Dear teenaged self,
For the love of god take that bloody hideous over sized Manic Street Preachers T-Shirt off and burn the indie flowery skirt. Enjoy the sensation of having a stomach that doesn’t ripple when you laugh and fold over the top of your jeans, wherever possible expose it by wearing crop t-shirts or bikinis – even when it is cold.
Sometimes does the strain of parenting make you want to run up a hill and shout with all your might from the top?
Parenting offers such diverse experiences many of which I would love to wrap up in ribbon and place gently in a box full of tissues and preserve forever.
Like when the first time the twins signed I love you before they could speak. Or when BB first held up her arms to me calling my name silently through big, unblinking eyes.
I was queueing up in the beauty line in the womb when patience was being handed out two rows down; consequently I have an incredibly short fuse which is set off easily, and mainly by twin boy.
So I try to avoid situations where I will end up screaming like a mad banshee in public. I plan potentially stressful situations well in advance so I can get through the day with my children intact.
The chap I married is not a morning person. He takes exception every morning to having a five year old creeping into his room between five and seven and asking in a booming voice,
“Is it waking up time yet?”
He typically does a strong impression of a corpse at this point in order to not have to deal with said child. I can physically feel his body freeze into rigor mortis as the door handle starts to turn.