Any parent reading this is going to absolutely know what I am talking about. I mean, as if having your vagina broken several times, your boobs inflated and then deflated like a two month old balloon, stretch marks on any part of your body which grew bigger than a millimetre, bald patches on your head, mainly at the front, because having them hidden under your birds nest would be far too kind of mother nature, WASN'T ENOUGH, we are also subjected to the emotional torture of spawning mini me's.
It was this week, the 14th September, where my darling little pickle started in Reception. Jeeeeeeeeeez. Where did the last four years and seven months go since I was left in hospital, with a newborn baby whom I'd clearly never met before and didn't have the faintest idea what I had to do with her, by her darling father, whilst he went on a bender (thank you)?! Needless to say we are no longer together, phew. It is CRAZY. We've probably spent most Fridays together since the start of her life and so my main concern was 'what the hell am I going to spend my Fridays doing without my little partner in crime?!'. Now, that made me seriously emotional. I cried whilst getting her uniform ready. I cried whilst getting her dressed on Monday morning. I was tearing up behind my Ray Ban wannabes on the walk to school and then again when she walked straight into her new class without a second glance at the woman who is still toying with the idea of getting a boob job due to the emotional scarring left by me breastfeeding for only four days. Yes my boobs are still ruined, so it clearly doesn't matter how long you breastfeed for, so in my opinion, don't bother.
I returned home to start my 'working from home' week as normal, only to be continually distracted by the fact my little one was at school and how I couldn't wait to collect her and hear about her day. And that time arrived - woohoo! It was so magical, seeing her little face light up when she saw her Mummy waiting for her, albeit behind a facemask, surrounded by sixty other parents bearing facemasks so she couldn't actually tell who her parent was. It was only for the fact I was waving hysterically, screaming 'ALBERTA!!' at the top of my lungs and elbowing the other impatient parents out of the way so I could get to her. We had a lovely chat on the way home, she told me about her new friend 'Ronnie' and what she had for lunch and everything felt okay. I think I was going to be okay, she is going to be okay, we are going to totally get through this.
Roll on Day 2 of the charade and we're on it. Flying out the door, Mum's tears seemed to have dried up 24 hours prior and I am fly-kicking her into the classroom and dashing out of the school gates before she has a chance to notice the little girl who is clinging to her mother's neck on the classroom floor because she doesn't want to be left in this hellish hole. And we're done. New routine is well underway and I am feeling pretty darn good about this free time! I mean, being able to cram an exercise class in straight after the school run, before my working day starts, and being able to do this five friggin' days a week is just EPIC.
So, the morale of the story is, one day you're crying at the thought of your little ones heading off on the next part of their adventure, the next, you're elated at the thought of cramming in as much self care during the week as physically possible in order to brace yourself for the two days at the weekend that you then have to spend with these creatures. Because trust me, the 'Kevin & Perry' attitude had already kicked in by Day 2. Actually, who am I kidding?! My darling little angel has had that stinking attitude since she was eight weeks old. I'm being deadly serious. So enjoy those peaceful days at work, enjoy the silence at home, enjoy making lunch for solely yourself and not having to argue with your child about the fact they DO NOT want cucumber on their plate because 'vegetables are yuk!', so your only alternative is to force feed them vitamins, disguised as gummy bears, which probably do more harm than good due to the amount of sugar in them, but hey, we're doing our best.
Self care must be a priority, ladies, so dig deep, pull your big girl pants up and crack on!