Author Archives: Maria Rushe - Blogger and Writer

I am Silly-Serious-Worries Mum

Posted in children, parenting, terror by

So today, I did it!

Even the thought of it has been freaking me out for the past 7 weeks.  I’ve actually had nightmares about it.  I hardly slept last night, knowing that it was ahead of me this morning…but I did it.

I did the playschool run.
ALL BY MYSELF!
With the toddler AND a newborn.
And I survived.

Sound silly? 
Maybe, but I’m guessing that the majority of parents reading this can empathise.

So how does something as trivial as doing a school run become such an issue?
Because although it’s a Silly worry, it’s still a worry.
It’s my worry and it grows as much as I let it. 

It’s a little seed that was planted in my brain one morning pre-Princess, and over the past 9 weeks, it has blossomed into quite the little weed.

I was dropping Mini-me off as usual.   The staircase to her classroom is narrow and an unspoken one-way system exists among the parents who navigate it each day.
I waited (impatiently) for her to manouvre her skinny bum up the steps; painfully aware of the not-very-well disguised frustration of the other Mummy who was forced to wait at the top for Mini-me (and her 64 month pregnant mother) to get out of her way. 

We finally reached the summit and Other Mother responded to my apologies with an overly-zealous and high-pitched “Don’t be silly!! It’s not easy, is it?”

“No it isn’t!” I laughed, thinking to myself how I couldn’t wait to not have to carry this bump up the steps every morning.

And then it hit me.

In place of the bump, will be a baby…in a car seat.
And that was the actual second that the silly-serious worries began.

How the hell am I going to do this with a new baby?
How will I get Mini-me to school, on time, 5 mornings a week…with a new baby?
How will we get out the door if Baby needs a feed…or poops…or is crying…or is sick?
What if I can’t get parked near the door?
What if it’s raining?
I can’t leave the Baby in the car can I?  Of course not!
How will I manage to get up and down those stairs with a car seat and a futtering toddler? 
What if I fall?
What if Mini-me falls and I can’t lift her?
What if someone sneeezes on the baby?
What if…

I could go on.

I’m usually quite in control of my worries.  I don’t tend to overthink things or waste energy on worrying about the hypothetical.  My Dad always told me “99% of the things you worry about, never happen.”
It took me approximately 25 years to realise this.
Life instantly became easier.

I’m quite a confident person.  I stand in front of hundreds of teenagers each day and teach them Shakespeare for crying out loud!  So how is it that getting my toddler to pre-school could become such a bloody issue?

Because I’m still hormonal after recent birth?
Because I’m losing my mind?
Because I’m having a confidence crisis?

No.
It’s because I’m a parent.

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What no one tells you before you enter this wonderful time in your life, is that all of your rational reasoning and good sense go on holiday when Baby arrives… and I’m not sure they ever return.

Every parent has ridiculous, irrational fears.  Over the past few days, with both kiddies being sick, I’ve realised that these fears are EXTRA vivid at 4am.

The headcold is pneumonia.
The heat rash is something tropical.
The sound outside is obviously a burglar.
The first trip to playschool tomorrow morning is going to be a disaster.

And then, it’s not.

We got up.  We got dressed.  I fed both of them.  (I even fed the dog!) I drank a cup of coffee.  I got Newborn into the carseat.  I strapped Mini-me into hers.  I remembered to lock the house.  I remembered how to drive the car.  (Six weeks sans Steering wheel is not fun!)  I remembered how to get to the school.  I got parked at the door of the school.  It wasn’t raining!

I got to the foot of the dreaded staircase.

And do you know what I did then?
I put one foot in front of the other, and I climbed it.  (Granted I still had to encourage Skinny-bum to hurry along, but climb it we did.)
And when I got to the top, I deposited said Skinny-bum into the arms of her lovely teacher; I turned around and I returned to my car.
I survived.

And then I went shopping! (because having only one kid with me didn’t feature as a problem.  It’s only the situations where I have to do things with two for the first time that are causing me these Silly-Serious worries.  See how logical I am?!!)

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This morning was the silliest thing in the world to be worried about, but to me, it was a serious worry. 
And that’s the key.
If it was worrying me, it was valid.  Silly or not, it was a worry. 

And the reason that parents worry about such seemingly silly things, is to allow us to be prepared.  Worrying and over-thinking things allows us to envisage all eventualities…and then, because we’ve already dealt with the outcomes, (even the worst possible ones!), we can handle whatever is thrown at us.

Every silly worry is serious.
Every worry is a staircase.
The longer we stand looking at the stairs, the more challenging they become.
But if you take each step as it comes, the top isn’t as far away as you thought.

Next, I have to figure out how to do the grocery shopping with both of the them with me.
I’m just going to look at that particulay staircase a little while longer.
I’m not quite there yet!

I am Silly-Serious-Worries Mum.

Follow me on Facebook  https://m.facebook.com/Secretsofsmum
and on Twitter @Maria_Rushe

I am Smile-and-Nod Mum!

Posted in children, family, parenting, swear words, toddlers, Uncategorized by

People generally dislike swear words.  There’s an unwritten rule that some swear words are worse than others.

The B-words are widely tolerated.  The F-word…not so much.  The C-word? Don’t even go there! Some words are acceptable.   Some are simply not.

It’s like childbirth.  It’s okay to say certain things to a new Mamma. And there are some things you SHOULD NEVER SAY…and yet people usually do.

On the other side of things, there are responses that new mammas would love to say out loud (usually with some of the aforementioned expletives carefully inserted!)…and yet they usually don’t.

So here are just a few such things that I’ve heard recently… to which mostly, my response was to politely smile/laugh/nod.  But what I was really thinking usually contained expletives. Shock Horror!

  1.  “Oh you had a section?” (Usually accompanied by an expression of either sympathy or disapproval.)        Yes. I had a section.  It’s the most fun thing in the world ever! (*Sarcasm… see previous post “I am Section Mum.”
  2. “How’s your scar healing?”    Fabulously thank you.  How’s your vagina doing?
  3. “Sure the second section is much easier than the first.”                 Is it really? My body obviously didn’t get that particular memo.
  4. “You shouldn’t be up and about so quickly.”    OK.   You’re so right.  I’ll tell the toddler look after herself. What am I thinking!?
  5. “Oh? You’re not breastfeeding?”  (There’s that look again.  Its becoming quite frequent.)           No.  I’ve made a decision to not give my baby the best start in life.  I’m a selfish failure and I deserve your disapproval and judgement.  Thanks for that.
  6. “You’re not going back to the gym already surely? Sure there’s nothing wrong with you!” (Yep…there’s that look again!)         Yes.  I am, because I enjoy training and I want to. It’s as simple as that.  Last week I actually replied “God yes. I need to lose at least 4 stone.”  That’s an exaggeration, but it was worth it to see the look of disapproval morph into one of utter disgust.
  7. “OMG! I didn’t expect to see you out so soon! You’re some Doll!” (Expression of disapproval added to at sight of very large glass of wine in my hand.)          I’m so sorry if my decision to venture away from my baby for a few hours makes you uncomfortable. It actually took a lot of nerve, encouragement from Hubby and support of my friends to get here tonight… but all you see is the wine.
  8. “Where’s the baby tonight?”   At home with the Dog of course…where else?
  9. You’re OK leaving the baby with her Daddy? (Yup…cue that expression again!)  Erm… is this a trick question? YES!!! He is afterall, her Daddy? He did make half of her and he’s just as entitled to (Shock Horror!) look after her all by himself as I am!
  10. “Is Daddy babysitting?”  Noooooooo…. Daddy is looking after his daughters while Mammy does the shopping/has a coffee/pops to town for an hour. He is not hired or paid by the hour.  I do not feel the need to leave snacks on the coffee table or to go through her routine before I leave.  He’s as (Shock Horror!) able to care for her as I am.

I could go on.

Yes, most of these things were said with the greatest of good intentions, but still.  They were said…in some cases by numerous people.

I’m sure I could add more.  I’m sure many of you could add your own.  It’s a terrible thing to be judged, (intentionally or not), especially by other mummies, but the easiest thing to do is to smile and nod and remember that you can say as many swear words in your head as you like, and no one can judge you for that!

I am Smile-and-Nod Mum.

 

 

I am Six-weeks-and-snuffly Mum

Posted in parenting, Uncategorized by

I’ve just realised that a six week old with a head cold is possibly one of the worst feelings in the world… for both baby and parent.

With Mini-Me into her third round with the nasty viral flu that’s been plaguing Donegal’s homes for the past few months, it was inevitable that Princess would pick up some version of it.  She’s been threatening us with the odd sneeze and little cough for a few days, but this morning, she woke up as a Snufflupogus, with weeping eyes and all.

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And it’s horrible.

My friend has always been unable to tolerate snoots up noses.  She’s the kind of person who will squeeze a blackhead, even if it’s on someone else’s nose!  She picks at her kids constantly; they never have a snoot stuck in a nostril or a piece of sleep in their eyes. She’s even quite happy to pick at other people’s kids.  I kid you not.
And for years, I have teased her about it.

But tonight, I am very tempted to ring her to ask what type of snotter busting device she’d recommend for the detraction of those bad boys hidden deepest in the nostril.  I’d happily drive an hour to the nearest 24 hour store to source the clever contraption than sucks up the snot.  But I seriously doubt that a simple fix exists that can be used on a perfect little six week old snout.

And so we just have to perservere with cuddles and tissues.  Every sneeze brings with it another gloopy lump of gunk and a few minutes of ease for Snufflepants.  She’s currently cuddled up of top of Daddy, making all sorts of grumbly, snottery grunts.  She sounds like Miss Piggy.

And in fairness, I think it’s upsetting him more than it’s bothering her.

Mini Me is also dosed, but at least she can tell us how she’s feeling and understands that she’ll get better.  We can give her medicine to ease the discomfort, and most importantly, when we hold a tissue to her snottery nostrils, she now blows through her nose rather than through her mouth!

So it’s not quite as dramatic as the tiny one’s sniffles.  And really, that ‘s not even that dramatic, because realistically, she has a good old fashioned head-cold.  It’s minor in the larger scheme of things.  She’ll be fine.   But that doesn’t mean that Mammy and Daddy don’t grimace every time she sneezes.  We want to pull all of the offending gunk out of her little sinuses so that she can breathe easily again.  We’d both swap places with her in a heart beat.  Because that’s what parents do.

Things might be snottery and sticky, but they could always be worse.

Now, I must go text my friend to see if she’ll come for tea tomorrow.  You never know what snot busting tricks she’ll be able to show me!!

I am Six-weeks-and-snuffly Mum.

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I am Suddenly Reminded Mum

Posted in children, Uncategorized by

Sometimes we need reminded that our Little Ones are indeed only little.

When Princess was born a few weeks ago, Mini Me seemed to grow up overnight.  She suddenly got taller and turned from a toddler into a little girl.  I’ve been watching her in awe since I returned home from hospital.  I’m not quite sure how it happened, but she is quite the little independent woman.

Having a newborn on my knee, I find myself wondering how it’s possible that the most advanced species on the planet can give birth to the most helpless offspring.

im-only-a-baby

A baby calf gets up to walk within moments of being born, but our little pink and squishy babies remain completely dependent on us for years.  It’s quite amazing.  And still, the nicest feeling in the world is knowing that your baby needs nothing but you to survive.  The frightening thing is that without you, she can’t.

We give our babies everything that they need.  We help them to grow.  We don’t get a handbook.  We make it up as we go along and shockingly, we generally do a good job.  As I look at Mini-me in all her “almost fourness”, I am proud of how she’s developing.  She’s stroppy and strong-willed, but sweet and sensitive. She’s clever and funny and ever so dramatic. (Not sure where she gets the drama!) I have a little girl, who has a little curl etc.  She’s so grown up, and then she isn’t.

Because she understands every word we say and because she’s able to articulate her thoughts well, we’ve made the mistake of assuming that she fully understands the world around her.

She doesn’t.

As tall and “grown up” as she suddenly seems, on Sunday past I was Suddenly Reminded that she is still only a baby.  She doesn’t understand the things that we assume her to.  She’s finding her way through a terrifying world (aren’t we all?) and she still needs Mammy and Daddy to guide her in every step.

And the dramatic and sudden reminder?

We went to see Santa Claus.

Mini-Me and her new sister were dressed in their pretty Christmas dresses and we were all suitably excited.  It’s the first year that she is really enjoying the build up to Christmas and she was excited to bring the new baby to meet the Big Man.  We stood in the queue.  We met Santa.  They got their picture taken and she got a present.

And then, we all went for coffee.

As we were relaxing, the Big brother took the little horse set out of the box for her to play with.  We were chattering among ourselves, when suddenly she began to cry.  Asking her what was possibly wrong, she announced through her sobs “Santa didn’t listen.  I asked for baby Annabelle!” and the quiet sobs turned to a wail.

Well, we didn’t know what to do.  We looked at each other with disbelief and the sudden realisation that our big grown-up girl was genuinely upset.  And as I looked at her devastated little face, the baby returned in front of my eyes.  She was suddenly three again.  Not the “Big Sister” or the “Big girl” that we’ve been calling her since Baby arrived.

Just my Mini-me Threenager…and she was heartbroken.

She thought that that was it;  that Santa had been and that Christmas was over.  She didn’t understand that this was simply a pre-Christmas, traditional treat.

Why?

Because we never thought to explain it to her.

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While we had been talking about going to see Santa, she thought that this was the Santa who comes in the night and leaves presents.  She thought that this was it.  And as we were obliviously sipping our coffees, she was experiencing a massive first… true disappointment.

Daddy swiftly lifted her onto his knee for a hug and wiped the big tears dripping down her chubby cheeks.  We all leapt into action, laughing and calmly explaining that Santa had simply brought her a treat today and that it isn’t Christmas yet.  We went back to basics, explaining the whole concept of Christmas: about Baby Jesus coming, about her aunties and uncles coming home, about hanging up the stockings and about waking up on Christmas morning; any possible benchmarks that will help her to recognise actual Christmas.

We threw all the cliched lines at her.  “If you’re good, Santa will…”  “It’s Christmas time, but it’s not Christmas Day yet.”  “9 more sleeps…” etc.  And happily, she calmed down and returned to playing with the horses.

Crisis averted, but lesson learned.

People had warned us that when the new baby arrived, she would suddenly seem so big and so grown-up.  And they were right.

But what we had to learn for ourselves is that big and all as she seems, she’s still only a little child.  We may have begun to expect too much from her.  Yes, the baby is vulnerable and totally dependent on us, but just because Mini-Me can dress herself, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t also vulnerable and dependent.

And so, with both Mammy and Daddy feeling suitably guilty and slightly foolish, we finished our coffee and directed our wee family back through the craziness of the Christmas shoppers towards the car.

Mini-me had learned something, but the biggest lesson was learned by her Grown-ups.

I am Suddenly Reminded Mum.

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