4am Familiar sounds of sleepy shuffles into the bedroom and a soft little body with cold feet curls up beside me. Relish this moment I think to myself wistfully until a wet surge causes me to leap out of bed silently shrieking (yes this is possible) and not at all wistful. Nothing like some middle of the night housework.
7.02am Open eyes to a stark naked boy standing inches from my face staring at me lovingly. Hide under duvet just until the amount of time baby is crying hungrily is not totally neglectful (this varies daily) Finally roll out of bed. Now this is make or break time. This is the moment our day is either French plaits, scrambled eggs and an ‘outfit,’ or hair down and toast in the car in leggings. Today’s is a good day. So everyone is clean, and lunch was made the night before. TICK. Notes are signed, and the baby is finally up to date with vaccinations. TICK. My eyebrows are perfectly shaped, and I am on track for some kind of motherhood prize. I’ve totally got this.
8.45am It wasn’t PE day. The second we walked through the school gates, I felt the stares. My mothering award slips from my fingers. My daughter is aghast. “I TOLD you”, she hisses (she’s five). Luckily my beautiful eyebrows stop the sweat rolling down my face as I race home to find the right uniform. It’s the little things.
11am My baby is growing up too fast, so I take some time to do nothing but bury my face in her tummy and hear her giggle. I marvel at those big eyes and stroke her baby-soft wrinkly feet. Delicious. Then we discuss things like CAR and BALL and LIGHT for a while. She is very wise.
2pm
Mummy, if you eat seaweed and you get sick would it smell like seaweed?Â
Yes.
Or would it smell like puke?Â
Don’t say puke.
Mummy, do dogs get a plaster when they scrape their knee?
Yes. Eat your carrots.
Mummy, is ‘talc’ Irish for baby powder?
Yes.
Oh.
4pm Epic trip to shops where we manage to post a package to my sister, pick up dinner things and spend quality time teaching the kids about such important things as water meters, why spiders are more afraid of us than we are of them and we briefly touch on astrology. Other positives include that I noticed my son is getting more handsome and ultimately nobody died. The negative’s of our trip include a bent fingernail taking the pram out of the boot, had to openly discipline in public, panic-bought random dinner ingredients in the rush, like chicken skewers and lasagne sheets and beetroot. I also bribed and threatened more than is acceptable parenting AND I spent 45 euro on nail varnish.
7pm All clean and snuggly after their baths. Three little sleek heads like baby seals huddle to choose a story. I am bone tired, but this is my favourite time. It’s a time I know I will long for when they are grown up and far from reach. It’s a big responsibility to be Provider of Memories and Captain of Health and Advisor Against Bullies and Chief Explainer and Kisser of Knees and all the other hundreds of roles I, as a mother, am in charge of.
My daughter asked me today how I learnt to be a mummy and it stopped me in my tracks. Maybe it’s watching other amazing mums, people who have guided me, books, AND learning on the job. Perhaps it is just nature and biology which is responsible for handing us our Cape of capability the minute we hold that squealing bundle of squish and love makes us thrive.
Either way, it’s a role I’m only just getting a handle on. We joke about the spills, and give out about the chaos but perhaps that’s a deflection against the frightening seriousness of the position we find ourselves in once we have children.
Keep them alive. TICK. Turn them into wonderfully well-rounded confident, ambitious kind people that will face the world at their best. That might not be so simple.
Ask me the seaweed question again.
Join the conversation on Twitter @HerFamilydotie
