Yesterday I blogged about owning your Supermum. Today is a post that’s been sitting in drafts for a while, and is a little more raw…
When I found out I was pregnant with the twins I got a lot of advice. Advice from people with singletons, twins, and 3+ children. The overwhelming consensus was to accept the chaos and mess for a year and just concentrate on getting through each day with some semblance of sanity intact.
But here I am, 8 months later, with what feels like more tidying and “things in their place” hangups than I did before kids. Stupid stuff like the kitchen table chairs needing to be pushed in and even; beds made; breakfast stuff put away, feeding the bunny… all of this before I’ve even had a shower or eaten my own breakfast. Those precious 30-90 minutes of morning sleep are the very time I should be prioritising myself over housework.
When did I become less important than tidying? Why does mess come before me?
I don’t know if it’s because I’m home all the time and want a bit of control in the chaos. Is my husband messier? Am I just suddenly noticing what was always there?
I resent the morning cleanup – even more so if I’m cleaning up from the night before. Recycling bottles, table mess from the Threenager’s dinner, dishes that haven’t made it to the dishwasher, random splashes and mess on the bathroom vanity. AN UNFLUSHED TOILET.
Smiles and laughs with amazing friends.
I don’t even feel like I can begin to change things. To prioritise myself. When almost my entire being is devoted to my children’s needs.
Part of me is tempted to return to work early, just to get back some of those simple things that so many people take for granted. Time to eat your lunch when you want to, not at 4pm when you’re ravenous but still have children crying to be picked up as you try in vain to reach for your sandwich on the table which is just…out…of…reach. Thirty quiet, uninterrupted minutes on the train to read a book. I can’t remember the last time I read something other than a supermarket catalogue…. and I love reading. Time spent doing something stimulating that doesn’t involve Lego or playing shops underneath a pile of sofa cushions.
We worked so hard to become parents – the infertility, IVF, miscarriages – and now I just want a break. Something longer than the four hours every 8 weeks I get to have my hair done. I fantasise about an entire day to myself but have no idea what I would do. I still feel utterly bound to the twins despite the fact they take a bottle and the husband says he handle all three for the day if I want to do something.
Why should I feel guilt about wanting some time to myself? It’s a cruel roundabout we sometimes put ourselves on.
So where do I start? Any advice?
How Life Has Changed 