreds if not thousands of tiny moments, insignificant to any other human being, but that to me are epic and life affirming.

One of my favourite pictures.... Taken in a moment of crazy bathness

One of my favourite pictures…. Taken in a moment of crazy bathness

So for all the honesty (and don’t worry I’m not going all pinterest perfect life on you all) I’d only be being an all round honest mum blogger if I admit from time to time its pretty fucking amazing being a mum.

 
The cuddles, the kisses, the love given so freely in unending supply. Yes they drive you to despair, make you question why you had children, question if you’re a good mother, if you’re failing and it’s really fucking hard. They make you question yourself because extreme love does that. Pushes you to the edge and then just as you’re about to fall grabs you with both hands and pulls you back.

 
Like the moment that Houdini whilst explaining the drawings his grandfather had done for him (whilst pretending to be a bird all day, full on cheeping and flapping on request) said to me “The bird and I did these drawings, this one is a turtle and this one is a butterfly, here is his cocoon”. Yep “The bird and I”, silly I know, insignificant to anyone but me. I beamed with pride my three and a half year old constructed the most beautifully correct sentence! His musings on life constantly bring a smile to my face in random moments when my mind wonders back to those memories.

He might turn out a beautiful sentence... But he's not helpful a blogging!

He might turn out a beautiful sentence… But he’s not helpful a blogging!

 

The point at which P instead of giving me her resting bitch face when I asked her what the owl said turned to face me and proudly said ‘wit woo’ with the most delicious ‘woo’ shaped mouth and a beyond cheeky smile. This girl can smise (although is never going to be tall enough for Americas next Top Model) like no other! Joy sheer joy.

 

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That grin! ?
And then there are the moments when we dance in the rain. When things have gone so monumentally down shit street the only thing to do is drop the rest of the bags on the street, throw your arms in the air (like you just don’t care) and do a crazy rain dance with your three year old. We did exactly this a few weeks ago on a mad dash to rhyme time at the library. We were late (shock horror) and Houdini lost his shoe as I dragged him along at speed, P in the pushchair under the rain cover. Me not with appropriate rain attire on looking like a drowned rat. Car’s beeping to get me to notice that H has lost his shoe a few feet back, and then I dropped the book bag whilst picking up the shoe. So I gave up. We weren’t going to make the library and how fun would two soggy people and a sweaty baby have found it half way through the session anyway. So we danced in the rain for a few seconds, turned round, got in the car, went home got dry clothes on and snuggled up in front of cbeebies. To everyone else I was insane; I’d have thought I was mad if I’d been driving by. But when you’ve been tipped over the edge by the torrential rain, the broken book bag and the three year old with a soggy sock, madness is sometimes the best option. For me that moment is pure parenting gold. Houdini’s face as we waved our arms and danced will always put a smile on my face. One instance where loosing my shit wasn’t such a bad thing!

 
Just before we got married a very wise person told me it would be the things that didn’t go to plan that we’d remember and treasure. I thought she was mad. Turns out not mad, but bloody wise. I remember going to the pub with my dad for champagne before going to the church as there wasn’t any in the house – seeing several of our guests, (their queue get to the church). I forgot to throw my bouquet; there it was the following day in my parent’s kitchen having been collected from the venue with all the other flowers. And the cake that we cut but forgot to hand out. Admittedly I look at them fondly as they’re silly little things, nobody vommed on my dress or set fire to my hair, my husband turned up on time. But they are the things I remember. Moments of perfection in all their glorious imperfection.

 

On my journey as a parent it’s the moments that don’t go to plan that stick with me. They’re certainly the moments I tell my tales about.

 
But all the boring, going to plan stuff rocks my world on a daily basis. A small snuggle from the fierce one, a new word, Houdini suddenly performing ‘twinkle twinkle Christmas star’ to us all over lunch in February when he refused to perform it back in December.

 
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine how excited I’d get about a child pooing in a potty – like bat shit crazy excitement about human excrement! Sad as it may be I’m still excited now when a number two is done in the loo (and someone else changing a dirty nappy is a personal win for me). Little tiny parent high fives happening in my own head!

 
As I have said there are those moments when I doubt myself, when I want to crawl into the fridge and drown out the screaming with chocolate and gin. When I miss my old life, the socialising with alcohol after 7pm at night, the spontaneity of life. But they are few and far between many many other moments that make my life the best it could be. Moments I simply couldn’t have dreamed would make me so happy, but that make my soul sing.

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I am a mum, maybe 80% of the time a pretty bloody good one. And for all the shit and Sudocreme it’s pretty fucking amazing being a mum. Happy Mothers Day everyone xxx

 

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