One morning I sent a message to my hubby. It went something like this:
‘Our daughter just went to scratch the side of her thigh, hooked her finger into her nappy, and pulled out some poo instead. So I took her to the bathroom, stripped her and washed her. She then ran out to the lounge room nude. I followed her with fresh clothes and watched, helplessly, as she peed everywhere. Took her back to the bath, went back out to the lounge room to wipe up the pee. Rushed back to the bathroom to wash her again. Finally got her dressed. Gave her brekkie. Went to the toilet, and when I came back she was covered in Sudocrem. FML.’
He read that message out to his work colleagues and they all said the same thing. Something along the lines of, ‘I’m exhausted just listening to that sequence of events.’
The thing about my message though, is that all of the above happened BEFORE 9am on a weekday. I hadn’t even finished my coffee. My daughter had shat herself, had a bath, peed all over her naked body, had another bath, and then smeared Sudo all over herself and the house BEFORE I had even brushed my teeth.
I know there are some of you out there reading this and saying:
“I am so sick of reading about mums complaining. Becoming a mother was your choice – stop complaining and suck it up.”
But I don’t think I can. I love to complain – I’m a fantastic whinger. What I’m getting at though is that while everyone goes through tough times every so often, the challenges mums face are unique in that they revolve around keeping small humans alive, while trying to stay sane all at the same time.