Yesterday was a bad day. No that doesn’t give justice to how bad it was. It was a dreadful, terribly dog shit day. That just about sums it up. It started off so well. Mr B slept in until 8am which is a record for him and Mr S was happy to lie in my bed watching cbeebies while I cat napped, (be honest mums, what would we do without Mr Tumble and his spotty bag). We went in the garden where they both played nicely and then they fell asleep together on the chair. Perfect morning…….. then it happened.
I lay down and closed my eyes on the sun lounger and at that moment Mr B screamed and I mean screamed. I jumped up and saw blood all over his face. Que mummy panic, cold sweats, shaking and wondering how long an ambulance would take at this precise moment. Turns out he had bit his tongue in his sleep, however he continued to cry and cry and cry. So obviously Mr S woke up and was terrified by all the screaming and commotion, he ran to me crying and shaking while demanding up. Neither would settle and both were clearly still tired so I decided to go in and try and settle them in their own beds.
On the way upstairs, (3 flights of stairs while carrying them both), Mr B pulled a chunk out of Mr S's curls, prompting more screaming and writhing resulting into me clinging onto them by their nappies. Once I had them settled I went down to get my drink out of the garden and stood in a dog shit. Marvellous, (sarcastic). By the time I had cleaned up and called the dogs a lot of angry words under my breath, Mr B was up. No word of a lie he cried and whined for the rest of the day.
When Mr S woke up he wanted to be continually held, that is until he decided to be mummys big boy and go and play on his slide. Ahhhhh, sigh of relief. I put my feet up and phoned hubby to tell him how bad my day was and how of course it was all his fault for being in work when he should be helping me, when a shuttlecock came over the fence from the children playing next door. Being the wonderful neighbour that I am I threw it back to them which in Mr S’s eyes was an invitation for him to spend the next 5 minutes inconsolably crying, pointing at the fence and giving me the stink eye. I explained several times that we can’t just go in peoples gardens and he could play with me, he ignored me and got louder. He is so rude, not listening, just like his father.
By this point I was at the point of breaking. I bundled them both into the kitchen secured them in their highchairs and began their tea. Funny how crying children sound louder in the kitchen. I checked they were both securely strapped in, then went for a mummy wee, which is code for going to the bathroom, shutting the door, sitting on the floor and having a little cry. Then getting up stronger and ready to start again. It’s similar to a daddy poo, which is when daddy goes in the bathroom, LOCKS the door and sits on Facebook. Don’t even get me started on how daddy always needs a ‘poo’ when there is something to be done. That’s a whole other blog. (he just read this and defended himself with, “it’s not always Facebook, sometimes its Instagram.”)
I’m not ashamed to admit that sometimes I just have to walk away. If I know my boys are safe, fed, watered and clean its sometimes best to just have a minute, let them have a minute and then start again, (p.s this works with hubbys as well). Mr S refused tea and threw every last crumb of my hard work to the dogs, Mr B ate every last bit while making sure that he got just enough in his hair.
Now I have a rule, if a child is cranky put them in water. I knew they would not give me chance to run them a bath so I switched on the shower. Mr B got in and was instantly happy. It was as though he hadn’t spent the day screaming and tongue biting, why didn’t I do this sooner. Mr S however was not happy and gripped me so hard his nails broke the skin. I suddenly realised the sooner I get them washed and pyjamaed the sooner this sucky day is over and I can drink. At this point I stood up took a deep breath and thought there is only one thing to do, pick him up, get in the shower and sit there with them. I was in that much of a rush to end this horrific day I didn’t even undress. When hubby walked in from work there we were, the three of us sat in the shower basin. Mr B splashing manically, me clothed, wet and broken with Mr S cradled on my knee having his hair washed.
Now these bad days don’t happen too often but when they do my gosh they are hard. All is well that ends well though. I ordered Chinese, I ate the bar of dairy milk that I’d put away for father’s day, (warning hubby that if he mentioned my diet at any point I would stab him with my chopstick), I had a gin and watched Big Bang Theory. What can I say, I love being a mum.
Good day to you
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