The Division of Labour (and associated frustrations)

My husband and I have what I would call a very '1950's' style relationship, we're married, he works and I stay at home with the kids. Some would call it traditional, some old fashioned, maybe even patriarchal. However you view it, it is what it is and it works for us.  When I first fell pregnant, my husband was earning significantly more money than me, so it made sense for me to go part-time. By continuing to work, he was able to progress slightly and gradually start earning a bit more, meaning that after our third child was born, I was able to make the decision not to return to work. Money is tight, but it's how we both wanted to do things, at least until all 3 children are at school.

Whether you and your partner have a relationship like ours, or you both work full time, or anywhere in between, if you are in a relationship, the tension that can sometimes occur regarding the division of labour around the home is not unique to us. I want to tell you how it works in our house, and even if your family set-up is not quite the same as mine, I think there will be parts of it that ring true.

So, as a stay-at-home mother, my 'job' is basically that of logistics. I am responsible for maintaining a home, getting the kids washed, dressed and fed (why do they need THREE meals a day?!). I have to run them to school play-school, clubs, doctors appointments and parties etc. I attend school assemblies, play school 'stay and play' sessions and toddler groups. I have to take the cats to the vet, liaise with the letting agent when things need doing around the house, do the weekly (and top-up) shops, buy birthday presents and so on (the list is basically endless). I do all of this, and I volunteer as a Committee Chairperson for my daughter's Pre-School, which involves the odd meeting, typing, mediation, that sort of thing. Needless to say, my job is not 9-5, it's pretty much 24/7. And it's usually done on about 5 or 6 hours sleep. Motherhood is definitely the hardest job I've ever had, and, of course, it's not just motherhood. Since not working, my role as 'wife' has taken on more elements, such as being solely responsible for washing his clothes, and picking up his prescriptions or family's birthday cards and gifts, for example.

Some days I feel like I don't stop from the minute I am rudely awoken by the children, to the minute I go to bed. And when my husband comes home from work, eats his lovingly prepared dinner and then sits on his arse and plays on his phone, I could scream at him. Can he not hear the children fighting and screaming? Can he not see the washing-up that needs doing, can he not put his own chuffing plate in the kitchen? Why can't he see how stressed I am and help me a bit, doesn't he care?! (I should point out that he doesn't actually do nothing, it just that whatever he does isn't enough!) I have tried to explain it by looking at it a different way:

Imagine you're at work in an office. You've been working since 8am to meet a deadline by 5pm, things keep going wrong, the phone keeps ringing, people keep giving you other stuff to do and you're behind. On top of all that, at 4.30pm, your computer crashes. Now imagine that at 4.45pm, your colleague wanders in eating a taco, sits down at his desk next to you and starts looking at Facebook. How would you feel? Would you look at your colleague and imagine smashing his little face against his computer keyboard because he's failing to help you? Would you feel like he obviously doesn't care about you?  Never mind what kind of day he's had up until that point, you can only see your stress, your struggle and your worries. Take that feeling, and transfer it to a stay-at-home parent at the end of his or her tether, when the working parent gets home from work. 

When my husband gets home from work, I feel that he should almost relieve me of my work as main parent. That he should come in as a calming influence in my chaotic day and say 'let me do that dear' and other such things. I feel like I want my working day to stop, so I can sit down and look at my phone in peace, or just catch-up on the news or something.

And yet, isn't that entirely unfair?! I remember what it was like to work full-time, although it has been 6 years since I last did that. I know how it feels to work, to go through a stressful day at the office and to want to just sit, process the day and chill the hell out when you get home. When I worked part-time, my husband would have every-other Thursday off work and would look after the kids. I remember being annoyed if they weren't fed when I got in, I remember hating it if I came home to anything other than calm, and being irritated when he seemed to expect me to take over as soon as I got in. Parenting is hard, but working a full-time job is no walk in the park either. It's tiring, and although I may be physically and emotionally tired by the end of the day, my husband is more than likely mentally tired too. Also, I am incredibly appreciative of the fact that my husband has NEVER asked me what I've done all day, or implied in any way that the state of the house isn't good enough. He tells me regularly that I have the harder job out of the two of us, and admits he would struggle to do it (although I'm sure he'd be fine, once he got used to it).

And what about weekends? I think this is the place where a lot of couples can struggle most. I mean, I want a day off. I work my arse off all week getting everyone where they need to be, and keeping the house presentable etc, and when it gets to the weekend, I'd like to not have to do that. In the same way, my husband has been at work all week and wants a day to relax and unwind. While it can often seem that he should be relishing getting to spend some precious time with his kids, I have to try and appreciate that 'relaxing and unwinding' is not something that is easily achieved with kids about! I should know, they stress me out no end!

I guess in an ideal world, weekends would be shared parenting days. I would like it to be that way, anyway. Where chores and childcare are split 50/50. But in reality, despite best efforts, that rarely happens. The thing is, if I ask him to do something, he will do it (eventually!), but most of the time it's just quicker and easier to do it myself. I have a system and a routine that works for me and the kids, and if he 'helps' it usually just throws everything off balance... I'm honestly not trying to complain, just saying it how I feel it is.

So what do we do? Well, we try and remember to appreciate each other's contribution to the family. The effort it takes to raise children and look after a home, as well as how much of a ball ache it is to go to work. We try and express our appreciation and we try and talk through our frustrations. It doesn't always work, we still get moody with each other, he thinks I'm a nag and I still think he's a lazy arse sometimes, but we try. We also take it in turns to 'lay in' past 7am at the weekends and in putting the kids to bed. We also sometimes take the kids to our respective parents' houses, to allow the other a break. 

I also plan the occasional day out with friends, leaving him with the kids for 10 hours or so by himself. I find it helps me to unwind and get a break, and reminds him how hard my job is ;-)

"There's nothing wrong with being ginger"

"There's nothing wrong with being ginger". This is an expression I hear quite often, because I have a redheaded daughter. And yet, if people truly believe that, then why do they even feel the need to say it? I agree entirely, there IS nothing wrong with having ginger hair, but I also understand that it is a cause of bullying and piss-taking. I know this because I have been guilty of it myself, in the past, and know of others who still are.  It's not that people actually care about the colour of someone else's hair, it's that human beings will find anything they can that's different about someone, and use it against them if they want to. Especially children; whether it's that kid with glasses, the one with 2 mums, the one with tatty shoes or the one with the red hair, kids are particularly good at being arseholes. But it seems that with redheads, this prejudice continues into adulthood, to a certain extent.

When Anya was born via c-section, I was lucky enough to have my mum (a midwife) in theatre with me, as well as my husband. My mum helped to bring Anya into this world, and held her even before my husband and I did. At the moment that Anya emerged from my womb, the first thing I remember my mum saying was 'Lucy, she's ginger!'. My mum doesn't dislike people with ginger hair, and she certainly loves her Anya to absolute bits (they're craft making buddies!), but I will wager that if Anya had been blonde or brunette, hair colour wouldn't have been mentioned in that first moment. It's one of those things that everyone has to comment on. Perhaps it's just because red hair is rare (only 4% of the population have it), or because no one in my family has ever been a red head, (or perhaps because my husband had joked about having a redhead prior to us having children), but whatever the reasoning, Anya being ginger was/is definitely a talking point. (Hi mum, by the way, love you!).
I should be clear, no one has, as yet, spoken badly about my Anya's hair colour, but everyone makes a thing of it. Whether it's little old ladies who say 'hasn't she got gorgeous hair', or people asking 'where does her hair colour come from?',everyone notices it. Sometimes I joke that she's out little ginger-ninja, and then I get "aw, there's nothing wrong with being ginger". I don't think people think it looks bad, I just think everyone knows that it can be a source of piss-taking, and they therefore feel sorry for her. I do, however, think it helps that she's a girl, I think being a ginger boy would be harder, boys seem to pick on each other more with regard to physical characteristics, even into adulthood.

So what's the problem? Well, I worry. I worry because people are shits and before she was even born, Anya had something that the bullies in this world could use against her. I worry because I regularly see and hear jokes about ginger people, and I hear people talking about redheads in a negative way. I'm all for a bit of light-hearted micky-taking, and as an adult that may be fine, but for children it can be so hard. And I want, as we all do, for my children to always be happy. I cannot protect my children from all of the difficulties they will face growing up, but I feel that Anya already has an extra hurdle to overcome, because, at some point, someone will be mean to her about her hair, and that's just not fair. I am probably worrying with little reason, she seems to be to be a strong-headed child (is that the red hair gene?!), who will find a way to cope with whatever life throws at her, and I hope she will see bullies for the insecure people that they really are. Besides, what child doesn't have something about them that makes them 'stand out'?

I really hope that we are becoming a more tolerant society, when it comes to diversity and difference. Today's world already seems like a different one to that which I grew up in, in terms of equality.  I don't think, for one second, that I can compare being a redhead to the struggles of those persecuted groups in society, but there is still an element of ingrained prejudice amongst people surrounding being ginger, otherwise no one would have to comment on it at all. My mother-in-law insisted for a long time that Anya's hair 'isn't ginger, it's auburn', like that was better. But if there's nothing wrong with being ginger, why does it matter? (FYI, 'auburn' and 'ginger'? Pretty much the same thing).

Interestingly, as an aside, different parts of the world view red hair differently, but in the UK (where it is more prevalent than many other countries), it has a rather negative connotation. 
This article has some interesting facts about being a redhead! https://thegingerrevolutionmovement.wordpress.com/2011/12/09/ginger-facts-myths/


I suppose all I can do is hope that I'm worrying about nothing (as is often the case as a parent), but be there to support Anya if I'm not. To me, and all who know her, she will always just be the funny, smart and brilliant Anya, red hair and all.




Right, now to write a blog about why the chuff her hair hasn't grown and how that makes me worry, even though it looks like she couldn't give less of a shit.......

Personal Space Invaders

There's no denying that kids like cuddles. And that's great, who doesn't like cuddling their child/ren? Picking them up and comforting them when they're sad? Yep, got that down. Holding hands? Check. Tickling? OK. Kisses? Of course!! BUT treating Mummy like a climbing frame, elbows in boobs, heel in crotch, pulling on hair? Not so much. Climbing on me when I'm trying to do something? Holding onto the back of my trousers the whole time we're out? Poking, prodding, randomly touching? No thanks.



I'm pretty sure no parent likes to be accidentally kicked in their special place, but for me I feel it's something a bit more than that. I guess I've always had a bit of a 'thing' about physical contact. Don't take that the wrong way, I have 3 children, so I obviously don't hate it that much, but I like it to be on my own terms. I've been trying to find a way to write this without sounding weird or prudish, and I think all I can say is that, on a good day, I'm fine and 'normal', but on a stressful or difficult day, the last thing I want is to have my personal space invaded. I find physical contact to be a bit awkward, unless it's with someone I know extremely well, and I find people touching me to be very affronting. On days where I have felt harassed or overwhelmed, I don't want to have physical contact with anyone. If I'm stressed, I like to be left alone. If I'm sad, I like a hug and then to be left alone. I would imagine that I'm not alone in this way of feeling. Most people like their personal space, especially when stressed, and everyone has different levels of what feels like an invasion of their space. My threshold for personal space invasion just happens to be rather low.

So, what happens when someone like me, someone who likes my personal space to be very much my own, has a child or 3? Well, as babies they're OK, they cuddle and lay still and just squirm a little bit, but not too much. And when they're on you it's because you picked them up and put them there. But I tell you, most days, the thought of 'wearing' my baby makes me shudder, and I have always been more of a 'let them have their own space' kind of parent. Maybe that's why me and breastfeeding didn't get along, because the idea of having something permanently attached to me makes my skin crawl. 

And then they get older, and you quickly learn that kids don't understand personal space. They get right into yours and hang around like they own the place. They're all in your face, touching your body and wiggling about on you and stuff, like they have a right to touch you wherever and whenever they want to. And I hate it. I love to cuddle them, as long as they stay still. I will comfort them when they are hurt or upset, I will carry them when they need it and I will tickle them and give them kisses and cuddles, but if they try and climb up my arse while I'm doing the dishes, I will get them to stop it as soon as I can. If they're sitting on me and writhing about and sticking their pointy bits into my tummy or whatever, I usually have to get up and do something, just to get them to stop.

I struggled with this for a long time. I wondered if not wanting to physically be in contact with my children 100% of the time made me a bad parent, or somehow neglectful. I berated myself for not really wanting to breastfeed, even though everyone told me it was what was best for my babies. I thought I should revel in wearing a sling and carrying my baby everywhere, but I couldn't do it. I thought maybe I would be seen as cold or uncaring, if I asked my children to 'get off me', and that I should be able to accept them climbing on me every single time I sit down for 30 seconds. That somehow I should relish it, like I am meant to relish every other fucking moment of parenthood. But I couldn't, because that's not me. I feel claustrophobic around too many people and too much noise, and having a pile of kids on top of me makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I feel like I have to get out of that situation, and it causes me physical stress. I can't ever see how having a stressed parent is good for a child.

Now the good news, for anyone like me! 6 years into parenthood and my kids seem fine. They are not displaying any signs of being neglected, so I guess I can't be that bad! Our family life is far from perfect, but there is laughter and silliness amongst the chaos, and I do not doubt that my children feel loved.  I suppose what I have come to realise is that not all emotional warmth is physical; not all love is displayed through touch (although some people are more tactile than others). I've always found nice words and someone that listens to me far more agreeable than someone giving me a hug (for example). My children need hugs, they need physical contact to help reassure them and they need to occasionally be allowed to climb on me, for whatever reason. But they also need to learn to respect other people's personal space and to understand that sometimes, people just need to be left alone. I'm fairly sure that they don't listen when I ask them to get off me most of the time anyway, so they probably don't even realise that I don't enjoy it. As they get older they'll want to have physical contact with me less and less. I will miss cuddles, but I will not miss being their climbing frame or wrestling mat. I hope as they grow they will know that although I am always here with a hug when they need it, my love for them is expressed through the actions and decisions I take every single day.

Edie's Kidneys

Edie

I wanted to talk to you about Edie, but not really about Edie, about her kidneys. To title this piece 'Edie' and then bang on about a very small part of her physiology, would be unfair. They have little to do with who she is, but they do have an impact on my relationship with her, my other children and the way I feel about myself as a mother, so it's something I wanted to talk about.



This little girl here is our Edith/Edie/Weany Bean. She is a typical (is there such a thing?) 18 month old bundle of energy and enthusiasm. She is learning new things all the time and is generally a very happy little girl. Not really a baby any more, but I can't quite bring myself to call her a toddler, mostly, I suppose, because I intend for her to be our last baby, so I'm more reluctant than ever for her to grow-up. She is starting to talk, she has a wonderful personality and I couldn't love her more than I do (well, maybe if she slept all the way through every night and didn't wake up until 7 every morning, but nobody's perfect!).

There are 2 things that set Edie apart from my other 2 children. 1 is that she is our 'rainbow baby'. If you don't know what that means, it means she is a baby born following a previous miscarriage. I do not love her any more than her sisters for this fact, and I don't want to in any way ever define her by what came before her, but my pregnancy was definitely more nervous and my understanding of how precious and delicate life is more accute. The second thing about Edie is her kidneys.

Before I start I want to state, for the record, that I know what we have been through is relatively minor, compared to the ordeals and struggles faced on a daily basis by many, many people. I never had to fear that Edie may die, or that she was going to be life limited, and for that I am eternally grateful.

Early indications

One of the better internet diagrams I could find showing
what a duplex kidney can look like!

When I was 34 weeks pregnant, I had to have a growth scan, because I was overweight and because they believed I may be carrying a large baby (incidentally, she was 9lb 2oz at birth, so I guess they were right!). During the routine screening the sonographer noticed that one of the baby's kidneys was enlarged. She said it may be hydronephrosis (kidney swelling), which can occur in the womb but resolve itself after birth, or there may be a duplex kidney system. She said we would need to speak to a paediatrician, but her understanding was that duplex systems are relatively common and don't usually need more than monitoring and sometimes long-term antibiotics to help prevent infection. At this point I knew nothing about duplex kidneys and I went away and googled stuff, I was concerned but not too worried, because it seemed likely to be something that wouldn't cause too much trouble.

The diagnosis

Following Edie's birth, she was given an ultrasound in hospital which confirmed she had a duplex kidney on the right side. The pictures I have used are obviously not of Edie, but they give you an idea. In basic terms it meant that she had almost 2 kidneys on the right and a normal sized kidney on the left. In addition, both parts of the right kidney had a ureter (the tube the urine drains into the bladder through). Edie was put on prophylactic antibiotics and we were told to watch for signs of infection. We were also told that she would need a couple of further tests (at about 8 weeks old) to check how well her kidneys were working, but that her urine output was fine. Again, so far, nothing to really panic about.

Following the 2 horrible tests (one involving having to hold my baby still whilst a team insert water through a catheter into her bladder, and take xrays to see if the water flows up her ureters into her kidneys, the other a MAGIII scan that I'll let you Google!), we were informed that Edie had grade 4/5 vesicoureteric reflux. This is when the urine from the bladder is able to flow back up the ureters and into the kidneys, thus increasing the risk of infection significantly. If I tell you that reflux is graded from 1-5 and 1 is good, you'll understand that at this point, I started to think that this might not be quite so straight forward after all.

The infections

That's right, that's a plural 'infections'. The thing with Edie's kidneys, in particular, was that the reflux and the double ureters meant that infection was always a risk. The antibiotics she took every day were supposed to prevent infection, but they didn't work. Edie's first UTI was a classic presentation (high fever, off her food etc) and occured a few days after one of her tests. I took her to out of hours GP thinking that she had the same bug the rest of us had had, but mentioned that she had had a catheter earlier in the week as part of this test. They referred us to out local paediatric assessment unit. I remember texting my husband, still convinced it was nothing serious, telling him it was annoying that we were being made to wait and had to give samples etc. It was only when the doctor said they may need to perform a lumbar puncture, that I knew they were really worried and that made me start to panic a bit. Luckily for Edie, they managed to get a urine sample out of her and immediately could see that that was where the problem was (the consultant actually said 'I just dipped it and the stick lit up like a Christmas tree). OK, so, UTI, not too serious, right? Wrong. They needed blood tests, and they said she needed I.V antibiotics, and they said she needed to be admitted to the ward. I have no words to describe how heart-wrenching it is as a parent to have to hold your 8 week old baby still, while a very lovely doctor tries to cannulate them. Or how it feels to see them have their foot squeezed for blood. Or how your heart sinks when the cannula that worked last time, has failed and they need to redo it, five, fucking, times. The had hoped that she would be able to come off the I.V after 3 days, but as it turned out, the infection had spread to her kidneys and to her bloodstream, and she needed a full 10 day course. Thank God for community nurses, we were allowed home after 3 days in hospital.

Edie's second infection is the one I find hardest to talk about, because it went on untreated for so long, because I didn't realise she was sick. Actually, I should say no one realised she was sick. At about 5 months old, Edie went off her milk. She was cranky, failing to eat much, awake more in the night, and being sick after many of her feeds. I thought to start with that she may have had a bug that was lingering, I checked her temperature, and it was fine, but she didn't improve. I took her to the Health Visitor, who made several suggestions, including weaning her, because maybe she was ready for food. Nothing really rang my alarm bells, you know the ones you're meant to have as a parent? The 'something's not right with my kid' alarm? Nope, nothing from my gut or my brain to suggest to me that something might be going on. I suppose, looking back, to me she had only ever had 1 infection and that was probably caused by the test that she had had shortly before hand. I had kind of assumed that the antibiotics were doing there job and she wasn't at risk. I was wrong. It was only when she started to physically lose weight that I started to worry. I took her back to the Health Visitor (still thinking it was something about weaning or reflux or similar) and she referred me to the GP. The night before the GP appointment I saw Edie have a wee in the bath and noticed that it was cloudy.

My Edie, happy and cheeky, like she should be

And so we ended up at the Paediatric Assessment Unit, and then back on the ward. The doctors were astounded by how bad the infection was. Edie was really very poorly. Her sodium and other levels were all over the place. They did repeated blood-tests, put her on fluids and started I.V antibiotics. We were in for around 4 days. However, within a week that miserable, fussy baby had turned back into my wonderful, happy, bouncy bundle. And only then did I realise how horrible she must have been feeling. I cannot explain the guilt I still feel because I did not realise that she was sick. I try and tell myself that the decline in her health and appearance and personality was so gradual, that it was difficult to spot, but I still feel that I should have known, and almost as though I neglected her. It is so easy to see now when I look back at photographs of her: her colouring was all wrong and her eyes were sunken, but it was such a gradual process that I didn't see it happening.  I love that child more than life and yet I feel like I failed her. And by failing her, I failed my family because I had to be with Edie and not with my other 2 wonderful girls. I had to miss a pre-school trip, cancel plans, and wasn't there to tuck them into bed at night. My girls needed me, but Edie needed me more. My husband was amazing at handling things at home, and the kids came to visit Edie. I even had time at home while hubby sat with her in hospital, but ultimately, I wanted to be with her and that meant not being with my other children. It's so hard to be torn between your children. I think I might have to write a separate blog about guilt in parenting, because I could go on for far too long about it here!

Following this infection, I bought urine testing strips from the internet and became a wee-wee testing fanatic. And low-and-behold if she didn't keep getting infections! Thankfully, when caught early, a good whack of oral antibiotics would usually do the trick, and so we went on for a few months, waiting on an appointment with a paediatric urology specialist, who has a clinic at our hospital once every 2 months.

The Surgical Option

So, from a 34 week scan that was 'probably nothing to worry about', to tests that were 'hmm, that's more complex than we thought' and several serious infections, we finally come to a specialist appointment. The consultant we saw works out of Great Ormond Street Hospital, but we first saw him locally. He looked at all of Edie's history and test results and almost instantly recommended surgery. He said they prefer to operate on children when they are older (bigger children = bigger organs and less fiddly), but that Edie was just going to keep getting sick and was at risk of causing scaring to her kidneys. By the time we had got to this appointment, we had already sort of guessed that this might be suggested, and had made the hard decision to agree to surgical intervention. It may look like a no-brainer, but the idea of handing your baby over to someone who is going to knock them out, cut them open, and mess about with their internal organs, is always horrendous, even if the outcome will be life-changing. 

I think this is the most heart-
wrenching photo I have ever taken

So, we agreed and were sent away being told that we would hear from them shortly. And we did, and Edie underwent a load of tests and then ultimately surgery at Great Ormond Street Hospital in October 2015. The surgery performed was a re-implantation of ureters and excision of ureterocele ("A ureterocele is a congenital abnormality found in the ureter. In this condition called ureteroceles, the distal ureter balloons at its opening into the bladder, forming a sac-like pouch. It is most often associated with a duplicated collection system, where two ureters drain their respective kidney instead of one" Wikipedia). The amazing team managed, in 2 hours, to move the ureters into a better position, so that they now enter the bladder in a way that prevents urine from being able to travel back up and into the kidneys. They also removed the ureterocele, which more than likely contributed to the reflux. And guess what? Not a single infection since :-) We have 2 more appointments (further scans and a consutlant to see), before we hope to be discharged. Edie can go about her life never remembering anything about any of it.

When I think about what we went through, the emotions and the trauma and the strain it put on our family, I don't know how we managed to cope so well (although I believe my anti-depressant/anxiety medication helped A LOT!!). But I think, perhaps, that the emotional side of this ordeal, and the way it has impacted on me and Edie and our family, is a blog for another day; this one is already far too long! But now at least when I feel like getting all emotional, I can refer back to this blog for the technical details!

The Home

Edie's favourite game is emptying
the toy box

'Having kids is like continuously tidying up after a party you weren't invited to'

Imagine you've been away for a weekend and you arrive home to find that your best mates have decided to have a party in your house without telling you. Picture the scene as you walk in and there's mess everywhere, nothing is where it is meant to be, there's a stack of glasses and plates in the sink, someone has opened cupboards and emptied some of the contents out (and left the door of the cupboards open), there's bits of food all over the place and generally just stuff everywhere. Now imagine a couple of your mates are still there, either randomly and drunkenly stumbling about eating crisps and discarding the packaging on the floor, or lounging on the sofa with a mammoth hangover. That's kind of what it's like having kids. Small drunkards who make mess with no regard for the person responsible for tidying up after them. 
Now, your initial response to your mates would be 'what the fuck have you guys been doing?' Or maybe 'who's idea was this?' or possibly 'get the hell out of my house', but if they're really close friends, who had maybe originally planned a welcome home party for you, but had somehow just managed to get totally wankered before you arrived, you probably wouldn't stay mad for too long. And maybe down the road you'd even laugh about it together. After all, mess can be tidied, dishes washed and put away and cupboards closed. If one or two of your mates are totally out of it, you might well just decide to tidy yourself, rather than asking them to help (which, let's face it, wouldn't probably take way longer than necessary and might even just end in more mess). I think children become more sober as they get older. So, a baby is the passed out on the floor, laying in their own piss and sick, drunk, a raging toddler is like the larey, falling over, yet overconfident drunk, whilst the 6 year old is like the just past tipsy drunk; still occasionally trips over and finds the word 'willy' hilarious, but can be trusted with simple tasks. (This changes when they reach somewhere near the teen mark, when they all turn into the 'hobo' drunk.. randomly shouting and otherwise incomprehensible). Anyway, however you think of kids and mess, the fact is that they make a lot of it, and tidy up very little of it.

I don't even know when they got the bricks out.

How much effort is it worth making?

The thing is, as a parent, you sort of have to let go of your previous standard of housekeeping. And that original standard will be different for each person. I was never the tidiest, but I liked things clean and I liked things to be out away (even if the cupboards where complete chaos on the inside!). But when you're looking after a child or children all day, it's hard to find the time to keep on top of basic chores, let alone continuously tidying up their stuff. It's hard to explain, because to an outside observer, I spend all my time at home, so why can't I spend the day pottering around and keeping the place clean? Well, kids need attention, and they need interaction, and they need their nappies changing, or their lunch making, dinner's preparing etc. There's shopping to do, errands to run and so on. Have you ever tried to do chores with a child / tiny drunk 'helping' you? Everything takes two or three times as long, and that's if you manage to even start a job in the first place, with them making demands on your time. It is possible to spend a whole day cleaning, sure, but the chances are that your children would be grumpy and bored by the end of it, and that you would be knackered and stressed. Sometimes, after a bad night with the kids, I barely have the energy to do the school run, let alone clean the kitchen.

Gradually, as I have had more children, I have realised that my minimum standard of household cleanliness has slipped rather significantly. I live in hope that it might get better as they get older, as the toys are discarded in favour of tidier(?!) pursuits. In the meantime I have to ask myself how much I really care. Do I care that the dishes from last night are still in the sink? Yes. Do I care enough to do anything about it? Not right now. Right now I have a toddler that's nagging me to play with her, and I should really be engaging with her while the older one is at school. 

However, I absolutely cannot put up with the state of the floor, and will definitely be vacuuming before the end of the day. I guess that's the difference between me and someone else, my minimum standards are lower than they used to be, but they are still there. For example, I don't iron clothes unless I really have to, but I can't sit down in the evening until the toys are at least thrown into the toy box (or often, neatly placed on top of it because it's so full of crap I can't cram anything else in there).

Who's judgement do we fear?

And then there was glitter...

I guess the main question is who really cares what state your house is in? I mean, as long as it's not a health hazard, what's the problem? As human beings one of the main things we fear is judgement from others. I hate inviting people to my house because I don't want others to see the state I allow my family to live in. If I know I have guests coming, I spend the day or hours before stressing and tidying and cleaning the toilet etc, just so they won't think I'm some kind of animal. I loathe having people to my house until I have been to theirs to see if they're 'normal' and I especially stress when my husbands family are coming round. BUT, no one has ever, to my knowledge, been completely disgusted by my home. No one refuses to sit on the furniture or drink from the cups, no one seems to look twice at the toys and, even when popping in unannounced (the least British thing in the world!!), no one seems to care. In fact, a lot of my friends that have children seem positively relieved and more relaxed when they see that I let the kids eat lunch on the sofa and get crumbs everywhere. 
Does your other half care? Mine doesn't. He has even lower minimum standards than me. That's not a criticism either, because it means he honestly doesn't mind if I don't do the housework. I suppose if I did NOTHING he might notice, but probably only if he ran out of clean pants or something. If your other half does care, and they make snide remarks or comments, tell them they can do it themselves if they're that bothered and that you are doing your best. If that's not good enough for them then tell them wear to shove it and find yourself someone better.
What I'm trying to say is that the only person who really cares is you. So do enough to keep yourself satisfied and let that be enough. If it makes you feel better to tidy before people come over, then do (I use it as a good motivator to do things I've been meaning to for weeks!), but don't feel pressure to, 'those that matter don't mind and those that mind don't matter', after all.

Don't feel bad if you are managing

We've all seen the kind of 'affirming' posts, haven't we? Like the one pictured that says how shit life will be once the kids are grown and gone (heaven forbid we should have some sort of life after they're grown!) I hate this kind of shit. It makes out we should be happy living in a sty, because if we're not then we're somehow being awful parents.

And so I want to take an opportunity to give a shout out to those amazing few people (if you really do exist) that actually manage to have a busy family life, and maybe even a job, and still manage to keep their houses ship-shape. Don't you let anybody shame you. Don't let anyone tell you that you must be neglecting your kids or something. If you have the energy to raise children, do a job AND keep your home neat and ordered then good for you. Most of my lack of tidiness is due to apathy and lack of energy; I don't care enough or have energy enough to do it. But if you need order to keep you happy then go for it, and well done. There can sometimes feel like there's pressure to keep a home clean, but I'm sure there must be pressure to have a 'messy home and happy children' too. Parents from both camps can probably be fairly judge-y, and I'm trying not to be. I will, however, secretly hope that you have a 'Monica' closet somewhere in your house (I'm just jealous).

Raising a Feminist (Or 3!)

Let's start by clarifying one small point, if you believe that all human beings, male and female, were created equal, and should have the same rights and opportunities in life, then you ARE a feminist. 'Feminism' has long had a somewhat negative connotation with man-hating, bra-burning, ball-busting women. The dictionary definition of feminism is 'the advocacy of women's rights on the ground of the equality of the sexes' (OED Online), but today I feel that feminism also encompasses the rights of men and boys, and their right to be able to do anything that women are able to. So, do you consider yourself a feminist? Because I certainly do, and I think more people need to admit that to themselves and to others.

Maybe I am attuned to the feminist issue because I have 3 daughters, and I want a world full of opportunities to present itself to them, for them to know with absolute certainty that they can do whatever they hell they want to, if they work hard enough for it. I don't want them to have to worker harder than their male counterparts to make it in certain professions, or to feel that there are pastimes or sports that they are excluded from, for example. But then I think about the parents of boys and I think that maybe it's actually harder for them. Feminism means equality, that means that boys should be able to do all of the things that girls can, as well as vice versa. How many parents do you know that will happily allow their daughters to wear a football shirt or dress as a superhero, but who would refuse point-blank to put their son in a dress? I knew a father once who refused to allow his son to wear tights (which were specifically designed 'for boys') underneath his trousers, even in cold weather, because 'tights are for girls'. I am willing to bet that he is not alone in that opinion, that many parents would recoil from the thought of allowing their sons to dress-up as princesses or play with dolls. Who would let their daughters do karate or football, but would refuse for their sons to take up ballet or sewing. Even with all the great strides that have been made in modern society towards equality, it still isn't there. And I don't believe that much of it is conscious either, most people just assume 'well he's a boy, so we'll buy him cars and trains and paint his nursery blue and dress him in a little shirt and tie' etc. That's not a parent being anti-feminist, that's just a parent conforming to what is expected of them. If I found out a friend of mine was expecting a baby boy but had bought nothing but pink clothes, I'd think that was weird - I know that I shouldn't think that, but I would, it's just the way we're programmed by wider society.

So back to raising my children as feminists, all I can say is that I'm trying. What can you do when your 5 year old tells you that she can't play football because it's 'for boys'? Or that she doesn't like blue for the same reason? When she assumes that men go to work and women stay at home? That you have to be a girl to  raise children, or that she won't be able to be a soldier, if she wants to be (which selfishly, I really hope she won't - serving your country is a wonderful thing, but I don't think I could cope with the worry!). She finds it funny that there's a boy in her class who wears 'lipstick' (it's chapstick) and absolutely hilarious to think of boys playing with dolls. I try and lead by example, I always correct her, I tell her she can be anything she wants to be, and that boys can wear pink and do whatever they want too, but there's so much outside influence, and I'm not even sure where a lot of it comes from. I could point to media, but with young children I'm not sure that's it. Cbeebies is so P.C. it'a almost cringe-worthy, and although Disney has traditionally been kind of anti-feminist, they are getting better (I'm a big fan of Brave and even Frozen is alright at promoting that you don't need a man to save the day). Admittedly there is so much that comes under the umbrella of 'media' that it must have an influence, (my mother-in-law has a book called 'fairytales for girls' and her grandson won't read it). Then there's the Kinder Eggs that are wrapped in pink because they are 'for girls', the section in catalogues for 'girls toys', the toys that come in different colours, primary colours for boys and some hideous combination of lilac and pink for girls (OK so maybe media is a major influence!). 

But for me I think that the main problem is the other people that they come into contact with. I once had someone say that they had to buy their son a new SPARE duvet cover, because the hand-me-down one from their sister had princesses on it (I mean, it's the spare FFS, even if he really loves Power Rangers, he can have Frozen if he's pissed or puked in his bed, right?!). I have only bought my daughters one doll in my entire life, and never a single 'Barbie' style doll, but they have hundreds. I dislike pink (I know lots of girls genuinely like it and that's fine, but I tend to avoid buying my girls pink clothing) but yet my kids are surrounded by it. Adults seem to think nothing of saying that something is 'too girly' for boys or telling my daughters that they should play with the dollies, not the trucks. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind my daughters playing with dolls, but they should be able to choose what they play with and know that they can absolutely pick anything they want to, without judgement. If I had a son and he wanted to take his doll on the bus with him, say, I would let him, but I would worry that someone would make comment. From what I hear from those that have experienced it, those comments would generally be directed at me, the mother, for making my son 'too soft' or wanting him to be gay. I saw a great quote once that said 'You don't want your son to play with dolls, what are you worried he'll become? A father?!' Honestly wider society, join the 21st century already!

I am not denying that there is something in children's nature that predisposes them to play with children of the same sex as them, and I question if 'gender' is an entirely social construct (as some believe). Even in a house surrounded by a mixture of toys, a lot of girls will instinctively play with the dolls, whilst boys play with the cars. However, if children want to play with others of the same sex, then those other children will influence what that child likes. Girls therefore continue to conform to what is deemed 'normal' girl behaviour, simply because their friends do. So whilst trying to raise independent, strong, feminist children, I have to accept that they will love Disney princesses, pretty dresses and those God-awful bracelet making kits. What I have to try and do is let them know that it's OK if they don't like the same things as their friends. 

As much as I personally hate all things 'girly', I have to admit to conforming to one major stereotype myself. My mother-in-law tells a wonderful story of arguing with her young son about tidying up. His response was 'why should I, that's your job!'. She retorted by asking him what he would do when he was a grown-up, and he replied that he 'would have a wife to do that sort of thing'.Thankfully, that boy grew into a well adjusted, feminist man, and feels quiet embarrassed now at having made that statement as a child, but he was only basing his prediction for the future on his only family set-up at the time. And, annoyingly, in a way he was right! As a stay-at-home parent I am mostly responsible for the housework, and my children see my 'job' as looking after them and doing the chores, whilst daddy goes out to work. It's a very 'traditional' family set-up, and no matter how much I tell them that Mummies work too, and that some families have Daddies that stay at home etc, they only really know what they see. So instead I tell them that that was my choice. I tell them that Mummy could go to work, but has chosen not to for the time being. I tell them that mummy and daddy made that decision together and that each persons role within our family is just as important. I tell them that they might want to stay at home and raise children one day, but they might not. They might not even want children when they're older, and that's OK, they can do whatever they like.

I'm not perfect, and neither is my husband. We have our own hang-ups about things being for a particular sex, but we both try very hard not to pass those on to our children, because we want them to progress this new feminist movement that is occurring in our society. My daughters will come across misogyny, sexism and inequality. They will come across men who think that women are objects and men that still believe women to be inferior. And they will encounter many women who believe that their place is in the home, or who also believe that men are somehow better. Those that believe the sole purpose of female existence is to find the right man. They will be influenced by a media that shows them how to attract a mate, or what to do to make your man happy. They will learn that sex is power and that femininity can be used to get your own way. And all I can do is try to raise them so that they know this bollocks when they see it and how to deal with it. Raise them so that they know to question the media, that society isn't always right and that they, as people, are worth just as much as any other person.

The smartphone misconception

There has been a lot of vitriol recently directed at the mother (specifically) of a four year old child who fell into a gorilla enclosure at Cincinnati Zoo, resulting in the gorilla being shot dead. I don't want to wade in on that particular online furore, but what I have noticed amongst the bile and outrage is the number of people commenting that the mother was 'probably too busy looking at her phone' (or words to that affect). This is nothing new, I suppose. Many of us will be aware of the open letter written to the mother at the park on her iphone, and the response some lovely person also published, but recent events and the recurrence of these types of comments have got me thinking, about my own and public perceptions of parents on their phones.

Let me state, for the record, that I have a lovely little smartphone, and spend far more time with it in my hand than I should. I check Facebook several times a day, use it for emails and shopping, I play Candy Crush, send messages, take photographs, I basically live life from my phone (although actual blogging is done from my laptop). I am aware that I am very dependent on it, and that I do not try hard enough to keep my face out of my phone screen. I also admit to seeing other parents with their phone glued 2 inches from their eyes, and being inwardly judgemental. However, whilst living life without ever looking up from that screen is definitely a bad thing, the constant perception that if you even glance at your phone when with your children then you are somehow neglecting them, needs to stop.

Let's take the park scenario. Say you have 3 children who are all old enough to use the play equipment pretty much unaided (I'm not there yet, my trips to the play park are still very much an exercise in upper body strength), and you sit down on the bench whilst they burn off a whole lot of energy (you hope!) and learn about independent play, and interacting with other children by themselves; are you obligated to sit and stare lovingly at their every move? Do you need to make sure you spend an equal amount of time watching each child? Or would it be OK, do you think, to take a moment whilst they are all happily occupied to check your messages, do your grocery shopping, or just zone out for a bit with a game of something not-too-taxing? Kids are hard work, so while they are happy, why can't parents do something to make themselves happy too? An outside observer might think that the parent is not appreciating the joy of having children, but let's be honest, if you're at the park it's probably because the kids were acting liked caged animals at home and you needed to get them out to give yourself a break from all the bickering, as well as encouraging them to have fresh air and exercise (or whatever!).

Perhaps it is a generational thing, maybe a lack of understanding? Please don't take me for ageist - I know there are many older people who use technology much more capably that I do, and who utilise it in their every day lives, but it must be strange to those who were parents before the smartphone age, to see kids on phones or tablets, parents texting or messaging, or asking Google all kinds of things! Perhaps they don't realise that although phones are for games and social lives, they are also useful tools. I can sit at the park and order the kids birthday presents, or pay their school trip money. I can do my weekly shop and plan our next family holiday. It would be easy to perceive a parent glued to their phone as them being wrapped up in themselves  and their own lives, and not paying enough attention to their child/ren. And perhaps some people believe that before mobile phones were there causing a distraction, parents gave their children more attention, more love and more of themselves?

So, to people who are judgemental of parents with phones, look at it this way. That mother sitting on that bench in that play park? Visualise her holding a book instead of a phone and then see how you feel about her. Visualise her with a sketchbook or notepad, a newspaper or puzzle book, writing a shopping list or knitting a scarf. Now is she neglecting her children? Or is she just enjoying a much-needed break from the strains of parenting? Or maybe even doing something for her family whilst her children play? When her children are calling her, does she (at least occasionally!) look up and wave, smile or engage with them in some way? If she does, then there's really not a problem.

I'm not denying that some parents spend too much time on their phones, but there have always been parents who do not pay enough attention to their kids, with or without a smartphone. All I'm saying is that I wish people wouldn't judge what they don't understand and paint every parent with a smartphone as irresponsible. They don't know everyone's story, or what kind of day/week they're having - that text message exchange could be much needed support for a struggling parent, or them helping out a friend. That could be the first 5 minutes they have had all day without a child clinging to them, and they're trying to sort out the bills. And it might also just be that the kids are happy and play parks are duller than shit if you're a grown-up - how many times do you have to delight in your kid going down a slide or doing the monkey bars, before you're allowed to find it boring? How many times can you sincerely say 'yes sweetie, that's great, well done' before you start sounding sarcastic and longing for a grown-up to chat to? Maybe the kids need a lesson about the lack of constant validation in life - who am I to say? People just need to try a bit harder to build each other up rather than tearing each other down - life as a parent is hard enough without all the external judgements.

The Average Mum

Name: Lucy Wildon

(aka Mummy, Mum, Mummise, Mama, Honey and Oi!)

Age: 32

Hobbies: Baking, eating baked things, trying to diet, watching local live bands with friends and drinking wine.

Likes watching: Great British Bake Off, Masterchef, Superhero movies/TV shows, Game of Thrones, Neighbours, Snooker

Academic Qualifications: Sociology BA(hons), 2:1

Previous Employment: Business Support Officer (admin, basically), 

for Local Authority Adoption Team

A little ramble about me and my blog:

I have no particular qualifications related to children, apart from once being one and now somehow having created 3 of my own (I do actually know how that happened, don't worry!). I have been with my husband for 10 years and married for 7. We actually dated when I was 16, but it didn't work out and we spent 6 years apart before getting back together again. He's my soul mate, fucking irritating at times, but my soul mate nonetheless (he must be, he puts up with me!). We tried for 10 months to fall pregnant with our first child, and eventually had Freya when I was 26, Anya followed almost exactly 2 years later, and Edith 2 1/2 years after that. I worked part-time after having Freya and Anya, but decided to become a stay-at-home mum after Edie was born. Financially, we would be much better off with me at work, (if childcare was free!), but logistically, getting everyone where they needed to be at the right time seemed an insurmountable task.  I was not convinced I would enjoy not having a job outside of my home (I still miss it sometimes), but I think we made the right decision for our current family situation. 

Now, I could tell you that my social life became extinct the moment I had kids (as many parents seem to), but for me that is actually not the case. It changed, but it didn't stop. Obviously in the first weeks after having each baby I wasn't out raving it up or anything, but as they each grew older I felt able to leave them with their father for an evening or two and go out with friends. In fact, now, I go out most weekends, to have a drink with friends and see a local band, or for dinner somewhere. Occasionally we even get a babysitter and I go out with my husband! Socialising is my life-line, it keeps me sane in the difficult times and brings me added joy in the good times. My kids are safe at home in their beds and I get to be Lucy. Wine drinking, karaoke singing, kebab eating, friend loving, crazy dancing, Lucy. I think it helps me to be a better mum, because I know 'mum' is not all that I am, Of cousre, almost all of my friends that I socialise regularly with are also mums, and they are not the same friends I had before I had children, but that's a whole different blog post!

This blog is meant to be my way of expressing my joy and frustrations at motherhood. I love my children more than anything, but I also hate all those cliché's and dross that people feel the need to post all over social media, for example the 'There is a boy who stole my heart, he calls me Mummy' - yuck. Controversial, I know, but hey, I just don't think that kind of thing is necessary. I believe that social media has only helped to increase the misguided belief that parenthood is all sunshine and roses, and that if you're not loving every bloody minute of it, then there's something wrong with you. Well let me tell you what I think, I think parenthood is awesome, but it is also shattering and draining and heart-wrenching. It is hard, and that's OK. It's OK to want to escape sometimes, it's OK to need a break, it's OK to admit that you're struggling and that you're not loving it today/this week/this month. And you know what? It's OK not to like your kids sometimes. Love them? Always. Like them? Not all the time. Let's face it, kids are annoying at times, and frustrating and so incredibly hard to like. And then they laugh at fart noises, or give you a cuddle and it's all forgotten - but those wonderful moments of love and joy can be separated by long periods of frustration.

Motherhood is also one long journey of not feeling good enough. Feeling like you have failed, beating yourself up over the stupid little things. 'Oh no, I forgot to put a drink in her lunch box', 'I forgot it was dress-down at school and my kid is the only one in uniform, I am the worst mother ever', 'I can't go on the school trip because I have other children to care for, how rubbish am I?' ' We didn't practice spellings because the 4 year old was being a little shit' (can you tell that most of my parenting hang-ups are around my eldest?! Quite common I think...) And on and on it goes, and the children will never know (until they maybe have kids of their own) just how inadequate you felt, and how you wished you had been better, and how you berated yourself. Listen, you are not superhuman, you can't do it all, no matter how hard you try, give yourself a break, and let me make you feel better by sharing my failings with you, and let's just all realise that shit happens but life goes on.

Anyway, basically my blog is my therapy (it's much cheaper than counselling!). I hope people read and enjoy it too, and who knows, it might even help someone to realise that they are not alone on this weird and wonderful roller-coaster of parenting.

Meet the munchkins

Name: Edith  (aka Edie, Bean)

Age: almost 18 months

Hobbies: Watching Mr Tumble and Twirlywoo's, eating everything, gardening, beating up her big sisters

Other info: was born with duplex kidney on right side, suffered numerous urine/kidney infections. Underwent surgery at Great Ormond Street Hospital in October 2015 to replumb her ureters, has been healthy ever since :-)

Name: Anya (aka Anya potato)

Age: practically 4

Hobbies: Lego, 'craft' activities, Candy Crush (don't judge me!!), gardening, baking, asking a million questions

Other info: Anya likes predictability and routine. She also finds flatulence hysterical. She will be starting 'big' school in September.

Name: Freya (aka Freya Carrot, Pickle, Freyaton)

Age: almost 6

Hobbies: Gymnastics, Rainbows, Swimming, turning the house into a gymnasium, winding up Anya, attending numerous parties, playing on her DS, baking

Other info: where it all began, Freya is the child we cut our parenting teeth on. Generally happy and painfully polite at school, she can be incredibly stroppy and shouty at home. I guess that means she's comfortable expressing herself at home, or something!

The First Post

As I write this inaugural post, I am sitting on a tiny, child-sized stool, in a darkened room, because my (nearly) 4 year old will create merry hell if I leave before she is asleep. So far I have only had to tell her and her sister to be quiet 3 times. The baby (well, 18 month old) in the next room is still chuntering away to herself, but will hopefully settle soon. And now the 4 yr old needs a wee. Sigh....

I decided today to write a diary, mostly because I'm pissed off with my kids (the almost 6 yr old now needs a poo and has been sent off to the bathroom for daddy to deal with!), and because I was contemplating why I was finding parenting more of a challenge than usual today. I came to the conclusion that I'm a bit premenstrual, but also that the kids are actually just being incredibly annoying. Perhaps I should have organised hour to hour activities on a wet half-term Tuesday, but I foolishly believed that a trip to the dentist, a game on the Wii U, and baking some cookies would be enough. (puts down phone to tuck middle child back in and sort out "Donkey", who is actually a zebra, toy)

Today, F(6) & A(4) have been everything I dislike about children. Back-chatting, mimicking, whinging, hitting, know-it-all little weasels. The sorts of children you meet at family functions and instantly take a dislike to - Over confident and brash, believing they are the centre of everything, you know? (Tucks poo child back into bed)

They are, of course, the centre of my word, but they are not ALL of my world (gives "one last kiss" to poo child) and this evening as I face an evening in my PJ'S on the sofa with my husband, I am glad they are now in bed and I can be someone other than 'mum'. I am also looking forward with much longing to Friday night, when there will be good friends, cheap wine, and grown-up (yet somewhat childish) conversations.

Let's hope tomorrow they will be in better moods and I will be better at dealing with them :-)