If you know me, you know I enjoy using social media. It helps me stay connected with friends and family around the world, snapshot special moments and generally just be a little nosey (admit it, you all do it!).
I love seeing other people’s children, the development as they grow, the many achievements and even the dreaded start of year obligatory new school uniform photos.
I love announcements – babies, engagements, weddings… I’m right there celebrating with you. I really enjoy your weight loss and fitness journeys, high-fiving your weekly lb loss and extra few seconds you knock off your run or add to your distance. Good grief, I even like your food photos and shots of your mugs as you enjoy your daily brew.
But the one thing that really cheeses me off? Pretending you have a perfect child. Seriously.
Yes, yes I get it we are super proud of our tiddleywinks. I love every milestone mine get to, and have the photos (and Facebook posts!) to prove it. But children are not perfect. In fact, most of the time they are little rotters.
For example. This morning I got up late. Shocker. I’ve got a baby that wakes every two hours (you lot who have sleepers, I’m so jealous I don’t even know if we can be friends). Today is my first solo school morning since before Christmas as my husband went back to work today and has done the last two mornings school run for me. I hate morning school runs. Nothing leaves me in a bad mood and screaming like a fishwife like a solo school morning.
So there I am, flying out of bed 30 minutes late, tearing down the stairs yelling for my oldest child to get up. He’s so fast asleep he doesn’t hear me. I’m in the kitchen now, throwing bread at the toaster, kettle goes on and I’m yelling “come on Joe, we’re going to be late”. Nothing.
Tea is made, toast is buttered, baby has marmalade of toast thrown at him in his high chair. “JOSEPH! GET UPPPPP!” *Sleepy head appears at the top of the stairs. “What’s up Mom, I’m sleepy”. Grr.
Anyway, I race the baby upstairs. He now needs a bath as marmalade is in his hair, down his ears, up to his elbows so I do a ‘mini bath’ in the bathroom sink. I have to shower the oldest as I stupidly decided I was too tired last night to do anything so hadn’t bothered putting him in the bath. Can not tell you how much I regretted that at this point. Baby is dried and lying on the floor in the boys bedroom. I turn my back for about two seconds to grab a clean nappy and I the minuscule amount of time he has rolled over, stood up against the bed… and poo’d on the carpet!Flipping poo’d! No warning. None of the usual grunting and winding up, just noiselessly gone about his morning business on the carpet!
More yelling ensues as I bark orders for the other boy child to grab sanitising wipes as I now have to clean the carpet. I then dump the poo covered baby in the (empty) bath so I can refill the sink to re-bath him. I’m not even dressed at this point and I’ve now got to clean a carpet and a bathroom. Through all of this, my happy little chappy is cooing and smiling at me, totally unaware we are certainly anything but friends.
This is the truth. Warts and all and I’m sharing it in social media because I just know that some of you will find it funny and hopefully some of you will laugh about this. Kids are great. And I’m fairly sure it’s the poo stories, the temper tantrum stories and the getting covered in vomit stories we’ll carry with us into our old age and not the ones where we bought them this or took them there… this, yes THIS is real life with kids.
Oh and I did get to school on time. My car wouldn’t start first time and I did consider having a mini melt down, but since then I’ve eaten cake, and my world is rosy again. I will never take for granted those mornings Mr M sorts the biggest boy out and takes him to school. Never.
Now please excuse me as I have to dash off and go and get a clean top on. My perfect little cherub has just thrown up all over me and it’s time to leave the house to collect the biggest boy from school. Here we go again.