Things I thank my kids for....... or NOT!

This mummy doesn’t drink. You know how some mummy’s let off steam with a nice cold glass of wine (or 6)at the end of a long day/week/month? Yeah well I don’t drink. I don’t drink, therefore I blog.  If I didn’t blog occasionally, I might just spontaneously combust. Most of the time though I am a real little ray of sunshine, ask anyone. Today is not one of those days.  So remember that before you get all Judgy McJudgerson on me and read on if you dare (and please note: sense of humour is required before reading further)

Things I Spank  thank my Kids for….

 Not eating food- thank you for not eating the meals I so lovingly prepare for you, making sure they are nutritionally balanced, tasty, appealing and provide variety (even though your father and I are having bangers and mash for the 5th time this week!). I just love it when you spit it out,   throw it on the floor or mash it through your hair. It’s even better though watching  you hoover up a commercial baby food with gusto –regardless of the fact it has a funky chemical taste and makes your breath smell like dog food! I guess I can take solace in the fact that if its left on the floor long enough, you will be swooping on that morsel  like a junkie on a baggie of cocaine

 Making mess- I love it when I have spent the whole time you were sleeping/at school , cleaning and then when you wake up/ get home from school you go from room to room creating a trail of destruction. I mean, I know you are just ensuring that my days don’t become too boring with no cleaning to do- however would I fill those long, long days! So thanks, really, you’re doing me a solid.  Afterall, no one likes a bored mummy!

Not pooing – Its always super fun when you need to do a poo and you refuse to. You jump around like a tasered monkey on speed, clutching your bottom cheeks whilst screaming “I don’t need a poo, I don’t need a poo”. I mean, doing a poo when you need one is like, so yesterday!  It gets even better though  when your screaming, crying and thrashing results in waking your sleeping brother, or better still- a wet bed at midnight.

Not sleeping- by all means, wake me up 3854 times a night. I love being woken to hear you had a bad dream, need a wee, need a drink- not tap water, cold water!, scratched your ear, feel lonely, feel cold, feel hot, feel like a chat. It’s really so super fun being so tired you yawn whilst deodorising and inhale a lung full of anti-perspirant!!  Sleeping is over rated anyway.

Screaming- I am a lover of languages, and I particularly love it when you speak to me for days on end in the language of scream. It is so soothing and calming, really it is, and so good for my nerves. But obviously   you just  realise I am advancing in age and if it’s not screamed at me, then my aged ears clearly won’t hear it. . I also love the added thrill I get when you are screaming, so I pick you up, and you arch your back as if to execute a double backwards pike with a 9 degree of difficulty off the lounge.  My physio loves this too, as my wrecked shoulders  keep him in business The language of whine is another personal favourite. Please, whine at me again, its so much more likely to influence me to give you that thing you are whining like a sooky brat  asking for.

Dragging feet before school – oh how I love the battle that ensues every morning as you sit and take 4 hours to eat 2 weet bix, and put on one uniform.  And clearly I cannot take you to school in your pyjamas as I threaten , because a) your Daddy is on staff and b) there is nothing like the smirk of satisfaction on people’s faces when they realise two teachers cannot control their child.

Bad behaviour in public- nothing excites me more than when you seem to save up every single  bad behaviour you have ever learnt and let them out when in public or visiting family.  I get that you are totally just letting me practice my death stares, and menacing whispers of “you wait til we get in that car”, gosh you are good like that! And the added bonus is that the general public gets to think I am the  crappest mother ever given breath and skin to. Yay for me! At least I am a winner at something!

Dirtying my clothes- Don’t let it bother you that it took me an hour this morning to choose the exact right outfit that didn’t make me look 3 metres wide. That we have to be out the door in the next 3 minutes – don’t let it deter you. The fact that I lay in bed last night planning which outfit I would wear, cross referenced it with which clothing was a) clean b)ironed and c) not too old/young/downright hideous. The fact I was wearing my only pants that don’t currently give me a muffin top? Well don’t let that worry your pretty little head as you wipe your weet-bixy, snotty face all over me. Hang on, I think you missed a square inch just below the back of my left knee- oh no, that’s ok, you got it! You are only trying to teach me about vanity I am sure.

No privacy-  Privacy? Who needs it! Totally overrated. I guess the whole giving birth thing should have been a clue that my privacy would never exist again. When you throw open the public toilet door midstream-  that really helps me to work on my pelvic floor muscles as I try to stop the flow, pull up my pants, scream and cover any offending bits of my lady garden that you have now just displayed to the entire general public. And those poor bewildered ladies who were made privy to the sight of me half naked, more muffin tops than Muffin Break , squeezing into a pair of skinny jeans in the dressing room as you threw open the curtains. Lets just say they learnt a lesson in grateful that day – ie grateful they don’t look like me naked!

Biting – I have had nipples from way back when I was developing in the womb. Some would say I have become quite attached to them.  But by all means, I realise your teeth are just emerging and need practice and chomping down on my delicate lady petals is probably soothing for your gums.  My personal favourite is at the end of a feed, you look at me hungrily and lunge at my breast again, leaving me thinking you were not in fact finished, only for your sole purpose being to take one final chomp. Never mind the blood dripping from my severed nipple, I am sure a new one will grow back in its place!

 

Disclaimer: The author loves her children very, very much and totally understands the value of offspring. This is a very tongue in cheek look at some of the less fun aspects of the totally rewarding job of parenthood.