Soooo….I’ve not blogged in ages because it turns out this “doing it on your own” shit can be pretty time demanding. For example, I should probably be sleeping now, rather than eating hummus and Doritos for my dinner and writing blah blah blah therapy. Bean#2 went to bed at 4pm (yes, that’s right) and Bean#1 went at 6pm. Now granted both had a terrible night last night, but who am I kidding…they’ll be up at 4am wanting cereal and PJ fucking masks on Netflix!
But anyway…I’m gonna spill my brain guts onto WordPress instead.
It’s been a tough couple of months to be fair. I had pneumonia for three weeks and then the beans caught chicken pox AND head lice at the same time. So that was fun.
One Friday, when I’d picked the beans up from nursery, they both wanted to be carried into the house – a pretty standard request – but as I was two weeks in to pneumonia I found it a harder than normal; plus I was absolutely busting for a wee. When I got in the house I carried them up to the lav with me (mistake) and after a wee felt I needed to lay-down on the bathroom floor because the room was spinning. Turns out I must have passed out a little bit. When I woke up, Bean#2 had crawled under my arm and had snuggled up to me and Bean#1 had put her blanket over me and surrounded me with her teddies. I looked at them both and asked how they were, Bean#1 told me that she didn’t like this game and wanted to play downstairs.
It was a bit of a wake up call truth be told. Not only did I realise I’ve gotta stop trying to boss this parenting shit on my own, but I’ve gotta look after myself if I’m gonna look after these beans of mine.
I rang a friend and he came over, cooked (well, burnt) a pizza and sent me to bed. It was when I woke up the next morning I told myself that I needed to start counting my blessings and not my miseries. Basically I had to grow some tits and stop this wallowing.
Everyday the beans make me laugh, it could be from telling me that ice-cubes turn into tadpoles, that I’m to stop being bossy or that when they grow up they want to be orange. These things are so easy to miss, especially when you can spend so much time looking back and spotting the things you missed over a 10 year relationship. It’s too late, I’ve missed those things and I’ve fucked that up already. I have finally realised that I need to stop missing things now, so I’m not in the same place in another 10 years.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m a big believer in allowing yourself to feel sadness, and fuck me I’ve got a lot to feel sad about sometimes. I miss being married, I miss my best friends, my social life, disposable income, a bigger house. That’s all gone now, but I’ve still got so much more. So so much more. Those are things I should focus on, those are the things we all should focus on.
I’m a mum, like I actually own two little humans who think I’ve got my shit together. I need to get my shit together. I bossed three weeks of illness, I kicked the chicken pox in the arse and I tell my beans I love them at every single opportunity. Fuck the miserable shit, who cares?! It could always be worse, I could always be lonelier, fatter, loved less, liked less… But I couldn’t be daughter to a better mum, mum to better daughters, or friends to better welsh nutters, forest weirdos, arrogant journos, and posh Londers.
See, I’ve got blessings. But most days, I don’t have to count past two.