“How do you find having 2 babies under 2? Is it difficult?”
“No it’s not too bad now actually.”
Difficult?? Difficult is trying to hold your breath long enough under water to swim a length when you’re 8.
I’ll tell you the truth, having 2 babies under 2 is like constantly holding your breath under water until you feel like you might burst, then finally coming up for air.
Just keep swimming, must keep swimming, must not let myself drown (in the enormous basket of ever-filling filthy shitty washing).
It’s like someone sneaks into your brain at night & tops it with a cocktail of Sambucca, Vodka, Gin &…. chocolate (I like chocolate) gives it a good old Tom Cruise worthy shake & then seals it back up.
Aha, try answer a straightforward question with an intelligent response tomorrow you silly fucker.
Have you ever had a personal training session when you haven’t done anything for about a year then come away walking like you’ve shit yourself? You know what I mean, the time you can’t lower yourself onto the toilet etc. Well imagine feeling like that EVERY single day; as if your body has been through an assault course because you’re so fucking tired.
I want to punch my pre-baby self in the head. When my friends gave birth to their very own sleep thieves/torturers/hourly alarm clocks yet still had the capacity/caring nature to enquire how I was, my response was always “I’m tired” usually followed up with something helpful like; “I got up this morning at 7.30am to do my Joe Wickes HIIT before work”
I’m actually quite shocked I still have friends. To any of my friends reading this – thank you.
If I’d known then that was the most energetic I’d feel for the foreseeable, then I may have reconsidered my decision to have children. Not really, I love the little scamps, but you catch my drift. IT’S FUCKING EXHAUSTING!
Trying to get ready in the morning feels like you’ve just run a marathon & collapsed over the finish line, well I don’t know this for a fact as I’ve never run one, but when both babies are fed, dressed, teeth cleaned, hair done & you’ve slapped on enough make-up to pass yourself off as presentable for the day, you swagger downstairs like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever whilst humming to the Bee Gees I, I, I, I’m staying alive, staying alive. It’s a HUGEaccomplishment. Even better than the time I got gifted a chicken wrap for eating elastic bands for a dare. HUGE
Even having a wee wee yes I now speak in baby language brings its own challenge, my youngest is currently at that annoying developmental stage where if I step outside of a 2 meter radius, her entire world is ending. Every time I need the toilet, I have to jam her walker in the toilet door whilst my eldest holds my knees. Whilst relieving myself, I play peekabo around the towel at the maniac in the walker whilst the eldest forces her head between my legs to watch the wee wee coming out. She proceeds to clap “Such a clever girl mummy” (she’s currently toilet training). I then find myself clapping & congratulating myself on my monumental wee wee. FFS. As a final humiliation, I’m then instructed; “kiss your magic knickers mumma for telling you you needed a wee wee”. I won’t tell you what happened next…..
I could probably blog about this subject all day, but the bottom line of this post & what I have learnt is LIE. Lie to your friends & to your family, because if you tell everyone the truth then nobody would have children & nobody would be your friend. FACT. The End.
I LOVE MY LIFE, I LOVE MY LIFE, I LOVE MY LIFE ☺
This is the mantra of the exhausted mum.