Growing Up Beside You

Sometimes I feel that my eldest daughter has more common sense than I do.

8 year old daughter was upset and crying at bedtime and it transpired that she feels inadequate and not able to do the things that eldest daughter can do. That others think less of her. She questioned herself and her capabilities.

I listed and agreed the strengths that eldest daughter displays and discussed the amount of praise she seems to generate from many sources for her behaviour and personality. They cannot be played down or dismissed.

Then I continued to list and praise the character of my 8 year old, her eyes lighting up when I tell her that even though she maybe a messy and disorganised person, she genuinely is the funniest person I have ever encountered. Her quick wit from such an early age, her adult sense of humour, her ability to speedily make light of an upsetting situation in exactly the right way is something I couldn't do.
I admit that she sometimes drives me to the brink of insanity, but if I am there because of another reason, she is usually the only one that can bring me back.

I tell her stories of her toddling about, cracking me up, as she was walking and talking way too early. She was the child that phoned the police every time she managed to get near the telephone unsupervised. She was the one that hid bread, cheese and margarine at the bottom of her wardrobe and we didn't find it before the field mice. She is the one that screamed loudly one new years eve, just after I had settled down with my first glass of red wine, to reveal the blood pouring from her perforated eardrum, cotton bud in hand. She is the child that climbed up the decorating step-ladders left in the bathroom by Granddad and helped herself to a bottle of camomile lotion that she subsequently drank.  The child that was messing on the stairs with an umbrella, the child that I had to tell to be careful in case she fell, seconds before slipping myself and breaking my foot. She was the child who got up excitedly in the early hours, while the rest of the house slept, to go to the holiday suitcases, all packed and ready to help herself to a full box of Calpol sachets. I tell her how important these memories are to me, how many times I have told these stories to friends and after the initial shock or upset or commotion caused, that we have giggled and commented on her sparkiness and sense of adventure.

I remind her that yes, she may be considered lazy by others, but she has always been on a different level with intelligence and could easily reap the awards that eldest receives if she could be bothered. I pointed out that yes, she would in fact look smarter for school and have perfect immaculate hair and polished shoes, if she could get out of bed swiftly in the mornings, without being asked fifteen times. I highlighted that her organisational skills are definitely not one of her strengths, but does she really care?

I also remind her that all the people around her love her exactly as she is and wouldn't dare want her to change even the slightest.

She is a "mini-me." I'm terrible. My reputation for disorganisation and messiness, for being scatty and late, precedes me. More importantly, I could care not.  I have never really been one to care about what others think. Except the ones really really close to me. No doubt, 8 year old will develop the same brazenness if she hasn't started already. Smiles concluding the end of our chat.

I'm so grateful for eldest daughter (just turned 10 years old) as she is like my second in command, ahead of OH, in fact, she could easily run the household. I ask her opinion on things that she shouldn't even be concerned with, rely on her to remind me of appointments, birthdays and shopping lists. She knows who is doing what and why. There are times I feel guilty as it feels like a role reversal and that she is the parent. I have justified it now to ease the guilt by accepting that we are just different personalities. She being the prim and perfect all rounder who will try to excel at everything she tries with 100% effort, without a hair out of place. Whereas I, well, I'm not even sure who I am yet. When I grow up I want to be like her, but for the time being, I will be the messy, loud, chaotic one with unkempt hair, giggling over the 8 year old's comical antics.

I heard a song yesterday morning for the first time that I thought of later on when talking to 8yr old girl.

Growing Up Beside You - Paolo Nutini (YouTube link)

I don't always get the way you feel,
But now I've learned to live with that.
It's like I'm a part of something real.
I was hittin' the bottle, now I've broken the seal.
Looks like I'm growing, I'm growing up beside you

And the sun sets the scene,
While the rain misses me.
And all the time I'll be growing, growing up beside you.

Worst Mother In The World.

I've been having issues with other children in our cul-de-sac who, in my eyes, bully my three kids. Whenever they play outside there seems to be an constant stream of trouble and arguing and it's gotten to a point where I have confronted the neighbours about their children's behaviour.

Looking for an alternative as I don't want to spend the summer months listening to bickering, or consoling my children after being punched or stuffed into a wheelie bin,  I suggested the children play in the next village.

Technically, the next village is a 12 minute walk away from our house, but to drive, it's two miles. The area I live in was designed with stupidity and there is one road between each village, but you can easily take a short cut on foot.

I have always been a stricter, more apprehensive parent than my friends when it comes to playing out, computer games, film content etc. It's only been since we moved to this secluded cul-de-sac last year that I have let them play in the street.

All of their school friends live in the next village along, so I suggested dropping them off by car at the village green and leaving them with their mobile phones. The idea being, that they play as a group with the gang of kids that already congregate there and phone me if they need anything. I could then swoop in 6 minutes by car and assist them. Unbeknown to them, I would also do drive-bys, acting like a kerb crawler and observing them from a distance.

Let me just explain the ages of the tribe. Eldest girl is one year away from having to travel 8 miles by bus to high school unsupervised. She is responsible and trustworthy and acts more adult and parenty that I ever could. Next daughter is nine shortly, very streetwise and clever, she doesn't miss a trick at all. Then there is the boy, he is seven on Saturday. He is my concern about this new situation.

Should I leave a seven year old to play in the next village with only the supervision of his older sisters?

There is the argument that "back in the day" kids used to roam free. There wasn't a week gone by when I was a child, without me falling in a pond whilst trying to collect frog-spawn, or coming home with bits of branches stuck in my arms and legs after falling out of a tree (taking hours to remove in A and E.)   But then we all know things are different these days. Our eyes have been opened to this ever increasing evil world around us.

He shouldn't be his sisters responsibility so I had set up some rules and he was told that if he breaks them even once, he stays at home in future. After the first couple of attempts at leaving them, it seemed a success. The girls were sat on the grass with their classmates, doing whatever it is than 10 year old girls do (bitch and gossip) while the boy played with on the lawn of one of his class mates.

I received about 15 phone calls to my mobile and an assortment of text messages assuring me that everything was fine by the eldest and there was one incident when younger daughter needed the toilet. OH did a drive-by and confirmed that all seemed well.

The boy mentioned that his friend's dad wanted my contact number so I popped over to have a word with his mum, in the playground today.

I walked away from her in tears. I was made to feel like the worst parent in the world

She being a teacher and her husband being a policeman, thought it was unthinkable that I leave the boy and demanded a contact number in case he had any problems. I tried to explain that the girls both had mobiles with them and could reach me at any time and in fact, for some of the time I was parked out of sight around the corner breastfeeding the baby. She said that she would never forgive herself if anything happened to him. I again, tried to explain that he wasn't her responsibility but she butted in and said that he was playing near her house for 90 minutes in the warm weather, without having access to a drink. It was early evening on the occasion she was referring to and I assured her that he had taken a picnic with him. She seemed equally disgusted that the girls were allowed to play there too.

Nothing I could say would inspire her to listen to my reasoning for allowing him to be there in the first place. She stated that he could come and play on her lawn any time but it would be the same as if he had gone to her house for tea, she would be watching him and be accountable.

Giving up with my protest of "That wasn't what I was trying to achieve...not dumping my child on your front garden," I just walked back to the car and broke the news to the kids.

That they could no longer go to the next village to play.

As you can probably guess, their disappointment is immense and they look at me with huge wide eyes, pleading until I confirm again, their worst fears are true, they are now limited to playing with each other in the back garden. That's when I get the looks of repulsion, confirming that I am indeed, the worst parent in world.

I need lots of suggestions and thoughts as I'm still in tears over an hour later?

How wrong was I to leave him? Do I allow the girls to go and make him stay behind? How would I explain that to him? Should none of them be allowed out of sight at all?

I also need to bear in mind that their primary school is a 3 mile walk, routing through this village. I am under heavy pressure to give consent to the girls for cycling to school alone each day. If I give in and let them, then surely being on foot 2 miles away, in said village, is safer?

What I Tried To Say...

But you wouldn't listen.

I have dragged my children up over the last few years and they have trusted me every step of the way.
I broke up their family and made their father leave home. I took away the option for them to see him every day.

They watched and listened to my marriage crumbling, seeing and hearing things that children shouldn't, causing them nightmares about my safety.

They didn't blame me when they got un-invited to parties and became the "talked about" kids of the school

They didn't complain when they had to give up ballet, tap, hip-hop, drama, horse riding, football and swimming lessons when I had to go to work full-time and leave them with a child-minder instead.

They didn't breathe a word about their clothes looking worn and feeling smaller when I struggled to buy them any new belongings.

Even though they couldn't hide their disappointment at missing school fayres, birthday parties, and school discos etc due to my tiredness or being stuck at work, they didn't hold it against me.

They didn't compare their new birthday and Christmas budget with their previous years.

They didn't complain when their home was repossessed and they had 24 hours to find and move into somewhere new.

They helped pack up the old house, unpack at the new, then pack up again 2 months later and unpack at yours.

They trusted me when I asked them to move in with you, in another town, away from their friends and family.

They didn't even moan about the daily two hour commute to school for six months because they could see how happy I was.

They embraced moving to a closer school and didn't try to make me feel guilty about leaving their school friends.

Even though a little scared, they made new friends and started a child-minder, putting on brave faces.

They have fed themselves by packing their own lunch, making their own breakfast and tea, put themselves to bed and pretty much organised their own lives, understood me missing all of their school plays and assemblies, due to my incapability while suffering through pregnancy.

Even when they are frightened when we argue, they allow me to reassure them that I am safe,that you are safe.

They know when I feel tired, or sad and offer to help or hug me.

They were excited about us getting married and desperately want your surname too, despite knowing how infuriated their father was about the suggestion.

They accepted you as part of their family and love you completely.

They love their new baby sister and haven't shown a scrap of jealousy or need to adjust.


These are the reasons that will make me defend them against any slightly negative comment,  why I feel so proud and privileged to be their parent, why I will champion them at any opportunity, why I can sometimes appear lax with discipline, why I constantly explain to you, how well behaved they are compared to other children, why I take the blame for anything they do wrong and most importantly...

...why I don't care about the muddy shoe prints on the dashboard of the car.

Part-Timer? Slacker? Bad Mother?

People have been asking me how long I will breastfeed for and I just respond with a shrug

I have to admit, I shuddered, lots, when watching an article on This Morning last week about someone breastfeeding their 5 year old.

I've never had a set plan for each baby and it has always varied in time-scale (never up to aged five.)


I'm not even a purist, I think the breast-feeders seem to snub me a little because I'm a mixer, a combination feeder and I don't even use breast milk in the bottles!

I admire those that can express milk, but it's just not me. I've tried using various hand pumps, electric pumps and also by hand. I either manage to get an ounce of milk or give up with frustration. The electric pump just making me feel like a dairy cow...a failed dairy cow!

Discussing weaning at a mum and baby group, I was shocked at how many said they express milk to mix with baby's rusk or porridge. I've never done that. I had visions of standing in the kitchen in my PJs, holding a bowl of powdered breakfast for my infant, then just wopping out tit and squeezing some milk into the bowl, before stirring.

I'm a lazy breast-feeder too, I mostly do it lying down, rather than holding baby at a particular angle and getting arm ache. If there isn't anywhere comfy to do it, I huff a little.  I also dislike doing it in the heat or when I'm in one of those claustrophobic moods were I don't want anyone near me, let alone attached to me.


It's strange, sometimes it feels such a privilege and I wonder if my OH is jealous that I have this specific ability to sustain and soothe and bond with our daughter. Other times it feels like a chore and I behave like a stroppy teenager or feel restrained or that I'm nothing more than food.


I don't mind feeding in public and would rather save my formula feeds for at home when OH can feed her and I can run free for a bit. Strangely I felt more comfortable feeding Indigo in a supermarket car-park last week, in view of groups of teenagers and the "trolley men" than I did in the mum and baby group.

I know everyone is different. I'm happy plodding along with breastfeeding most of the time and feeding formula, some of the time...I just don't know how long for?

Every Moment Seems To Be A Parenting Fail

Leaving Indie to sleep on a corduroy cushion....

 

Bed-Sharing

It's so naughty and highly advised against and I remind you of my previous blog stating that I don't know best and not to follow my advice.

I currently have a leaflet next to my laptop highlighting the dangers I place my babies in, but there is something that stops me complying.

I love her sleeping in my bed. She sleeps between myself and OH and she wriggles between us and snuggles up in the middle of the night.

I always thought of it as a reward for breastfeeding. The ease of not having to move when she wants feeding in the early hours and we both stay cosy.

I understand the risks, that I could smother her in my sleep, she could overheat or she could manoeuvre out of the bed. But there is something natural and animalistic about it.

Dude (the cat) slept with her kittens. She drifted off to sleep as they fed until their bellies were full and nodded off themselves.

I think of my bed as my nest, somewhere safe and sacred. I love feeding my young in bed with my partner lying next to us.

http://www.babyfriendly.org.uk/pdfs/sharingbedleaflet.pdf