Hello. HEYLO. Testing, Testing. Are you there? I wouldn’t think so. I haven’t written an iota in over a year, so there is something quite cosy about flying words out into the ether.
Why have I not written? Why did I disappear?
I’ll tell you. Having two small kids is feckin hard work. And pretending to be pseudo good-natured about it while you feel as though your life has been sucked out of your vagina was starting to wear thin on me. You see, for every witty comment I could summon, there were seventy BILLION bitchy, moany, sweary thoughts whirling around my brain. Most of which were:
I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE!!!
I F-ING HATE BEING A STAY AT HOME MOTHER!!!
I HAVE LOST MY SENSE OF IDENTITY THROUGH MY VAGINA!!!
Mostly I thought:
DOES HATING ALL OF THIS MAKE ME A BAD MOTHER???!!!!
And so, as life got in the way of me peetering my thoughts onto a laptop screen, so too did the gang warfare of my two boys, who have mastered the art of pulling out the computer cable JUST before I hit save, and throwing full cups of sticky apple juice at the screen as I try to send a work email. Blogging, to be honest, became too much like hard work.
The year past has been a tough one. Decisions were made, words were exchanged, children were disciplined. Over the last few months, the children have been finally kicked out of our bed, and we are, for the most part, a NON CO-SLEEPING HOUSEHOLD. For someone who slept with both her boys, and most frequently, not her man for the whole of the kids lives, this has proved to be a positive move.
The kids are two and three now. TWO AND THREE. I look old when I look in the mirror. But lately, less stressed. I am still winging this motherhood lark. I roasted the whole family at the beach yesterday because I was too busy lecturing everyone about the benefits of vitamin d instead of putting on sun lotion. I forgot to give my kids lunch today because I was tweeting… so I gave them crackers and cake. Right now, this minute, my kids are playing with a little boy from next door who I don’t like at all, but I invited into my garden so that he would occupy my kids and I could write this. He could be bullying them, but the back door is shut and I can’t hear any screams through it…
So, I am coming back. I cannot promise to be funny. I cannot promise to engage you. I cannot promise anything really, except that I am not going to lie anymore. I will tell the truth of my story, in as much as I can.
(Without the super personal bits, because I don’t want to mortify my fella or the boys all over the interwebs.)