This week is my last week as a SAHM. Next week I join the ranks of the BOTTOMs and see my kids as they wake up and briefly before they go to sleep.
I’m still not sure I like that idea, but anything is better than the grinding whinging that I have tolerated for the last ten months. And that’s just from myself!
So, I’ve posted before about how being a SAHM isn’t the life for me. Mainly because I have no idea what I’m doing.
I’m not a great mum. I’m average. By that I mean I get the job done. The kids are fed, watered and for the most part sort of cleanish. I shout a lot, which isn’t good for anyone and I have a red hot temper which leaves me seething if she’s having a bad day. Yeah, so not great. But ok.
I don’t look like a mum. You know you see some people, then you see them with their kids and they look comfortable, confident and as if they belong? I’m not one of those. I look like the teenager being forced to play with her siblings. Or the cousin called in to babysit out of sheer desperation; obviously related, completely clueless.
Then there’s the domestic failure.
I don’t cook. I have not baked since school and because of my weird relationship with food, cooking is not good for me. I can pull stuff out of the freezer and slap up a dinner if I really have to but I prefer not to have to handle the food before I eat it. Cooking does not leave me with a satisfied smile. It leaves me feeling a bit queasy and put off dinner. I’m lucky OH likes to cook.
The less said about cleaning the better. I’m trying not to look at my Cheerio covered floor. I’m ignoring the nappies in the hall and shunning the scum in the bathroom. All these things actually drive me wild, but I have a permanent attachment in the form of O which prevents me from doing them. I can tolerate the mess. An hour of screaming – not so much. So I have no idea how normal mothers find time to do all these things. No idea.
Washing I can just about keep ahead of. Shoving dirty clothes in a washing machine every hour isn’t hard. Putting them away so they don’t cover every surface in the kitchen is another matter. So again, we will avoid speaking about it.
I do craft. I make jumpers. Lots of jumpers. I love making jumpers. If you want a jumper made (to receive next year!) then I’m your girl. See, knitting I can do while cuddling and feeding, sewing up needs precious hands free time. Time which is at a premium. Time I use for hanging washing to stop it smelling, or for hoovering up Cheerios or putting the oven on.
I just want to know what normal mothers do. How do they handle the tantrums? How do they find time to stop the house from looking shat in as opposed to just lived in? How do they manage to hold it together when they are slowly losing their identity?