snugger

Today I ate my lunch standing up in the kitchen. Shoving corn thins spread with liverwurst down my throat while trying to avoid having my trousers pulled down by the little person who was trying to pull herself up on them. Unfortunately, I can’t reason with her and get her to sit calmly while I stave off hunger and passing out. She doesn’t quite have the mental capacity to understand that she may have to wait for what it is she needs sometimes. And I tend to feel guilty when I do make her wait.

Her moaning gets more insistent and then she collapses in tears when she realises that instead of feeding her I’m going to change her nappy because if I don’t, we’re going to have a leak on our hands. Why should she care about that? I don’t talk while I’m changing her because I don’t feel like I have anything useful to say. I’m tired, and I don’t understand why she hasn’t had a nap before now, when clearly she needs to rest. And then when the nappy change is over I pick her up and instead of resting her head against me in relief like you see in all soppy baby product commercials, she carries on being upset and wriggling. I don’t often get to just hold my baby girl in my arms while she quietly rests against me.

After washing my hands I put her down to feed her, and it takes a while before she’s settled. A while of waving her arms and legs, pummeling me with her little fists and grabbing at me. No little hands gently cupped against mummy like all the books on breastfeeding say. Eventually, the much needed sleep takes her over and then I have to extract myself from her still-sucking mouth. No waiting til she lets go - she doesn’t seem to believe in that.

And now I’m left with the distinct feeling that I’m just not cut out for this. I shouldn’t be a mother. I shouldn’t be in charge of a little person. I’m barely in charge of myself, let alone another being who is dependent on me to guide her to adulthood without screwing her up.

I’ve been reading a book. One of the things it asks is why people don’t talk about what happens when you become a mother. How it turns your world upside down, how you can undergo an identity crisis, how great the difference between being a parent and not being a parent really is. One of my theories is that people don’t really tell you because it’s necessary for the survival of the species that you don’t completely know what you’re letting yourself in for. I thought I had some idea of what parenting would be like. Thought I could imagine the tiredness and frustration. But I really had no clue whatsoever. Looking at it from this side, I don’t believe that it’s possible to completely grasp what it’s like. And had I known, I might have been scared off.

And that’s the thing. If people without children were consistently told stories like the one above in order to prep them for parenting, they may never have any children. If they really understood the depths of frustration and despair to which it is possible to sink, they would pat themselves on the back for a lucky escape and go and buy a poodle instead.

But then they’d never know.

They’d never know the sheer delight of seeing your child’s face beaming at you as you come down the corridor in the morning. The smiles that light up the whole room, just because you came into view. The giggly excitement generated by the knowledge that you’re about to feed them. The outstretched arms for you to snuggle into. The feel of the small body warmly nestled against yours. The look of sheer joy at mastering a new skill that you’ve taken for granted so many years. The bond that creates a love that at times feels almost unbearable.

As with so much of life, nothing truly worth having comes without cost and/or pain. And yes, you’ve guessed it, the cost is directly proportional to the worth. People don’t always talk about the rough parts of parenting (at least not to those already in the know, as it were), but playing down the bad bits somehow plays down the good bits too.

I thought I had some idea of what parenting would be like. But I really had no clue whatsoever.

It’s harder. Much harder. And much more amazing than anyone can prepare you for.