Do you ever feel a bit awful about the parenting things you do? Do you ever hang your head in shame when you just can’t be bothered to cook dinner and opt for fishfingers, boil-in-a-bag veg and beans (98% of the time there is no veg, I just added that in for effect), is that just me? Does this make me a terrible parent? I’m the person forcing this guilt onto myself, when the kids really enjoy things that make me feel guilty. Of course they do. Lazy dinners, biscuit bribes, using a supermarket trip as a day-out. All things the kids enjoy (unless they’re in beast mode, then they enjoy literally nothing), but I feel a niggle of guilt. A niggle that makes me feel a bit boring, like I’m not superseding my parenting duties.
That’s all normal. I’m at peace with it and won’t be upping my game, because my babes are happy.
Then there’s those times your children really want to make you feel guilty, but you don’t. You know these times, if your toddler wants to get in a car you don’t own and you don’t let them or you take them to the zoo for the day and they hate every second. No guilt felt. But lots of upset children. But, you knew there’d be a but, they do make me feel like a terrible mum. I feel terrible that they’re so angry, frustrated or upset about something so minor, which sometimes I cant even resolve. Sometimes I don’t want to resolve it, I resort to my stubborn inner-child.
I won’t give in to their demands
We will have a nice day
I’m going to pretend you’re not rolling on the ground screaming
There, that’s better, have a biscuit. Oh crap…
There are so many ways to be a terrible parent. I’m reminded regularly, with whining, tantrums and flying sippy cups that I’m a bit crappy at times. Here’s 12 things I’ve done this week, making me a terrible parent:
- Putting clothes on my children. Clothes burn my childrens skin, getting dressed means chasing both children around the house trying to throw a top over their heads, like a game of ring-toss and trip them up to whip on their jeans. What don’t I understand about them just wanting to be naked? Just terrible.
- Not letting my toddler speak to the Sky engineer on the phone. He really wanted to speak to the Sky man, really, really. Bastard mummy hung up the phone before he got the chance to, and then had the cheek to lie and say ‘he’s still on the phone’. Tut, tut.
- I gave my son the yellow bottle when he asked for ‘wed’ not ‘yeyyow’
- I said ‘no’ when the toddler asked to walk around the house with his chocolate cereal. He’s always careful. His careful means our once cream carpet is now a patchy brown, which sticks to your feet like velcro when you walk on it. He doesn’t care about our carpets.
- I said our TV had broken because I just couldn’t take another minute of Peppa flipping Pig. He gets more excited about watching an episode he’s seen 167 times, because he knows what happens, he can narrate. A piece of my brain dies each time I hear the theme tune
- I spent hours cooking a roast dinner, chicken, roast potatoes, the lot. Roast dinners are disgusting. Why didn’t I just make cheese on toast, digestives with a side of fishfingers or pizza, they always eat pizza. It’s almost known amongst toddlers as ‘child abuse’ when vegetables sit on their plate disguised under gravy, they’re not stupid. I’m stupid.
- His blue sleeping bags were in the wash and the only option was his sisters spare pink one at bedtime. I’m such an asshole for even suggesting this.
- They wouldn’t nap when they were supposed to and now they’re tired. This is my fault.
- In the middle of the night the baby realised she was hungry. I gave her milk and left the room. I left the room. As punishment the baby will be up for the next three hours and wake up at 6am. She’ll be tired but again, this is my fault.
- The toddler was whingeing, I couldn’t figure out what he was whining about through his whiney nonsense. I should always know why he’s upset, this is punishable with more whingeing.
- My toddler told me Jake (and the Neverland Pirates) were looking for treasure. And I didn’t care.
- We took them to the soft-play centre and the receptionist needed his shoes. He didn’t want to give his shoes in. It took repeating ”you’ll get them back” until my mouth went all dry and gross, before he realised we were there for him, to play.
Terrible mum at work above – sleeping on the job
This week I was a terrible parent. You can measure a terrible mum by the level of anger coming from her child. Sometimes you can measure it by the steam coming from a mums ears, or when a mum breaks a sweat, mums should never break a sweat. I will probably be a terrible mum again next week, but I like to think that my cuddles at 2am when they need it, the biscuit treats I give them and the amount of hours I spend playing Lego, makes up for it. It probably won’t. But the belly-aching laughs we have makes me feel like the best mum ever. We laugh a lot.