Ah, good morning. Sit down, drink your coffee. Breathe.
How’s your day been? Do you remember a time when all you had to do in the morning was get your sorry arse out of bed, into a shower, and onto the bus?
And then you had children.
And then you went back to work.
There’s nothing special about me, but as a working mum of two kids under five, here’s what I have already done today. And it’s 8.57:
– I tried to treat my preschooler like a snooze alarm. “Just two more minutes, it’s not 6am, yet.” As she pries my eyes open with her tiny-tiny fingers, and resorts to sitting on my head. The snooze-alarm trick never works. Got up.
– I dressed three different people. This sounds easy. But the only person who’s easy to dress in my house is me. My daughter
will only wear tutus. My son turns against pants every single morning. And then he turns against T-shirts, and then, mere minutes before we leave the house, he turns against shoes.
Every one of these tiny battles takes willpower, physical strength and iron-clad determination – “You CANNOT go to day care without pants, Billy. You CANNOT.” Billy begs to differ.
– I dealt with three different people’s poo. Yes, one of those people was me, and interaction with faeces was minimal. But sorry, I still wiped three different arses this morning.
– I employed techniques of bribery and corruption. “If you don’t start brushing your teeth NOW, that Elsa doll is going in the bin. IN THE BIN.”
My daughter is wise to me – “I don’t believe you will EVEN do that,” she declares. And she’s right. Do you know what I went through to get that Elsa doll?
– I stripped a wee-soaked bed and did two loads of washing. Is it wrong to want my girl to stay in night pull-ups until she’s 12?
– I made three different breakfasts. One child likes “peanut toast”, one likes cereal. I like Vegemite. Moved on to lunchboxes. Bugger, no yoghurts. Improvised with tin peaches. Think, ‘they’ll never eat that’. Decide it is not my problem.
– I jumped in the shower while the kids ate, and then applied make-up while overseeing breakfast-eating, which devolved into toast-throwing, which devolved into mum-yelling and mascara in the eye.