Year Kidding??

Life is a funny old game. Two years ago I totally had my shit together. I had a managerial level job, I’d just bought the perfect little white house in the country with a great big garden for my two fluffy rabbits and my not so fluffy dog. I got my hair cut and dyed monthly. I washed my baby pink Mini Cooper once a fortnight.  I laundered my bedsheets every week and  I hoovered my house everyday.  I was always up 2 hours before work to give myself time to shower, wash and straighten my hair, apply make up and eat a sensible breakfast.
 
I cooked Paleo meals from scratch and batch cooked on my days off. I spent hours carefully putting together colour schemes for every room in my house. I dried my clothes on the washing line and put them away the same day. I wore expensive, vegan, make up and carried out chemical free cleaning techniques.  I read books.  I knew stuff about things.  I was a fully functioning human.  I had all the things I wanted, where I wanted them.  And I’d paid for almost all of them myself.  I was like something from a sodding Beyonce song.
 
But I may have had a few slightly tragic behaviours.  I might have had to throw out all the junk food in order to stop me packing it into my now Paleo Only mouth.  It is possible that I’d binge watched TV shows to such an extent that Netflix regularly asked me if I was still watching.  There’s a chance I spoke to my dog little more than a psychiatrist would deem “normal”.  It’s feasible that I wasn’t quite what you’d label as “happy”.
 
Today I crawled out of a slightly sweaty bed with my six month old under my arm whilst shouting through to my stepson to get dressed.  I sleepily kissed my other half while trying not to drop the child as I tripped over a discarded used nappy on the bedroom floor.  For breakfast I had kids cereal and lukewarm coffee as I tried to remember what in god’s name I’d agreed to go to today.  Thankfully, it turned out I hadn’t agreed to anything before lunchtime, so after breakfast, nappy changes and boobing the Little One, I crawled back into (the now cold and damp) bed to facilitate nap time.
 
As the Boob Monster has recently decided that napping is for losers, we arise half an hour later and I make another coffee to drink cold later.  Once we are back on the couch where I am cold and uncomfortable, he flakes immediately and continues to sleep until I’ve run out of Australian Masterchef to watch and the circulation has gone from my arm.  I glance around my once immaculate and flawless sitting room and realise that it’s not only half its former size (due to partition walls being put up) it’s twice as full as it was.  The kitchen sink, once shiny and clean, looks like someone has vomited on a stack of plates.  Plates which have decreased in sophistication from Denby to the more child-friendly George at Asda variety.
 
By lunchtime I am still in my pjays.  Tiny Man Cub has now awoken and been re-boobed.  I have positioned him in a high chair and allowed him to experiment with assorted food while I locate a Scotch Pie and a tin of Minions Pasta in Tomato Sauce to shove in my mouth (washed down with cold coffee) while I try to tempt him with organic sweetcorn rings, oatcakes and fruit.  I then scrub the infant, the highchair, myself and the sitting room and find us both to be clean and dressed by about 2.15pm.  This allowing me less than an hour to collect a car for a test drive (since afore mentioned pink Mini Cooper does not accommodate baby car seat without me having to access him from the boot) before picking up stepson from school.
 
Upon returning home with a car which serves to remind me how clean things can be before my fiance and children have their wicked way with them, I realise that dinner will be another inventions test, and that I am not a Masterchef contestant.  I curse myself for never thinking to remove things from the freezer before 4pm.  Stepson also points out how silly I am for this.  And complains that I spend all my time with the baby instead of playing with him and his Nerf Guns.  I consider the health and safety merits of babywearing whilst having a Nerf Gun fight and decide that stepmum guilt is probably less harmful all round.
 
I throw together some sort of cottage pie while Daddy holds the Teething One.  We have now reached the point were no sleeping will happen unless he is touching another human.  So that’s solved the big problem of what to do with my hands all day.  Thank god for that.  We eat.  Except Gummy Babe who has decided he’s too tired to carry on and rubs cottage pie in his eyes to prove it.  I get Dad to scrub him clean.
 
The rest of the evening is given over to a bizarre game of “guess how much sugar’s in this mummy” which has been brought on by some sort of education that has happened during the school day.  An education I have been trying to provide for approximately forever, but of course to no avail.  Thankfully, that half an hour on the subject at school has changed his whole outlook on life though.  Excellent.  We discover that his supper contained more sugar than he’s supposed to eat in a day and the stepmum guilt returns.  I send him to brush his teeth…
 
And then, after boobing the Booby Boy once more, I settle him down to sleep next to my leg.  Finally I can write something awe-inspiring and creative.  With words and shit.  Or I could just rant about how things change in such a short space of time…
 
So how did I end up here, that’s the “one big question” as the stepson would say.  Well, in short: I signed up to internet dating, fell in love with a single dad from Unst, moved him and his son in, moved my dog and rabbits out, fell pregnant and had our son all within a year.  My one bedroom, immaculately tidy house, is now a 3 bedroom family home thanks to the addition of a few walls and lots of toys.  At the weekend we play an infuriating game of Tetris with our house contents, trying desperately to find a way that it might fit in the tiny space we have available.  I’m like a sodding Country Song.
 
But I may have fewer tragic behaviours.  I might be more inclined to cook a family meal than find myself face first in a bag of crisps (Scotch Pies and Minion Pasta are healthy choices for lunch).  It is possible that I have less time for TV than ever in my life, even if I do manage to catch up on some crap when Bubba sleeps.  There’s a chance that I am more in love with my fiance than I’d ever have deemed “normal”.  It’s feasible that, even though I complain I’m not in any way what you would label “unhappy”.
 
So it turns out that things change.  Priorities alter.  People appear in your life.  Pets disappear into the lives of others.  Walls go up.  Barriers come down.  And if you’re really lucky your entire life will change from everything you thought you wanted, to everything you never knew you needed.  And there will be nobody more confused, blindsided or ridiculously ecstatic than you.  And you’re like a sodding Pharell Williams song…

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4 thoughts on “Year Kidding??

  1. Boy will I be sharing the shit out of this! Swap step son for step daughter, own house for military accom and this is totally my life! Brilliantly and eloquently put. Now I’ve just got to get the little laughing boy (who is currently threatening to shoot me with his sister’s nerf gun) ready to go to a mum’s and tots group so I can drink a relatively warm coffee! Why do they put these things on before midday?

    Hugs to you, Hi-ho and the boys xxx

    Like

    1. Aaw!Thank you! And great to hear that I’m not alone.

      Anything that starts before midnight day should be cancelled! Today it’s swimming class. For a 6 month old. At 10.45! WTF was I thinking? I even had to attempt a leg shave. It wasn’t pretty…

      Hi-ho says hiyi! (What a brilliant sentance that is.)

      Good luck with today. Any chocolate you eat with your back to the kids so they can’t see is calorie free…

      Like

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