Pushing the limits

It’s been a crazy few days in our house.

Okay maybe more like a crazy few weeks!

I’d really like to use a stronger word than crazy but let’s just keep it PG rated for now.

I’ve lost my shit more than once and I’m not proud of it!

But sometimes counting to 10 just doesn’t cut it, especially when it comes to dealing with a temperamental toddler!

Yes, usually Miss Izzie is a pretty good kid, but lately she’s been replaced by a feral child.

Okay a little harsh, but in the moments I’m pulling my hair out, I think “feral” is probably a nice word for it!

She’s almost like the rhyme about the little girl with a curl in the middle of her forehead.

And yes believe me she can be horrid!

Terrible twos isn’t just a fancy term thrown out there for fun.

It’s like they know exactly when to flick the switch and go from being a darling child to a terror in the blink of an eye.

Is it some kind of test, that we as parents of toddlers must pass when they’re at the age of two to see if we can continue the fun of parenting?

Well I know you certainly can’t quit.

I often joke with my amazing mum about the fact my brother and I are still alive and wonder how she coped.

Most of the time she laughs, shrugs and says she just did because there was no other option.

Before you strike up the violins….I’m not silly, I knew what I was getting myself into by having children.

But I didn’t think I’d be looking in the mirror on a daily basis and dealing with a mini me.

Yes I’m under no illusion that Miss Izzie is a mini version of her mother, with quite the fiery temper already.

I’m sure my parents are secretly laughing at the thought of what still lies ahead.

I’ve got a long way to go yet but I’m already dreading the teenage years, especially with two girls to deal with!

I remember when I was in my late teens (sooooo long ago!!) saying sorry so many times to my mum.

Apparently I wasn’t really that bad but I definitely had my moments!

I wonder if I’ll see a little bit of history repeating?!

Well they say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Let’s just hope one of the girls inherits daddy’s temperament….

Guilty as charged

I love my girls.

They (and my husband) are my world.

But sometimes I just need a little space.

To save me from going bat shit crazy, to put it bluntly.

Yes my friends, this mum guilt we often hear about is very much a real thing in all its glory.

The guilt path is one that takes many forms.

When you have one child, you wonder if you’re doing enough for them and feel like you have forgotten the rest of the world.

When a second offspring enters the ring you feel bad the first child has lost your attention, let alone anyone else in your life.

I’m not even going to ponder the prospect of what it’s like with more kids….

And it doesn’t end there.

Once you find your rhythm again, the power of the mummy brain coerces you to get back to a normal life.

But why do we feel guilty about taking some time for ourselves?

Let’s face it I can barely take a shower or pee in peace without hearing “mummy” echoing off the walls.

So when an opportunity for freedom presents itself, my mind starts to do crazy flips of reasons why I shouldn’t go.

I have no problem physically walking away from the girls.

In fact more often than not I’m halfway out the door ready to yell “freedom” banshee style.

But I always have this fleeting thought about the person who’s left with the girls and what they might be missing out on.

It’s funny how as Mums (and yes sometimes dads too) we put ourselves last.

It’s some kind of built-in mechanism that switches on the very second a little person comes crashing into your life.

I often joke that I’m no longer Sheree, I’m Izzie and Phoebe’s mummy.

The old Sheree left the building and was replaced by someone who is now responsible for two tiny humans.

I’m not delusional.

I’m well aware life is different these days.

No more spur-of-the-moment dinner dates with friends (well not at a restaurant anyway), no random late night drives to get ice cream (except to eat at home) and definitely no big drinking sessions.

Who am I kidding I never really did the last one anyway, haha!

But I’m really starting to learn that even as a mum (or dad) it’s important to still do things for ourselves.

So yes it has taken me a couple of years to come to this conclusion but better late than never right?!

I’m off to do something for myself….but what about…..oh never mind (haha!).

Onwards and upwards

Sometimes I miss the carefree nature of being a kid.

No responsibility.

No worries.

Clothes reappear clean.

Food is cooked and served.

There’s plenty of toys to play with and fun to be had.

Okay, so you have to go to school but at least you get to see your friends most days.

How could you not love all that?!

Then I think I’d have to go through growing up and endure the teenage years and I realise I’m good with being a grown up.

But after a tough, emotional couple of weeks, I’m on the verge of liking the idea of being a kid again.

Then Miss Izzie calls me mummy, giggles at me, gives me a cuddle or grabs my hand to play and I’m reminded of how innocent children can be and I know I’m where I should be in life.

I’m mummy.

I’m the one who makes her day easy, carefree and fun.

She doesn’t know the sadness of loss yet or the emotions of big life changes because she just wants cuddles, TV shows, books and toys.

Oh and for mummy to sing the same song, over and over and over and over…..

And let’s face it, for an almost two-year-old, those things are a pretty big deal.

I know that one day I will have to explain life, death and of course the birds and bees (yikes!).

But I’m grateful for now that Izzie gets to enjoy being a child.

A child who doesn’t have to worry about the big scary wide world, just yet.

I’m glad that I don’t have to explain about the bad things we see on the news.

Or even why people get sick and hurt.

That at times this beautiful place we live in can be dangerous, scary and unpredictable.

But putting all that aside, I’m forever grateful that I get to be her mummy and I have her daddy by my side.

Together we get to watch our little girl have fun, be amazed and turn into quite the cheeky little monkey.

A young lady that is growing up very fast.

Sometimes I think too fast! Where did my little baby go?!

I often see a glimpse of what could become quite an attitude.

Flash forward to the teenage years and I think karma is going to come back and bite me (yes mum, I hear you!).

No doubt there’s plenty of fun years still ahead of us….

A change of dialogue

I’ve been known to drop a few swear words in my life.

Okay so maybe more than a few.
But I had some good teachers.

There’s been many stories shared over the years.

But one that sticks in my mind involves me sitting on the front fence and showing off my fine verbal skills to the young troublemakers of our neighborhood, who in turn apparently found me hilarious.

And so it seems I’ve never really looked back.

Now with lots of little people in my life, including my own little person, I’m doing my best to cut back on the swearing.

I’m not going to lie, it’s a habit that’s tricky to break. Especially when I’ve had a sh.. sorry bad day.

So I’ve been doing some swapping of words when the need arises….which is more frequently than I anticipated.

Sugar Honey Ice and Tea replaces the popular word that also means poo (insert giggle here).

Fudge slips out instead of the well-known f-bomb.

And peed takes care of that word some also use to say they’re drunk or angry.

Sometimes completely obscure words pop out as I realise what I’m about to say and I’ve also resorted to the use of cheeky monkey and ratbag instead of “little sugar honey ice and tea” (I’m sure you get the picture).

I probably sound ridiculous using the alternatives but I figure it’s a lot better than our Little Miss adopting a bad habit at such a young age (and taking after her mother).

I’m not completely naive, I know she’s likely to hear it from other adults and children at some point but I’m willing to give anything a go, no matter how silly I sound.

If all else fails there’s always the option of threatening to wash her mouth out with soap.

For me the foul taste of Tobasco sauce is still strong in my mind after my parents decided they’d had enough of my swearing.

I swear (pun intended) I ate half a tube of toothpaste to try and get rid of the taste off my tongue.

Our little munchkins certainly learn their habits from us and I think I’m going to have to keep reminding myself every time I feel the words forming on my lips.

But before I wrap up, I feel I should take the opportunity here to drag my husband into the mix (I can picture him rolling his eyes already).
Contrary to popular belief, a few unsavoury words have been known to roll off his tongue as well.

So if our darling daughter happens to drop the f-bomb one day, don’t be too quick to point the finger of blame squarely in my direction…..