I like to think I am calm, understanding, even easy going ‘Cool Mom’.
But sometimes I scream at my children.
It will brew for a while, I’ll say ‘Come on now stop’.
Then I’ll say ‘Girls, could you stop now’.
Then the baby will cry and I’ll plead, ‘Please girls, Mummy has enough to do, just stop’.
Then someone will knock on the door and the dog will go berserk and I’ll have to coax her into the kitchen while carrying the squealing baby. The door-knocker will be some tit from some charity or other telling me how generous my neighbour’s have been with their donations.
Good for them, piss off Wayne.
I’ll turn around to go back into the house and it moves up a gear, ‘Girls, I’ve asked you enough times now, I’m getting cross. Just stop!’.
I’ll attempt feeding the babies legs into the jumperoo seat while he contorts and grabs my hair and claws my chest and when he’s finally in he will start his moan. Its not crying, there’s not even a facial expression. Its just a noise that means he’s annoyed. And its hella annoying.
As I go to sort out the commotion the girls are causing it’ll happen, bang bang bang. Someone has fallen down the stairs. And then another thing will happen;
‘FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL YOU TO STOP YOU NAUGHTY NAUGHTY GIRLLLLLSSSSS!!’
As I pick up the injured party and rub her sore head, or knee, or elbow, I’m already calming down. The others are shocked into silence while the patient sobs, fewer and farther between already as we make it to the sofa.
The baby is bemused. Probably laughing, sicko.
I’m not proud to admit I’m a roaring wreck of a Mother. I definitely wish I could master ‘breathe, count to ten, react’, and I am getting better.
But guess what I’m only human. Even though I am Mum.
I’m not and never will be the Mum-est of Mums and to be honest I don’t care to be.
Sometimes I don’t want a baby on my knee clawing at my hair and chest.
Sometimes I want to watch TV without 3 kids perched on various parts of my body.
Sometimes I don’t want to answer 100’s of questions about Elephants or where the toilet water goes.
And sometimes I shout at my kids.
Sometimes they shout back at me.
And always, always always always.
I say sorry.
I make sure they know it’s okay to get it wrong, because they will.
I don’t want to be set on a pedestal as they grow up, I want to be the realest thing in their lives.
Real emotions are hard to control and even harder to hide.
Unless the emotion is ‘Good lord give me that chocolate right now’, I can hide pretty well in that case. When you see this kids, also sorry I didn’t share the chocolate.