That crazy thing called parenting.. 

Being home alone 

Having five children I am constantly surrounded by at least two small people and lots of varying noises, from the toot toot cars, the tiny tears crying, furbys (fuck you furby inventor) , musical instruments , children talking, babbling or plain moaning. So today is weird … very weird. 

I have a days holiday from work and it’s just me no kids , no Chris , just me and I’m not sure I like it. I got up, helped with the absolute carnage that was getting the kids ready and seeing them off while Chris took them to school and nursery as he does every Friday, I then prepped and put beef stew in the slow cooker. While staring at all the cleaning that I should be doing. I decided I couldn’t stay in the house any longer (it’s only 8.15am by the way). So I trotted off to the sorting office to pick up Chris’ parcel, then to a friends house to sit with her and her small humans for a bit. It was nice seeing them play hearing them chatting and spending time with my friend. I was back in my happy place. Then realised I didn’t take my breastpump which is essential when it away from the small boy child. So I headed home , made some food and now I am all uneasy again. The only noises in my house are the sound of the breastpump and the clock ticking, seemingly louder than it ever does. 

I’ve found myself sad and although there are plenty of things I should be getting On with , It’s it just doesn’t seem right without a couple (at least) of small people demanding my attention. I should be happy right? This morning I got my first poo in peace for as long s I can remember. I could have an uninterrupted bath, read a book, clean the house, but nope I’m sat expressing feeling lonely, unmotivated and writing this. It makes me wonder how I will cope when my children are all grown up, when they don’t rely on me so much anymore, when they move out and don’t visit as often as I would like them to. It Makes me realise all those shitty things they do in the day, they are what makes my day. What will I do when they don’t do those things ? Who will I look after, love and nurture? 

They’ve only been gone three hours and I’m  lost. Yet every morning when I take them to school and nursery I’m so grateful for the break. Normally I’m occupied at work so don’t realise how quiet it is at home I guess, It probably doesn’t help I’m so exhausted it’s unreal, my eyes hurt, my head is fuzzy and I don’t feel great. Infact I feel like what I could only imagine it would feel like if you were sucking off a Stanley knife and it ejaculated its razor sharp blades into your throat. I guess I don’t get time to stop and for my body to realise how tired it is until times like now so I probably feel like this a lot more than I have time to realise. 

Anyway now I’m sat listening to the school kids playing happily on there first break and I just want to go and swoop my kids up and bring them home to be able to appreciate all the things I’m now missing. Obviously I won’t because I know full well when they get home I will be willing them to be back at school. Is this what being a parent is? Having your kids drive you so mentally insane to the point you could happily neck a bottle of wine at 10am (for the record last time I drank wine that early was before I had kids) one minute and the next wishing they were following you for that peaceful poo you’ve been wishing for for so long?

On that note I’m totally shattered and emotional so going to try have a nap I think. 

See you soon 

Kate 😘

Author: workingbreastfeedingmumof5

I am a working , breastfeeding , mum of five. My days are interesting , stressful and hilarious.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s