When I moved house almost two years ago post-separation I got a bit sniffy about downsizing my home. This was in the days when I believed that the size of your house was directly relevant to your happiness, you understand, and not because I was a massive insufferable snob back then (HONEST).
Recently I sat down, scrolled through my calendar and discovered something slightly shocking.
I have not been in my house alone since the 20th September.
Furthermore, thanks to Elfie and Hux’s dad working away for a few weeks (and Elfie’s various 2/4/5am antics) I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since 15th November.
When you’re a mother, the default mode seems to be GUILT. I thought this was just me until I started talking to my mum friends and realised this guilt phenomenon is universal. From what I can tell, save a few books by G Ford or your parenting practitioner of choice, we’re all pretty clueless when it comes to this parenting journey.
The parenting of little girls is a job that is so special. Boys are boys and boys are awesome, but compared to our daughters they really are as different as slugs, snails and puppy dog tails.
Yesterday I did something that doesn’t happen enough in our house; I took Elfie on a little day out, just the two of us.
I‘m finding myself at somewhat of a crossroads with Hux. He’s a very sucky baby – feeding on demand which is about every 2 hours right now – and I reckon his late night feeds especially have become about comfort rather than hunger.
At the moment I am of the mindset that I will feed on demand for a while longer before I start trying to establish more of a routine.
“Don’t put marmite in your eye”
“Have you done a poo? Poo? Poo? Have you done a poo?”
“Stop blowing your nose on your toast”
“Dirty knickers are not for round your neck”
“Elfie, dirty, yuck, bin, NO, bin, dirty, NOT IN YOUR MOUTH”
“Don’t put your toast in your ear. Oh it’s a phone, not toast.