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Parents gone wild: I’m too old for this shit

November 22, 2015November 22, 2015 ~ eenie meenie miney mum ~ 18 Comments

The closest my husband and I usually come to “date night” is eating sticky date pudding on the couch.

Actually I’m eating the pudding.

And my husband’s asleep.

And I’m not even mad about it. Continue reading →

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One minute you’re excited about signing up your kid for club sport and the next minute you’re living out of your car and unsure if your next meal is going to be at 4pm or midnight. 😂😂😂⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ But hey. There are definite up sides to being a club sport parent. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ 1. Meeting other parents that regret that decision too. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ 2. Getting your kid to wear your Apple Watch while they’re on the court so you can keep on top of your active minutes. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ 3. Refer to point 1. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ I’m not [nor have I ever been] an athlete. I run purely because the combination of being 37 and addicted to carbs is a messy quagmire of cellulite and insulin resistance. In view of this [and the not insignificant detail that every time a ball is in the air it ends up landing on my FACE] I can’t say I ever anticipated I was going to end up with a child who lived and breathed sport like I live and breathe what’s happening during hometowns on the bachelor. But now my life revolves around finding missing sports equipment at 7am on a Saturday and hair drying designated training jerseys I accidentally l left in the washing machine the night before. ⁣⁣ ⁣⁣ And it’s good. It’s fine. It’s excellent. Because there’s nothing that makes you feel more alive than yelling TRRRRRAVEL at an 8 year old’s game umpire like it’s the NBA and your kid is Michael Jordan. ⁣⁣🤣 ⁣⁣ And then there’s the fact that when your child plays club sport you literally NEVER HAVE TO SAY YES TO AN INVITATION TO DO ANYTHING EVER AGAIN. Because I’m a glass half full kinda gal I’m going to look at this as the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me. ⁣ ⁣ All I am now is a small person’s chauffeur to various sports grounds and training centres and pop up clinics, and designated snack bitch. I don’t have to pretend to have, or want, a social life outside the sphere of sitting on uncomfortable stadium seating and saying “how was that not a foul!!?????” in the general direction of other people. ⁣ ⁣ And that’s what I call a slam dunk.

Feeling spicy today so putting it out to the universe that I’m proud to be raising a daughter that knows precisely what she wants and plans to go out and get it, with no reservations. Yes her stubborn will is all very tedious when she wants to go play touch football in the park at 6:45pm when it’s raining and everyone else is in their pjs quietly reading books to themselves and mummy just wants to sit down and prepare herself for the royal shit show that is married at first sight, but the fact that I’m not raising a robot, and I don’t want to be, is by no means lost on me. Sometimes she doesn’t listen. And by sometimes, I mean mostly. She thinks she knows everything. She talks back. She rapid fires questions at me like soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy. She doesn’t always do as she’s told. In fact she often doesn’t. She knows best, most of the time, even when she doesn’t. She’s tough, and stands up for herself and for other people. She’s not perfect and I don’t expect her to be because she’s an absolute ball of fucking energy and life and determination, and I know whatever she CHOOSES for her life, she will succeed in. And when I say “she chooses”, I mean “SHE chooses”. Not something I choose for her, because I like the way that it sounds. This messy, back chatty, sometimes difficult but wickedly intelligent, fire cracker of a girl is an absolute revelation to me, I wish I could be more like HER sometimes, and I couldn’t be prouder of her despite the fact that I am definitely 75% older looking because of her. Don’t try to put out the fire of a strong girl, you might get burnt. 💪

It’s hard to tell people about miscarriages. So often they are spoken through mumbles in private places, quietly, sometimes purely out of sheer desperation.. just to have some other living, breathing individual acknowledge the little life that you have lost. Often when no one knew you were even pregnant in the first place. Almost apologetically. Sorry to burden you with this.. but.. It’s even harder when the response you’re met with makes you feel like somehow it’s your own fault, or that you are in some ways solely accountable for your own sadness because well.. you just tested too soon. Or, oh, “it’s common”, or hey, “it was just a chemical pregnancy”. I know people aren’t always going to know what to say, no one is perfect. We’re all learning, we can all do better. I’m one of the lucky ones, I have three beautiful little messmakers to call my very own, and despite my multiple miscarriages along the way, we succeeded in creating our little family. But boy we encountered some lows on the road to getting there, and yes, I copped a barrage of comments when I did dare tell people that I had lost a pregnancy, that made me feel like somehow the world didn’t want to know about it. It’s uncomfortable. It makes people feel awkward. It’s not an easy conversation. It’s best kept behind closed doors. In sterile doctors rooms with white walls and latex gloves and a lump in your throat as your stare at the plastic skeleton of a pelvis on the desk and a pamphlet in your hand and a well meaning but somehow dismissive “at least you know you can get pregnant”. Maybe there is no right thing to say, but in my experience there are wrong things.. and @yvettemystakas wants to change the conversation around pregnancy loss. To #destigmatizepregnancyloss for all of us. It’s something I feel strongly about; so many of us experience this and yet it’s so hard to talk about. But let’s try. [Continued in the comments]

On the verge of having all three [!! yes three !!] of my small humans in school next week, pondering the notion of what it will be like to have a clean house again. Lol. No I won’t. Planning to spend first two weeks languishing on couch eating snacks out in the open with no one to share them with or complain that “mummy gets to eat chocolate whenever she likes but we don’t”. No one to loudly question “ARE YOU DOING A POO???” when I’m availing myself of the facilities in a public rest room. Instead, mornings will involve me braiding hair while someone’s screaming, putting three different fillings in three different sandwiches that literally no one will eat, arriving everywhere late and hoping to avoid any and all school mums who hate me [a surprising amount, to be fair].

My husband has just informed me that one day our children will read my Instagram captions and thank goodness because this is the closest thing to a baby book that I have. One day they’re going to be really pleased to read that on the 19th of January 2020 I likened my attempts at disciplining them to those SALE emails you get before Christmas warning you that you only have absolutely “one last chance” and then hours later receiving another email that says “good news, you have another chance!”.

As always, school holidays are a stark reminder that parenting is easy if you: ⠀ ⠀ 1. Hate sleep⠀ 2. Crave ill-informed feedback you didn’t ask for ⠀ 3. Can pull snacks out of thin air ⠀ 4. Enjoy going on pub crawls. And by that I mean pub...lic toilet crawls⠀ 5. Can name every species of bug⠀ 6. Don’t mind 95% of your meal planning revolving around plain pasta with cheese

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