It occurred to me as I threw away a shriveled pile of purple petals that I have never managed to keep a pot plant alive for more than two months.
A fact that should, perhaps, worry me now that I am responsible for the lives of not one but two human beings. At eight months and counting it is, thankfully, two nil to the babies, despite their best efforts to get into mischief with all areas and items deemed out of bounds on the grounds of safety.Twin Babies On A PlaneI held my breath as we boarded the plane to Canada and clung to the thought that at least, within the relative confines of an aircraft, there was little mischief they could cause. They could do a lot of other things, annoy a lot of other people, but mischief would be tricky given that they would, for the most part, be firmly fastened in their car seats. I pushed thoughts that aforementioned car seats would be better off nearer the ground to the back of my mind.
When we landed back in Blighty I realized I had learnt yet another parenting lesson; Sometimes, just sometimes, mountains are in fact only molehills. I was dreading a long haul flight and will admit to being utterly wimpy about the whole prospect of climbing a transatlantic mountain, but the boys were amazing. Not a single sky high tear was shed, they were astonishingly good natured about the constant flow of new faces and weren't thrown too off kilter by the time difference. (I can say that now that a week of very topsy turvy nights are behind us!)Feeding TwinsThe flip side of this lesson is of course that sometimes molehills can indeed be mountains. At the end of a tired day, which comes at the end of yet another weary week one raspberry too far at dinner can make me want to cry. Why? Why do you have to find spraying food at each other funny? It makes it hard to feed you, and makes a mess on the floor, and means I should probably change you both into clean clothes even though it's not that long till bathtime,. Why, why do you have to grab the spoon and spatter parsnip and potato on the walls? I don't know if the damp cloth will wipe away all trace of mush or permanently leave a smear on the paint. Why, why can't you play quietly for approximately 4 minutes while I bathe your brother in the quickest time known to man?
Maybe sometimes a raspberry is the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. It's not always a raspberry, sometimes the final straw is a wriggle mid nappy change, or a tug on my laptop cable, or washing pulled off the airer or a bit of spilt milk which, according to this camel called Mum, is definitely worth crying over on occasion.
Evidently both mountains and molehills are part of being Mum.
Katy Hymas
December 2010
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The 'Other' in Mother
