It may be the case that I am Going Mental. I have behaved rather badly this week, and think that I may be slipping into some kind of deranged post-partum psychotic state whereby I forget all of the Good Ways to be a mama, and instead practice Bad Parenting in every aspect conceivable. For this, kids, I am sorry. I am not proud of:
1. Running Noah over with the pushchair on purpose because he wouldn’t get out of the way (mitigating circumstances plea: we were half an hour late for nursery, he was doing his dropped legs thing where he won’t walk, then he lay down halfway up the stairs so I couldn’t drag the pushchair up to the pavement level. So instead I just dragged the pushchair up over his prone little passive aggressive body, hoping the glamorous redheaded NZ model wouldn’t saunter past at just that moment – in fact, hoping NO ONE would walk past to witness my patience failure and my lapse of good parental judgement. And:
2. Flinging Barnaby out of the darkened, quiet bedroom while trying to put the baby to sleep after he ran in, naked, grinning, laughing like a jackal (or hyena?) with a wailing Noah in the front room who had been rammed between an IKEA pillow, Barnaby’s body and the sharp edge of the couch. I had just explained how tonight, fighting was not going to happen – Daddy was out, having a drink (cue slightly angry face) and that Mummy was trying to do all the breastfeeding/bathing/burping/swaddling/dressing and putting to bed of four excited loud squeally children all at once, and so, therefore, everyone must be on their best behaviour. The flinging of Barnaby, which was fuelled by an upswelling immediate sweary rage, unfortunately resulted in his head thwacking the edge of the door. There was blood. And a tearful phonecall to said drinking husband to come home, NOW. It was entirely unstylish and regrettable.
What is more, the week has presented me with More Troubles That I Am Equipped To Deal With. See below:
3. I wasn’t watching the boys at breakfast, and newly tantrummy and devious Custard spilt his milky bowl of Cheerios all over the newish MacBook Pro. It now won’t really work. I blame myself, because that’s the kind of mood I am in.
4. I cannot stop hoovering up the foodie treats people have been bringing around. In fact, today I have eaten seven bits of citrus slice, two portuguese tarts, coffee and belly’o’pork. Hardly commendable (but v noice).
5. I have decided I cannot do the school run on Wednesday for at least another two weeks which means Mark has to do it. It seems to me that taking small babies out in the snow and rain by 8am alongside three disinclined small children is Too Hard. My milk supply might dry up, or something. This puts Mark in an awkward situation whereby we have to hire a short-term part-time nanny. No one is happy about this.
6. Custard has twisted the arms of my glasses so that they sit wonkily on my face. The effect is akin to being jetlagged, or a little bit wasted on cheap gin and cold and flu tablets. I am dizzy and irritable, and clearly need new Miu Miu frames. They slip off whenever I bend my head even slightly toward the floor. I cannot begin to explain how annoying it is.
Here is a photo of us, as a new family of six. Witness the chaos. How do we do it, you wonder. Badly, Dear Readers, badly.