‘You have been a bit of a bad mummy today’ my daughter told me on the way home last night. In fairness, she was right.
My particular crime in her case was forgetting to pack an afternoon snack for school, which, she informed me, meant she had to eat ‘a rotten tomato’ instead. I’m not sure how accurate that bit of the story was, although perhaps it’s all the canteen could rustle up at 3.30pm. However, it’s true that in the back-to-school fug I may have been slightly forgetful on the old school bag front. As a primary school parent you basically need a whole new compartment of your brain to remember the various snacks/P.E. kits/swimming stuff etc you need to pack each day, and I think I’m already at cerebral capacity. In my defence I did bring her a Freddo at pick-up by way of apology, which she then proceeded to not chew but lick into oblivion for the next 55 minutes.
Anyway, this was not the worst thing I did yesterday, because I also let the baby TOUCH A HOT IRON. I know.
In my standard early morning fluster, I was trying to tidy up for our new cleaner as well as getting everyone ready before leaving the house, and my brain and body were both in overdrive; something I’m sure many working parents will relate to. Although I had vaguely clocked my husband using the iron about five minutes before, it didn’t properly register that it would still be boiling hot when I picked it up off the kitchen counter to put away, probably because I had about a million other thoughts whirring through my mind simultaneously. So I had the iron in one hand, the baby in the other, and - in typical 10 month old fashion - he immediately lunged across me and grabbed the hot surface of the iron, before letting out an almighty wail.
You know those moments where time slows down and your whole body sort of goes into shock mode? That was my reaction. I was literally shaking while I ran cold water over his hand, although there was some relief in seeing that it wasn’t immediately blistering or falling off. In fact he stopped crying pretty much straight away, but in my head there was still a loud, you-are-a-bloody-idiot siren going off.
The experience reminded me of when my daughter was a few months old, and I was charging along the street with her in the buggy, desperate to get home because it was raining and I was panicking that I hadn’t put enough layers on her. Before I knew it I hit a wonky curb while crossing the road and the buggy flipped over onto its side with my precious newborn baby inside. I was so horrified that I whipped her out and just stood in a shop doorway crying until a lovely middle-aged lady and her three teenage daughters came to rescue me. The lady kindly told me that she’d once dropped one of the daughters on her head in Jamaica airport, before wrapping my baby up and packing me off home. When I got back, I phoned 111 to tearfully explain my buggy stunt, at which point the nice phone operator - having ascertained that the baby was completely okay - told me all I needed was a large G&T.
Obviously I’m very lucky that in both cases, the babies were fine. I’ve also certainly learnt my lesson, and will never run at curbs or wave hot irons around near babies again. More generally though, it’s a good reminder that it’s always when I’m rushing around in a stressed and chaotic fashion that such things happen. It really is safer to calm the hell down - or, as my granny used to say at least once per visit: ‘It’s better to be five minutes late in this world, than 50 years too early in the next’.
The great thing about being a millennial parent is that because we’ve heard about therapy and don’t want our kids to grow up as neurotic as we are, we try and respond to their criticisms by saying constructive, encouraging things. So instead of saying ‘Yes, I am indeed a crap mum’ when my daughter pointed out that I’d been hopeless, I tried to imagine what I’d like her to hear in the same circumstances. ‘Yes I’ve made a few mistakes, but I’m doing my best, and that’s all that really matters’ I said. She didn’t give a damn - was too preoccupied with the Freddo - but at least it was self-soothing for me.
Recommended:
Late to the party with In Memoriam by Alice Winn, but it’s the best book I’ve read this year. Not sure I can sum up how moving this WW1 tale is, so just read it.
Might sound less appealing than a Freddo, but I’ve got properly addicted to Nairn’s Dark Chocolate Oat Biscuits and have also managed to convince myself they’re sort of healthy…
If you’re bored of podcasts involving middle-aged men wanging on about Westminster, then you might enjoy the Mamamia Out Loud podcast. It’s a bunch of Aussie women - yes women! - chatting entertainment and current affairs.
Sending sympathy to YOU for these very stressful incidents (sounds like the children have already had sympathy) xx
In Memoriam is just such an amazing book!! And don’t worry we’ve all accidentally done something terrible to our kids but they all turn out fine!! X