Easily pleased

Whenever I am at that point in those conversations with people who dont have kids when they give me that look of pity or wonder, I always struggle to explain that it isn’t in fact the seventh circle of hell that it sounds. Because I am hellbent on not reverting to the cliches that drove me wild before I had my own Monkey-face, in can make this a bit tricky. I swore that I would never ever start a sentence with the phrase “as a mother” or that I would ever say “when you have kids of your own” or “when you have kids, your priorities change” in that tone that implies the priorities of non-kidowners are infantile, ridiculous fripperies and simultaneously makes them want to kick you in the head. But I also hoped not to be some smug, married over-bearing earth-mother type too. Because that would just be rude and insufferable also. So, I suppose everything that ever passes my lips these days tends to be complaints about teething, poverty, my lack of grooming/ sleep/ babysitting and fretting around discipline (all of ours, not just hers.)

Today I’m knackered (anyone reading this blog for anything longer than a week will by now be thinking “hmmm yes I do believe you mentioned that already”), sucker-punched by menstruation (sorry if you’re a guy reading this or maybe it’s just a bit too much information – but hey, again, have you read this for longer than a week) and getting over a cold. Oh, and whiney but you probably got that already. It only makes everything ten times harder when you feel like this and unlikeable too. I was glad to get home, into my pjs and onto the serious business of bedtime reading. Fortunately the monkey-face seemed to be comfortable with being related to me, tonight. Both myself and mrbookandbed read tonight’s story (an In The Night Garden story chosen by her) and expected there to be trouble when we said “that’s it, time for bed.” Instead, she calmly lay down, pulled up he bedding and said “thank you so much for reading me my story, mummydaddy.”

Yet again, she pulls it out of the bag when she needs to and it’s those moments that are golden, that sum up all of the joy and bliss of parenting. Either that or I’m so knackered I’m just easily pleased.

 

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