It's amazing how different you are second time round
People told me I would be ‘so different this time’ and I thought...surely I will be the same. I don’t really remember anything about how to look after babies.
But oh how right they were.
First time I was obsessed by the detail. Ensuring everything was boiled, steamed never just wiped with any old jay cloth, and he feasted in an organic world without a hint of pesticide. Following my sons queues, observing him intently and routine was everything. He had a favourite this and that, and time for that and the other and I followed it to the minute. Then I bought carefully researched age appropriate toys and beautiful new clothes. As he got older I went to more and more groups and concocted outings until we spun in to carefully mapped circles.
Then there were seminal moments like the times we cooked together.. because don't all functional happy parents cook with their children? After the first puff of flour to fill the air and cake my boiled surfaces or the first fist full of butter and sugar to be eaten and smeared on his clean clothes, my anxiety levels would make my ears pound with blood. Then I would invariably want to hurl the half prepared goo into the sink and feel immense overwhelming frustration with my supposedly perfectly bought up child. Why was this fun activity so far from fun?
Then there was the time I thought we would have a particularly wonderful time with gloop, I had read how easy it was to make with cornflour and what fun. My son loved it but mainly throwing it and treading on it and of course trying to eat it...definitely not organic. On that occasion I had invited a friend of his around for this thrilling activity. As my face flushed and voice reduced to a restrained squeak, as I frantically grappled the gloop from every surface with a damp cloth, my friend said "I would never do something like this. I send him to nursery to do this kind of thing". It was a turning point no enforced creative fun of that sort from them on.
But with hindsight I was teetering on the brink. My husband who works in conservation was away for 9 months of his first year...fighting a wave of elephant poaching. So I was a single Mum, with huge trauma from the birth and so utterly thrown by motherhood and the shredding of 'self' and 'control' it performs.
So this time round with my twin girls I am quite startled by my approach. Clothes are second hand, bottles are vaguely rinsed, there is organic but wedged with lots of brioche and ice cream and anything I can lay my hands on in the time of need. I overlook them grazing food, they have disguarded from their chairs, from the floor while I grapple with the sea of tidying. I have stumbled into a couple of groups, if they are within 10 minute walk, but mainly for the coffee when they are asleep. The toys are my sons but here is a twist not only his from aged 0 plus but his now, aged 6, which is a sea of lego and playmobil all chocking hazards - and if its not a chocking hazard they are wielding a light saber or home whittled sword.
But on the upside I have two stair gates and some bedsides.
But oh how right they were.
First time I was obsessed by the detail. Ensuring everything was boiled, steamed never just wiped with any old jay cloth, and he feasted in an organic world without a hint of pesticide. Following my sons queues, observing him intently and routine was everything. He had a favourite this and that, and time for that and the other and I followed it to the minute. Then I bought carefully researched age appropriate toys and beautiful new clothes. As he got older I went to more and more groups and concocted outings until we spun in to carefully mapped circles.
Then there were seminal moments like the times we cooked together.. because don't all functional happy parents cook with their children? After the first puff of flour to fill the air and cake my boiled surfaces or the first fist full of butter and sugar to be eaten and smeared on his clean clothes, my anxiety levels would make my ears pound with blood. Then I would invariably want to hurl the half prepared goo into the sink and feel immense overwhelming frustration with my supposedly perfectly bought up child. Why was this fun activity so far from fun?
Then there was the time I thought we would have a particularly wonderful time with gloop, I had read how easy it was to make with cornflour and what fun. My son loved it but mainly throwing it and treading on it and of course trying to eat it...definitely not organic. On that occasion I had invited a friend of his around for this thrilling activity. As my face flushed and voice reduced to a restrained squeak, as I frantically grappled the gloop from every surface with a damp cloth, my friend said "I would never do something like this. I send him to nursery to do this kind of thing". It was a turning point no enforced creative fun of that sort from them on.
But with hindsight I was teetering on the brink. My husband who works in conservation was away for 9 months of his first year...fighting a wave of elephant poaching. So I was a single Mum, with huge trauma from the birth and so utterly thrown by motherhood and the shredding of 'self' and 'control' it performs.
So this time round with my twin girls I am quite startled by my approach. Clothes are second hand, bottles are vaguely rinsed, there is organic but wedged with lots of brioche and ice cream and anything I can lay my hands on in the time of need. I overlook them grazing food, they have disguarded from their chairs, from the floor while I grapple with the sea of tidying. I have stumbled into a couple of groups, if they are within 10 minute walk, but mainly for the coffee when they are asleep. The toys are my sons but here is a twist not only his from aged 0 plus but his now, aged 6, which is a sea of lego and playmobil all chocking hazards - and if its not a chocking hazard they are wielding a light saber or home whittled sword.
But on the upside I have two stair gates and some bedsides.
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