Mamma, Papa and Baby Bears….. a story something like this…..
Papa bear goes to work while mamma bear stays at home to produce and take care of wonderful little children. She will clean the house, cook the dinner and have hubby’s slippers ready for him coming home from work, display children to him in all their glory and cuteness before putting them to bed and cuddling up with him on the sofa in blissful harmony. Right……. No?
Let me take you to a time when I had 3 small children, a husband, a full time job and a college course to boot! A typical morning might look like this…..
Get up at 7.00 a.m. (having just got to bed at 5.00 a.m. to see to the babies (yes I had twins). They were in the height of teething and papa bear is at work on the night shift. Blindly walking across the landing into the bathroom to pee in peace before babies require my attention again. The THREE minutes quality time in the bathroom is bliss, but must also wash and brush teeth quickly and quietly before the mad house comes alive.
Creeping back to the bedroom to find suitable clothes for work at the office. Halfway through buttoning fresh crisp white blouse the screaming begins. Running towards the now louder and louder wailing, I retrieve both babies and offer my shoulder to lean on and cry on whilst shouting across the landing for eldest child to ‘please get up and hurry up or we will be late’!
Painting a smile on my face and gently talking and reassuring babies, one on each hip now as I carefully negotiate the stairs. Plonk each baby into a high chair assuring them breakfast will be ready in 2 ticks, shouting again up the stairs to eldest child to hurry up and come down for breakfast.
Cereal bowls out and mascara to hand I manage to keep one eye on the milk heating in the pot whilst also dressing the other eye with said mascara. Who said I couldn’t multi task. Distracted by a loud scream where one baby had decided to lean over and pull the hair from her sisters head, and sent her into a hysterical scream that would put even the banshee to shame. Running over to comfort one child whilst chastising the other, the wonderful hissing sound of boiling milk was spilling over the beautifully clean cooker – oh shit!
Sleepy 5 year old saunters into the kitchen, hair looking like she is trying out out a new rastafarian dread lock look, because it is so matted, due to her having inherited her fathers extremely fine hair. ‘I’m too tired to go to school today mummy, can I just go back to bed’? Noooooo, now start getting dressed or mummy will be late for work!
Finally manage to complete making cereal, give cooker a quick wipe and a promise for a clean later. Tell number 1 child to eat up her breakfast while I try to quickly shovel the gooey baby porridge into the delightful twins, using the usual coaxing method of the flying aeroplane and choo choo train trick, here it comes, open wide! Though there is a smile on my face and my eyes are wide with glee and excitement for the benefit of my beautiful babies, my mind is screaming ‘JUST EAT THE FUCKING PORRIDGE, OR I’M GOING TO BE LATE’, deep breath and smile!
At Last, I hear a key in the door. Himself is home to rescue me from ‘mummy duties’ so that I can get myself ready and de-dread lock number 1 child , drop her at school before heading to do a FULL DAY’S work at the office.
‘WHAT a NIGHT’ he grunts as he comes into the kitchen, looking for some sympathy, well he has come to the wrong house! He looks fresher than any daisy I have ever seen. I suspect he had a lovely little snooze for himself whilst sitting in the control room. Minding all those BUTTONS. How easy is that, looking after some BUTTONS. Sure they control the furnaces, but they only go off if the furnace gets too hot or too cool. I mean, that probably doesn’t happen very often, if the other guys are doing their jobs right. Right? Sure that’s all there is to it. Alarm goes off and he has to get off nice big comfy chair, and goes to press a button, before heading back to comfy chair, throw feet up on the desk and nod off again, until the next time. While here I am, up all night, pacing the floor with two screaming babies, searching for the calpol, bonjella, teething rings and anything else I can think of , including , singing, rocking and even crying myself, to try comfort them in their HOURS of need and pain.
Just as I am finally ready, having had to change my outfit, due to a child malfunction – puking their gooey baby porridge over me, because papa bear had retired to the living room. Finally, the child minder arrives in the nick of time, and this is of great comfort to me, reassured that my darling babies will in fact have adult supervision before I go to work, as my darling husband is peacefully snoring his head off on the sofa, mouth open catching flies.
Its only 8.40 a.m. and I already feel like I have done half a days work and ran the relay race, before even getting to work. I drop number 1 child at the school gate, give her a kiss and a hurried, ‘have a nice day’ before speeding off towards the bypass. Quick glance in the mirror to check all is well, only to notice one eye has NOT in fact been ‘dressed’ and is MASCARA FREE. Kill me now!
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