I am Suspicious Mum

happy singing

Yesterday, something strange and wonderful happened in our house.  For the first time in months, there were no alarms set to go off.  Yesterday, we were blissfully able to waken up to the wonderful world in our own good time.

And while this good time is usually before 7am, yesterday morning, we found ourselves looking at 9.10am on the clock.

This is absolutely unheard of in a very busy house.

So unheard of actually, that the initial stretches and contented turning over in the bed quickly turned to suspicion…panic almost.

Have we slept in? Why wasn’t she up yet? Was she OK?  What was wrong? Because something must be wrong when Mini-me is still sleeping after 9am.

And then we heard it… the singing.

Poor, sweet, oblivious Husband smiles and says “Ah listen to her, the wee dote’s singing.”

Poor, suspicious Wife smiles and says “Mmmmmmhmmmmm…the wee dote’s peed the bed.”

He automatically frowns at me and asks “Now how can you tell that when she’s across the hall?” and as he gets up to go over to his wee dote, I snuggle back under the covers knowing how the conversation is going to go when he reaches Mini me’s bedroom.  How do I know?  Because I do.

Pink---MUM-KNOWS-BEST---Tops

Every morning, our little munchkin climbs out of her pink bed, toddles out of her pink bedroom and takes her pretty self up to the toilet in the not-pink bathroom.

But once in a while, usually after an epic long sleep, she awakens in a puddle.  And rather than jump out of bed, horrified that she’s lying in smelly peepee, she seems to find the warmth of this magical peepee puddle so lovely and cozy, that she just stays there.  And she’s clever enough to know that when the duvet is pulled off the bed, said magical warm nest will become cold and wet and uncomfortable.  So she stays there…singing…until Mammy comes in and ruins it.

“The bed wet my jammies Daddy!” she announces as he enters the bedroom.

“Did you have a wee accident?”

“No.  It was the bed!”

So the bed had an accident.  Mini Me enjoyed the cozy cuddles of the accident and within two minutes, had been lifted from one warm, wet puddle to another one, as I set her into a bubble filled bath.

Accident prone bed stripped, washing machine started, windows swung open…oblivious toddler blissfully continues singing in her bath.

We have to admire a toddler’s ability to see only the good in a situation like this.  To the adult, it’s a torture; wet bed, PJ’s stuck to skin, stench of pee in the room. To the toddlemonster, it’s quite enjoyable to wake in the morning.in a pre-heated cocoon!

So how did I know that the sweet, melodic singing that greeted our lovely alarm free morning, was in fact an alarm screaming Mum, the bed’s wet!?  How did I know that she was quite literally singing in the rain-puddles?

Because I’m suspicious Mum, and where my Mini-me is concerned, I’m usually right!

suspicious

I am Snake Mum

I am Snake Mum

I don’t use the word “hate” very often.  There’s very little in life that can cause that word to even appear in my brain…except for snakes.

frightened-woman

I hate them.  I hate everything about them; how they look, how they move, how my stomach flips inexplicably each time one appears on the TV screen.  They truly are the one thing that I’m afraid of…and I have no real explanation for this fear.

Over the years, I’ve managed to talk myself around from being a big girl’s blouse who would freak out at the mere image of a snake in a book.  I’m able to look at such pictures now.  I can even deal with them in movies, (well, depending on their size and what they’re doing!), although I will still hide behind a cushion.

I used to cry at even the thought of entering the reptile house of Dublin Zoo, such was the ridiculous extent of my “phobia”.  But my “phobia” is nonsense.  It’s nothing more than a notion I have; a reaction to something that doesn’t appeal to me; that makes me feel unsafe.

Until I had Mini-me, I don’t think I really knew what fear was.  After she was born, I began to understand the word.  The fear that comes with being a parent is real. It is founded and justified. I became afraid of everything; of every cough, of every sniffle, of every decision we were making. Every time she gets sick, it is fear that prevails in my mind.

I remember the utter terror the first time Mini-Me slept through the night; leaping from the bed in a panic.  I remember lying at night, listening to her breath, terrified for no particular reason.  Now, the toddler fears are different, but they are still real.  Why is she being so quiet? Does she mix at playschool? Is she frightened if I’m not there?   Is that a rash? Am I over-reacting?

The fear even follows me to my dreams sometimes.  Last night, I was screaming at her as she ran towards a road and I couldn’t catch up to her to stop her.  Another night, I watched as she ran towards a stairwell.  Thankfully, my brain usually wakes me up before I have to watch the outcome of these situations, but the palpitations of the heart and rapid breathing transcend from sleeping Mummy to the Lying-in-a-cold-sweat Mummy.  So while it may have been only a dream, the fear is still real.

What is it they say? 99% of the things we worry about will never happen?  Good.  But that doesn’t mean that as parents, we don’t worry.  It is natural.  It is exhausting, but it protects our children.  It allows us to see potential dangers and to avoid potential disasters.

As parents, we learn very quickly how to put on a brave face and calm voice to ensure that our little ones don’t stress or worry.

The-important-thing-is-to

So when we visited a local zoo this week and one of the zookeepers was offering the children the chance to pet and hold a snake, my initial reaction was to take Mini-Me’s hand and walk (Ok, run…) briskly to the opposite end of the room.  To me, the snake was huge and horrible.  In reality, it was a small, red, very tame pet and the children were loving it.

One look from my Husband reminded me that it was me who was afraid of the snake, not our daughter.  And so I put on my cherriest voice and said “Look at the lovely snake.  Why doesn’t Daddy take you over to pet it?” I possibly sounded like Mary Poppins on helium, but it was a huge step.  My acting skills have never been so tested as when I had to feign calm and delight while I watched her little fingers run over the surface of the creature.

The snake might as well have been wrapped around my neck.  I could hardly breath.  I hated every second of her experience.  I hated that I was not 100% able to protect her. But, I had to stand back (waaaaaaaay back!) and let her experience something that I’ve never had the bottle to do.

I hate snakes…simple as that, but I can’t pass my ridiculous fears onto my child.  If she decides she doesn’t like them either, good.  We’ll have something else in common, but I won’t be the reason she doesn’t like them.  She’ll have her own silly and irrational phobias to deal with in her life.  And someday she’ll have real fears to deal with too, but they’ll be hers, not mine.

So when she came running back to me, face glowing with delight, I pretended to be so excited that she’d touched the lovely, pretty snake!  Daddy’s face was a mixture of smugness and amusement as he watched me lie through my gritted teeth, but as we walked towards the much more loveable ducks and rabbits, the “Good Mammy” whispered in my ear made it all OK. J

So, just this once, I am Snake Mum.

nice-snake-27078615

I am Somedays Mum

Some days are for wearing whatever concoction of clothing Mini-Me decides she wants to wear.

Some days are for twirling in sparkly dresses; around and around; just because. spinning

Some days are for snuggling into the soft mat and watching Sleeping Beauty – and all the extra features and trailers that we usually skip past.

Some days are for staying the PJs, for not even considering brushing hair or washing faces.

Some days are for stopping what I am doing to watch her dancing in her own wee world, instead of just being glad that she’s occupying herself for 5 minutes while I peel potatoes.

Somedays are for cracking eggs and baking cupcakes, and not worrying about the mess or how many pieces of shell end up on the counter.

Some days are for pretending to steal her little nose!

logic

Some days are for not doing very much housework, but just chatting to a three year old.  It’s amazing how the logic of our world can seem so ridiculous when a child explains how they see it. “Mammy, you get off that seat and go over there.  I have to push that seat and you’re still on it cos Percy Penguin needs to go swimming!”  Okay!

Some days are for cutting sandwiches into star shapes and making up stories about them.

Some days are for playing Hide n’ Seek.  Not just counting to appease her and then pretending I don’t see her for a few minutes; for actually stopping what I’m doing and playing it.  It’s amazing where this S-Mum can still fit when she puts her mind to it!

Some days are for just stopping to be glad that these Some days exist.

Some days are for making memories instead of catching them as they flit past.

Some days are for smiling. 🙂

I am Some days Mum. life laughing