Yesterday I was disturbed by a bizarre shadow on the patio.
It was my 3 year old daughter doing laps on the kitchen roof. It reminded me of writing this:
I once met a mum who asserted that she would not be putting up stair gates as “children have an innate sense of fear” which would stop them from falling down the stairs.
I never saw her again, I can only presume she was busy ferrying her family to and from the hospital on a daily basis.
Children do not have an innate sense of fear, they are attracted to danger.
My daughters favorite game is hiding. This involves her covering her own eyes, thinking no one can see her and walking into lamp posts.
Living with a 0 year old and a 2 year old is like starring in a daily episode of Jackass. But in our version of the show – ‘The Pre School Years’ instead of high fiving each other and saying ‘Dude that was sweeeeet’ after each stunt it’s just me running round the house all tense and sweaty, shouting ‘Put that down NOW!’
In short – my children are dumb.
And it is wearing me out.
At 11 months Eeh Bah Son has progressed from swaying around like his father on his way home from the pub and now his bandy little legs are propelling him speedily into walls, doors and table legs.
Yesterday he fell out of both the front and the back door (must buy a video camera).
The problem is a basic one of Mobility + Stupidity = Lumps and bruises all over forehead.
Both my children started to walk early. Eeh Bah Daughter was keen to get away from me at the earliest opportunity and in turn Eeh Bah Son has been desperate to escape the violent affections of his older sister.
At least now he is on the move the comments at playgroup have moved on from ‘What a pretty girl!’ to ‘Isn’t she quick!’ (must stop dressing him in his sisters old clothes… before I buy a video camera).
I am knackered, not quite new baby knackered (the pinnacle of knackered) or pregnant knackered (a special uber level of exhaustion reserved solely for the female sex) but a new knackered which I have hitherto never experienced. I call it looking after two children moving in different directions knackered (please feel free to suggest a better title I’m too tired to think of one).
Up until now when people have asked me ‘What’s like having two young children at 40?’ I have chirpily replied ‘Not so bad’.
What a fool I was.
The first rule of parenting is this: Never imagine you are in control. The moment you pretend to know what you are doing things will fall to shit.
Or as a wiser, more erudite man once said: This too shall pass.
If it’s all going well, know that soon it won’t be and if it’s going badly the one thing you can cling to is that things will get better (before getting worse again).
So if I am exhausted this week, next week something wonderful will happen (crosses fingers and hopes Eeh Bah daughter will magically potty train herself).
It seems I have woefully underestimated the amount of work involved with raising children – I imagined by now they would be bringing me breakfast in bed on a Sunday ( just tea and toast I wasn’t expecting Eggs Benedict). But instead it’s me doing all the work while they dance around the front room without a care in the world.
Like I said my children are geniuses.