In 2010 I was pregnant, I would have told you that if my child were a girl she wouldn’t always wear pink, if it were a boy he wouldn’t always wear blue.
I would have told you that my child would always show good manners.
My child wouldn’t have a snot encrusted face.
My child wouldn’t have massive public meltdowns.
My child and I would have an amazing, love fuelled relationship.
My child and I would do many different activities every day.
My child wouldn’t watch TV.
My child would never be mean.
My child would never act spoilt.
My child would be a kind child who recognised that they were blessed with a loving family and a lovely life.
Here I am six years down the line.
Mine is the child who likes to lay down in the middle of the street, maybe even eating stones.
Mine is the child who scooched along the floor on his back and got stuck under a clothes rail in Primark.
Mine is the child trying to hold the hands of strangers to take them home.
Mine is the child constantly looking for a means of escape.
Mine is the child telling me how unfair I am because her pillows are all wrong.
Mine is the child kicking the bath because we had the audacity to ask her to have a shower.
Mine is the child who threw the biscuit across the playground because I bought the wrong one.
Mine is the child who looks like their wardrobe exploded at them.
Mine is the child eating yogurt covered raisins from the wet floor.
Mine is the child who speaks to me in a way I would never dream of speaking to my parents even at this age.
Mine is the child walking away from me when I ask for a hand.
Mine is the child wearing clothes inappropriate for the season.
Mine is the with pasta sauce in their hair at least I hope it’s pasta sauce.
Mine is the child who doesn’t stop all day, every day. Until we need to be somewhere then he barely starts.
Mine is the child who bites in anger.
Mine is the child who walks under my feet so I trip up in public, usually in front of people.
Mine is the child who ignores what I say in public leading me to talk in that low, whisper type voice that means business but is still dutifully ignored.
Mine is the child having a tantrum because I have no snacks left.
Mine is the child who makes other people look up from what they’re doing to see what the commotion is about.
I am the mum often looking harassed.
I am the mum, sometimes exhausted even though her children should be sleeping through.
I am the mum who often wants the earth to open up and swallow her.
I am the mum who tries hard to placate her children and make sure they don’t spoil your day.
I am the mum who constantly reminds her children not to be mean.
I am the mum who tries to encourage her children to have manners and be respectful to others.
I am the mum who can feel your judgemental glare.
I am the mum who sometimes feels like she isn’t coping at all.
I am the mum who sometimes looks like she is letting her children run wild but is actually carefully selecting her battles.
I am the mum who sometimes hurries home so she doesn’t cry in public.
I am the mum who sometimes feels alone.
Mine is the child who smothers me with kisses and cuddles.
Mine is the child who tells me I’m the best mummy ever.
Mine is the child who tells me they’re sorry they were naughty.
Mine is the child who declares family time is the best time.
Mine is the child who is still learning how life works.
Mine is the child who makes my heart swell with pride simply by existing.
I am the mum who forgets childhood is short and lets what others think bother her too much.
I am the mum blessed with two beautiful, funny, clever, fiercely independent children.
I am the mum lucky enough to snuggle up with her children and watch Mickey Mouse for the 50th time in a day.
I am the mum who cries laughing at the funny things her children do.
I am the mum who, probably, wouldn’t change a thing.
Mine may be the child who often behaves in ways I swore they never would but
I am the mum who now realises that childhood isn’t for practising to be a grown up.
Mine are also the children who can’t stand still long enough to have a photo taken together.